Odd Habits IV
By RocketMan


Disclaimer: see part one


==========
"Is that official FBI business?"
-- Dr. Kurtzweil, FTF
==========

I've forgotten why the hell I let him in here tonight.

Oh yeah, he was already here.

And I let him stay? How crazy is that?

Crazy. We're all going crazy. Crazy since he came to me one night and said that 
the only way to find the truth was to make our own lies, lies that included his 
own death, my own loss.

Crazy. Definitely crazy.

Crazy for him to come to the hospital and kiss my forehead, my cheek, my hand. 
Crazy for him to come with a chip to stick back in me. Crazy for me to be on a 
bridge and watch others burn. Crazy for a little boy to be able to read minds, 
to read my own flickering love for Mulder. Crazy for us to try to kiss in his 
hallway as I cried and as he thought he'd lose me forever.

I shudder.

We've gone nuts.

And tonight more than proves it.


==========


There are too many shadows now, too many things creeping through the dark.

Mulder and his shadows, Mulder and his creatures that hide in the light and eat 
humans at night.

Yuck.

I just want to go to sleep.

Or maybe not. What I *want* to do would be another one of those crazy things 
that just shouldn't be happening anymore. Ever.

It seems my body has decided to take control for the night, because here I am, 
at the door, breathing again.





There is silence now.

Silence. Tomb-like, speaking of forever and dirt and buried alive.

Speaking of leaving behind an old, worn-out body for a new, glorified creation.

I like the second idea much better. Much better.

The door snicks open and creaks lowly as it swings through the darkness of the 
hall.

The small things click and scratch like little rat claws, and the big things hum 
and groan like old men getting put to bed for the last time.

I step to the first floorboard and hold my breath as it creaks.

Nothing.

I tread lightly down the hall, stopping to watch for ghosts or phantoms in the 
mirror, then turn into the living room and my couch.

He's sprawled. 

That's the best word for it.

Sprawled. A good word for how Agent Mulder is most of the time. Legs and arms 
hanging every which way, mind off on a thousand tangents while I'm still stuck 
here, prim and proper and neat and tidy.

His arms are flung up, one leg practically hanging off the back of the couch, 
other leg touching the floor. His eyes roll with dreams, his body shudders in 
either fear or ecstasy, and his fingers twitch as if he is touching, touching, 
touching.

Always he touches.

I slide up to his worn out looking face and peer into his blank, riddled 
expression.

His eyes pop open.

I jerk away as he starts up, drawing his body back into some semblance of order 
while I try to convince myself that he was *not* simply waiting for me to come 
for him.

He was *not.*

"Scully?"

"Yeah."

"What are you doing?"

I glance to him, picking out a convoluted story that would involve danger and 
drama and a little bit of coldness, enough to keep him from asking anything 
more.

"Well, I --"

"No wait, never mind. I don't want to know."

What a dirty little man.

"Mulder. I was not --"

"No, don't tell me. I don't want to even hear about your sleepwalking or other 
such excuse."

"Was sleepwalking an excuse?"

Suddenly he looks trapped.

My mouth drops open and I stare right at him, more turned on than mad, but I 
can't let *him* see that.

"You weren't sleepwalking?!"

He chuckles suddenly and yanks me down to sit next to him.

"Hell, no, Scully. You think I'd do that in my sleep?"

"I was hoping . . . you did that even in your sleep."

His eyes turn dark and wicked and I suddenly think maybe teasing him isn't such 
a good idea. He's not used to this from me.

"Uh . . ."

"Stay right here, Scully."

"Mulder, maybe I should --"

His hands touch mine, slide right on past my knuckles, to my wrist, along my arm 
and skimming my elbow.

It's kind of heady, making me just a bit nauseated and hungry all at the same 
time.

"You're staying right here."

I can only nod, let him take back my control, let him decide whatever he wants 
to decide, because I don't want to think.

If I started to think, I'd remember how crazy this is.

He gently moves me right next to him, spooning his body around mine, slipping 
his hands to my stomach, his chin to my shoulder.

I close my eyes, forget to breathe.

"Scully?"

I think I couldn't answer him, even if I wanted to.

"You do know how much I want you?"

There's no breath, no words, no thought.

There's no reality anymore, no straight lines and places to go.

I shake my head slightly, move to see his face, to know his eyes, know his 
features more incredibly in this moment than any other.

As I turn my head, as I move to find him, his hands slide up my sides, like 
water fire, along the curve of my breasts and to my face, holding me.

Holding me.

His lips whisper to mine and meet.

Meet.

I know how much he wants me.


===== END PART IV=====