Title: Desire (NC-17) Author: Alelou Feedback: Alelou123@aol.com (Gratefully received and replied to -- but please remember the 123, or you'll really annoy the poor soul who doesn't have the 123 and long ago lost patience with this.) Rating: NC-17 Category: MSR Spoilers: Big ones for "All Things," minor for "Chimera" Distribution: Gossamer, Ephemeral, Spookys, and anyone else (with headers intact) Disclaimer: Mavis Dunbody is mine. Anyone you've already heard of belongs to Gillian Anderson, CC, 1013 and Fox and is used without permission. "Paradise Seen as a Practical Aspect of Survival" by Mekeel McBride is used without permission. Summary: A would-be alien abductee with designs on her partner and a disturbing encounter with an old lover cause Scully to reassess the nature of her relationship with Mulder. Notes: Thanks to Livia Balaban for skillfully wielded machete beta (and snorking); to MystPhile for her continuing critical insights and support; and to Jamie, Rachel and Marie for keeping me off the streets. Prologue: You lie sleeping in a poem, snow outside unable to become again anything but snow and you will sleep like Beauty for as long as ink lasts on this icy page. I want you to be warm. Here is the word for blanket, a quiet blue, a kind of unobtrusive wool. The world outside your window whitens. The space between things deepens. Listen, let me say something tender to you. There is at least one day of good weather waiting for you folded like the hum of magic inside a harmonica. And the Paradise River sleeps as pliable and yielding as a question mark inside your kitchen faucet waiting for you to release it, allow it to drop the miracle of desire, its white diamonds into the deep cup of your every-day waking. -- "Paradise Seen as a Practical Aspect of Survival," by Mekeel McBride "Tell me again why we're here, Mulder?" Scully asked, as she surveyed the front lawn of Ms. Mavis Dunbody of Ridley, West Virginia. Ms. Dunbody, it appeared, was an avid collector of lawn ornaments. Her small front yard featured a wide-ranging collection of plastic ducks, swans, Canada geese, squirrels, raccoons and other small animals arranged to form a rapt audience for a statue of Jesus with His hand raised. A few relatively under-sized cows and sheep with worn acrylic fur rounded out this grouping. A narrow garden bed circled the house, filled with what on close examination turned out to be plastic plants. That explained how she got so many of them to bloom in January. "Ms. Dunbody claims to have been abducted by aliens," Mulder said, absently, examining with horrified fascination the collection of small cement cats and huge wooden butterflies that swarmed the wall next to Ms. Dunbody's front door. "You're here!" a voice exclaimed from inside, and they were quickly motioned inside by a tall 50- something woman whose figure might be described as Rubenesque by a kind person -- though Ruben had never squeezed one of his subjects into a flowered rayon pantsuit until the seams strained. Nor had he ever bleached and curled a subject's hair into quite so remarkable a tower. "I can't tell you how much I've looked forward to this," Ms. Dunbody continued in a dramatic whisper. "I knew, Agent Mulder, that you were the only one who would believe me." With a nervous smile, he motioned to Scully. "Miss Dunbody, this is my partner, Special Agent Dana Scully." "Pleasure, I'm sure," Dunbody said sweetly, with barely a glance in her direction. Scully realized that to Ms. Dunbody she was all but invisible. Of course, in this room, almost any one might be invisible, because it was crammed floor to ceiling with hundreds, even thousands, of collectibles. Scully catalogued shelves and cabinets and tabletops full of cabbage patch dolls, Barbies, Beanie Babies, pigs of all kinds, teacups and saucers with floral motifs, tiny ceramic thimbles, miniature doll-house furniture, cows, elephants, as well as religious icons of Jesus, the Holy Family, and miscellaneous saints. A section adjacent to the Jesus corner was devoted to the little green alien motif. Judging from the lack of cobwebs and dust, it was a newer interest. Peering into the adjoining dining room, Scully noted that the large dining room table had been given over to a computer and teetering piles of newspapers and romance paperbacks with titles like Love's Savage Embrace. She turned her attention back to the conversation. "You have no idea how I've longed for this moment," Ms. Dunbody was saying, huskily, her hand on Mulder's arm. "Ms. Dunbody, would you mind if I used your restroom?" Scully asked. Mulder looked aghast. Scully ignored him. He had insisted that they had to check this report out. Let him suffer the consequences, and maybe they wouldn't have to waste time on this sort of thing quite so often in the future. "Of course not, hon," Dunbody said, sparing her only the slightest glance. Was that a touch of contempt, Scully wondered? Couldn't believe I was stupid enough to leave her alone with my man, perhaps? She took the opportunity to peek into the back rooms of the house. Mavis Dunbody's bedroom was a cross between a little girl's room and a bordello, only more crowded. Decorated primarily in frothy cream lace and red velvet with a busy oriental carpet, it featured what to Scully seemed like an excessive number of gilt-edged mirrors, reflecting back upon each other and creating the illusion of even more froth. Shelves crammed with framed pictures and dried roses and similar sentimental knick-knacks occupied all remaining wall space, and neat piles of paperback romances filled up the corners near the bed. Scully was somewhat taken aback to realize that except for some fashion model-style pictures of Mavis herself, almost every picture was of Mavis with a man, usually in a close embrace. She counted at least thirty of them. And every man was different. On the mirror over the cluttered vanity table, she noticed a newspaper clipping about a UFO seminar that included a picture of Mulder looking particularly debonair. Below it ranged a large, dusty collection of perfumes and those little liquor bottles they sold in airplanes. She sighed. A quick check of the bathroom revealed nothing more ominous than ten years' worth of cosmetics and hair spray, so she flushed the toilet as her alibi and went to rescue her partner. She found them on the loveseat, Mulder crammed as far back into the corner as he could get. Ms. Dunbody was leaning quite close to him and speaking earnestly. "... And when I awoke, I was strapped down to this weird table sort of apparatus. And I was…," -- she leaned even closer to Mulder, revealing a precipitous valley of cleavage in the process, then paused and sighed and batted her lashes -- "completely naked!" This time Mulder's look to Scully was utterly beseeching. Okay, Mulder, she thought, but you owe me. "Ms. Dunbody," she asked, "Had you by any chance had anything to drink that night?" xxxx They left the suddenly chilly atmosphere of Ms. Dunbody's home about twenty minutes later, having established that Ms. Dunbody's memory of her alien abduction was vague at best. Her green aliens quickly changed to grey upon suggestion, just as they ultimately turned out to be speaking English in her head rather than some unknown alien tongue that sounded strange to her ears. Furthermore, Mavis was not only unsure what day she had been taken, but no one had missed her, and she had reappeared from her amazing experience straight to her own bed. Trying to avoid outright calling her a liar with exhibitionist tendencies and designs on her partner, Scully gently suggested that perhaps she'd had a particularly vivid night terror that her subconscious had constructed from the newspaper clipping about Mulder in her bedroom. At this, both Mulder and Ms. Dunbody turned peevish and Scully was happy to add that they really had to go. Ms. Dunbody made one last attempt to keep the visit from being a total disappointment by pulling out a camera and asking Scully to take a picture of herself with Mulder. Scully didn't make any objections, but Mulder paled and ran for the car, mumbling an excuse about needing to make a call on the cell phone. "Sorry about that," Scully said, smiling and shaking the woman's hand. "Well, you can't fault a body for trying," Ms. Dunbody muttered. Scully made her way back to the car with all due deliberation and strapped herself in. "Don't say a word," he said. So she didn't. xxxx In the center of town, he pulled into the parking lot of a diner. Scully followed him, still silent, and sat down in the booth. He ordered a cup of coffee and a piece of pie. She asked for a coffee. They had already eaten lunch and she wasn't particularly hungry. "Okay, go ahead and say it," he sighed. "Say what?" she asked. "That I am a horse's ass." "I wasn't going to say that," she said mildly. She wouldn't have at any time, but especially so soon in the wake of her little adventure with the Cigarette Smoking Man, she was the last one to say I told you so. Still, she was surprised that her partner had fallen for this one. "But, Mulder, why Mavis Dunbody? You screen so many of these people. What about her made it worth a trip out?" "She wrote a good letter," he shrugged. "Her spelling was impeccable and she presented her details in a very logical and persuasive manner. Which, as it happens, is more than I can say for a lot of genuine abductees." Sidestepping any discussion of just how Mulder determined an abductee was genuine, Scully continued, "But you must have checked her out a bit before we came here. What does she do for a living, anyway?" "She told me she used to be an executive assistant." At this, their waitress, who had hovered nearby filling up ketchup bottles, snorted. They looked up questioningly. "Mavis Dunbody weren't no executive assistant," the waitress said. "File clerk, more like." Mulder, naturally, wanted to hear more, even though the X-File here was plainly nonexistent. "How do you know her?" he asked. "I went to school with Mavis," the waitress said. "We were friends of a sort, at least 'til she made her move on my man. Woman can't help herself. She make a move on you?" Mulder opened his mouth and shut it. Luckily no reply was required. "Now that all the local men are smart to her tricks, she's forced to reel them in from outside. You were smart to take someone with you. You have a witness." "What do you mean?" Scully asked. "Only that if he'd shown up by himself, he'd either be serving time as her latest conquest, or she'd be claiming he assaulted her. She's done it more times than I can count. Fairly ruined a couple of young men before people realized what was up. She even tried it on the Chief of Police, and that was kind of the last straw, hereabouts. She's lucky she's not in jail if you ask me." The woman's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "As it is, nobody's sure how she makes her living. She claims her momma left her a truckload of money, but I don't know if that's the truth. She might have thought spreading that around would get her more men. Personally I can't help wondering if blackmail is what keeps her going." There was a pause during which Scully knew they were expected to look impressed. "Then she's never married?" Scully asked. "Oh, noooo," the waitress crooned. "She's been engaged four times, that I know of, but she never makes it to the altar. She can't stop going after the next man, you know. Not for nobody. I tell you, she's a very disturbed woman." She paused and sighed. "It's a terrible pity," she concluded with a complete and utter lack of sincerity, and walked off to attend to a customer. Mulder looked horrified. "Jesus, Scully, do you think she could say anything? How long were you out of the room?" "Not for more than five minutes. I think you're safe." "That's all I need," he said. "You remember Rob Creighton?" "Vaguely," Scully said. "This lunatic woman he interviewed during an investigation claimed he tried to force her to have sex with him. They eventually cleared him of all charges, but it took over a year, and by the end he was so disgusted that he quit the FBI." "What drives a woman to do something like that, I wonder," Scully mused. "What does Mavis Dunbody get out of pursuing you, a complete stranger?" Mulder shrugged. "Maybe she's collecting notches in the bedpost." Casually, he pushed what was left of his pie over to Scully. "That seems like more of a male motivation," Scully commented, matter-of-factly cleaning his plate. "I can't help but wonder if the pictures might be what she really cares about. She had pictures of herself with at least thirty different men in that bedroom." "With the Internet and a decent graphics program, she could have pictures of herself with practically every celebrity in the known world. I noticed she had a pretty slick computer set-up." "Well, don't take this personally, but most of them didn't exactly look like celebrities." Mulder shrugged. "Yet more evidence that it wasn't just a photograph she was aiming for. That woman wanted to get laid." There was an awkward pause. "Maybe we should be getting back," Scully said. xxxx They had a quiet ride back until just outside the Beltway, when Mulder asked, "So you don't think women are likely to be sexual predators?" "Statistically, it's not exactly a significant phenomenon." "How many men are going to report being the victim of sexual harassment by a woman?" Not for the first time, Scully wondered about Mulder's own past sexual experiences. Phoebe definitely had some black widow qualities. She didn't even want to think about Diana, if only because when she did so she usually ended up concluding that Diana had probably used sex to lead Mulder around as needed. It was perhaps telling that in recent years Mulder appeared to have sworn off sexual activity with real live women, though she supposed she could be wrong about that. Like Diana, it was a topic that didn't bear too much consideration. "You think it's common?" she asked. "Just wouldn't trust the official Justice Department statistics on that one," Mulder said. "I mean, it's my experience that there are quite a few women out there who make no bones about hitting on a man." Scully shrugged. "Hitting on a man isn't the same as preying on him. I've known plenty of women who were promiscuous ... I even had a friend once who said she was addicted to sex." "Ooh, anyone I know?" She gave him the requisite look, and continued, "I've also known women who weren't above pulling dirty tricks to get their man. But it seems to me they would do it to get a man or to try to keep a man. They wouldn't keep doing it just to get more and more men. There's actually a theory that, biologically, the primitive instincts in women are geared to getting a man to provide exclusively for her brood, to make sure her genes survive. While men's primitive instincts are to father as many children by as many women as possible, for the same reason." Mulder grunted. She figured he knew better than to comment on that one. "Anyway," she said, "I've never seen any theory in biology to explain Mavis Dunbody." Mulder shrugged. "Sexual abuse in childhood might be manifesting itself in promiscuity. Or perhaps she's projecting the husband and family she never had onto these these men and their pictures with her. Not to mention all those lawn animals and dolls and crap." Scully was nonplussed, drawing a connection to her own situation. So many people thought a woman was incomplete without marriage and children. It was possible she even felt that way herself, sometimes -- but it still hurt to hear Mulder air the concept. He seemed oblivious. It reminded her of that time he made a crack about the ticking of her biological clock. Was it possible Mulder just plain forgot, half the time? That it was just one of those details, like birthdays or anniversaries, that regularly escaped him? "Or maybe there is a biological cause," Mulder said. "Maybe she suffers from an excess of sex hormones. Tooms was compelled to eat livers because of his make-up. Maybe she's compelled to try to lure men into sex." "Hmm," Scully said, abandoning her infertility funk to ponder his theory. "Studies show married people have significantly more sex than single people. She should have kept one of her four fiances." Mulder cocked an eyebrow at her. "That isn't exactly the scuttlebutt I hear from married guys." Mulder actually knew married guys? Well, maybe those basketball buddies. "Maybe the average married guy never thinks it's enough, even if it's more than he ever got before in his entire life," Scully suggested coolly. He snorted. "So, Mulder, guess what drives the female libido." "Is this a trick question?" "It's testosterone, to a great degree. It's even prescribed, in some cases, for lack of libido after menopause." Mulder nodded as he drove. "So did Mavis Dunbody look like she was suffering from an excess of testosterone to you?" "Not particularly, but it can be a subtle thing." Mulder gave her a quick look that she couldn't quite categorize, before looking back at the road. "I don't know, then, Scully," he said. "Because there's nothing subtle about Mavis Dunbody." xxxx It was Scully's considered opinion that Skinner privately found this whole thing hilarious. His ears turned red and he chewed his lips more than usual as he related Miss Dunbody's accusation that Mulder had fondled her and tried to coerce her into sex. "I was right there, sir," Scully protested. "She was the one being sexually aggressive. He was backing away from her as much as possible." "She claims you left the room." "For five minutes, sir," Scully said. "I checked her bedroom. She has photographs of herself with at least thirty different men in there -- and tried to get a picture of herself with Mulder before we left. She also had a newspaper article with Mulder's picture on it. Furthermore, Ms. Dunbody fabricated her claim of alien abduction for the sole purpose of securing a meeting with Agent Mulder." "If local gossip is accurate, she's pulled this same routine a number of times," Mulder said. "Including once with the Chief of Police in Ridley." "Okay, I'll follow up on that," Skinner said. Mulder sighed. "So tell me what the damage is." "Given the circumstances," Skinner said, "I'd say let's have you stick to the office for the next few days until we establish the evidence to clear you. I want a full report from both of you of your interview with her. By your own admission you were alone with her for a few minutes, so Scully's testimony alone isn't quite enough to clear you. But it doesn't appear that finding what we need will be much of a challenge." Skinner then asked Scully to leave so he could speak privately to Mulder. She sat outside, waiting uncomfortably while Kimberly pretended not to notice her. Mulder soon came came out, still looking disgusted. "What did he want?" Scully demanded. "To make sure I wasn't witholding anything just because you were there," he said. "Oh," Scully said. "I wasn't," he added. "I know you weren't," Scully said. Back in the office, Mulder sank into his seat and looked morose. "It's just a few days," Scully said. "This is nothing." "It's just depressing," Mulder said. "It's the pathetic irony of the thing. I mean, I haven't gotten laid in years and I *still* have to deal with shit like this." Scully raised her eyebrows. He shook his head in disgust. "And I never said that, okay?" "Okay," she said meekly. xxxx So he hadn't gotten laid in years, he said. Interesting. She'd wondered. The first couple of years they were partnered there were occasional pieces of evidence to suggest that he wasn't living the life of a monk. She hadn't noticed any in a long time, but she wasn't sure whether he had really stopped dating or whether he had just gotten better at hiding it from her. After the way she'd reacted to his relationship with Diana -- whatever that might have been, but Scully wasn't putting any big money on chaste -- he certainly would have known that she could get jealous, or territorial, whatever it was. On the other hand, it wasn't like Mulder to announce something like that unless he meant it. So it was probably true. And she couldn't help pondering that little tidbit later that night as she picked up some groceries and had a lazy dinner of granola and yogurt with fruit. It was immensely gratifying to know she wasn't the only one in that situation. Still, what was she to make of it? After that sweet kiss at the New Year, she'd been ready to jump to some conclusions about Mulder's feelings, but aside from the odd flirtatious remark between them, nothing further had happened. She'd let the issue subside again in her mind. They were getting along fine; they had the X-Files back. Why rock the boat? On the other hand, it was a shame to share a boat for seven years with a man she found deeply attractive and never get any motion on the ocean. xxxx The next morning the phone rang for Mulder and Scully picked it up because he'd stepped out for a moment. Whoever it was hung up. Later, it rang again and he picked up, then loudly said, "Ms. Dunbody, this is certainly a surprise." Scully scrambled to get the recorder running and put it on the speaker. Mavis was in mid-breath. "-- terrible thing for your career, I'm sure, but I hope you understand I didn't feel I had any choice." "Actually, I'm not at all worried about my career," Mulder said, "Since your accusations are clearly false." "Oh come on now, Fox, we're both adults here." "Are we?" "And I think this can be resolved to everyone's satisfaction very easily, actually," Mavis said, smoothly. "How's that?" Mulder asked. "Oh, we'd have to discuss that in person. Alone, preferably." "I'm not coming anywhere near you in person," Mulder said. "What kind of idiot do you take me for?" "Actually I think you're a very intelligent and exciting man, Fox, and when you change your mind you know where to find me." She hung up the phone. Mulder stared at Scully. "What the hell was that?" he asked. "She hasn't given up on getting that picture," Scully guessed, shrugging. "But we have it all on tape, anyway." "This is nuts," Mulder said. xxxx Dunbody called again the next day. Twice. They got her on tape both times. The first ended when she asked, "Would you like to know what I'm wearing right now?" and Mulder hung up. "Don't hang up, this is incriminating," Scully said. "I couldn't help it," he said. "I had this overpowering sensation of 'Ewww'." The second time, Dunbody asked, "Would you like to know what I'm doing right now?" "No," Mulder said, "And if you call me again I'm going to charge you with harassment." "That won't solve anything," she said petulantly, but she hung up. "I wonder if there's a Victims of Mavis Dunbody Support Group somewhere," Scully said. He snorted, but then sat down and did a search on the web. "Not that I can find," he reported. "But look at this." A woman named Mavis Dunbody had turned up on a romance novel fan page as the real name of romance novelist Olivia D'Beauregard, a writer with three paperbacks in print, all published within the last five years. "You ever heard of her?" Mulder asked. "No, but I'm not a big fan of the genre," Scully said. "Based on the cover art, I believe it falls into a category known as 'Heaving Bosoms'," he observed. He hit a few links while she watched over his shoulder. "Oh my, this is pretty hot stuff." She read over his shoulder, grunted in agreement, and headed, blushing, back to her desk to catch up with the day's mail. "And she does have her fans," he added, as he clicked around. "As illustrated by The Olivia D'Beauregard Web Site," he intoned. "Home of the 'Lusty Oliviacs'." Scully just nodded. "You're not exactly a big fan of pornography, are you?" Mulder asked. "I don't know that I'd call that stuff pornography," Scully said. "I don't know that I'd say you answered the question." Scully shrugged. "I don't know many women who are entirely comfortable with pornography," she said. Mulder looked back at her and she could just see him thinking, 'Just who are all these women that Scully supposedly knows?' But he didn't say anything, so she continued. "It's like I suggested earlier -- maybe men really are just wired differently. Maybe the average man's primitive instincts are pushing him to run around and plug away at any woman who looks halfway tolerable. So if she's young and nubile and has her legs spread open, all the better." Mulder's eyes widened. "Um, okay, then, how do you explain the phenomenon of the soft porn romance novel? A natural outgrowth of the female libido? The average woman's primitive instinct to be overpowered by some manly man's masculine firmness?" Scully shrugged. "I wouldn't call it pornography, Mulder. If you notice, in most erotica women write the manly man also loves her -- there's a relationship involved -- he isn't just looking to get laid and disappear into the night. I think there may even be attempts at, you know, characterization and plot." "So if men write it, it's called pornography. Women write it, it's called erotica, is that the drill?" "If it has more characterization and plot than it has explicit sex, then yes, I think it's erotica. There are men who write it, too." "Well, hell, even the average porn tape makes you watch ten minutes of set-up." "With interesting characters?" He pouted at her. "It just isn't the same," Scully said. "And furthermore I think you knows it when you sees it." Mulder smiled. "Well, at least we know how Miss Dunbody makes a living." "I don't know about that," Scully said. "Even assuming this is the same Mavis Dunbody, I've heard that only the most popular romance writers make a really good living off it. And marketing is a big part of it. I'm surprised, if that's how she makes a living, that she doesn't make a big deal out of it. She doesn't strike me as publicity-shy." xxxx The next morning Mulder received a heavily perfumed, typewritten letter about five pages long detailing the ways in which Miss Dunbody believed she had been misunderstood by Mulder, as well as the ways she would like to clarify her intentions toward him, all written in steamy romance-novel prose. "Jesus, Scully," he said. "She's making me blush. You gotta read this." "I'd rather not," Scully said. Mulder looked offended. "Why not?" "If I read it I'm going to want to kill her," Scully said. It was true. The fierceness of her feelings when Mulder was threatened sometimes surprised her. They felt primitive, uncontrollable, animalistic. She was like a mother bear protecting her cub -- reduced to pure instinct. Did this mean she was projecting the children she'd never had onto Mulder? That didn't feel right, either -- but Scully shied away from thinking this one out too far. Mulder smiled. "Being a tad possessive, are we?" "Protective, Mulder." "I would have preferred 'possessive,' but I guess 'protective' has a nice sound to it too," Mulder said. xxxx That afternoon Skinner cleared Mulder officially and apologized for the trouble. He also suggested that Mulder take extra care about his personal safety for the next few days, given the indications from Dunbody of possible stalking behavior. "I think I can protect myself from Mavis Dunbody," Mulder hissed to Scully in the elevator on their way back downstairs. "You just never know about sex-crazed women," Scully deadpanned, enjoying the unmistakable current of interest it created in the crowded elevator. He shot her a dark look. After they'd settled into the office again, Mulder cleared his throat and asked, "So you knew about testosterone in women because you're a doctor, right?" "It's also been in the news lately. Why?" "No reason." "No, why did you ask, Mulder?" "I was just curious where you'd heard it. You said it's only prescribed for post-menopausal women." Mulder apparently still didn't realize that for all intents and purposes she *was* post- menopausal. Hormone therapy was the only thing that kept her reproductive system churning along doing its abbreviated thing. Or maybe he did realize, and that's why he'd asked the question. Her face reddened. "I don't take it, Mulder, if that's what you want to know." "Of course not. Even if you did, that's none of my business." None of his business. She scowled. "Like a libido would be of any use in my life anyway," she said bitterly. He gave her a shocked look. She turned back to her report and soon found a reason to leave the office. xxxx That night, as she lay in bed, Scully couldn't help thinking about her situation. It was true that she had very few sexual urges these days. She hadn't masturbated in weeks, maybe even months. It just seemed like a lot of effort for the same old thing -- and no prospect of anything better anytime soon. Before her abduction, she'd felt comfortable with her body's cycles. She'd enjoyed the spurt of lust at mid-cycle, the extra energy she'd always had just before her period. After the abduction there was a fairly long recovery and numerous distractions before she realized her body wasn't functioning as it should. She'd started replacement therapy and her body had resumed its cycles, but of course she knew they would never have the result they were designed by nature to produce. And then it had just been one thing after another, with the cancer in the middle, and a serious gunshot to recover from later on. Who needed to even think about it? She was chagrined to realize that she now felt vaguely alarmed at not masturbating after so many good Catholic years of being ashamed when she did. When was the last time she'd really lusted after a man? God knows there were days when she fantasized about her partner's arms wrapped around her, but a lot of that these days was just plain loneliness -- it was human touch she craved more than sex. Well, more than that -- because it knew that it was Mulder's touch she wanted in particular, and it was a deeper connection with him that she longed for. She certainly admired him as a man, and loved his powerful arms and capable hands and his distinctive, beautiful face. And she had long ago admitted to herself that she thought of him as hers, to the extent that a man like Mulder could ever belong to anyone. But in recent years it hadn't been lust, or at least not all that much. She remembered lust: rolling around with Marcus, both of them clumsy but managing to work in quite a bit of sexual satisfaction without quite getting into the category of fornication. Then there were a couple of college boys, including the lovely cad who'd talked her out of her virginity, a favor for which she was so immensely grateful that she forgave him for being a jerk. There was that short but notable liaison with Daniel, an older man and wonderfully experienced lover. Jack, also experienced, and then Ethan, who was not as talented as he thought he was. She also still remembered times in the first year or two with Mulder, feeling unmistakably physically aroused when that intense gaze of his landed on her, or when he touched her. For that matter, Skinner's great forearms had produced the occasional adrenal flush as well. When was the last time she'd been completely gaga over a man -- surely she needn't count that Texas sheriff? Before that was Ed Jerse, but she knew that wasn't so much lust as it was rebellion and desperation. Well, she wasn't desperate anymore. She wasn't rebelling. She was relatively at peace, considering all that happened to her. And really, what was the point of stirring up anything? Whatever her hopes and wishes may once have been, it was undeniably true that in her current life a libido was not only useless, it could be considered a handicap. Still, there was that highly technical idea horny med school students always enjoyed using as an excuse -- use it or lose it. Experimentally, she touched herself. Think sexy thoughts, she told herself. Mulder fresh out of the shower, hair still dripping, that time she'd gone over there and all he'd had on when he answered the door was a towel. Mulder whispering something in her ear .... it didn't really matter what when it was in that tone of voice ... or Mulder behind her, breathing on her neck, his broad arms coming round to hold her possessively, reaching for her breasts... And this wasn't working worth shit. Annoyed, Scully got out of bed and went to watch some late night television. xxxx "So you're concerned that you're not experiencing a normal sexual drive?" Dr. Feinerman asked her. "Yes," Scully said. She was blushing furiously and it annoyed her deeply, because this was simply a medical matter, damn it. "Are you having difficulty lubricating?" She fought the impulse to run from the room. Dressed as she was in a paper gown, it was unlikely to solve anything. "I haven't had any particular need to lubricate," she said, thin- lipped. "It's the interest in sex in the first place that I'm concerned about." The doctor nodded. "And this is a change for you?" "It's been the case for some time now, but it didn't really occur to me before. But yes, it represents a change from a few years ago." The doctor nodded, reviewing Scully's chart. "I'd like to review your hormone levels. How do you feel about stopping your current regimen for a month or two so we can get a new baseline?" "Sounds fine." "You may experience some side-effects -- hot flashes, mood swings, that kind of thing." "Let's just do it," Scully sighed. With any luck they'd be so busy she'd never notice. xxxx Now that they were allowed back in the field, Mulder staked them out in front of a topless bar where they could look for a shape-shifting call girl and and enjoy a full view of the underbelly of American sexuality. After a week there, watching the pathetic prostitutes posturing and the men who wanted to buy their wares prowling among them, Scully decided that Mavis Dunbody's continuing pursuit of her partner -- he'd received flowers from her one day, a box of homemade cookies on another -- seemed relatively civilized. If this is what comes from having an irrepressible sexual drive, she reflected, maybe we'd be better off without it. Not that she expected her partner to share her point of view. Mulder hadn't, of course, ever mentioned her libido comment that day, and his behavior on this stakeout was carefully neutral -- but she couldn't help wondering if he was secretly getting off on this assignment. He'd never been shy about his own interest in all things sexual. Although she knew another woman might have been offended, she hadn't been because she knew he wasn't using it to intimidate her. She occasionally wondered if it was actually an awkward attempt at courting her, but always decided that not even Mulder could be that consistently clumsy. At any rate, if he was hoping this particular job would spark sexual discussions between them he was surely disappointed, because Scully lost no opportunity to make it clear she found the whole milieu disgusting. Then, to add insult to injury, she was forced to stay on this abhorred surveillance alone while he went off to deal with murders in wholesome Vermont. However, she did at least get the significant satisfaction of solving the case without any recourse to the paranormal. xxxx "Scully, were you in here while I was gone?" It was Mulder on the phone -- back from Vermont, apparently. She had finished with her paperwork and gotten home at a decent hour for once. His voice sounded strained. "No," she said. If he didn't ask her to, she usually didn't go over there, fish or no fish. After one particularly devastating absence this year when they'd both been in California, he'd stocked up on vacation pellets. "Well, someone has been here." "The gunmen?" "No guys did this," he said darkly. She would have thought that by now Mulder might be used to arriving home to find his apartment redecorated, but in this case there was Mavis Dunbody to be considered. "Hang on, Mulder, I'll be right over. Did you call an evidence team?" He sighed. "I guess we have to. I'm going to be the laughingstock of the FBI." "I'll call them," Scully said, resisting any temptation to tell him that he already was. "Don't touch anything." xxxx He gave her a latex glove tour. His apartment was spotless. Dusted. Polished. The kitchen had a new jar of home-baked cookies in it, and his refrigerator was stocked with food, including a lasagna in the freezer, carefully wrapped and labeled with the date. "I think she even cleaned my oven," Mulder said, opening it. "I don't remember it ever being that color." There was a centerpiece of spring flowers on his dining room table. There was a small jar of flowers on the sink in his bathroom. Scented candles were scattered about. And there was a robe laid out on his bed, with black silk boxers on top. "Are they yours?" Scully asked. "No," Mulder said. "She chose better than I would have expected, though." "What's that smell?" Scully asked, as they walked back into the living room. "She plugged in some sort of floral room deodorizer," Mulder said, fishing a device out of the trash and showing it to her. She plucked it from him and threw it in an evidence bag. The powerful perfume was drowning out the Mulder scent she expected when she was in his apartment. Bachelor stereotypes aside, Mulder actually kept a fairly tidy apartment most of the time, with a not unpleasant aroma combined of aftershave, shoe polish, his own musky scent, and whatever he'd ordered in or cooked most recently. "Well, this is creepy," she said. "At least she didn't put up frilly curtains." "You know," Mulder said, "The last woman who said I needed looking after turned out to be a psychotic murderer. Is there a recessive Martha Stewart gene that predicts psychotic behavior in women?" "I don't know. Someone excessively focused on the nesting instinct might kill to protect what's hers, I imagine." She ran a gloved finger along the top of a doorway. No dust. Remembering Mavis's moldy collections, she wondered why she didn't treat her own home with such loving care. Then she added, as if it were an afterthought, "Who said you needed looking after?" "Oh, the homicidal housewife in Vermont," Mulder said dismissively. "There's no note?" "No. Which is also creepy. I expect her to arrive and say 'honey, I'm home,' any minute." A knock on the door made them both jump. Scully checked through the only recently installed peephole. There had been many subtle signs in recent years that Mulder was finally growing up. The bed was one and the peephole was another. They gave Scully a sense of hope. By the time he was sixty he might actually be ready to settle down and have a life separate from the X-Files. "Evidence team," she said with relief. "Oh joy," he said. Scully took charge, explaining the situation and only turning to him when the team had questions she couldn't answer. The whole process took about half an hour. When they were done, the men on the team sneaked little grins at Mulder as they left. Scully turned to him, planning to offer him her sofa for the night. He didn't look quite as downcast as she expected. "So now they're going to go laugh together about how this crazy woman broke in and tried to intimidate you with cookies and a casserole?" she asked dubiously. "No, not anymore," he said. "Now they think that we're sleeping together and that woman doesn't stand a hope in hell if you're around." "Come again?" Scully felt knocked out of joint and wasn't even sure why. In seven years of double entendres from Mulder, he'd never once referred to the rampant rumors that they were sexual partners as well as FBI partners. It was just one of those aspects of life in the FBI that they'd carefully ignored -- an unspoken rule, she'd long assumed. Why was he breaking it now? "I guess I can deal with that," Mulder said cheerfully. "Can you give me a ride to a motel? I'm sure as hell not staying here tonight. Unless, of course," he added, with an exaggerated leer, "you really do plan to stick around." Scully, nonplussed, decided not to offer him her couch after all. A Mulder who joked about them sleeping together was not a Mulder she was prepared to deal with in close quarters. xxxx "It was a cleaning service," Mulder announced, Friday morning, as he walked into the office. "Cleaning service?" Scully looked up from her coffee. "Yeah, paid for by Mavis Dunbody. She gave them detailed instructions as well as the clothes and the casserole and so forth, and she arranged with my landlord to let them in as a surprise for me. She said she was a friend of my mother's." Well, that explained why Mulder's apartment was so much cleaner than Mavis's house. "It was still a violation of your privacy," Scully said. "Yeah, but my landlord fell for it, so it wasn't exactly breaking and entering. And there aren't really any laws against paying to have someone's apartment cleaned for them," Mulder said. "I still think you need an order of protection," Scully said. "I'm sure Skinner sent a couple of agents out to put the fear of God into her. What do you say we ask Skinner to go talk to her himself? One peek and she'd get off my back, don't you think?" That particular strategic move hadn't occurred to Scully at all, though she had to admit it had potential. "And hey, you never know, they might just hit it off. Walter and Mavis, together at last," Mulder added, happily spinning his joke out. Scully figured he must have really enjoyed his stay in a hotel room the night before. New movies on the pay per view, maybe. "So Scully, have an exciting weekend lined up?" he asked. "You know me," she said. "Never a dull moment." "Because there's this mysterious death of a young woman who appears to have drowned in a puddle of ectoplasm in Rock Creek Park." "Ectoplasm?" "Well, it was green and thick and glowed in the dark, according to her friends." "Ectoplasm." Wasn't that something out of that movie Ghostbusters? "Uh huh." Scully sighed. "Well, this is a new one, Mulder. I don't remember any old X-files stuffed with recurrent episodes of people drowning in ectoplasm." "Actually, I do have a file on ectoplasm, but there are no recorded deaths in it. There was a suspected disappearance of a man into a puddle of it in 1942, though. His body was never recovered." "They called it ectoplasm in 1942?" "Yeah, they did. Here's the file for this latest case." She smiled without pleasure. "Thanks." She opened the file and started scanning. "So the body is waiting for you over at Quantico," he added. "And you'll be --?" "Interviewing the eye witnesses." "That would be the three other nineteen-year-old college girls?" "You have a problem with that?" he asked innocently. "No problem," Scully said, but her voice was higher pitched than usual -- because there it was, that mother bear feeling again. But it made no sense. Mulder cocked his head at her. "If you want me to wait until you're done, we could go together." "No, no, Mulder -- you go right ahead and deal with the ectoplasm crisis. I'll do the autopsy. They did get a sample of the alleged ectoplasm?" "Already sent to the lab. Results should be in Monday. Though if you want to charm that lab tech who has a thing for you, I bet you could get it earlier." It had long been a joke of Mulder's that all the young lab techs were in love with her. She had to admit he'd been right about Pendrell, poor man, but she suspected this most recent crew simply considered her a pain in the ass. However, they were also intimidated by her -- not to mention curious to see what new oddity she would bring them -- so she often got what she wanted anyway. She smiled grimly. "Catch you later then." xxxx A mere few hours later Scully was able to dictate her conclusion that Sonja Szczesny, once a lovely and promising young girl of 19, had drowned not in ectoplasm, but in her own vomit. Apparently the tequila and margarita mix had appeared to glow in the half-dark of the large wooded park where she and her friends had gone to re-enact the Blair Witch Project, though Sonja's companions were so lit up Scully wasn't sure how they could possibly notice. It had all been reported pretty clearly in the D.C. Police report already in the file. Perhaps Mulder had felt that bit about heavy drinking was just an attempt at a cover-up? And she didn't actually need those test results, although she did a get a phone call about them later that afternoon, because there was plenty of the margarita mix crusted inside Miss Szczesny's otherwise healthy young lungs. Mulder didn't pick up any of her calls to his cell phone that afternoon. Scully left a message for him to call her. While she was out running errands that evening he left a message asking her to meet him in the office the next day, because he had something to show her. When she tried him back, she got no response. Annoyed, she contemplated the loss of yet another Saturday. Mulder all too frequently helped himself to her precious free time without a second thought, assuming she had nothing better to do -- and she let him get away with it. For that matter, she could argue that he'd also helped himself to Sonja Szczesny's dead body on the strength of nothing more than some drunken girl's rambling -- and Scully, by agreeing to the autopsy, had essentially collaborated on that one, too. Scully irritably wondered if perhaps he'd helped himself to anything else while he was at it -- like one of those nineteen-year-olds. That would explain his failure to answer any phone calls. It was a petty suspicion, and she knew it was unworthy of her or Mulder, but it persisted. Another uncomfortable thought persisted alongside it: if it were true, would that be partly her fault, too? xxxx Mulder's phone call woke her up at 1:30 in the morning. "Scully, I just got your other message -- was it something urgent?" She blinked groggily in the dark and squinted at the clock radio. "Where have you been, Mulder?" "Oh, I ran into this guy I know who's been doing some fascinating research in England -- " "And the ectoplasm?" "Oh. Well, I figured it could wait until you had your results." "So you didn't interview any of the girls?" "No -- why, what happened?" Scully sighed heavily. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mulder." "Hey, can you bring lunch from that Greek place near you?" She hung up and rolled over. Well, at least it wasn't a nineteen-year-old. Maybe he was screwing the English guy. xxxx Saturday morning Scully woke up feeling out of sorts. She stared at the ceiling and thought, okay, here we go. Dry cleaning, Greek food, official test results off the fax machine, office, and who the hell knows what Mulder would come up with this time but she'd be willing to bet it was capable of absorbing her entire weekend. And she still needed to get to Washington National to finalize her autopsy report. And, really, the whole ectoplasm thing was something of an all-time low. She was annoyed that he'd assumed she would do this lame autopsy in the first place, and annoyed at herself that she'd so willingly done it. She was annoyed that he'd ditched his half of the investigation, even if it was completely bogus. And more than anything else she was annoyed and embarrassed that she'd worked herself into a jealous snit over some nineteen-year-old girl Mulder had never even met. Just to top it all off he expected her to provide lunch, too. She toyed all morning with the idea of not taking him anything, but when the time came she was hungry herself and knew she couldn't show up with her own food and nothing for him. Well, she could, but it would look excessively churlish. So she waited too long in line at the Greek place for a salad and a sandwich on a beautiful Saturday and thought, dear God, is it really worth it? xxxx She was wondering that even more later that Saturday, after Mulder had failed to persuade her that crop circles required an immediate trip to England and Sonja Szczesny's autopsy had in some strange and convoluted way put her back into touch with a man she'd walked away from ten years ago. What the hell was Daniel even doing in D.C.? He was still an arrogant man, she reflected, even lying sick and helpless in a hospital bed. "It's a real drag when the body doesn't want to play anymore," he told her, with the bravado she remembered as one of his defining characteristics. As a lonely, easily awed first-year resident, she'd found it immensely appealing. Years later, after Jack, she'd wondered if it was something about her father's command manner that made her feel at home with older, strong-willed men. But Scully's father had never been this much of a bully. Why did Daniel feel the need to badger her about her career path after all this time? It was if, to him, she'd walked out of his life only a few days ago, not a decade. "I scare you," Daniel earnestly proclaimed, "Because I represent that which is ingrained not only in your mind but in your heart -- that which you secretly long for." "You never accepted my reason for leaving," she reminded him. God knows she had secretly longed for him that first year of her residency. He'd been so dynamic, so heroic, so heart-stoppingly sexy. But she hadn't truly been prepared for the discovery that this married surgeon longed for her, too. "I can't believe the FBI is a passion. Not like medicine." It was another pronouncement from Daniel born of facts over ten years out of date. Scully knew that if medicine had been her greatest passion, she never could have left it so easily for life in the FBI. Science was still a passion; saving people's lives was still a passion; justice had become perhaps a greater passion. The FBI gave her a unique opportunity to exercise all these passions in a way that was more interesting than most doctors or scientists could possibly imagine. Scully nonetheless felt strangely drawn to this man lying before her. Daniel's reappearance was giving her the opportunity to perform an inquest on her love life, from back in the days when she'd still had one. So what had happened? Why him? Was it her self- defeating pattern to fall in love with men who thought that what they did was the most important thing in the world? Did she seek them out because she found them more compelling -- or did they cultivate her, out of their quick perception that she would go along, play the girl Friday or the Watson or whatever it was their genius required? Could that be why her love life had dried up -- because she was getting healthier about her choices -- healthy enough at least to avoid the same self-defeating entanglements? Or was it just because her current genius had never jumped her bones? The former genius lying sick in bed before her was still apparently enamored with her after all these years. Daniel caressed her face, and she let him. She vividly remembered how desperate she had been for that simple act of affection the first time he'd dared, when she had been a solitary, sleep- deprived first-year resident. Though, in truth, it was possible she was even hungrier for a loving touch today than she had been ten years ago. xxxx On her way home, preoccupied with this strange reappearance from her past and distracted by Mulder's crop circle dronings on the cell phone, Scully avoided death in the form of a speeding truck by a matter of seconds. She sat there, dazed, as the realization sank in. And wasn't that woman who'd inadvertently saved her life the same woman who had accidentally handed her Daniel's file? What was that smile about? "Scully, are you all right? Scully??" Mulder's voice was tinny and small, coming from somewhere in the car, but even in her semi-dazed state she could hear the growing desperation in it. She put the car in park and fished around with until she found her cell phone on the floor. "Yeah?" she asked. "What happened?" "Sorry -- I had to slam on the brakes and I dropped the phone." "Oh. But you're all right." "I'm fine," she repeated, automatically. "So do you want the address?" Hmm, she wondered. Should I give him an honest answer? "Scully?" "Um, give me a few minutes to get out of traffic. You want to hold on or you want to call back?" "I'll hold." Suit yourself, she thought, only turning left this time after carefully checking both directions. With great deliberation, she drove a block to a coffee shop and pulled in, parked, and walked inside. "One," she said to the waitress, and followed her to a booth. She took a deep breath. "Okay, Mulder," she said, "I'm here. What's the address?" "Um, 212 on 23rd, near the hospital. American Taoist Healing Center. It's clearly marked." "Okay, got it." "You sure you're okay? You sound a little rattled." "Coffee, please," she said to the waitress. "I'm fine, Mulder," she insisted. He was being remarkably persistent, considering that she'd been cutting him off all day. "It's just -- if I hadn't slammed on the brakes back there I'd be dead right now. There was this truck...." And if that blonde woman hadn't stepped in front of her, Mulder would have come home from England to a very different life. There was silence on the other end for a moment. "Well, I'm glad you slammed on the brakes, then." "Yeah. Me too." "They're calling my flight. Are you going to be okay?" "I'm fine." "You want me to -- " "No, I have to go, too. Have a good trip, Mulder," she said, a little more briskly than she would have normally, and ended the call. It was actually a relief to have Mulder away while she dealt with the reappearance of Daniel Waterston. A little extraneous crop circle research was a small price to pay. xxxx The rest of Saturday night passed in a strange, surreal progression. Scully had barely taken care of Mulder's request, one that came complete with odd pronouncements from the Taoist Colleen (yet another odd second reappearance of a woman from the hospital), when she got another call concerning Daniel. This time it was a summons from his cardiologist -- a man who was then deeply annoyed with her when she showed up as he requested and had the gall to agree with Daniel about the prednisone. After that unsettling little contretemps, she found herself sitting with Daniel in a blue-lit hospital room in the quiet after visiting hours, confronting a past she hadn't thought about in years and a present she hadn't examined all that much either. She told Daniel he'd come at such a strange time, and she meant it. For his part he confessed that he had been in D.C. all this time hoping to see her -- but how strange was that? Ten years, and not even one phone call to the Bureau? Inexplicably, he seemed to be trying to lay down a claim on her all over again. She left that night wondering if God had sent Daniel to her, or vice versa. At this time of dissatisfaction with her life, is that why his x- rays were in the wrong envelope? So that she could have the life she didn't choose? If so, then what the hell was God up to when Daniel went into cardiac arrest? Thankfully, he'd survived, but he was looking much the worse for wear when she stumbled out of there. She'd filled in his still furious doctor and run for the door, completely confused, feeling somehow responsible for Daniel's state and resenting the hell out of the responsibility. xxxx Scully woke Sunday morning with a strong sense of anxiety and the mental image in her mind of the heart chakra that had shown up in a field of grass outside Cambridge, as pictured in one of the files Colleen Azar's had provided. Scully's physical sense of unease was so strong that she almost called Mulder's cell just to hear his voice, before realizing that an overseas call, if it were even possible, would no doubt put roaming charges into a whole new budget category. And then what would she say: 'Hi, Mulder, one of my old lovers has reappeared and I'm concerned about his health, so could you tell me more about chakras in that soothing monotone of yours?' There had been no call from the hospital, so she decided almost unconsciously to follow her mental image back to the Taoist Center. There, Colleen offered an explanation that made some sense, yet also seemed far too simple to fit the situation. Scully had always resisted philosophies that blamed the victims for their illnesses -- it hardly seemed fair in a world full of rampaging toxins and inescapable human imperfection. Still, there was something in Colleen's recitation that struck a chord, and she thought she might just gently explore the underlying assumptions with Daniel -- much as she would go back to interrogate a suspect a second time, trying to get the story straight in light of new evidence. But she also impulsively bought him a bunch of red flowers, not roses but tulips. Unfortunately, the flowers merely served to inflame Maggie, who angrily informed her that her father had slipped into a coma just after Scully's resuscitation of him of him the night before. Not that this was Maggie's biggest grudge against her. "Do you have any idea the hell you created in our lives?" she demanded. Scully took a deep breath. "Maggie, to be honest, I left so that there wouldn't be hell in your lives." It was true. Daniel had begun to talk of leaving his wife, and Scully had panicked at the idea of becoming an official slut and home-wrecker at the tender age of 24. The FBI had come along and offered her an intriguing escape at just the right moment. They'd sponsored her residency in forensic medicine at a different hospital, and from there the rest of her life had run its very different course. "I had no idea you would ever know about what happened between your father and me," Scully said. "If it helps any, I can only say that I was very young. I was completely awed by your father. I worshipped him. But that's no excuse -- I know what I did was wrong. I knew it even then, and that's why I broke it off." Maggie's eyes filled with tears. "I was in awe of him, too. And then to find out.... Do you have any idea what it's like to grow up thinking your father is your hero, and then find out that he's anything but?" "It must be awful," Scully said. "My father died seven years ago and it still hurts like hell." "And to think my mother *fed* you," Maggie hissed. Scully winced. "I know. Look, Maggie. I had what I thought was a completely hopeless crush on your dad. I didn't expect anything to happen. When it did, I was too stunned to stop it from going too far. But I realized relatively quickly that I should have. So I left." "It was even worse after you left," Maggie said. "He was horrible. He'd get on Mom's case over nothing. He decided I was hopelessly lazy and dumb. He turned into a complete asshole. When he finally confessed to my mom that he'd been unfaithful and that he didn't love her anymore, it was almost a relief. He moved out and took up with another young biddy, and then another, and finally he just picked up and left town. For a few years I barely saw him. In fact I hadn't seen him since my graduation when I got a call from him about this thing." "It was good of you to come be with him. There's nobody else, I take it." Maggie's eyes narrowed. "Please don't tell me that you want to know if he's available." She gestured at the flowers. "Besides, you plainly already know, assuming it's even relevant anymore." "I wasn't thinking of --" Scully protested. "Right," Maggie scoffed. "Red for fully oxygenated blood," Scully murmured, realizing for the first time why she'd felt drawn to them. "I feel terrible about your father's condition, Maggie." "His doctor is optimistic," Maggie said belligerently, but she didn't sound too convinced. "I hope he's right," Scully said. They eyed each other, a little taken aback to have found a piece of common ground. xxxx Leaving the hospital, Scully still suffered from an anxious sense that somehow she was missing something. It was not an altogether unfamiliar sensation -- God knows she'd experienced it often enough in the midst of an investigation, either because she hadn't been able to follow Mulder's leaps of intuition, or because she hadn't yet made a leap of her own. She had learned, over the years, to let it happen and see where it took her. Without quite intending, she set off for a walk through the exotic local environs of Chinatown. And there was the blonde again. Scully was chagrined to so quickly lose the trail of this simple civilian who wasn't even fleeing her pursuit, but she continued along anyway, following her instinct, and ended up in a peaceful Oriental garden with a pair of ornate red doors at one end. Red, the color of oxygenated blood. Red, the color of passion. Creeping inside, she found herself in a seemingly deserted temple lit by streams of sunlight through a skylight and hundreds of candles, all presided over by an imposing golden statue of Buddha. She hesitated, uncomfortably conscious that it was Sunday morning and this definitely wasn't a Catholic church. And yet, it wasn't such a very different thing, either: candles, the swirl of centuries, whispers of eternity. Without conscious decision Scully knelt and opened herself to whatever the universe might have to say. As she knelt there memories washed over her: her father's funeral, her father the hero; her mother; Mulder and more Mulder; Spender; Melissa; Emily. Then she saw a vision of Daniel floating in light, his body transparent, his heart thumping loudly, his lips moving but saying nothing she could hear. When his eyes suddenly flashed open, she started out of her meditative state and found herself pinned under the enigmatic gaze of a giant bronze Buddha. She could feel her own heart start to pound loudly in the pregnant silence. Neither her medical education nor her Catholic upbringing had exactly prepared her for this. And yet it was clear to her what she must do. xxxx Dr. Kopeikan, naturally, thought she was full of shit. Maggie had proven surprisingly cooperative when Scully broached the idea of trying an alternative approach with her father. In the end, however, even Scully had to admit that it didn't sound as if the healer she'd brought had offered anything particularly hopeful. He warned them in rather dire fashion that Daniel was ready to move on, and was only being held back by unfinished business. Well duh, Scully felt like saying, although she tried to reserve judgment. She sat for a while in the cafeteria with Maggie and listened to more details about the painful disintegration of the Waterston family. Maggie told it this time without the accusatory tone; strangely, it seemed to be a relief to her to be able to talk about it. Scully mostly listened, but when Maggie asked her about her life now, she told her how she worked for the FBI, that she loved her job. They passed a surprisingly companionable hour. When they went back to the room, Daniel's condition showed no change. When she got home that night, she ran her messages, a little disappointed not to have any word from Mulder. Perhaps a new network of giant fractal crop circles was keeping him busy. That night, she dreamed that she came across him in a field, where he was carefully bending grass down to the ground in a beautifully intricate pattern. "What's this one mean?" she asked him, not addressing the issue of what he was doing creating his own crop circle. "Oh, you know," he said, and shrugged and kept clipping. "No, really, Mulder. What's it mean?" And he looked at her intently. "You know what it means, Scully." "I do?" At this he looked disappointed, and turned back to his work. "Maybe when I'm done," he said. "Maybe then it will become obvious to you." xxxx She woke up to the sound of a phone and her heart pounding in fear from a dream that she couldn't remember. Maggie summoned her to the hospital and hung up without explanation. Scully assumed another turn for the worse and left Skinner a voice mail that she'd be out of the office while she attended a sick friend in the hospital. She was shocked to find Daniel sitting up and looking relatively well. It was less of a shock when he went off on her about the "voodoo ritual." It was almost a relief. In the last twenty-four hours it had somehow become extremely clear to Scully that her business here was finished. "I was afraid it didn't work," she said calmly. Daniel was amused. "Of course it didn't work. Don't be absurd. Where do you get this crap?" She hoped she didn't sound quite that contemptuous to Mulder when she disputed all his wild theories. Daniel then dismissed the whole topic with characteristic arrogance. "It doesn't matter. I don't want to talk about that. Look at me. I'm going to get well... and we need to talk about what happens next for us." Scully felt an almost physical sense of revulsion. She had to remind herself that she still owed some restitution in this matter. She swallowed. "I spoke at length to Maggie. It's time... that you took responsibility for the hurt you caused in your family. It's no accident that you got sick, Daniel. You've been running from the truth for ten years." "Dana.... It was only to be with you. You were all I lived for." This was a more patently absurd claim than any alternative healer had ever made. Still, perhaps in his strange way he believed it. She spoke gently. "Maybe the reason you're alive now is to make up for that. To make it up to Maggie." "That's Maggie talking, not you." Scully thought, no, Maggie wouldn't even begin to know how to ask for what she needs from you. Just as Scully had been unsure of what she needed when she first walked into this room. She should be grateful to him, really. "No. I'm not the same person, Daniel. I wouldn't have known that if I hadn't seen you again." Of course, she realized immediately, that didn't answer the more fundamental question: who was she now? xxxx Scully sat quietly in the hospital garden early that afternoon and waited. She had a powerful sense that an answer was coming to her if she would just sit and listen for it. Two nuns passed by, and she thought, no, that's not it, with a vague sense of relief. Then she saw the blonde again, and ran after her. And, inexplicably, the blonde turned out to be Mulder. "I was just looking for you," he said, while she gaped at him -- if nothing else, that had been a pretty extreme change in hairstyles. "But you're supposed to be in England," she said, still puzzling. Was the blonde somehow leading her around from discovery to discovery? Mulder looked depressed as he explained that his trip had been a waste of time. "Maybe sometimes nothing happens for a reason, Mulder," she said, deciding to accept the blonde without too much examination. She had wanted an answer from the universe, and she got one. And it was even the answer she'd hoped for. "What is that supposed to mean?" Mulder asked. "Nothing." She smiled, sensing that he needed some reassurance. "Come on, I'll make you some tea." xxxx There was big vase of red roses sitting outside Mulder's door when they got there. "Oh crap," Mulder sighed. "You haven't been home yet?" Scully asked. "These weren't here when I stopped home. There were two cards from Mavis in my mail, but I didn't open them." "She's being awfully persistent," Scully said, bending down and smelling a rose. She fished out the card, noting that it was from a local florist, and read it aloud. "Say yes. Love, Mavis." Three X's were written neatly in the bottom corner. "Yes, Mavis, yes, you *do* need to be committed," Mulder grumbled, peering disgustedly up and down his hallway. "Do you think she wrote this herself?" Scully asked. "That would imply she's been in the area." He took the card. "Looks like her hand." He sighed again. "Tea?" Scully reminded him, since he seemed to have lost all forward momentum, leaving them standing awkwardly in the hallway with Mavis's roses. He cocked his head at her. "You still want tea? Here?" "Don't worry, Mulder, I'll protect you." That got her a smile. He opened the door. "So Scully, would you like some roses?" Good old Mulder, such a romantic. Still, the idea pleased her in a strange sort of way. "Sure, just leave them at the door. I'll take them home with me." "Cool," he said, peering somewhat cautiously around the apartment. "You didn't get your order of protection yet, did you?" "I don't know -- Skinner might have taken care of it. I was focused on crop circles. But I also don't get the sense Mavis is dangerous. She's just a pain in the ass." Scully walked around and breathed in eau de Mulder. No more floral deodorizer, thank God. Mulder unloaded his keys and wallet and turned back to her. "So, um, Scully, what's up? Who's the friend?" She turned. "How -- " "Skinner told me." Oh. That explained how he'd been at the hospital. So it wasn't just that God sent him to her as her personal answer to all of life's mysteries. "It's a long story, Mulder. Let's put the kettle on." xxxx This time, in her dream, Mulder's design in the grass was complete. Even though they were at ground level and it spread out around them, she could somehow still see it completely and judge that it was beautiful. He was surveying it with his hands on his hips. "You're finished?" she asked. He nodded. "It's a chakra," she guessed. He tilted his head at her. "What kind?" "This is the chakra that governs desire," she said. He looked approvingly at her. "Very good." "Now what?" she asked. He walked over and stood right in front of her. "Can you feel it?" She felt a rush of fear and excitement. "I don't know." "Then let's find out," he said, and tilted his head down to hers for a kiss that was anything but chaste. xxxx She woke to a darkened room lit only by a gurgling aquarium. Blinking, she tried to orient herself. Mulder's. The clock said 11:31 pm -- not that late, really. Goodness, had she really passed out? She could hear a television droning behind the wall. He must have draped the blanket over her and gone to bed. It was hard not to feel a little bit abandoned. They had been so close to something more. Of course, she was the one who'd fallen asleep. What was that about, she wondered grimly. Stretching and sighing, she padded into his kitchen with the two mugs and rinsed them in the sink. The water poured over her hands in a refreshing stream -- and reminded her that she needed to pee. In the bathroom, she realized with some surprise that she was actually fully lubricated, even swollen with arousal, and then remembered a vivid dream of a very passionate encounter with Mulder in a field of grass. She blushed, feeling herself turn hot all over again. God, she thought. How could she have forgotten what this felt like? But now what? Wake him up? Go home? It just figured that she actually felt profoundly sexually aroused for the first time in months, maybe even years, and poor oblivious Mulder had probably already passed out. She cleaned up and tiptoed over to his bedroom. The door was ajar and the blue light from the television danced and jumped about the room. She peered in and saw him propped on his pillows, remote lying half out of his lax hand, eyes closed. He looked tired. This year his face was beginning to show its first real signs of age, she thought with a pang. Swallowing regret like bitter tea but telling herself that this was just a temporary delay in what must inevitably happen now -- if she was interpreting her blondes right, anyway -- she turned away and put on her shoes. Then she quietly gathered her keys and walked to his door. Where she was immediately confronted by a giant vase of red roses glowing surreally in the hall lights. Red, the color of passion. Scully sucked in a breath and stood there helplessly, immensely frustrated, feeling somehow that fate was mocking her. "You don't have to go, you know," Mulder said from behind her. He yawned. "I didn't want to wake you," she apologized. "I was just dozing," he said, rubbing his hands over the stubble on his face. "When I heard the door, I thought I'd better check for crazed women." "Mmm. Just the one," Scully murmured. He looked amused. "Are you telling me you're crazy, Scully?" "Maybe," Scully said, closing the door on the roses and turning back to him. Her heart was pounding so hard she was surprised he couldn't hear it. Mother bear, my ass, she thought. This rush of something profoundly elemental was not maternal in any way. She desired this man the way a dumb animal requires its mate. He was looking at her, a little puzzled. "Are you okay, Scully?" "It's just that I want you so badly," she confessed. His mouth fell open. "I love you," Scully said, feeling the words leave her and fly up into the air like doves, taking with them a weight she hadn't even realized she was carrying. She smiled at him through a sudden haze of tears. "Oh, thank God," he muttered, and wrapped her tightly in his arms. xxxx After an extended hug and some soft kisses, they ended up sitting back on the sofa again, holding hands. "So, Scully, is this sudden announcement from you also the result of your vision in a Buddhist temple?" he asked. "It's the result of a whole bunch of things," Scully said. "I guess I just finally got it." "Well, it took me a while, too," he confessed. "Though I got there a lot sooner. A lot sooner. I was afraid you never would." She squeezed his hand. "Sorry about that." Mulder shrugged. "If what you were talking about earlier is true, everything led to this moment. Earlier wouldn't have been right." "Maybe," she said. It was hard not to feel that she had wasted time now that it all seemed so obvious. Of course she loved him. Of course he loved her. It seemed impossible now to believe that she had ever doubted it. They sat in quiet for a moment. Of course, there were also reasons why she'd avoided this. "I have to admit that I'm kind of terrified about where we go from here," Scully said. "We don't have to go anywhere," Mulder said. "I think we do," Scully said, refusing the out he was giving her. Better to act now while her courage was high. "Then tell me what you're afraid of." "I'm just ... I'm a little rusty, Mulder. And I'm afraid -- I guess I'm not so sure my body will do what I hope it will. My hormones have been screwed up since the abduction," she finally concluded in a rush. This had to be the most uninspiring pre-sex discussion he'd ever had, she thought miserably. "I was kind of wondering about that," was all he said. "I'm actually already working with my doctor on this," Scully admitted. "That's good," Mulder said softly. "I wouldn't be so very shocked, either, Scully, if you had some fears about intimacy after what's been done to your body against your will." "No, it's not that," she said quickly, flinching from even considering the idea. "I don't think so, anyway. And I trust you, Mulder." He touched her face. "We have the rest of our lives to figure this out, you know." She stared dumbly at him for a moment, overtaken by a rush of love and gratitude. "Yeah, I know," she said, acknowledging a commitment that felt so natural, it was if it were already understood. Perhaps in some unspoken way, it had been understood between them for some time. But she was still grateful that he'd said it. He leaned forward and kissed her. She opened her mouth and took in his tongue hungrily. He scooped her onto his lap for more leverage, and their tongues battled pleasantly for possession of each other's mouths while Mulder's hands gently caressed her face and burrowed into her hair. When he pulled his mouth away from hers and turned his attention to her neck, she arched back and surrendered any remaining doubts: she was wantonly and completely his. He leaned back eventually, panting, and gave her an appraising look. "You know, you're not exactly striking me as rusty here, Scully." She swallowed. "Maybe it's just a matter of getting back on the bicycle," she said breathlessly. "Mmm. May I ask just how far the bicycle wants to go today?" he asked. "Bedroom sounds nice," she suggested, responding to his light tone. If Mulder was trying to put her at ease, she had to give him credit, because it was working. "The bicycle is being a bit literal," he muttered. "Indulge me in something here, Scully." And before she knew it he had scooped her up off the chair. Once she got over the surprise, she grinned. "You're carrying me over the threshold?" "I have wanted to do this for a very long time," he said. "Believe it or not, I have always wanted you to do it," she admitted, and in her heart she accepted it as the gesture tradition said it was: tonight they were marrying their fortunes together. Given the reality of their lives, this might be the extent of ceremony they could reasonably hope for anyway. Mulder smiled and they passed through the door to his room. "Ta da," he said softly. "Ta da," she echoed. "So, Scully, anything else you want to tell me you've always wanted me to do, while we're on the subject?" He laid her down on the bed. "Well, I wouldn't mind seeing you with a lot less clothing on," Scully offered. "Don't worry, you will. But I'm going to indulge myself some more here first, if you don't mind." And he slowly inched his hands up under her skirt to pull her panty hose down. "Mmm," he said, and tossed them sloppily on the floor. Then he looked at her. "That makes you crazy, doesn't it?" "Toss them out the window, I don't care," Scully panted. "You are so full of shit," he said affectionately, pulling her underwear off as well. He tossed them in the other direction and looked at her with a smirk. "I *know* it makes you crazy." He pulled her up into a sitting position, took her jacket off and this time hung it across the back of a chair. "That's better, right?" he asked. Well, yes, it was true, but she'd never tell him. Still, that was a favorite jacket -- and who needed to make unnecessary trips to the dry cleaner? He moved to her top. "Up and over, darling." "Darling?" she inquired, startled. "You object to the term?" "No," she said, figuring she could get used to it. "But are you likely to call me Dana in the throes of passion? That might give me pause." "I hadn't planned on it," he said, intent on unfastening her bra from the front clasp. "Though it may be useful if I come to a point where I *need* to give you pause. Aha. Thank you, Scully, for wearing such a convenient personal support garment." He pulled it off and hung it with the blouse and blazer. "Excuse me a moment," he murmured, and bent down over her to admire her breasts as he cupped them in his two hands. Then he gently and thoroughly suckled each nipple in turn. Scully moaned contentedly and decided that lack of lubrication was definitely not something she need concern herself with any longer. "Oh, I'm sorry," Mulder said, eventually, as if he'd forgotten something. "Is this skirt in the way?" "Unnhhh," she said. "Allow me," he said, reverently unzipping it and pulling it off. He hung it with the rest of her suit, then stood over her, gazing happily. "Why Miss Scully, you are completely -- and very beautifully -- naked." "Mmm," Scully agreed, getting a bit impatient, since he was just standing there ogling her and not continuing his other attentions. "And you're not." "Patience, patience," he said, beginning to work his way out of his own clothing with excessive deliberation. He took his sweatshirt off and dropped it in his hamper. Then he retrieved her panty hose and underwear from the floor and piled them neatly on his dresser. "Wouldn't want to make you crazy worrying about all clothing all over the floor when your mind should be on other things," he explained. "You are already making me crazy," Scully moaned. "Hurry up." "Now, now, Scully, what's the rush?" He grinned and paused, slowing undoing his zipper. She glared. "What's wrong with savoring the moment?" he asked, too innocently, working his way out of his pants, folding them up and draping them over a chair. "There's savoring, Mulder, and then there's torturing," she muttered. As he approached, she reached out and tried to grab hold of his impressively tented boxer shorts. "Off," she ordered. "Now." "Okay, okay," he said, backing away. With false modesty, he turned around to slide them down, waving his ass a bit in her face in the process. Then he turned back around, presenting a large, healthy erection. "You like?" She nodded appreciatively. The erect penis was always a rather silly looking thing, in Scully's opinion, but Mulder's had such a nice heft and seemed so very enthusiastic that she was quite charmed by it. "It will do nicely. Bring it over here, Mulder. I'd like to make its acquaintance." "Don't be too friendly, now, or I'll have to pull a Dana on you," he warned her. "Mmmm." "I'm serious," he said. "You're not the only one who's a little rusty in the mechanics of this. I would really, really prefer not to horribly embarrass myself." It was nice to know she wasn't the only one feeling a little nervous here. Though she wasn't nearly as nervous as she had expected. Mulder knew how to put her at ease. He loved her. She took a deep, happy breath and smiled. "I'll be good." "That's what I'm afraid of," he groaned, as she cupped his balls and pulled him towards her mouth. She hadn't managed to do much more than survey the territory with her tongue, however, when his groans turned desperate and he backed away. "Have mercy, woman," he said. "You're dealing with a lit tinderbox here." She sighed. Now what? Conversation? "Go on, get back up there," he ordered her. "What?" He nodded pointedly at the head of the bed. She had worked her way down to the foot of it during her ministrations. "Okay," she said, crawling backwards on her elbows. "Anything else I can do for you?" "Just lie back and think comfortable thoughts," he said. "*If* you can still think," he added, and then set himself comfortably between her legs and went on an exploratory mission of his own. Oh Christ, she thought, arching herself up to get more. Yes, right there, Mulder. Oh God. Oh. My. God. She felt him smile against her at her moans. Yeah, okay, so I'm not as quiet as a church mouse, she thought -- Oh Holy Christ. The man had just the right investigative skills. Never got too far off the trail. She opened her legs wider, welcoming more, wanting much, much more, and soon felt a hot flush creeping across her entire body. Somewhat alarmed at the idea that she was getting ahead of the game, she grabbed his head and pulled, trying to communicate wordlessly that it was now or never, partner. After all, shouldn't they cross this threshold together also? He ignored her. "Please, Mulder," she begged him. "In." "Trust me, Scully," he said, and continued his talented tongue work. She bucked and squirmed, feeling that delicious pressure growing, helpless to stop it, yet thinking no, not yet, not yet. "Mulder," she panted, desperate. "Trust me," he insisted, and went at it more forcefully than ever, holding her against her half-hearted attempts to move away. It was utterably unbearable, finally, and she shattered, rocked by wave after wave of orgasm. He gave her a moment to catch her breath, and then he said, "Now," and slid into her until he filled her completely. "Oh God," she moaned, because it was an amazing sensation, almost as if her orgasm had never stopped. Every movement he made felt like an extra helping. "I love you so much," he whispered, thrusting into her slowly and languorously. She wrapped her legs around him, too overcome by emotion to speak. It had been so long since she felt anything like this. She bore down on him inside her as they rocked and he groaned his appreciation. To her surprise, it was not long before she felt the pressure of yet another orgasm building inside her, and she began to thrust back against him in earnest. He maintained a slow, almost maddeningly steady pace as she slowly built towards something she'd doubted was possible, at least for her. Finally, as she keened helplessly through new clenching waves of orgasm that seemed to never end, he began to pound into her faster and more erratically until he too was groaning in a long, shuddering release. At which point she was surprised to find herself crying. "You okay?" he gasped, still trembling above her. She nodded, tears running down her face. Never before had she felt such a sense of release. It was as if a dam had broken and years of self- control had washed out. "I'm fine," she sniffled. "I'm great. I'm better than great. I'm just a little overcome, I guess." Mulder pulled out and rolled over on his side, facing her. "That's a good thing, I hope." She nodded again and smiled at him. "So that wasn't too bad, was it, for two rusty old slowpokes?" he smirked. She snorted. "I'm a little afraid it can't possibly be that good again." "Nonsense," Mulder said comfortably. "It will get better and better. But then again, sometimes it will probably suck. That's just the deal." She felt moved all over again and climbed over into his arms. "Jesus, Mulder, if I'd known what I was missing, I would have jumped your bones seven years ago." He lay quietly, gently running his fingers through her hair. "It wouldn't have been the same." "Because you've been studying all this time," she suggested, only half teasing. He snorted. "I have been, in a way. What does it take to make Scully happy? The greatest mystery in the X-Files." She felt mildly slapped. "I'm not *that* hard to please." "I don't mean it like that," Mulder said, seriously. "If you were hard to please you would have dumped me and the X-Files years ago. I'm talking about something more fundamental. At some point I realized that the real question was: what does it take for Scully to allow herself to be happy? And the answer, I eventually realized, was nothing I had any control over. So once I figured that out, all I could do was wait and hope." "Wait and hope," Scully echoed, considering what he had told her. "And all this time I thought that *you* were the one who couldn't allow himself to be happy." "Well," he said. "I admit it took me awhile. And I don't ever expect to be the poster boy for good mental health. But it did eventually became clear even to me that my best hope of any happiness at all lay with you." She sighed, struck with regret again that it had taken her so long to reach this point. "And to think that was even *before* we had sex," Mulder added, teasing. xxxx As they lay there, hands entwined, Scully fought a yawn and remembered with dismay that she had to go work in not so many hours. As did Mulder. "So how are we going to play this?" she asked, realizing with no small sense of surprise that all the good reasons for partners to stay platonic still existed, even after the magic of the night. "What do you mean?" Mulder asked. "You know -- work, et cetera." "Oh," he sounded concerned. "Do we really have to figure this out right now?" And yes, she realized, even after what had happened, they were still definitely the same two people with very different approaches to life. "Well, if you're planning to go to work this morning, we only have about five hours to figure it out." He sighed unhappily. "Well, what do you think?" "I think we'd better keep it quiet, don't you?" He suddenly looked wary. "How quiet?" She yawned. "I don't know. Quiet. Not generally publicly known." "You're not going to leave here and pretend this never happened, are you?" he asked, looking increasingly alarmed. Did he really think she would do that to him? Though perhaps it wasn't so outrageous that he would. "No, Mulder, no," she said. He looked as if he might not completely believe her on that. "Glad to hear it." "But I do think we should be careful. No evidence of it in the office. No canoodling where we might be seen." He rolled on his back and closed his eyes. "Canoodling?" "And we maintain the semblance of separate lives," she continued. "We can't be seen to be shacking up." He yawned hugely, which made her yawn too. "You know, you're taking to all this rule-setting with a little too much enthusiasm." "I know," she admitted. She rolled out of bed and grabbed a t-shirt out of his hamper to clean up with. "I'm setting the alarm for five." "You've got to be kidding me," he groaned. "I have to get home and change. It's either now or then. So I'll get up and leave early, and you can stay in bed until your usual time." "Not very romantic," he protested, but he was fading fast. "This isn't romance," Scully said. "This is love." She tried to crawl back under the covers. "And by the way, I just want to remind you that if you love me you won't hog the covers." xxxx At five, Scully startled awake and wrestled with Mulder's alarm clock until she got it to shut up for God's sake. "Let's call in sick, Scully," he groaned next to her. "You don't have any sick time left," she reminded him. "I'm going to go home so I can get ready for work. I'm setting this for 8 -- I'll see you later at the office." She was up already, heading for her clothes. Today was the first day of the rest of her life as a sexually satisfied woman, and she felt invigorated and full of purpose. "Do you still love me in the morning?" Mulder called plaintively from the bed. She went back to the bed and kissed him. "Yes, I still love you. Go back to sleep." He mumbled something unintelligible and complied almost immediately. Scully crept about collecting her clothes and dressed herself quickly in his bathroom, resisting the urge to shut the door while she did it. There was very little point in modesty now. Collecting her jacket from his room, she allowed herself to gaze briefly at her beautiful sleeping partner and felt a tremor of fear. What if this didn't work? Then she mentally shook herself. After all, if she had ever allowed her fears to rule her, she'd have fled Mulder and the X-Files years ago. Hell, she wouldn't have been able to put one foot in front of the other on days too numerous to mention. She was trained and armed and she could get through anything. Still, it was a nasty surprise when she opened Mulder's door and found Mavis Dunbody waiting there. xxxx For an interminable second, both women stared in dismay at each other. Then, operating on instinct, Scully drew her gun and pointed it at Mavis. "Hands up!" she barked. Mavis screamed and dropped a bag on the floor, which cracked and spilled out half a dozen bagels and a small container of cream cheese. "Don't shoot!" she wailed, waving her long pink nails in the air. Scully began to feel a little foolish when she realized Mavis was apparently not wielding anything more dangerous than breakfast. One of Mulder's neighbors down the hall peered out at them, saw the gun, and quickly slammed his door. "Turn around, hands against the wall," Scully said, more calmly. Might as well do this thoroughly. Mavis gulped air frantically and did as she said. "You all right here?" Mulder asked breathlessly, coming up behind them barefoot, in jeans that weren't yet completely fastened. "Yeah, we're fine," Scully said, kicking bagels out of her way so she could frisk down Mavis, though it was hard to imagine there could be anything hidden in an outfit that tight. "She's clean. You can turn around now, Ms. Dunbody." Mavis turned around, trembling, looking in horror from Scully, who was fully dressed except for the notable lack of panty hose, to bare-chested, stubbled Mulder, whose hair was sticking up wildly on one side. "Did you call the police?" Scully asked him. "No," Mulder said. Then he gave Mavis a dark look. "Not yet." "Well, I think one of your neighbors may have." "Excellent," Mulder said. "Ms. Dunbody, have you ever heard of the state of Virginia's laws against stalking?" "But, but --" Mavis stammered. "Can you give us a reason why you are waiting outside my apartment after I have repeatedly and explicitly expressed my intention to avoid ever seeing or speaking to you again?" Mulder asked. "But you don't understand," Mavis said, desperately. "You misinterpreted me. I was just trying to explain." She pointed at the roses still sitting incongruously in the hall. "Look. You haven't even read my letters, have you?" "Actually, I was out of the country," Mulder said, with as much dignity as a man whose hair is sticking up can muster. "But I have no wish to read your letters. I have no wish to receive flowers from you. I do not want you in my apartment. I don't ever want to lay eyes on you again. How much clearer can I be on this subject, Ms. Dunbody?" "I thought perhaps you would let me explain myself in person," she said. "Over breakfast," she added mournfully. Mulder looked at Scully helplessly. "You'd better come with me," Scully said tersely to Ms. Dunbody. "Are you taking me in?" Mavis asked, alarmed. "Scully?" Mulder queried, looking concerned. "I'll see you at work, Mulder," Scully said. "Come on, Mavis." xxxx Dunbody slumped and walked back down the hall ahead of Scully. "I don't see what I did that's so bad," she said, in the elevator. Scully didn't reply, just motioned her out. Ms. Dunbody began to sniffle. Scully walked her down to the street. "Where's your car?" she asked. Dunbody pointed wordlessly at a 1971 blue Chevy Nova in perfect condition. "And where'd you get the bagels?" Scully asked, although she thought she knew. Dunbody pointed across the street and down to the corner, where there was a deli that already played far too large a role in Mulder's nutritional life. "How long were you waiting out here, anyway?" Scully demanded. "All night," Mavis said. So while she and Mulder were making love, Mavis Dunbody was skulking outside. She couldn't contain a shiver of distaste. "You know, that's really pathetic," Scully said, and gestured Dunbody across the street. "Where are we going?" Mavis asked tremulously. "We're going to eat breakfast," Scully said. "During which time I am going to interrogate you. After which time, I will escort you to your car and you will leave the city of Alexandria and never come near it or Agent Mulder ever again or I will have you thrown in jail. Is that understood?" Dunbody nodded, wide-eyed, and proceeded warily into the deli. Scully ordered them both bagels with cream cheese. "You want coffee?" she asked Mavis. Mavis nodded, looking confused. "Two coffees," Scully said. "Sit down, Mavis." Scully brought the coffees and bagels to the table, and focused all her attention on getting that little tab on the coffee cup open. Coffee would help tremendously; she was sure of it. "What I'd like to know," Scully said, as soon as she was fortified by her first cautious sip, "Is just what the hell you think you are doing, pursuing my partner like this." "Well, I didn't know he was your boyfriend," Mavis said loudly, eyeing her carefully. Scully was actually fairly used to comments like that, but she couldn't help flinching a bit inside this time, now that it was true. She hoped her face betrayed none of it, however. "You didn't answer my question." "I thought he and I would hit it off, that's all." "Based on what? A photograph in the newspaper?" Mavis looked annoyed. "So what if it was? He's an interesting guy." "Our sources show, Mavis, that you have a long history of pursuing men and accusing those who don't get involved with you for at least a short time of sexual assault." "Yeah, well," Mavis said. "I guess it's a matter of perception. I always show my men a good time. They get what they want." "And what do you get that you want?" Scully asked, genuinely curious. Mavis shrugged and looked away, trying to establish eye contact with the man behind the counter. "So tell me about Olivia D'Beauregard," Scully said. "What about her?" Mavis said sharply. "You get her royalty checks, you tell me." "If you think they amount to much, you are sadly mistaken," Mavis said bitterly. "My mother wrote those books. I found her manuscripts after she died. I typed one up, cleaned up her spelling, which was pretty awful, updated some of the settings, and sent them off. The publisher took them and an option for four more. Unfortunately, she only wrote two others. I've tried writing my own, but they don't seem to like my original work. Those assholes wouldn't know good writing if it stabbed them in the eye." "So are you hard up for money?" Scully asked. "I suppose you could say it's getting a little difficult," Mavis said. "I'll be all right, though." "How's that?" "What do you mean?" "How do you know you will be okay?" "Oh, you know," Mavis said. "Something will come along." She smiled and batted her eyes at the man behind the counter, who gave a nervous smile in return. "Like a man?" suggested Scully. Mavis shrugged again. "Maybe." "What did your mother do for a living?" Scully asked, curious. "Was she a writer?" "Oh, no," Mavis said. "She only took that up when she got old, and lost her looks. Which was fine with her, because we were all set up by then. She just did it for fun." "Set up?" "My mother was the mistress of a prominent senator from West Virginia," Mavis said with obvious pride. "And he left us very comfortable." "His mistress," Scully said. "I imagine that must have been a little strange for you, growing up." "Well, we moved around a lot when I was kid, especially before she met the senator. Then we were in Washington for awhile, but those were great days, really. When it all ended, we bought the house in Ridley for cash. Nobody in Ridley knew a thing about it," Mavis said. "That was all part of the deal." "So the senator was your father?" "No, I never knew my father. She said he died in the war," Mavis said. "Who knows, maybe he did. Not everybody's mother is June Cleaver, you know." It appeared that Mavis's mother had been a lot further from June Cleaver than most, however. "So you saw Mulder in a newspaper, figured he was a public figure of some note..." "And not too hard on the eye...," Mavis chimed in. "... And you thought, let's get him on the line," Scully concluded. "I wouldn't put it quite that way," Mavis said delicately. She seemed to be relaxing, judging from the increased gusto with which she ate her bagel. "And like I said, I didn't know he already had a bit on the side." The look she gave Scully was predatory. She's wondering how much our secret is worth, Scully realized, but she was unfazed. Mavis Dunbody had even less credibility than she and Mulder did. "You were engaged four times, I heard," Scully said. "If it was support you're looking for, why didn't you just marry one of those men?" Mavis sighed and looked down. "You know, I've sometimes wondered that myself. It's just, it's hard not to think you might get a better deal with the next one, you know? I've seen so many women who marry the wrong man and get stuck working like dogs all their lives. But I admit, I miscalculated a bit. I underestimated how quickly a woman's looks can go." She looked shrewdly at Scully. "For instance, I'd guess you have another three, four years at most, hon." It was meant maliciously, Scully knew, but it also was the truth as Mavis saw it. Scully smiled sadly. "Mavis, have you ever once in your life just loved and desired a man just for who he was, without thinking about what he was worth to you?" "That's a fool's game, sweetheart." It was fascinating, in a way. Mavis Dunbody appeared to be as lacking in the faculty of love as another person might be of sight, or hearing. Presumably she'd learned this at her mother's knee. But then again, maybe her mother had played the game with more feeling. Scully drained her coffee. "You know, Mavis, you don't seem to be nearly as good at this particular gambit as your mother was." Mavis's plump face flushed bright red. "How dare you!" "But by your own account you're a much better speller than she was," Scully said. "And Agent Mulder told me he was very impressed with your writing ability. Maybe you're just trying too hard in the wrong field. I get the feeling you may not have the best instincts for romance. On the other hand, you might do really great writing about collectibles. Or maybe you'd make a great proofreader." "Are you done?" Mavis asked coldly. "Yes -- except for this one thing," Scully said. "You leave my partner alone. You show your face near him again and you're in big trouble. You got it?" Mavis screwed up her mouth and nodded. "I'll walk you to your car," Scully said. They walked in silence until they were almost there. Then Mavis said, "I suppose your relationship with Agent Mulder is something really special to you, then?" "Excuse me?" "Something you'd like to keep low profile, for instance," Mavis drawled menacingly. "I don't think there's anything particularly low profile about Agent Mulder," Scully said. "Or me. So I wouldn't worry about us too much, if I were you." Mavis looked unconvinced. "And you know, Mavis," Scully said. "If I were you I'd worry a little less about what you can get from other people and more about what you can get from yourself. But that's just my advice." And then Scully turned and walked away. xxxx Later Mulder joined her in the office and they put in a giddy day of trying to ignore the change in their relationship while handling mundane tasks. One red rose sat in a vase on Scully's desk -- not a terribly subtle note on their first day as lovers, but of the few people in a position to notice, nobody dared to ask her about it. "It's evidence of Mavis," Mulder had explained, mischievously, when he took it out of his briefcase and presented it to her. "It's evidence we don't need," she said, warningly. But she didn't have the heart to get rid of it, either. As the day passed her eyes returned again and again to that bright spot of red in the office. At the end of the day Scully suggested that it might be best not to take chances on Mavis reappearing, so perhaps Mulder had better stay with her that night. He agreed that it was a prudent move, and followed her home eagerly. xxxx At her apartment, after they had feverishly resumed where they had left off in a performance that left Scully nicely sated and suffering from no lowered expectations whatsoever, she lay contentedly in bed with Mulder and commented, "Poor Mavis Dunbody will never know what it's like to feel this way." Mulder rolled over and chuckled softly. "Well, I may be good, Scully, but I don't think my talents are *that* exclusive." "No, I mean she'll never understand what it's like to love a man and want him just because she loves him. To feel really connected to him." Mulder was silent for a moment. "Actually, I think we were pretty well connected long before we did this," he said. "I know. But it feels right to connect this way, too, at last." And Mulder smiled at her and laid his head on her belly. Daniel didn't understand either, she thought, lying there, stroking Mulder's hair. He'd fallen in love with Scully because she thought of him as a hero and made him feel that way about himself. Loving Scully had been an expression of his own mid-life crisis, his own self-image, rather than any serious desire to deal with the complex person Scully represented. Mulder, on the other hand, had been forced over the years into an intimate knowledge of her personality that could have taken him either way, she supposed. He could have wearied of her (and sometimes did, no doubt). He could have settled on tolerance of her foibles for the sake of the work while remaining a fundamentally solitary soul. Instead, even though she had no doubt that she was not his ideal of feminine beauty, he'd somehow fallen in love with her. Thank God. "Mulder?" "Mmmm?" "Thank you for loving me." "You're welcome. Thank you likewise," Mulder said. "And Mulder?" "Mmmm?" "Since you love me, do you think you could order the pizza?" THE END ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Re: feedback -- I welcome both positive and negative feedback and I answer it promptly. However, if you post it on the newsgroup or list, I likely won't see it. Please cc me if you'd like a response. Notes: Livia wanted more smut, so don't blame her if this wasn't as much as you wanted. (Go read her excellent smut, that's what I recommend!) She wanted more development, too, while Mystphile said I should trim it. I did some of both, and I thank them both for their excellent help.