RocketMan I

Alive Alone

Bananas

Beautiful

Afternoon Delight

Mulder

I glance to her, watch the sunlight streaming in behind her like the

flash of a UFO coming to take her away, then shake my head and blink

slowly.

She makes a noise with her mouth. "Mulder. How much sleep did you get?"

I sigh. I lie.

"About six hours."

She nods, accepts my lie and says nothing more.

She really can't say much more. She has no stake in my personal life

anymore.

I lean back, pulling a file folder and my computer keyboard with me,

typing in furiously as I balance it on my knees.

My report is filled with spelling errors when I let my brain get faster

than my fingers, but I don't bother to check it over. I simply save it

and shut down the computer.

I stand and catch the last of the light as it fades, wondering why I

always have to wait for the sun to set before I feel any kind of courage

whatsoever.

What is it about the rising darkness that gives me some perverse

strength?

Scully looks over at me and shakes her head.

"I'm not finished," she says and nods for me to go on.

But the sun is down now, and my own self reasserts into that male pride

and ego again.

That male pride that's still bruised and broken and withering most

times.

"I'll wait." I say and sit down on the edge of her desk.

She glances up at me, stares hard as if she can cowl me into retreating,

like I usually do, like I would have done had I not finished so late.

"Mulder, go on, already. You're annoying when you watch me."

I smile, the curve of my lips teasing her.

"Yes, but I like to watch you."

She rolls her eyes, slips out of her chair and stands to face me.

"Fine. I'll finish it tomorrow."

I shake a bit because of this new freedom I have over her, or rather

this dominance that's suddenly appeared.

The night is my territory.

And she also doesn't have a car. Hers broke. She's catching rides from

me every morning and afternoon.

I haven't had so much control over her since we were married, and that

brings out the worst in her now.

So I guess I'm feeling a little superior because of it, a little more

daring and testing.

She scowls and picks up her stuff and breezes out.

Since I picked her up this morning, she hasn't said a single word.

Neither have I. It's not my time yet. It's morning, bright, blinding,

not my place yet.

I want to have her touch me like she used to do when she rode with me.

That small hand squeezing mine when she got in, the soft kiss on the

cheek as she waited for me to start the car.

She doesn't do that anymore.

Because she doesn't think she has that claim over me anymore.

She doesn't realize this, but she does. We may be separated, but she

personally owns every little piece of me, and if she wants to completely

destroy my control and kiss my cheek, then I'm all for it.

Being forced to share a car has only made us more nervous, more touchy

about things, more ready to snap at each other.

Her hand sneaks to the radio and I bat it away.

I hate listening to classical when you're in the middle of a large,

noisy, obnoxious traffic jam on the interstate of all places.

And I hate listening to classical because it reminds me of the time we

made love to the radio, matching tempo to one of Bach's pieces that sent

us dizzying into spirals of frenzied ecstasy.

She plays classical all the time.

Right now it's techno and dance mix and something else that sounds a bit

like steel guitars mixed with recorders. Odd, but it sends fury and heat

out at everything and saps me of my rage.

Saps me of my tension, my urgent need to reach over and grab her mouth

and never let go.

Scully tells it gives her a headache.

She says it louder.

I glance over.

"I'm sure you'd rather have a headache than my tongue down your throat

if we listened to classical."

She stares at me for a second, confusion expressed in every line of her

face.

"What did you say?" she askes, leaning forward.

If she had really heard me, she wouldn't be leaning forward, not leaning

forward and turning down the volume too.

I can't wait this one out.

I can't simply shove everything away and ignore her anymore.

The traffic is stopped at the junction of an entrance ramp and a new

construction site where there just happened to be a major accident too.

It's now or never.

Now.

Or Never.

I don't want never.

I lean forward, pull in so close to her I can't even see her features

anymore. She's breathing lightly, quickly, her mouth parted.

I touch my tongue to her lips first, a sort of white flag sent to the

bigger, better army in hopes of peace.

She hitches her breath and I can feel it whistling past the heat of my

tongue and evaporating the moisture from her lips.

But she's not pulling away.

I close in, press my mouth against hers hot and fast - worried she's

going to back off at any second and also worried that we're going to end

the kiss and have to drive twenty more minutes to work in humiliating

silence.

But I can't hold back. It's now or never and I want her now.

She moans along my lips, her moan ending in a tight, trying to be

contained whimper that literally makes me weak.

Her arms catch me and I pull her closer to me, push her breasts against

my shirt so I can feel all of her, everywhere.

Her body curls up on the seat and she shrinks into me.

I have never felt anything so small, so needy as her right then.

And then a horn honks at us and I look to the road again and everyone

has moved up and the exit is clear.

I gun the engine and yank the steering wheel to the left because it got

crooked when I pulled her into me.

She's retreated again.

I fly off the ramp, swerve to avoid oncoming cars, cause I really don't

care at this point, and then screech into the only gas station near

here.

She is shivering.

"We can't do this Mulder."

I want to shout at her that we did it once before, but we all know how

that ended up.

"I want this Scully. You do too."

She shakes her head. "We thought that when we got married, remember? And

when we separated, we realized it wasn't anything but being overworked

and together for so long that-"

"No. You decided that based on half crazy ideas that I put in your head

because I was too scared to let myself love you. I do though and I can't

just wait around for this to happen to us again."

"Mulder. . ."

She looks up at me slowly. "You lost your chance."

I freeze and tear my eyes from hers, blinking rapidly and staring out at

the too bright sun.

I shouldn't have grabbed her.

But she's still officially married to me. Being Catholic she's got this

hang-up about divorce. And I didn't want to divorce her at all. I just.

. .got scared she'd be taken from me again.

Stupid. Moronic.

A pitiful excuse for simply not having the guts to love Dana Scully, not

having the guts to let myself actually *be loved* by Dana Scully.

For not having the guts to make myself worthy of her love.

I had lost my chance.

"Please," I hear myself say.

She is silent.

"Please, Scully. Another try at this?"

I don't look at her because then I'd start to cry, and if I cried, then

I was pitiful and not worthy to be called her husband.

No worthy to sit in this car with her and have her still even here since

I grabbed her like that.

I had no right personally, even though by law I had all the right I

wanted.

She takes my hand softly, traces patterns there with the lines, then

sighs softly.

"Let's go to work Mulder."

I start up the car.

I sigh. I lie to myself.

>That's Scully's way of saying maybe.<

"Thinking of you's working up my appetite

Looking forward to a little afternoon delight

Rubbing sticks and stones together makes the sparks ignite

And the thought of loving you's getting me

so excited.

Sky Rockets in flight.

Afternoon delight

Ah. . .Afternoon Delight."

Scully

I can't think at all.

No when every single memory cell in my brain is replaying what happened

in the car this morning.

The half formed words I caught coming from his mouth when I attempted to

turn the radio station still echo chilly through me.

Tongue. . .your throat.

And the thing is, it was those half words that made me respond to him

when he tentatively placed his lips to mine.

If he saw the myriad of images going through my mind right now, he'd

throw me to the floor and never let me up until we forced home by the

janitors.

I've needed his touch for so long.

And today, I had it.

I had it and I brushed it off.

I can't believe I did that.

When we got married it was like this hunger that I couldn't ever turn

off.

When we had the huge fight and spoke painful truths to each other about

reality and love, it seemed that hunger had been cauterized by his

violence.

I didn't think I'd ever want him to touch me again, not after the things

he said to me, not after the way I'd hurt him.

Too late, a part of me screams.

I want him, I *want* him, hell I've always pathetically loved him, even

as pitiful and uneffectual as it was, I've needed that touch on me.

I tell myself that this touch, that the return of the native as it were,

is the only thing that's making me react like this.

I sigh. I am lying to myself again.

That's one of the things he said to me.

>Why do you always lie to yourself?<

And I had told him that I must have lied to myself about him, thinking

he was everything I needed.

I had hurt him for hurting me.

But none of it had ever been a lie.

I feel it break within me.

I feel the wave of held back tension come washing through me like a

tsunami destroying a village and it's so clear, so simple again.

I love him.

Even as awful as he made me feel sometimes, he still made me feel

wonderful.

I glance up to the clock, see it's only two in the afternoon.

I think for a moment about waiting.

No.

No, this can't wait any longer. He started it for us, I'll finish it.

Or maybe what I'm doing is putting the air back into our sails and

letting us rediscover the world.

"Mulder?"

He glances up. His thoughts are not on finishing cases.

Mine aren't either.

"Let's go home."

There's a moment of utter silence as he regards me.

I have no panic, no fear. I know what he will say.

He stands slowly.

"Okay. Home."

"Sky rockets in flight

Afternoon Delight. .

Ah. . ah. . Afternoon Delight.

end

adios

RM

Alive Alone

Date: Wed, 05 Aug 1998 21:11:47 +0000

Author: RocketMan >[email protected]<

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is

intended. What's so bad about sharing?

Notes and Dedication: Thanks go to Pandora again, for sending me the

lyrics again.

SPOILER::::::The movie. Just a reference.

Content: MS-UST, no Angst, just stupidity

Alive Alone

~~~~~

"And I'm alive

I'm alone

And I never wanted to be either of those. . .

And she shines

she shines for me

she shines for me"

--'Alive Alone' Chemical Brothers

I promised myself this wasn't going to be a pity party.

It's not.

I won't let it anymore. I can do better than sitting at home on my couch

watching television and simply wishing for things I don't think I can

have.

I almost had those things. I can have them again.

I can. I can.

A kiss (almost) in an empty hall, a brush that went nowhere but said

everything. Light hands touching, whispers of feeling threading through.

It had been an impulse, but it remained a fact.

I won't let myself slide back into that destructive funk wave I was

riding for about three years there. The wave that built up when she was

taken and I could only think that I had done it to her.

My wave has crashed into the shore and it's a glorious beach: white

sand, palm trees, coconuts, life. And this island is ripe. Deserted

except for one thing:

Scully.

It's like I'm sunbathing and getting warm and toasted all over,

stretched out in the sand and feeling the little fingers of sunlight

massaging every inch of my skin.

That's what she does to me.

Right now, though, in this ratty dim light, with the noise of the Three

Stooges making me realize just how pathetic I am, I don't feel so hot.

I feel rather like I'm having that pity party.

Because she's not here. I'm not there with her, and she doesn't want me

there either.

I know.

I called.

I asked.

She refused.

Refused.

Not a polite, oh sorry, but a downright shouted "NO" don't come near me

kind of panic.

I don't want to be here, alone, by myself, having no one but myself to

think about. I want to be with her, even for an hour, even for a second.

Just to reinforce my earlier decision: that I can get over my stupid

depression, that I don't have to wallow in the horror my family was

steeped in.

Without her is deep darkness.

In her I find light.

She shines.

Stupid, corny, cliche, yes. Yes! Gloriously cliche. Wonderfully

hackneyed.

It's a mervelous feeling, being so normal as to be cliche. Cliche.

Nothing for me is ever cliche.

I want the phone to ring.

I want her to be on the other end, telling me that I can come over, that

she will shine some more for me.

She doesn't though.

She just doesn't.

I wonder why.

Isn't this the part where she calls and the story actually goes

somewhere, redeems itself from being some long, drawn-out, emotional

tirade against the forces that conspire against me?

Yes. I'm pretty sure something is supposed to happen here.

She is supposed to call, to tell me to come over and let my ego rest,

let my depression lift.

Yet she doesn't.

Because this is real life.

And I'm alive.

And alone.

And she's shining for herself.

Not for me.

end

adios

RM

this was a kick in the head for me, how about you?

Bananas

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox Productions.

No infringement is intended. SPOILER FOR ALL OF THIS SEASON.

Bananas

"Shout it out to the night-give me what I deserve, cause it's my right.

Shouldn't I have this, Shouldn't I have this, Shouldn't I have all of

this and

Passionate kisses, passionate kisses, passionate kisses from you..."

--"Passionate Kisses" (can anyone remember the singer?)

I walk through the apartment, stopping to peer out the window for his

car, and then head on to the kitchen. I rifle through some of the

cabinets looking for fruit, but knowing I don't have any. I am craving

some fruit. Like a pear or an apple, or even better, a banana. I love

bananas.

If he brings bananas, maybe it is fate.

I stop again by the window, a bit worried because he was suppsoed to

have been here long ago, and I can't help but think of the tree falling

and smashing into his car, right where he should have been.

But he didn't get in a wreck. I know it.

I would have felt that for sure.

I slip back into the kitchen and rummage through the fridge, vainly

giving myself something to do instead of waiting for him because I know

my imagination will dream up horrible things when all that's happened is

Mulder being Mulder. Late as usual.

I really want some fruit. A banana. I can feel the banana squishing

through my teeth, yellow fuzz in my mouth and the aftertaste of . . .

something. Potassium maybe, like the aftertaste of those zinc lozenges.

"Mulder! Hurry up!" I say into nothing, wishing him here faster so that

I can leave for the grocery store and bananas.

I see the car pull into my apartment lot and his tall lanky form ease

out from the driver's seat, his hair blending with the dirty light of

dusk and the leather jacket he always wears.

I unlock my door and sit on the couch, pulling out all the paperwork and

receipts and reports and everything that goes with a case. My stomach

growls and grumbles at me for making it wait, but I couldn't leave him

wondering where I had gone to run get some bananas.

Of course, Mulder can be an hour late and leave me wondering....

He steps inside smiling and with a brown bag in his hands.

I jump up, eyes traveling to the bag. Maybe? Maybe he really . . .

Nah. Way too much to hope for. Probably pizza or something. I'll have to

settle for that instead.

He comes over to the couch and sinks down, pulling on my shirt hem to

make me sit too.

I lift an eyebrow and watch as his hand delves into the bag and

retrieves a plastic sack with.....

bananas.

"Mulder!" I say, jerking away a bit because this is really too spooky.

"Sorry. I know it's not pizza, but something told me we needed bananas

tonight and I-"

"All right! Way to go, Mulder."

I snatch the curved fruit from his hands and jump to my feet. "Bananas!"

"Didn't know you liked them so much." he murmurs.

"I have been craving a banana all day!"

He smiles and shakes his head. "See, communication, unspoken."

I sit back down and pull off the plastic around the bunch, ripping some

off in my haste.

He takes them from me.

"Hey!"

"Woah, Scully. Slow down. You'll bruise them and then they'll be no

good."

I nod and grab for them again.

He jerks them away and smiles. "Let a man do this," he says and winks at

me.

"Oh, and a man won't bruise them?" I spout angrily, flashing him a

deadly look.

"A real man doesn't hurt innocent bananas, Scully."

I give him a small tiny recognition grin for his joke, unwilling to give

a full smile for such a stupid thing.

"Okay," he says handing me a single beautiful sunny yellow banana,

fulfilling all of my dreams at that moment.

"There you go." He talks into my hair because I have tilted my head

forward to inspect it causing his lips to brush my bangs making tingles

race through my skin. This is not because of the banana.

He reaches over me as I struggle to start the peeling, and grabs it from

my hands again. "Here, let me," he says and digs his finger into the

soft flesh of the stem, breaking it cleanly and easily.

I smile a thanks and take it back, ready for my lips to touch the soft

surface, my tongue to slide along the moist fruit.

Mulder watches me very carefully with eyes that swirl like creamer added

to coffee and his mouth parts, as if watching me is erotic.

I feel my cheeks flush and I stop chewing and swallow, the banana not so

appetizing as the man before me.

His face comes forward and his breath puffs out across my nose and upper

lip until I can feel the protons and electrons charging the air and I

sink into him, lips colliding.

As he tastes the fruit of my mouth, laced with the fruit of mother

nature I can feel him shudder through me like a plow dragged across

rich, dormant soil, awakening it into new epiphanies of sunshine.

And all I wanted was a banana....

end

Beautiful

Dana Scully came into her apartment with the feeling that something was

wrong. She turned on the light and pulled her gun from its holster,

straining her ears for the sounds that would prove to her there was

something wrong. Her body tensed automatically and she heard nothing but

the steady hum of the refridgerator.

Feeling like Mulder, she stepped carefully into the kitchen, eyes

searching for any sign that a man was in the house, because that was

what her instinct was telling her. A man was in the house.

She heard it then, as she approached the bedroom, the distinct sound of

someone breathing. She cocked her head to listen better and realized

that the man was sleeping. It was a steady in and out, a soft and gentle

rhythm.

Carefully, she opened the door to her bedroom, wincing when it creaked.

She saw black, thick shoes, then jeans, on the floor by her phone.

Confusion caught hold of her and she opened the door, more curious than

fearful.

It was Mulder, passed out on the floor, looking like he had been

through hell and back several times. And she knew how much he hated

fire.

"Mulder?"

He moaned and stayed asleep, and she crept beside him, holstering her

gun. She touched his cheek and his eyelids fluttered. For a moment she

thought he would wake, but hten his eyes shut again; she sighed.

"Mulder? Come on, wake up."

Scully let her fingers trail across his forehead; he had a slight

fever, not too bad. Then she touched his lips, his breath came hot and

fast. Maybe he was having a dream . . . but how did he get to her

apartment and on the floor?

"Mulder?"

He yelled and jerked, managing to twist his body halfway around adn

slam his head on the nightstand next to her bed. He groaned and turned

sheepishly to see her. When his vison cleared, he studied her face, then

glanced around the room in confusion. Annoyance feld from her to be

replaced by concern, which he could see in her eyes.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You tell me, Mulder. I thought you were suppsoed to be gone already. I

was just about to leave after I got off work, remember?" Scully frowned

and helped him stand. He stood crazily, listing back and forth, and his

eyes couldn't seem to focus.

"Leave for where?" he said, still confused.

About her, about him, about where he was.

"For Ashtebula, Ohio, the next X-File."

He turned to face her, almost knocking himself off balance. "What?"

"Mulder? Do you remember anything?"

He thought for a moment. "Should I know anything?"

She felt panic clawing through her, but she squashed it. "Do you know

where you are?"

He shrugged. "Maybe my apartment? I don't see why else I'd be here."

"No, Mulder. You're in my apartment."

His face grew slack for a moment and he bit his lip. He let her sit him

down, and then looked around, finally letting his eyes fall to her.

"Could you tell me who you are?" he whispered.

He wished he hadn't. For a split second, her face crumbled and he saw

pain and sadness etched there. But then came the stern exterior, the

polished expression.

"I'm your partner, Dana Scully."

His eyes shot up. "You mean like lover?"

He saw a faint flicker of something, but it died. "No, in the FBI."

His mouth hung open. Then he looked around again.

Something was nagging about it all. Something missing.

"Where's Samantha?" he said, feeling a sense of dread.

Scully felt her heart sonstrict. How was she supposed to tell him

that?

"Mulder . . . Samantha was taken, a long time ago."

She watched in horror as his face crumpled and his eyes turned into

black pools of self hate and sorrow. She wanted so much to reach out to

him, to hold him, but he didn't even know her.

<So make him know you. He needs comfort, give it to him like you

normally would.>

She went to him and wrapped her arms around him, holding his head as the

silent tears fell. For the first time, she realized just how much of a

raw festering wound his sister's abduction was for him. Would he ever

stop blaming himself?

"What happened to her?" came his throaty whisper.

"Oh, Mulder, don't make me tell you that. . . "

He jerked form her like he'd been burned, and she had a hard time

keeping her face from cracking.

"Tell me, Dana Scully. Tell me why it hurts so much, why it makes me

hate myself."

"I don't know why, I don't know. I don't think you should hate yourself

for it, but you do anyway."

"Tell me," he hissed, his eyes different to her, more spiteful, less

Mulder.

So she told him, standing with her back turned from him, putting as much

distance, emotionally, as she could.

It didn't work. She felt her heart fragment and burn away, just as it

had when Roche had claimed horrible things to him. When she had wanted

to stand up and spit in his face for hurting Mulder so much.

She felt the same now, but it could not be directed at any one thing,

and so she looked away and let him cry over Samantha. It was the frist

time she'd seen him cry about her. Usually he talked about it under the

cloak of his wild, self-protecting alien theories, or with the almost

breaking down of a man in constant contained torture.

He was crying now.

She couldn't just stand there.

She went to him again, despite the fear that he, the only one she

trusted, would push her away.

She touched his shoulder and he turned his face toward her.

"Thank you, thank you for telling me," he whispered, and it was hte old

Mulder again. The one who could get anything when he looked at her like

that.

She carefully slipped her arm around him and held him close to her. He

collapsed onto her body, heavy and firm, very man and very vulnerable.

She wanted to kiss him.

She tuned the thought out and let her fingers run through his long

hanging bangs.

"What is X-File?"

She felt her heart slow and her bloos speed up, causing her body to

shake a little.

"It's all the files that the government either doesn't want solved, or

thiks are too weird for regular agents. To us, it's the truth, the only

thing that holds the answers, if we can get to them before they're

gone."

He breathed in and out, then sat up, eyeing her. "What was the

question?"

She was floored.

What was the question?

She had been with the X-Files, searching for answers, telling him she

already knew the truth, just wanted answers, and she didn't even know

the full extent of the question.

"I guess I always trusted you to have the question. But there are many

of them. What happened to your sister, can you get her back, why did

they kill my sister, and your father, and just how much was he-"

"Oky, I get the idea." He sat back in the couch and watched her for a

moment. "Why do you stick with me?"

<because i love you

because i need you

because my life without you is worse than my life with everyone else who

was taken from me>

"Because it's my search too."

"Oh, a territorial kind of thing. Don't want to give up something that

could be good."

If he hadn't already been suffering from amnesia, she would have slapped

him.

"No." she said coldly.

"Well, that's not good enough. Sounds to me like you've lost a lot, your

sister for one. So why stick with it?"

"Well that's the way it is, sorry if it isn't good enough."

"That's not 'the way it is', Dana Scully. I can see it in your blue

eyes, that's very much not the way it is. So how is it?"

<it is that i love you

and i could never leave you

and don't want to

and never ever will they separate us because....>

"I don't know, ask mulder."

"I am Mulder."

"So answer it."

Scully was getting uncomfortable. This was unexplored country and she

didn't want anything coming out because he was conked half out of his

mind.

"I think," he saod slowly, "it's because you . . . well, no, something

like that should be so simple, right? So easy."

<oh dear God he knows

he knows>

"Not everything is so simple, so easy."

She was shaking.

"Maybe not in your world, our world."

He was smiling perculiarly . . . Mulder the Cheshire Cat.

"Definitely not easy in our world."

"So make it easy." HIs eyes lifted and she could see fever approaching.

She stood and pulled his legs down all the way, and hten pulled the

throw over his shivering body.

"Don't change the subject," he said.

"I didn't say anything," she protested.

"In your face you did. It changed subtly. One of those, I was in the

mood to talk but now it's uncomfortable so I'm not anymore."

"You're pretty annoying when your mind goes, Mulder." she sighed.

"You're pretty beautiful when you're annoyed."

She froze, then righted herself swiftly away from his intense eyes.

"Can I not tell you that? Without you freezing up? It's nothing

romantic, it's the truth. What happened to your seacrh for the truth?"

He was teasing her. She could deal with that, she knew that.

"As far as I remember, it never entailed questioning the details of my

outward appearance." she said with a quirky almost smile.

"Well, from now on, it will. I promise to tell you a truth at least once

a month, just to remind you. But I really wasn't talking about your

outward appearance. I was talking about your soul; it's beautiful."

" . . . I was talking about your soul; it's beautiful."

"How do you know that? Your head's all messed up." she scoffed.

"How eloquent." he said with a sarcastic wince. "I know that because you

told me about Sam, and even though you didn't want to, even though you

knew it would hurt, you told me the truth. And I'm sure you spared me

most of the details, too." His eyes softened into something very

un-Mulder-like. "And you're either a really good friend, or a lover."

Her face showed nothing, no emotion whatsoever, and he wondered what

nerve he had hit there. It was odd to be talking like this with a woman

he did not know, but felt as if he owed her his life a hundred times

over. He also felt like she was completely off-limits.

He got a bad feeling.

"You're not married, are you?"

She smiled with his sudden look of fear. "No, but it would serve you

right if I were."

"Why, do I love you?"

<He's going to kill me with these questions. I can't pretend anymore.>

She turned angrily from him, but did not let him see her anger.

"How should I know?"

"Sorry," came his soft voice. "I thought maybe . . ."

She stood silently and waited for him to finish, her heart not beating,

her breath ragged.

"I don't know. I kind of thought you loved me. And that I loved you."

<oh . . . . i'm going to die . . . did he really say that?>

She turned around and went to his side, squatting beside him and looking

in his eyes, seeing Muder there in the depths. It was him talking, not

the amnesia.

"Yes, I love you. But you usually don't notice."

Her mouth was dry, palms sweating. <this so stupid, what am I doing?>

"Well, then, that makes more sense. I thought so."

<didn't he know how hard this was? did he appreciate how hard it was?>

"I love you too, I think."

She would just die now, just die and -

His lips were on hers, soft and gentle, and she stiffened for a second,

then melted into him. He moved her closer so that her hips were pressed

against the couch and her breasts into his chest. She could feel his

heart slamming hard against his ribcage and she felt her own heart

rhythm do the same. She felt him move again, and she was suddenly on top

of him and hot, so very hot.

"Did you not know that?" hew whispered suddenly, and she missed his

mouth.

"That you loved me? Maybe, but we never said anything or acted on it."

"Are we not allowed to?"

"I don't know, maybe."

"Too bad then, huh?"

She smiled and felt his lips come back to her. They tickled her neck and

came hot and wet to her chin, then on her lips, melting her own heat.

She felt so good, they felt so good, and -

She felt him shudder and then his body tensed.

She was off him immediately, and kneeling next to the couch. She touched

his forehead and felt heat, more hot than his lips on hers, and she

didn't even know that kind of heat was possible.

Her own lips still burned.

She let her hand caress his cheek, then whispered. "I'm going to get you

some Tylenol. You don't have a concussion, and the amnesia should go

away quickly."

She frowned as he nodded listlessly.

"Amnesia is so rare, I don't see how you could have gotten it."

She went to the kitchen and opened the cabinet door for the Tylenol. The

red capped bottle greeted her cheerfully and she shook out two of the

white pills into her palm. She then ran water into a glass and brought

both in to him.

He was weak, she saw as he sat up, and he wasn't protesting like he

usually did. Of course he had also kissed her, and he didn't normally do

that either.

"Mulder, sleep for now," she said, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

He nodded but pulled on her arm. "Come here."

She bent down and he tenderly placed his lips on her mouth, eyes closed,

and she felt heat flow into her body, making her flushed everywhere.

"Thank you Dana Scully. Remember you're beautiful. That's a truth." he

whispered and then fell back into the couch, ready to let sleep claim

him.

She felt her ribs tighten around her heart and she turned from him, to

make the tears go away.

But she had to turn back and kiss his forehead.

Just in case.

Then she carefully tiptoed out.

She began to pack automatically, before realizing that there was no way

they could go to Ohio now, not without Mulder.

So she laid on her bed and thought of his lips fastened hotly on her,

arms circling her.

And she fell asleep.

Dana woke slowly, feeling something tickling her cheek, but not knowing,

or having the strength to find out what it was. She remembered Mulder

and dragged her eyes open.

He was there, on the side of her bed, his shirt rubbing against her

cheek, but his eyes elsewhere.

She closed her eyes again, she was so tired, and she didn't want to face

him and his open honesty, not yet.

He placed a hand to her back and she realized that the heat was gone.

No heat.

Her heart constricted again, her stomach flipped; something was changed,

something was different.

"Scully?" came his soft voice.

<oh God, why are you doing this to me?

he doesn't remember again, or rather

he remembers, but not the love,

oh God why are you torturing me like this?>

She opened her eyes slowly, and saw his face in front of her, amusement

in his eyes.

"Are you okay?"

She sucked in a deep breath and raised up, then sat beside him, face

frowning.

"I'm fine. How's your head?"

"What?" he said, before he had time to think. He winced then and said,

"I have a huge headache, what happened?"

Her heart sank back into the murky recesses of despair; she wanted to

cry. All that with him before, and he didn't remember. All the hard

words she had finally allowed herself to say . . . gone. Forgotten.

"I found you in here, on the floor and out cold. I woke you up, put you

on the couch and you fell right back into unconsciousness. I couldn't

wake you." she lied. She couldn't tell him the truth, he'd want to know

what she'd said, what had happened and she just couldn't do that again.

It felt like she had lost him.

He watched her carefully, and realized something more had happened, but

he didn't know what. He trusted she would tell him when she was ready,

so he let it go. Maybe something had happened that disagreed with her

beliefs, and she was trying to assimilate it.

Her eyes, he noticed, were bright blue and sleepy, with softness around

the sides and something in them he didn't recognize. He felt a feeling

rush into him, something he couldn't describe. But it made his hand go

to her cheek and caress it with the back of his fingers, softly.

He watched her eyes and saw with amazement something burn in them.

He wondered what idiot had nicknamed her the Ice Queen. She was so soft

and warm, almost hot, and he had to force his arm down with reluctance.

His eyes slid down, away from hers, and she saw his jaw work under the

skin, the muscles smooth and bunch with whatever was on his mind.

"Scully, you . . . you look beautiful." he said, with a hesitant and

puzzled look on his face. He couldn't figure out why it was so important

that he tell her that.

She let her eyes slide away and felt tears build in them slowly.

He took her chin and rotated her head back to him.

His eyes softened. "Don't cry. I'm sorry . . . I just had to tell you."

She shook her head and smiled beyond the tears, making a rainbow appear

in his heart. She was furious with herself for letting this man make her

cry twice in one night.

"Don't apologize. I'm just surprised a little, I guess. You . . . you

mean that."

"I don't lie to you, Scully."

"I know," she said quietly.

He had promised to tell her a truth. Even though he could not remember

that promise, he was keeping it.

But he loved her, she knew that.

Or at least part of him, somewhere did.

Or thought he did. Or-

She sighed and watched Mulder head for the kitchen. She'd keep that to

herself, in her heart, and allow the little thrill when he touched her,

and the slight tightening of her chest when he loked at her.

He turned back and saw her sitting on the bed, wrapped in her feelings.

His eyes softened and turned very vulnerable for a moment. "Scully?"

What new revelation would he dump on her heart?

"Do you have anything to eat? I'm starving."

She smiled.

How could she say no to those eyes? The ones that had asked her to tell

her the truth about his sister, the ones that had cried over her, the

ones that had told her he loved her?

She couldn't then; she couldn't now.

"Yeah, come on, Mulder. I think I have some leftover Chinese in the

fridge."

His delighted little grin followed her out.

end of story

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RocketMan