TITLE:  Prayers Answered
AUTHOR: Wylfcynne
RATING:  NC-17
CLASSIFICATION: post-ep, MulderTorture, MSR,
SMUTFIC
SUMMARY: This is my entry into the Fandomonium
First-Time-Smutfic Challenge; my episode:  731.
DISCLAIMER: They certainly aren't mine; if they were,
they'd be having more fun, and I wouldn't have to save
up for a new car!  Mulder, Scully, Skinner and the rest
belong to FOX Networks and 1013; I'm just borrowing
them for a little fun and games...I promise I'll bring them
back on time and unharmed... and they won't remember
a thing...
DEDICATION: Overall, all my X Files work is dedicated
to my writing partner, Ravenwald, without whom I would
still be doing all this using a ballpoint pen.  She
introduced me to fandom on the 'Net and awakened the
Muse, who had been sleeping for a VERY long time. 
This piece is for Fatcat, without whom I would still be
staring at a blank screen.  Thanks, FC!!!


XFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXF


Prayers Answered by Wylfcynne

Des Moines, Iowa
Pennick Memorial Hospital
The corridor outside Surgical Recovery


The trip had been horrendous, having to change planes
in Chicago, which she always hated, and then being
stuck in the plane, on the ground, for more than an hour
waiting out a thunderstorm.  She had tried to nap, but
her usual tension about flying was magnified beyond all
logic by her terror.

She had spent six frantic hours trying to locate her
partner after their cell phone connection had been
broken.  She had even had the Gunmen trying to locate
a satellite photo of a small explosion...  But all had been
fruitless, and the last few hours had been spent sitting
paralyzed in her car, trying to wrap her mind around the
idea that Fox Mulder was missing in action and that she
might never find him... that she had just inherited the
doom that is the X Files, bound by obligation to
continue his search for his sister and the conspirators
who had taken Samantha  and her brother.  He had
done it for years alone; surely she could do it.

She had gone to Our Lady Help of Christians Church,
down the street from the Gunmen's lair, and prayed
tearfully, desperately, that somehow Mulder was alive
and that she could somehow find him.

She still felt guilty about how relieved she had been
when her cell phone had sounded and AD Skinner's
calm baritone had informed her that her partner was
alive and hospitalized in Des Moines.  She had fled the
church and gone to the airport without bothering to stop
at her home to pack.

She stopped and waited for the clacking of her
bootheels on the linoleum tile floor to stop echoing
down the corridor.  There was a woman dressed as a
doctor emerging from the door she had been about to 
open.  She held out her hand.

"Dr Maryanski?  I'm Special Agent Dana Scully of the
FBI," she announced herself briskly, hoping she
sounded more confident than she felt.  "I'm Agent
Mulder's partner; I hold his medical POA and proxy. 
What's his current status?"

Doctor Marisa Maryanski studied the shorter woman
quickly.  Perfect hair and makeup, black power suit with
the utterly jock addition of thick-soled Doc Marten-style
boots that added more height to the already-
dizzyingly-high heel.  An FBI agent and a qualified
pathologist, this was an educated and authoritative
woman with a capacity for violence that the doctor
recognized.  She had seen similar attitudes in senior
police officers; not the administrators, but the field
officers.

"Agent Scully.  Pleased to meet you; I was told when
you called, but I was elbow-deep in your partner at the
time."  The deliberate doctor-to-doctor crudity failed to
elicit the merest flicker of response from Scully, and the
doctor gave up.  "At the moment, he's resting
comfortably and he's being moved to his room
momentarily.  Would you like to have a seat?"  She
waved toward the waiting room a few steps down the
hall.  "We can talk more comfortably."

"I'd like to see my partner, doctor," Scully insisted
politely.  "He was captured and being held hostage on
board a rail car set with explosives.  He'd just managed
to escape when we lost contact.  That was over fifteen
hours ago.  And he'd been in the field on a hot pursuit
for several days."

Dr Maryanski yielded; in her fifteen years of practice,
she had learned to pick her battles.  "Of course. 
Ordinarily we would not be able to allow even Next of
Kin back here, but your MD is good for a few special
privileges."

Scully nodded.  "Thank you, Dr Maryanski."

Surgical Recovery was not a quiet place.  Monitors
were chirping and alarms were buzzing on a patient a
few beds down from where Mulder lay.  Scully homed in
on her partner, totally forgetting about the escorting
physician.

He had been cleaned up meticulously, she noticed, but
nothing could hide the contusions and lacerations on his
face.  She tore her eyes away from his visible injuries to
check the monitor's readouts of his vital signs.

All were within normal limits.  She turned to face
Maryanski.

"The entire reason he was in surgery," Maryanski
began answering while Scully was still opening her
mouth to demand those answers, "was to repair internal
injuries.  He was assaulted on at least three separate
occasions: first by garrotte, then by cosh, and then,
while he was down and probably unconscious, he was
punched and kicked several times in the body.  But if
there was any sort of explosion in his vicinity, none of
his injuries reflect it."

"There's something for which to be grateful," Scully
muttered.  "What did you have to repair?"

"His left kidney is badly bruised; there was some
uncontrolled bleeding.  We used a laproscopic laser;
the abdominal incision is only three-quarters of an inch
long.  Once we got that bleeding stopped, he stabilized
very nicely; I don't think the concussion is very bad at all. 
He'll need to be monitored, but these days that's not
really enough to keep him here.  Banning complications
I anticipate releasing him in the morning with
instructions to see his personal physician in three
days."

Scully allowed herself a slight smile.  "He'll be thrilled. 
He hates hospitals."

Maryanski lifted an eyebrow.  "Given the summary of his
medical history we got when we called to verify his
insurance, that's surprising."

Scully shook her head.  "Not really.  He just doesn't
always take the possible consequences into
consideration before he jumps on top of moving trains. 
He considers risk to himself the least important factor."

Maryanski nodded slowly.  "I've known a few like that. 
And they aren't always male."

Scully shrugged.  "Our personal safety is a
consideration; it just isn't always the prime
consideration.  We have sworn to serve the public
good, just as you have.  If Ebola broke out here, you
wouldn't stampede for the door.  You'd stay and work. 
That's your calling.  This is ours."

"I could never do your job," Maryanski sighed, shaking
her head.

Scully flashed her a real smile as she watched the staff
preparing to move Mulder out of the room.  "And I could
not do yours."

"I'll see you later, Agent Scully.  If you need me for
anything, I can be paged."

"Thank you, Dr Maryanski."  Scully followed her partner
as he was wheeled out of recovery and into the hallway. 
She never noticed that the surgeon left.

As the orderlies pushed him into a private room two
floors up, Scully saw him begin to stir.  By the time all
the monitoring leads were reconnected and he had
been neatly tucked in, he was blinking dazedly, trying to
focus on his surroundings.

She put her hand over his just below the IV.  "Mulder."

His restlessness ceased at once.  He turned his head
toward her and tried to focus on her.

"Sssh..."  The word slurred when he tried to say her
name.

She put a finger on his lips to silence him.  "I'm here,
Mulder.  Just sleep.  I'm staying."

"'Kay..." he breathed.  His eyes had never opened
entirely and in moments he was asleep.  She knew he
would not waken for some time.  She settled down to
wait.

##############################

He first became aware of how much his head hurt. 
Then, as more awareness filtered in, it became a
contest to see whether his head, his throat or his belly
hurt more.

He moaned and the sound startled him.

"Mulder?  Are you awake?"

That was Scully's familiar voice and for a moment he
basked in it: whatever else happened, he could always
depend on her to show up and take charge.

"Scully?"  He thought his voice sounded awfully rusty
and for a moment he wondered wildly how long he had
been unconscious.

"Of course it's me."

He could hear her smile and returned it without thinking.

"Don't try anything too strenuous," she warned him. 
"Let's start with opening your eyes."

That seemed reasonable.  He blinked until he could tell
where she was, but he could not truly focus on her.  He
frowned, annoyed.

"You've got a concussion, Mulder," she always knew
what to say.  "Is your vision blurry?"

"Yeah.  Can't focus."

"Don't force it.  Just relax."

"Easy for you to say."

"Yes, it is."

She was grinning again; he could hear it.  "What
happened?" he grumbled.

"I'm not at all sure, Mulder," she admitted.  "The last I
heard, I was trying to help you with the exit pass code to
that rail car."

"1-1-3-2-3-1..." he repeated the code as the memory
slowly became clear.  "I remember that.  Then what?"

"I don't know; you stopped answering me.  From
available evidence...?  You were slugged; hence the
concussion.  The doctor believes you were hit several
more times and kicked, as well."

"What about the bomb?"

She shrugged helplessly.  "I don't know.  It doesn't seem
to make sense for someone to assault you this severely
and then carry you to safety and call 911 to get you
necessary medical attention."

"He wouldn't've..."  Mulder slurred.

"Who?"

"The guy in the car guarding the alien."

Scully let that slide.  "What wouldn't he have done?  Hit
you or saved you?"

"Saved me.  He tried to strangle me earlier."

"That's how you got the wire cut on your neck, then."

"Yeah."  He let his eyes fall shut against the too-bright
lights.

"Tired?"

"Yeah.  'N' groggy."

"That's the concussion," she assured him.  "Catch a few
zees while you can."

"You wakin' me up every hour for neuro checks?"

"You betcha."

"Peachy..." he muttered as he settled back.

##############################

By dinnertime he felt much better and was sitting up in
bed.  He managed to eat the uninspiring meal, and
decided that hospital menus were improving.

"Improving how, Mulder?"

"Well, their menu-writing skills, anyway.  They called that
entree 'chicken paprikash' and they spelled everything
right."

She chuckled.  "How's your head?"

He made a face.  "It still aches, but it doesn't slosh like
a half-full bucket anymore."

"That's good.  It was the concussion that most worried
me."

His fingers went to his throat, where butterfly-style
bandages kept the nasty cut from the garrotte closed.

"Don't touch that, Mulder."  She did not have to say why;
she knew that he knew.

"I was actually going to say," he let his hand drop, "that
it was the abdominal surgery that bothers me the most. 
I got beat up; what was that for?"

"Your left kidney was badly bruised and bleeding; they
went in to stop the hemorrhaging."

"Hemorrhage is an ugly word..."  He glanced up at the
IV stand, where a unit of whole blood had lately drained
into his arm.

"Yes, it is."

"So when do I get out of here?"

"How about now, since you haven't comedown with the
creeping crud or hatched an alien out of your chest,"
came a jocular voice from the doorway.

Mulder shuddered at the image; Scully went utterly
white.  "What do you mean?!" she demanded, rising to
stand between her partner and the stranger, her right
hand hidden behind her back on the grip of her
GLOCK.

Dr Kresko, the floor resident, was somewhat taken
aback by the depth of their reaction.  "Mean?  I don't
mean anything... it was a joke!  There was an Alien film
festival on last night!  Jeez...!"

Gradually, Mulder and Scully let themselves relax.

"You aren't funny," Mulder assured him.  "Not even a
little bit."

"I gathered that.  Time to check your progress.  If you'll
excuse us for a few minutes, miss...?"

Mulder looked at her and their eyes met.  She grinned
faintly.  "Sure.  I'm going for coffee.  See you in a few,
Mulder."

"Bring me some!"

"In your dreams!"

She shut the door behind her, but Mulder noted that the
door didn't latch and he didn't hear her boots clattering
down the hallway.  She was lurking outside the door in
case he needed her.  He relaxed and watched the
doctor, who had two fingers on his wrist and was
actually counting his pulse.

"Doesn't the telemetry tell you my pulse rate?"

Kresko shrugged.  "Machines malfunction."

"No!  Say it ain't so!"

The doctor chuckled.  "Your pulse is elevated.  Did that
alien joke scare you that much?  Your girlfriend went as
white as a sheet."

"Not /that/ alien," Mulder grumbled.

"Is the fourth movie that much scarier?"

"No.  It's just a bad docudrama about several of our
cases," Mulder snorted in disgust.

Dr Kresko stopped and stared at him.  "What?"

"Never mind," Mulder shook his head.  "You wouldn't
believe me, anyway."

"Try me."

Mulder studied him for a moment.  "Check my blood
tests," he said finally.  "You'll find enough weirdness to
keep you busy for a few days."

"Why?  Are you an alien?"

Mulder snorted.  "No.  But I've encountered a few and
they've done things to me.  I can't donate blood; there's
no telling what would happen to the poor sucker who
got it."

The door opened and Scully came back inside. 
"Mulder, stop trying to scare him.  Your blood's weird
enough all by itself."

Dr Kresko glanced at her.  "You believe him?"

"Believe him?  I'm the one who rescued him both times
he was taken.  I'm the one who told him.  He's a
psychologist, not an MD.  He can't read lab results."

"Your blood's weirder than mine," Mulder pointed out
mildly, hiding the pain her words had sparked.

"They held me longer," she said coolly, not looking at
him but studying the doctor.

Mulder felt a chill all the way to his bones.  "Not
because I wasn't trying to find you!" he protested.

Scully heard the distress in his voice, now, and moved
to his side.  Her hand came down, featherlight, on his. 
He stilled, staring at her.

"I know," she said very quietly.  "I know."

Dr Kresko cleared his throat nervously, embarrassed
by the intimacy of the moment he was witnessing.

The FBI agents turned to look at him and he was even
more embarrassed because they were not.

"Look, all your tests looked good, Agent Mulder. 
Barring unforeseen circumstances, I believe we will be
discharging you.  How does that sound to you?

"Terrific," Mulder nodded and turned his hand over so
he could take hold of Scully's.  "Thank you, Dr Kresko."

The medic hurried out.

The agents turned to face one another.

"Mulder?"  Scully could feel something in the room but
she did not know what it was.

"Scully, I hunted for you every waking moment all the
while you were gone!"

"I know you did."  Her voice was soft.  "Skinner
explained, let me read some of the files.  You weren't
much use to anyone, were you?  Not even yourself."

"I was a mess," he agreed, letting his attention drop to
their hands, still clinging to one another.  "I felt like an
amputee, Scully.  Half my brain was missing and I
couldn't think."

Scully took a deep breath.  "We can't have this
discussion here, Mulder.  We're spending the night in a
hotel down the street and we're flying out tomorrow. 
Wait till we get to the room."

"All right."  He was not happy, but neither was he
surprised.  Scully did all she could to avoid dramatic
emotion, and he knew he was on the brink of tears...

A few minutes later he was wondering what god of
bureaucracy had suddenly decided to smile on him. 
The discharge planner was there only moments later
with paperwork for him to sign, including the follow-up
instructions, for which he had to sign a receipt.  Scully
took charge of all the paperwork, left him privacy to get
dressed and then walked alongside his wheelchair as
the orderly pushed him down the hall.

He had been dreading an uncomfortable silence, but
she was not quiet.  Scully chatted amiably with the
orderly and included him politely, though he answered
briefly and did not really participate.

As soon as they were in the car the curtain of silence he
had been dreading fell.  He stared out the window,
trying not to look at her.

Did she really feel that way?  That she had rescued him
twice was certainly the truth but her tone had applied
censure; she had been able to rescue him but he had
been unable to even find her.  That was a slam he could
barely face.  He had been hagridden by guilt for months
and now she had slapped him with the tacit accusation
that his guilt was appropriate; that she held him
responsible, if not for her abduction itself, but for the
duration of it and all that she had suffered during it.

He shuddered at the horror of it.  He honestly did not
know what had been done to her, but the effect had
been nightmarish.  Since it was unlikely that she could
have been kept sedated for the entire three months, at
least part of her memory loss had to be traumatic
amnesia.

The thought of what that trauma might have entailed had
given him nightmares for months.  The memory of it was
enough to shake him.

He was not surprised to learn as they walked through
the lobby that she had checked in here when she had
first arrived, before she had come to find him in the
hospital.  He was equally unsurprised to find that she
had not left the hospital once.

She walked with him as he slow-footed his way down
the carpeted hallway and she opened the door for him.

The hotel was a Residence Inn and this was a two
bedroom suite with a great room in between.  He made
a beeline for the couch.  Scully made one for the shared
bathroom.

He made himself comfortable, toed off his running
shoes and put his feet up on the coffee table,
positioning himself so he could watch the bathroom
door.  When she emerged she had changed her clothes
and was wearing soft pale green sweats.  When she
met his unwavering gaze her step faltered.

"Scully..."

It was only two syllables, but there was a thousand
words'-worth of pleading in his tone.

She nodded, understanding.  "What would you have
done if I hadn't been returned, Mulder?" she asked
softly, continuing their conversation right where they had
left off.

"I would never have given up," he said quietly.  "You
know me that well."

She nodded again.  "I know you that well."  She gnawed
on her lip for a moment, and he realized that she had
washed off all her makeup.  "Skinner told me he was
surprised you survived that California debacle."

Mulder shrugged.  "It was a disaster from the get-go,"
he agreed.  He avoided her eyes, not wanting to admit
everything that had happened.  "That girl committed
suicide and I couldn't stop her."

"I know you tried," she assured him.  "Were you
planning on surviving?"

He blinked at her, startled.  "What?  I wasn't trying to
die, Scully.  I was trying to save Kristen and capture the
vampires and I failed miserably."

She met his gaze unblinkingly.  "That's not what I
asked."

He looked away, clearly unsettled.  "I wasn't planning on
dying," he insisted.  "But I was depressed as hell; I
wasn't sleeping, nothing was funny, I was obsessing
over every tiny bit of physical evidence I had that you
had ever been real."

Horror began to bubble up in her throat.  "What did you
do?"

"I stole the tape from your answering machine from
Evidence and had a copy made; then I sneaked it back
inside.  Every night I'd lie on the couch and listen to it
over and over and over.

"Why would you do that?"  Now she was nonplussed.

"At first it was listening for clues; the tiniest of hints. 
But..."

"Go on, Mulder.  It's well-past time we talked about
this."

He looked away from her but listened as she came over
and sat beside him on the couch.

"There weren't any clues on the tape, Scully.  Just your
voice, screaming my name, screaming for help and not
getting it.  Sometimes I can still hear you in my
nightmares."

She slid closer, reached out and captured his hand in
hers.  "I'm here and I'm not leaving."

"You weren't planning on leaving that time, either," he
pointed out.

She frowned at the hollow tone of his voice.  Her fingers
began to gently massage his.  "It's not your fault,
Mulder."

"If you weren't my partner, they wouldn't've ever taken
you."

She nodded slowly.  "True enough.  But you didn't
choose me, Mulder.  We're both being manipulated and
managed.  We don't know how or by whom, but I know it
isn't you."

"But..."

"But nothing, Mulder.  Blevins sent me to the X Files. 
You weren't consulted and you had no control.  If anyone
pasted a *take me!* sign on my ass it was Blevins."

"Or Cancerman."  He knew Cancerman sat in on her
debriefings, she had never been told not to keep him
updated on those meetings so she always had.

"Or whoever gives them their orders," she pointed out.

"It's still..."

"... not your fault!" she snapped, cutting him off.  "You
know I don't believe in aliens, Mulder, but there clearly is
a conspiracy of some kind going on and it is our duty as
federal law enforcement officers to investigate."

"You don't have the kind of personal investment in it that
I do, Scully," he whispered, afraid his voice would
crack.

"How can you say that?" she growled at him.  "They
took three months of my life, they took my health, my
sense of personal security and any hope I ever had a of
a normal life!  Not to mention manipulating
circumstances to repeatedly put us both, but especially
you, in mortal danger!"

"I don't care about me..."

"Well, I do"!  she snarled.

He stared at her, stunned.

She suddenly realized what she had said and blushed a
deep deep red.

"Scully...?"  He was feeling his way through this
emotional minefield blindfolded and he had no idea
where he was.

"While you were sleeping off the chicken paprikash I
started reevaluating my career as a field agent, Mulder. 
Do you realize that since we've been partnered I've
been taken prisoner and held against my will three
times, knocked unconscious once, assaulted seven
times and exposed to infectious disease at least
twice?!  You've had it even worse: you've been taken
and held eight times, assaulted more than that and
exposed to the same infection?"

He swallowed hard.  "You want to transfer to White
Collar Crime?  Or back to Quantico?  I'll sign it if you
really want to go..."

But she was shaking her head in the negative and he
discovered he could breathe after all.

"No, Mulder.  That's not what I want.  I was just
marveling at our luck."

"Luck?"  He was totally at sea again.

"Mulder, I saved you from Ellens AFB.  You saved me
from Eugene Tooms.  I backed you up against the
Jersey Devil; you believed me in the Arctic.  I took care
of you after the fire in Boston; you took care of me after
you got me safely away from The Kindred up in
Steveston.  I'm seeing a pattern here; how about you?"

He nodded warily.  "We're partners, Scully.  That's what
partners are supposed to do."

She smiled faintly and cocked her head as she studied
his expression.  "I suspect it's more than that, Mulder. 
Much more."

Now he was less upset but still wary.  "Much more
what?" he risked the question.

She chuckled and slid closer, till they were
side-by-side, touching from hip to knee.  Their hands,
his right and her left, still tightly clasped, were now
resting on his thigh.

"Mulder, I'm not very good at the usual girl-stuff.  I
learned hair and makeup by taking classes at a
cosmetology school.  It was a professional skill I
needed to cultivate, so I invested a summer in it.  I've
rarely dated since high school and I've only had four
significant adult relationships."

His heart lurched in his chest.  "D- Do you think you
might be open to a fifth?" he asked, incredulous that
she had turned the conversation this way.

"Mulder, as near as I can tell, I'm in that fifth relationship. 
I have companionship, assistance, loyalty, affection,
fellowship, deep and abiding, unshakeable trust...
everything but the physical side is already here.  And
I've never been happier in my life."

He ignored the latent explosive she had left in that
statement and around it.  "Happy?  Are you really? 
After all the pain and agony I've put you through?!"

"You didn't put me through it, Mulder," she said softly,
"you got me through it.  It's a consequences of our jobs
and the work we do.  But without the intensity of what we
have endured together, we might not be where we are,
now."

Mulder swallowed hard; he could barely bring himself to
believe what she had said but he was desperate to do
so.  But the question begged to be stated out loud and
finally he yielded to it.

"Where are we, Scully?"

Her eyes dropped and he suspected she was staring at
their joined hands.  He could not take his eyes off her
face.

"Mulder, I spent sixteen hours not knowing if you were
alive or dead, with no idea where to even start looking
for you.  It was a nightmare that I don't ever want to
relive."

"I'd rather not, either, you know," he said softly.  "I was
worried about never seeing you again."

She looked up long enough to flash him a quick grin, but
then looked down again.  "More than just that," she
continued, her voice so low that he had to strain to hear
her.  "I was nearly overcome with regrets."

His mouth opened but he could not seem to inhale
properly.  "Regrets?" he whispered.

"Regret that we'd never had a conversation like this
one," she explained.  "Regret that I'd never told you how
much you mean to me.  Regret that we had so rarely
touched..."

She let that last word trail away.

Greatly daring, he pulled his hand free of hers and
substituted the other while he draped his arm over her
shoulders.  He caught his breath in stunned amazement
when she snuggled closer.

"Scully...  I don't want to jump to any hasty
conclusions..."

She chuckled.  "I'm not trying to deceive, inveigle or
obfuscate," she teased.  "I can't imagine my life without
you in a primary role in it.  No one else even comes
close to comparing to you."

"Wow."  He was awestruck.  "I only hoped you might
feel that way someday, Scully.  I never dreamed I
actually would get to hear you say it."

She let her head rest against his shoulder.  "Should I
infer from that that you don't object to me feeling this
way or expressing myself this way?"

"Object?  Scully, you're fulfilling fantasies that I've been
hiding from you for years."

She looked up at him then, startled.  "Years?  Years,
Mulder?"

He nodded.  "Years."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

He shrugged helplessly without letting go of her.  "There
really isn't a good time for a department head to
approach the only agent he actually supervises and
confess mad and passionate love.  I'm Spooky Mulder,
the FBI's most unwanted, Scully.  I got the basement
office because most people were glad to see me shut
away down there.  I've been waiting for you to get a
better offer and move on ever since we got back from
Bellefleur."

"Why would you expect me to leave you?  Have I shown
any sign of it?"

He shook his head.  "No, you haven't.  But everyone
leaves me, Scully.  No one ever stays.  It's not always
bad, God knows... but it's inevitable.  I tried not to think
about what I'd do when you left."

"Why?  What would you do?"

"Nothing."

She frowned.  "Nothing?"

"Nothing."  He shrugged.  "Nothing would matter.  I can't
imagine doing anything."

She used her hand in his as a fulcrum and swung her
leg over to sit astride his thighs, facing him, forcing him
to look at her.  When he had felt her start to move he
had released his hold on her and let both arms fall
away, freeing her from all restraint.  She reached down
for his hands, placed them on her own hips, then put her
own hands on his shoulders.  She deliberately settled
herself snugly against him, belly to belly, and leaned in
until they were nearly nose to nose.  She stopped when
his eyes started to cross trying to keep her in focus.

"I'm not leaving you.  And you, by God, are not leaving
me.  Never again, Mulder.  I can't handle the ditching, I
can't handle the not knowing.  You take me with you. 
That's an order."

Slowly he smiled at her.  "An order?"

Scully grinned.  "Yep.  Whattaya say to that, Mr Special
Agent Department Head?"

He sighed contentedly.  "There are no words to
describe the depths of your insubordination, Agent
Scully."

Her grin widened.

He leaned in and kissed her hard.

It was so sudden that she froze in shock for one stunned
moment, then she wrapped her arms tightly around him
and kissed him back.  They broke apart long minutes
later, gasping for air.  She looked into his eyes and saw
their usual bright hazel had been replaced by the black
dilation of lust.  Where their bodies were pressed
together she could smell her own arousal and feel his.

Her fingers slid down his shoulders, down his chest,
and she began to unbutton his shirt.

He gasped sharply at the first touch of her fingers and
she hesitated.

His fingers walked up her back into her hair, then
emerged to caress the line of her jaw.  He kissed her
there, small kisses along her jaw that moved up to her
ear and lingered there, teasing, and then moved behind
her ear, licking and nibbling very lightly.

She let her head fall back and he took the hint, trailing
down the column of her throat, feeling her pulse
pounding against his tongue as he followed her carotid. 
His hands slide down her back again: one hand
flattened itself against her back to support her and the
other slid inside her sweatshirt to cup her nearer breast,
thumbing the nipple till it peaked.

When his mouth engulfed her breast she gasped.  She
had no idea when or how he had disposed of her bra...
no, wait, she had not been wearing one.  She was
shivering in earnest, now, and realized that he had
tossed her fleece top aside so he could work on both
breasts unimpeded.

When his teeth scraped gently across her aureole and
nipped gently at her nipple she felt her body respond of
its own accord, her pelvis rocking toward him.

Her hands abandoned his hair, where she had laced
her fingers to keep him targeted.  Now she went for his
shirt again, trying to unbutton it by touch.  Finally,
impatient, she ripped it open and heard the buttons go
pinging across the room.

He chuckled and let go of her breast.  "In a hurry?" he
murmured.

Her fingers went to his nipples, then, rubbing and
scratching lightly while she stretched upward to capture
his mouth with her own.

This time she kissed him, hard and demanding, sucking
on his tongue until he crushed her body against his own. 
Her hands went down again, popped the button at his
waistband and shoved the zipper down.  Her hands
went in underneath the elastic waistband of his shorts
and shoved both boxers and slacks down together.  He
lifted his hips to make it easier for her and then kicked
the garments off.

Naked but for his now-open shirt, Mulder stood up
cradling her upright in his arms.  "Tell me you're not
playing with me, Scully," he begged, his voice gone
breathless.  "Tell me this is what you want."

"This is what I demand," she growled, wrapping her
still-fleece-covered legs around his waist.  "We're
bonded, Mulder.  There isn't anyone else in the world for
me, or for you.  And I want all of you."

He pulled her more tightly against his body and carried
her into the nearer bedroom.  She rocked her hips
against him until he pulled himself free by main strength. 
She would have protested, but his hands were on her,
pulling the fleece leggings off her as he laid her back on
the bed.

For a moment they stared at one another.

He was tall on his knees above her, straight and strong,
washboard abs above thick dark hair that drew her
eyes away from his.  She had seen him naked but never
before erect.  She moaned and shivered at the thought
of what was about to finally happen.

She lay on her back, her hair fanned out to frame her
face.  Her body was flushed and trembling with arousal,
and he was sure he had never seen anyone so beautiful
in his life.  Her feet were flat on the mattress, her knees
raised and spread wide, welcoming him.

They both felt the tension building.  Once taken, this
step could never be retracted, never be undone.  The
status quo could never be restored.

She held out her arms to him and he let himself fall into
them, catching himself before he flattened her beneath
his greater weight.

He had landed, by design, with his face between her
breasts.  He resumed his adorations there until she was
moaning and writhing beneath him.

"Quit teasing, Mulder...!" she gasped.

"I've never been more serious in my life," he protested. 
But he trailed kisses down her body, then, pausing at
her navel until she squeaked, then progressing further
south until he could bury his face in auburn curls.

"All this and a real Irish redhead," he sighed happily.

She rocked her pelvis forward a bit, nudging his chin
with her mons.

"Never let it be said that I refused to give the lady what
she wanted," he murmured.

"Then quit talking," she growled.  She gasped, then, as
his tongue began its dance.  Her head fell back, and her
hands reached for the headboard.  She tightened her
grip there till her knuckles were white.

She had never been touched like this before.  Certainly
previous lovers had indulged her orally, but only as a
duty, to be fair.  She had long known that her partner
had an oral fixation; his sunflower seed addiction had
helped her realize that.  Now she was realizing what
kind of strength and dexterity his tongue had
developed... and she was quickly overwhelmed by
sensation.

He kissed.  He lapped.  He stabbed at her with the
stiffened tip of his tongue.  He caressed her.  His hands
were on her body as well, but she could not pay much
attention to that when his mouth music was so exquisite. 
Her body was trembling, her nerves singing along with
the rhythm he was establishing.  He ignored nothing,
missed nothing, overlooked nothing.  He hummed as he
worked against her flesh, and the tiny vibration titillated
her, raised her arousal another step, until her own voice
emerged from her open, panting mouth, adding another
living component to the song.

"Ohmigod, ohmigodmulder, ohmigod, god, god...  Oh,
god, harder, please,
rightthererightthererightthereohmigodohmigod OH MY
GOOOOOOOOOD!!!"

Her body leapt against his face but he had felt her
coming and held her down, using strength she had not
suspected he had or would use against her.  Pinned
against the mattress, her hands locked on the
headboard, her legs locked around his body, forced
lower by his arms which were holding her body down,
her orgasm thrummed through her body and her initial
scream became a panting, rhythmic wail of shock and
amazement as he did not let up on her, and her orgasm
did not wane.  She was helpless, trapped, forced to
vibrate against the bonds of masculine flesh and bone
that weighed her down and forced her to keep
experiencing that exquisite contact.  She drummed her
heels against his back, hardly aware of it, her eyes
squeezed shut and her mouth open as she gasped for
air.

Just when she was sure she could not stand another
moment of this ecstasy, he lifted his mouth off her. 
Shocked, she opened her eyes in time to see him grab
her and pull her to him.  He buried himself inside her
and she screamed as it all started again.

"So hot... so tight..." he panted in her ear as his body
surrounded hers.  He was deep inside her, spreading
her wide, and he was all around her, his body warm on
top of her and his arms holding her tightly.

He was not being rough but his strength was
overwhelming as he stroked in and out.  Her arms were
locked around his ribs, her legs around his waist,
fighting to match his rhythm.  She clung to him with all
the strength she had.  The rhythm alone was
intoxicating.  The blinding fireworks of her first orgasm
yielded to the slower, red-hot lava flow of this dance.

"So good, so good," she chanted.  "Don't stop... please
don't stop..."

"I'm not stopping," he promised, his breath hot against
her skin.  Instead, he shifted slightly and started moving
more quickly, snapping his hips so that his body
hammered at hers.

She lost the power of speech altogether as her own
body ratcheted up to another level of arousal, one that
she had no recollection of every having experienced
before.  She knew there were sounds coming from her
mouth but she could not hear them.  She could hear his
voice but if he was using words she could not grasp
their meaning.  All rational thought was swept away.

Mulder yelled his triumph and filled her with hot lava. 
The wave of heat washed up her body and exploded in
her head.  The darkness that followed was a surprise.

##############################

Groggy, she forced her eyes open.  She felt, as Mulder
had once expressed it, rode hard and put away wet. 
She ached all over.  She was sweaty and sticky...

She froze as the nature of the sweaty and sticky
dawned on her.  Then the arm that was draped over her
waist tightened and pulled her back to snuggle against
his body.

"Mornin', Scully," her partner's voice murmured sleepily
in her ear.

She rolled toward him to lie on her back without pulling
away from him.  "Good morning."

He leaned down and kissed her lightly.  "I never know
what to say in this situation.  Not enough practice, I
suspect."

A tiny frown furrowed her brow.  "What do you mean?" 
He actually looked a little embarrassed, which intrigued
her.

"I'm not exactly Don Juan," he answered defensively.

"You mean you haven't been systematically working
your way through the secretarial pool at the Hoover?"
she inquired.

"Me?"  He was clearly startled.  "No!  You've got me
confused with someone else!"

She laughed softly.  "There's a group of 'em who are
constantly comparing notes on who they've had," she
explained.  "There are several claiming carnal
knowledge of you.  There are several photographs of
you being circulated, usually with associated claims."

He looked shocked... and then slightly sick.  "What...
what sort of photos?" he managed to ask.

"Harry Summers showed me his favorite," she smiled
faintly.  "Do the words 'FBI natatorium' and 'red
Speedo' ring any bells?"

"Cameras aren't allowed down there!"

"You're walking with Agent Krycek in the shot I saw,"
she went on.  "In most of the copies you're alone;
they've cropped Krycek out because he had separate
trading value.  Harry's got the hots for both of you."

Mulder actually shuddered.  "Oh, my God..."  He flopped
onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

Scully slithered over and settled down on top of him. 
"Relax, Mulder.  Harry's a gentleman; he wouldn't have
shared with me if he hadn't seen how shocked I was
when I heard two of the pool girls trading photos of you,
Krycek and Moe Bocks, along with two DEA agents,
four Secret Service guys and a Congressional aide."

"Moe Bocks?!" he repeated incredulously.  "He's a nice
guy and a good agent, but..."

"Apparently he's a body builder."

"Damn."

"So all these girls are lying when they discuss your
prowess?"

"I have never slept with any of them, I swear."

She nodded thoughtfully.  "And it's a little late for us to
discuss pertinent sexual history, isn't it?"

He came back to her, snuggled close.  "I really don't
want to discuss past sexual partners, but we really
should... if this is more than a one-nighter..."

She could hear the hope in his statement, and
managed to keep from smiling at him only with difficulty. 
"I don't do one-night stands, Mulder.  Ever.  I have had
four lovers before you: one in college, one in med
school, and one in the Academy.  Number one and
number three are dead; number two is a cardiologist
and lives in Baltimore.  Number four lives in DC but he
dumped me when I accepted the transfer from Quantico
to full field agent status.  He could not handle the idea of
me traveling all over the country with another man, nor
could he handle the idea of his girlfriend carrying a
firearm."

Mulder grinned and kissed her.  "His loss.  Okay, I lost
my virginity in high school and my innocence at Oxford. 
That's two.  When I came back to the US I was playing
the field for a few months but I rarely got invited inside.  I
rarely got two dates from the same girl and that got old. 
I quit dating while I was profiling; I just didn't have the
time or energy.  Finally I got out and started working the
X Files.  They assigned me a female agent as a
partner."

"Was she nice?" she asked, fighting to sound casual
through the flare of jealousy that had swept through her.

"She was... accommodating," he said, clearly
uncomfortable.  "She wanted me... and I was focussed
elsewhere.  Looking back on it, she seduced me.  She
was very skilled; I never suspected it wasn't all my own
idea until it all fell apart.  I paid for the annulment when
she took an assignment in Europe."

Scully stared at him.  "Annul...  You married her?!"

He nodded, shamefaced.  "One of the worst decisions
of my life, honestly.  She was a manipulative bitch,
Scully: she used sex to leverage everything.  I'd always
thought that Phoebe was bad news; Diana made
Phoebe look like an amateur."

She shuddered.  Phoebe Green had unnerved her and
his passive acceptance of Phoebe's plans had
infuriated her, though she had carefully hidden that from
him at the time.

"You know, I nearly left you to Phoebe that night in the
Venable Plaza," she remarked.

He blanched.  "You wouldn't've..."

"Until I saw how you reacted, I had had every intention
of excusing myself and leaving the two of you alone.  It
was pretty clear you'd gotten that room to co-habitate
with her."

"What changed your mind?" he inquired warily.

"When you got up, you were wearing just your boxers
and your robe, which was hanging open," she recalled. 
"I enjoyed the view, and you didn't seem to mind.  But
when Phoebe stuck her head into the room, you
ostentatiously pulled the robe closed and tied the belt
tightly.  You didn't like her ogling you.  And she was."

He shivered at the memory.  "I believe I thanked you for
staying; let me say it again: thank you for not leaving me
to her.  I might not have survived that night if you had."

It was her turn to kiss him.  "Sometimes, Mulder, you
are just too gentle a person," she admonished him.  "I
know you were raised not to hit girls, but there are
viable reasons for making exceptions.  She certainly
qualifies."

He shrugged a little.  "That training runs too deep,
Scully.  I can't.  I just can't."

She nodded, understanding.  "Good thing you've got
me.  If she comes back, or if someone like her surfaces
in your life, you just stand aside.  I'll handle the bitch for
you."

He stared at her.  "Have I got you, Scully?  Really? 
Finally?"

She laughed.  "After that performance last night?  You
may never sleep alone again as long as you live!"

He shook her gently.  "That's just sex and that's not what
I mean!"

She met his gaze unflinchingly, steadily.  "I know that's
not what you meant, Mulder.  I love you, and I'm a
possessive bitch.  I never learned to share and I do
NOT play well with others."

He relaxed visibly.  "Good.  I don't want to share you,
either.  Does this mean you aren't going to get upset
with me if we're drowning in testosterone in some
distant police station and I start acting like the alpha
wolf?"

"No promises," she chuckled.  "Just don't get arrested
and we'll probably be okay."

He moved smoothly to slide over onto her, settling into
the cradle of her hips; she moaned as he thrust lazily
between her legs, not trying to enter, yet, but testing her
readiness.  Her body flexed against his.

"No arrests, gotcha."   He bent to kiss her and she
threw her arms around his neck, wrapped her legs
around his ribs.  "Is that a hint, honey?"

"Sweetheart, if you need a hint at this point, there's no
point," she chuckled.  "Go for it."

"Are you ready?"

Her hands moved up until she could thread her hands
through his hair.  He thrust at her again and she
moaned, then fisted her hands in his hair and dragged
his mouth down to her own.  She kissed him fiercely
and rocked her body hard against his.  He groaned as
sensation overwhelmed him and his body responded. 
He slid one hand under her to tip her pelvis just so, and
used the other to guide himself home.

As he sank into her she moaned into his mouth through
the kiss, and they both felt her body trembling.  His
movements began very slowly, taking his time, making
her feel every millimeter of his plunge inside and then of
his withdrawal.

She let go of his hair and wrapped her arms around his
body as far as she could reach.  "Mulder, I don't want
you anywhere near any more explosions except... ohh...
this kind... ohh... mmm... in bed."

He slowed, concentrating on her words.  "Oh?  I have
this nifty fantasy involving you, your dining room table
and a can of aerosol whipped cream."

She giggled -- actually giggled! -- and he had to grit his
teeth as her entire body participated.

"You realize that you're implying that we're going to do
this again and frequently?  Or am I misinterpreting
you...?"

She blew out a breath in frustration at his insecurity. 
She slid her feet down his legs and used her toes to
tickle the backs of his knees.  When he tried to jerk
away from her touch she relented and leaned up to kiss
him on the end of his nose.

"You may want to reconsider that; I am demanding and
frequently insatiable, Mulder."

He sighed happily and settled back against her, sliding
a little farther inside as she moved to accommodate
him.  He resumed his lazy rhythm.

She let her hands fall away and went limp.  "Take me,
Mulder.  I'm all yours."

He immediately began to move more quickly, more
strongly.  "There is a God, after all," he panted.

"And He answers prayers!" she shouted.