TITLE:      MONOTONE
AUTHOR:     Pacquin
EMAIL:      pjtdjt@stellarnet.com
RATING:     PG
CATEGORY:   MSR, Humor
SPOILERS:   Tooms, Clyde Bruckman (very minor)

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and its characters are the
            property of Fox Television and 1013 Productions and
            are used without permission.

SUMMARY:    Mulder loves Scully and Scully loves Mulder.
            And they're both completely clueless....

NOTE:       I came late to the world of fanfiction.
            Please consider this story an homage to that most
            beloved fanfiction genre, Mulder's and Scully's "first
            time."

*****
  FBI Special Agent Dana Scully sat in her office
chair, staring into space.  She would have been
sitting at her desk except that she didn't have one.
The only desk in *this* office belonged to her
partner, FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder. Mulder, she
mused. She didn't know, really, just what it was that
made him so attractive to her. She had wondered about
this often. He was tall, good-looking. But there was
something more. Maybe it was his voice; most women
were attracted to a deep, resonant, masculine voice,
but his was special, a sort of velvet monotone that
caused her pulse to race whenever she heard it.

  "Hey, Scully. Good morning."

  Damn it! She jumped in her chair. Why did he always
have to sneak up on her? She felt irritated with him.
She felt irritated with him most days, actually, and
that was probably one of the reasons that nothing had
ever happened between them. Although there were
others. She, after all, was a doctor, a scientist,
while he ... well, Mulder went more by intuition, and
she really couldn't get into that. But she had to
admit, he frequently made these fantastically
intuitive leaps that often led to them solving their
cases, which was great for her career. He just
couldn't seem to pick up on the many, many hints that
she dropped to let him know that she was interested.
Oh, well, she sighed to herself; she could always
hope.

  There she sat, he thought, his partner, Special
Agent Dana Scully, M.D.  He mentally left off the M.D.
part, though he knew she wouldn't like it. Scully was
really into titles, and he had a sneaking suspicion
that she felt just a teeny bit superior to him because
of the doctor thing, though she really didn't get on
him much about it. She was, however, very touchy about
being his equal even though he had been working on the
X-Files for a lot longer and, frankly, was a lot
better at it. So he had developed this thing where he
would ask her for her opinion, even though most of the
time he was thinking about box scores in his head
while she was talking. It kept the peace, though, and
he was really anxious to keep the peace with Scully.
She was very, very attractive, and he kept hoping that
their working relationship would develop into
something more. It never had, though, in spite of the
many longing looks he'd cast her way; he'd kissed her
forehead several times and even stroked her jaw, but
she was oblivious to his attraction for her. He had
been practicing in the mirror lately, trying to get up
the courage to approach her, and although he'd
developed one or two new looks of longing, he just
couldn't seem to get it together.

  The phone rang. "Mulder," he answered. He sighed.
"Scully. The phone. It's for you--Assistant Director
Skinner. Again." This was one part of the job that he
hated, answering the phone. It was usually for Scully,
and it was usually their boss, Walter Skinner. Skinner
had never bothered him when Mulder had first started
on the X-Files; in fact, he hadn't seen the guy for
nearly two years until Scully had been assigned to the
X-Files. Now Skinner was always popping down, checking
up on them to see what they were doing. All that
mattered to Mulder was the work. I just want to do my
job, he thought self-righteously.

  "Scully."

  "Hi, Dana--er--Agent Scully. It's me, Walter--Walter
Skinner, your boss? Um ... I was wondering if you had
a minute today, if you would mind coming up to my
office. I have a ... special project ... that I'd like
to discuss with you."

  "Certainly, sir," she replied. "When would you like
to see me?"

  "Well ... how about this afternoon sometime ... say
five o'clock?"

  She paused. "Gee, sir, it *is* Friday."

  "Oh, whenever you get a minute, Agent Scully. Any
time would be fine with me."

  "All right, sir, I'll stop up later. Shall I arrange
a time with your assistant?"

  "Actually, she's not here today. So just come on up
whenever."

  "And Agent Mulder? Would you like to see him as
well?"

  "Uh ... no.  Just you."

  "All right, sir." She hung up the phone and turned
to look at Mulder. "Skinner wants to talk to me about
some kind of special project. What do you think it
could be about?"

  Mulder was staring into space. He loved listening to
her, even when she was droning on and on. Scully had
the most beautiful voice. It sounded liked crushed ice
against his skin; sometimes it sounded like molten
sugar. It depended on the weather. He got up suddenly.
"I'm going to the men's room, Scully. I'll be back in
a minute."

  "Okay, Mulder," she said. "I'll just read this
article on mutants until you get back." She hated to
pry, but Mulder seemed to spend more than his share of
time in the bathroom. She thought of mentioning this
to him; after all, she *was* a medical doctor, but
sometimes he looked kind of, well, disheveled when he
got back, so she thought it best not to mention it.
This mutant article is really long, she thought. The
phone rang.

  "Scully."

  "Hey, Scully, it's me."

  "Mulder? I thought you were in the men's room."

  "I am--er--was. Scully, do you think you could read a
couple of paragraphs to me from that mutant article?
I've got a ... theory."

  "Sure, Mulder. What part?"

  "Any part."

  "Well, okay. 'The large quantities of glycoproteins
will most certainly lead the researcher to the
conclusion--'"

  "Scully?"

  "What?"

  "Do you think you could read faster?"

  She sighed. "'... That the organism is a carbon-based
one, and that a close examination of the amino acids
present in the core sample--'"

  "Faster, Scully--"

  "'... will provide the researcher with a basis for
further examination upon--'"

  CLICK.

  Mulder was always doing that, she thought. He never
ended a conversation with "bye" or "catch you later"
or anything like that. He always hung up really
quickly. When he first started doing it she considered
talking to him about it, but she guessed it was just
that he considered her his equal, his partner. Come to
think of it, Skinner did that sometimes, too, and the
guys in the lab. She must have finally infiltrated the
old boy network at the FBI. They thought she was just
one of the guys. Hmm, thought Scully, maybe that was
the problem with Mulder.

  She was working at her computer when Mulder came
back in. He didn't look pleased; he pointed to someone
behind him and mouthed "Skinner" at her. They must
have met up in the men's room.

  "Hi, Dana--er--Agent Scully," said the Assistant
Director. "How's it going?"
  
  "Fine, sir."

  "Wow, that's really a pretty outfit. You look really
nice today, Dana--er--Agent." Poor Skinner, thought
Scully. There must be some kind of mold or spore
activity here in the basement; his voice always got
really low and husky when he came down to talk to her.
Maybe he had allergies. She knew a couple of
specialists and had thought of mentioning it to him;
after all, she *was* a medical doctor, but she didn't
want him to think that she was stepping out of line.

  "Thank you, sir." She looked down at her basic black
pantsuit. Come to think of it, she wore a lot of
black. Maybe that was the problem with Mulder, maybe
he thought she was too austere. She did have that
charcoal gray pantsuit; maybe she'd wear that on
Monday.

  Someone was coming down the hall. They all looked up
as Arlene from the Information Desk came in with a
large bouquet of flowers. "Dana? I've got some more
flowers for you."

  "Again?" said Scully. Out of the corner of her eye
she saw Skinner slip Arlene a couple of dollar bills.
Wow, that was really thoughtful. She knew that Mulder
didn't like Skinner hanging around all the time, and
she had to admit that it got on her nerves, too,
especially since it seemed to be happening more and
more often outside of work; she was always bumping
into him at the grocery store, the library, at the
garage. She didn't think he even lived close to her.
One time she'd even run into him in the building where
she saw her gynecologist. Oh, well, D.C. had a
confusing street system; he'd probably gotten lost.

  "Who are they from, Scully?" asked Mulder.

  She looked at the card. Her name, "Dana Scully," was
on the outside of the envelope, but there was no
signature. "It's unsigned."

  "As usual," said Mulder.

  "Uh, Agent Scully," said Skinner. "I'll just leave
this list of items I'll need for the special project
... here on your--where's your desk?"

  "I don't have one, sir. Agent Mulder and I share the
one desk."

  "Well," said Skinner. "I'll have to see about that.
Come up to my office a little early and we'll look
through an office furniture catalogue," he smiled at
her. "See you later." He gave a little wave as he and
Arlene went back down the hall.

  Scully glanced down at the list he had left. Gee,
that handwriting looked so familiar. She checked out
the card on the bouquet of flowers. It seemed really
... similar. It vaguely reminded her, too, of the
writing on those sexually explicit notes someone had
been leaving on her car, although she'd thrown those
away. "Look at this, Mulder. The handwriting on
Skinner's list is almost exactly the same as on that
envelope that came with my flowers. That's really
interesting," she said as she looked for something to
mop up the water that had spilled out onto Mulder's
desk.

  Mulder looked more than a little interested. In
fact, he felt a big intuitive leap coming on. His eyes
narrowed and he put his fingertips together. Could it
be? Could it be that *Skinner* was interested in
Scully? That would explain a lot of things, including
her big cost of living raise that, he, Mulder didn't
get, even though he didn't care about things like
money. It was just about the work; he just wanted to
do his job, he thought defensively.

  "So, Mulder, do you want to grab a bite of lunch?"
she asked hopefully. Maybe she could approach him then
about her feelings for him.

  "No, Scully, I've got some errands to do today
during lunch time. See you later," he said, grabbing
his suit coat as he left the office.

  Scully sighed. She guessed she'd eat by herself in
the commissary today. She picked up her jacket and
turned off the lights.

  "Agent Scully?"

  She jumped. It was the Assistant Director again; he
must have forgotten something in their office. "Oh ...
hello, sir."

  "Do you have any plans for lunch? I thought maybe we
could talk in my office. I really want to start ... 
working with you."

  "No, sir, I don't have any plans for lunch," she
said. She tried to listen to Skinner as they walked
down the hall toward the elevator; he was on one of
his favorite topics again, about his bad marriage and
how no one understood him. Scully thought maybe he
could use the services of a good mental health
professional; she knew a couple of therapists and had
thought about suggesting it to him; after all, she
*was* a medical doctor, but she'd thought better of
it. He might be offended. She kept thinking about
Mulder. He never had any plans at lunch time. Where
was he going?

*****

  Skinner had forced his hand, Mulder thought. He was
going to have to make his move on Scully sooner than
he had planned. He'd never actually planned out this
move, but there was no time like the present. Mulder
didn't know why he was having so much trouble
approaching Scully. Women seemed to like him, he'd had
girlfriends. He knew this because they popped up from
time to time and they still seemed to be interested in
him. He must have had a really great technique, if
only he could remember what it was. There was that
girl from England; then there was that vampire girl
he'd picked up in a bar; that hadn't been so good.
Scully had been missing then and he wasn't thinking
too clearly. Then there was that woman who had been in
the suicide cult. They'd been soulmates in previous
lives; that had been ... what ... like 150 years ago
or something, and she had still been interested in
him.

  He went into Barnes & Noble. He needed a different
technique, and surely there was some kind of book that
could help him. He felt weird being in the Human
Sexuality section, so he grabbed the first book he
could find and headed off to the Sci-Fi comics section
where he felt less conspicuous. He picked up the
latest X-Men comic and put it around his book. Three
or four junior high-age boys were staring at him.
"Aren't you boys supposed to be in school?" he tried
to sound official.

  "It's lunch time, Mister," one of them said.

  He pulled back his suit jacket so that his weapon
was visible and they scampered off. That worked less
and less well these days, but it was still better than
showing his FBI badge. The way things were going with
the Bureau, a special agent with the FBI got slightly
less respect than the Easter Bunny. He'd even been
mistaken for a FEMA worker a couple of times, and he
didn't like it. Yeah, in D.C. he was nothing, but he
had big plans for himself and Scully, where they would
go on a trip together and he would show his badge and
say "FBI" in a really deep voice to impress her and
get good tables in restaurants. At least, he thought
that's what people did on trips. He hadn't had a
vacation in a long, long time. Oh, Scully, he sighed.

  He couldn't find any of the techniques he'd used on
Scully in the book. There was nothing on forehead
kissing. Nothing on jaw stroking. Damn! He'd even
checked the index for "jawline stroking," but still,
no luck. He thought of the times he'd stroked her
temples with his thumbs, rubbed the bridge of her
nose, her eyebrows with his fingers. Someone had liked
that, but who? Oh, yes, now he remembered. Chipper,
his black Labrador retriever. Good ol' Chipper. They had
had some great times together, him and Chipper, back
in the day. But it was time to move on. Mulder read
quickly. Thank God he had that photographic memory so
he wouldn't have to buy the sex book. It would be too
embarrassing. He raised his eyebrows. Hmmm. The book
offered some interesting suggestions. Guess I'll have
to work a little farther south, he thought.

*****

  Scully was putting some files away when he got back
to the office.

  "Where were you?" she asked. "You're awfully late
getting back from lunch, aren't you?"

  "Traffic. You know," he said. "I'm sorry I couldn't
have lunch with you, Scully. I know you don't like
eating by yourself in the commissary."

  "That's okay. I ran into Skinner and we wound up
having lunch in his office."

  I'll bet, thought Mulder.

  "Boy, I feel sorry for his assistant. She was gone
today, so we kept getting interrupted and he just blew
up," said Scully. "She must have to put up with a lot.
But I did find out about the special project he wants
me to work on."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes, he wants me to reorganize his desk drawers."
  
  "*What*?"

  "You know, make them ergonomically more efficient."

  "Scully," said Mulder slowly. "Don't you think it's
odd that he'd put a special agent from the X-Files on
a project like that?"

  "Well, no. He probably thinks that I know something
about kinesiology and things like that, well, you
know, being that I'm a medical doctor and all." She
hoped she hadn't offended Mulder about the doctor
thing. Hmmm, she thought, maybe that was the problem
with Mulder.

  Mulder sighed. Well, he thought, here goes. Actually
it would be a relief to tell Scully how he felt. He
knew there was a pool at the FBI about him and Scully.
The other male agents would all be wearing ALF t-
shirts and humming the tones from "Close Encounters of
the Third Kind" if they thought they could work with
her, she was so attractive. Maybe even some of the
female ones. But somehow everyone knew that their
relationship was chaste. He knew, too, that 40%
thought he was gay and the other 60% had put their
money on clueless, not that he cared about things like
that. It was all about the work, he just wanted to do
his job. Still, he thought wistfully, it was getting
harder and harder to get a pickup game of basketball
with the gay thing going on.

  He cleared his throat. Scully glanced in his
direction as she was putting away some files. He was
really, really nervous. Shake it off, Mulder, shake it
off, he told himself. He did. Scully shot him a look.

  "You okay, Mulder?"

  "Uh, yeah. Say, Scully ... how'd you feel about
having dinner with me tonight?" Okay, he thought, she
must know how I feel about her. I just asked her to
dinner. He stared deeply into her eyes. Come on, come
on, Scully, pick up on it ... pick up on it.

  He was giving her one of those looks again. What was
up with that? thought Scully. She eyed him
suspiciously. "You're buying, right?"

  "Yeah, sure. Wherever you want to go. It's on me,"
he smiled at her.

  "Well, yes, that'd be great, Mulder. Pick me up at
7:00?"

  "Fine."

  She stood up from in front of the file cabinet and
brushed off her hands against her pantsuit. "I think I'll
take off a little early, if that's okay with you. I'm
going to take some of these journals home with me and
see if I can get a little reading done this weekend."
She moved her head back and forth, rubbing the back of
her neck. That damned implant. It was probably going
to rain.

  "No problem," said Mulder. "See you at 7:00." Thank
God she was leaving. He needed to sit down.

  "Knock, knock...." said a familiar voice at the
door.

  "Assistant Director Skinner ... hello," said Scully.
"Was there something else you needed to speak to me
about concerning the special project with your desk?"

  Skinner flashed a quick look in Mulder's direction.
"No ... ah ... just happened to be down here in the
basement and thought I'd drop in to see how things
were going. Are you leaving, Agent Scully?"

  "Yes, sir," she said. "I'm just taking a few things
home to work on over the weekend."

  "Oh, well, here, let me ... can I carry your books
for you? Let me walk you to the elevator. Or the
parking garage. Did you drive to work today? I didn't
see your car...."

  "Oh, um, okay," she said. "Bye, Mulder. See you
later."

 *Skinner*, thought Mulder. His intuition thing was
one for one.

*****

  Mulder was happy. All in all the day had gone pretty
well. No, Scully had not picked up on the fact that he
loved her, but he was pretty sure that he could go through
with it at dinner. And he had, in fact, correctly
intuited four things today, three if you didn't count
that thing with predicting when the bread truck would
arrive at the FBI commissary, and he didn't think he
would, being as how he hd noticed it rather than
intuited it.

  He took a quick shower and shaved. He looked in the
mirror. With any luck at all, he and Scully might be
having a "close encounter" of their own tonight. His
heart pounded a little faster.  Dah-dee-dah-dum-dee,
he crooned tunelessly to himself in the mirror. He
felt really nervous. Shake it off, Mulder, he told
himself. He did.

  Scully, too, was making preparations for the dinner
date. Because it was a date, she told herself. Sort
of. She wondered how best to approach Mulder. It
seemed as if he got scared off fairly easily. She knew
about the pool about Mulder and her. Originally, it
was 60-40 in favor of Mulder being gay, but a
carefully timed conversation with Holly the switchboard
girl about "fear of commitment" had swung things the
other way. And maybe things were going to change
tonight. After all, she'd dropped at least three major
hints today about her feelings for him. Maybe he was
finally picking up on them. She dressed carefully. A
nice, basic black pantsuit, just like she wore at
work. Maybe it would put him at ease. She decided
against wearing her small gold cross. I don't want him
to think that I'm super-religious or against
premarital sex, she thought. Hmmm, maybe that was the
problem with Mulder. Still, it was her lucky cross.
The doorbell rang and she went to answer it.

*****

  Dinner was over and they were at the door of
Scully's apartment. Things had gone pretty well,
thought Mulder, though not as well as he had hoped.
Scully still hadn't picked up on the fact that he was
in love with her, even though he'd told her to order
the most expensive thing on the menu and had let her
order her own dessert, no sharing. They'd had a great
conversation; she had seemed interested in him, much
more so than usual. She hadn't even cut him off when he'd
started telling her his theory about the Barney and
Betty Hill case, and he was pretty sure he'd mentioned
it to her a couple of times before.

  "Want to come in for some coffee, Mulder?" she
asked.

  "Sure, Scully, that would be nice."

  They walked into the apartment and she flicked on
the lights. My, it was nice in here, he thought. It
was orderly and tidy, and things smelled fresh and
clean. Scully was getting some coffee beans out of the
fridge. Wow, he thought, look at all that food she has
in the fridge. His own living situation was not so
good, but he tried not to let it bother him. After all,
it was the work that mattered. And he just wanted to
do his job.

  "Is your bathroom still in the same place, Scully?"
he asked.

  "Uh-huh," she said. "To the left, through the
bedroom."

  He walked through her bedroom, trying not to look at
her bed. But there it was: pristinely made and covered
with pillows. He bet you could bounce a quarter off
it. He went into the bathroom and splashed his face
with cold water. Oh, boy, he thought. He couldn't stay
in the bathroom forever. She'd certainly come looking
for him and that would be really bad. He took a deep
breath and left the bathroom, putting one hand to the
side of his face so he wouldn't have to see the bed
again, and walked into the living room.

  "Scully," he said.

  She was pouring coffee into two mugs and glanced
over at him. "Yes, Mulder?" He started to say
something but he was mumbling and she was having a
hard time understanding him. She noticed then that he
was breathing awfully fast.  "Mulder, are you okay?"
she asked, concerned.

  "I think I need to sit down." He felt for the couch
and sank down on it. She went over to him then; he
seemed kind of clammy and his respirations were really
rapid. She got up quickly and went to the kitchen,
taking a small paper bag out of one of the kitchen
drawers.

  "Here, Mulder," she said, "breathe into this."  He
put the paper bag over his nose and mouth and started
to breathe. Poor Mulder, she thought, brushing a
strand of hair from his forehead; he must have gotten
something bad to eat. She had thought about warning
him away from the sushi, you never could tell about
it, even in a nice restaurant, but she was a medical
doctor, not his mom.

  Mulder was beginning to feel a little calmer. There
she was, kneeling on the floor next to the couch,
pressing against him. She looked so worried and
concerned. He could see the curve of her breasts under
her little green sweater; the creamy skin of her face;
her soft, rose-colored lips. And she had touched his
forehead. Mulder felt bolder. And then their eyes met.
He leaned imperceptibly closer to her, closer ...
closer.  Scully felt her heart start to beat faster.
She tilted her head back and parted her lips slightly.
Mulder, she thought, come on, Mulder. Slowly he took
the paper bag away from his face; he held it in his
left hand and crumpled it, hard, then threw it to the
floor. Scully began to breathe quickly. Wow! she
thought. She'd never seen him to do anything like that
with a paper bag before.

  "Scully...." he said, leaning toward her. It was now
or never, he thought, moistening his lips with his
tongue.

  RING!!

  Scully jumped up. The stupid phone.

  God damn it! thought Mulder. "Just let it ring,
Scully," he said.

  "It'll just take a minute," she said. She walked
quickly to the phone. "Hello? Oh, Assistant Director
Skinner, it's you. Actually, no, this isn't a good
time. Okay, I understand that. Really? Uh-huh, well,
thank you very much, sir. I'll be talking to you
soon." She hung up. "Well, that was a surprise."

  Mulder looked at her resignedly.  "It was?"

  "Yes," she said. "I thought he was going to go on
and on about that desk project again, but instead he
told me he thought I might be getting a promotion."

  "You're kidding," said Mulder. "What kind of
promotion could you possibly be getting?"

  She thought for a minute. "Well, I'm not sure.  The
only thing I can think of in my current position is
maybe directing the X-files or something."

  WHOA! thought Mulder. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. He
didn't care about the other things, the raises, the
easy assignments she got, the government car, the
great parking place, the handicapped sticker--no, wait,
maybe she got that herself; she was, after all, a
medical doctor--no, he didn't care about any of that
because it was the *work* that mattered to him, he
just wanted to do his job, but damn it all to hell,
this WAS the work!

  "Scully, I can't believe you'd accept a promotion
you didn't deserve," he said.
  
  She looked at him. "Well, nothing's set in stone,
Mulder; he did say it would depend upon my performance
under him with the desk project." She picked a piece
of lint off her pantsuit. "And anyway," she said,
narrowing her eyes at him," why would you think it was
undeserved? I mean, I know I haven't been working on
the X-Files as long as you have been, I know I've got
a lot to learn still, but aren't we partners, equals?"

  "Come on, Scully," he said, exasperated. "How many
cases have you and you alone solved? None. How many
cases has the science part of things really been a
factor in? None. How many intuitive leaps have *you*
made, have you even made one?"

  She frowned. How many intuitive leaps *had* she
made? Not that she was supposed to. After all, she was
the smart, scientific one and he was the smart,
intuitive one. And she had made an intuitive leap,
once, with that homicidal maniac in St. Paul. She'd
figured that one out, and before Mulder, too, even
though the case had pretty much been solved by that
time. Yeah, she'd intuited it, right before she'd had
to save Mulder's ass by shooting the maniac. A thought
crossed her mind.

  "Maybe, Mulder," she said slowly, "maybe I could
make more intuitive leaps if I weren't always having
to save your ass."

  "*Save my ass?* Since when have you saved my
ass--never mind," he said quickly; he knew there had
been a couple of times, or more, but that was really
beside the point. The X-Files were *his*. "The only
reason that Skinner would even consider putting you in
charge of the X-Files is that he has a thing for you."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Jesus, Scully, figure it out. The flowers, the
cards, the big raise, the time he told us there was an
FBI conference in Springfield, and you and he wound up
together in Illinois while I was in Missouri--and I
didn't get reimbursed for that, by the way--come on,
Scully, use that doctor brain of yours! I know what
I'm talking about, trust me."

  "I thought you said to trust no one."

  "I didn't mean *me*, Scully!"

  She was crushed. How could Mulder say these things
to her? 

  "Well, Mulder, I'm sorry you feel that way.
Personally, I think it has to do with the work, and if
you didn't need saving all the time, if you had better
control of your weapon...."

  "Of my *weapon*? Just leave my weapon out of it!"

  "I'm sorry your weapon is such a sore point with
you, Mulder," she said coolly.

  "Is that a euphemism, Scully?"

  "Is what a euphemism?"

  "I think you know."

  "Think I know what?"

  "You know what."

  She was getting confused. "Mulder, just get out of
here!"

  "Oh, yeah, I'm getting out of here," he said. He
pushed past her. He pulled the door open and left,
letting it bang against the wall of her apartment.

  Scully ran over and slammed the door shut. That
bastard! Hot tears prickled her eyes. Oh, God, she
thought. Things had been going so well. Mulder! she
thought. She loved him, and now everything was ruined.
She paced around the living room for a while, then
looked at the clock: 10:13 PM. It was really too early
to go to bed. Maybe she'd take a hot bath and try to
relax. She snuffled sadly and looked at the couch.
He'd almost kissed her. Oh, well, she was a medical
doctor and she could always get some drugs if she
needed them.

*****

  She thought she might have to; the bath hadn't
helped at all. She looked at the clock: 11:21 PM. She
sighed. It always seemed as if it were 10:13 or 11:21.
My God, she thought, I'll be lying here all night
long. She sat up in bed and turned on the light. I'll
read something, she thought, anything. Her mother had
sent her a subscription to "Ladies Home Journal" for
Christmas. She never read it; it was pretty boring for
a doctor-career woman like her, but there was one
thing she did read, a column called "Can This Marriage
Be Saved?" It helped to know that she wasn't the only
one with relationship problems. And it was comforting.
No matter how bad the problem was, by the end of the
column, everything had been solved. Those counselors
were almost as good at intuiting things as Mulder.
Mulder! She fought back tears. She had just gotten
into the magazine when she heard a loud banging sound
in the living room. Jesus, she thought, what's that?

  Someone was knocking on her door. Loudly. And hard.
She scrambled out of bed and went into the living
room.

   "Scully," Mulder continued to knock on the door.
"Let me in, Scully. We need to talk."

  She stood about eight feet away from the door and
listened.

  "Scully!" he shouted through the locked door.

  "Mulder, be quiet! My neighbors will hear you!"

  "Then open the door."

  "No."

  "Scully, I'm not kidding around here. Open the door.
I'm not leaving until you do," he yelled to her.

  "I don't want to see you, Mulder," she said
unconvincingly. There was no sound. Had he given up?
Gone home? That bastard, she thought.

  "Open the God-damned door, Scully, or I swear I'll
break it down!" he shouted.

  She stood stock-still, unable to move.

  Mulder stood outside her door. God damn it! Now he
was really going to have to do something. He stood
back from the door and kicked it, hard, above the
lock, just like they taught him at the Academy. BAM!
There was the sound of splintering wood and the door
fell open.

  He stood there on the threshold of her apartment,
breathing heavily with the effort of kicking in a
solid oak door. I wonder if my foot's broken, he
thought. It hurt like hell. Scully stared at him, her
hands covering her mouth. He limped into the room and
stood there, still breathing hard.

  "Okay, now what?" he said.
  
  "Jesus, Mulder, how'd you do that?"

  "I kicked it, hard, just above the lock, like they
told us at the Academy."

  "I don't think I've ever seen that work before,"
said Scully, impressed.

  "Yeah, me either." Scully, he thought, was breathing
hard, just a little *too* hard for someone who had
just gotten out of bed. Her pajama top was unbuttoned
and she was staring at him.

  She brought her hand up to her neck; her heart was
really pounding. I wonder if I should get that checked
out, she thought momentarily. Her knees felt weak. The
way he looked at her after he had broken down the door
... God.  He was staring at her. She felt warm ...
really, really warm ... she cleared her throat. There
was a large bulge in the front of Mulder's pants.
Something was out there, thought Scully, and she
didn't think it was the truth.

  "You'd better fix that door, Mulder," she said
breathlessly.

  He looked at her, then walked slowly over to the
door. He had to walk slowly, because of his foot. The
broken brass lock hung uselessly at the side of the
door. Then, just as slowly, he shut it.

  "Yeah," he said huskily. "I'm going to fix your
door. I'm going to fix your door, but good."

  "Um...." said Scully. Her pajama bottoms felt kind
of tight all of a sudden. "Do you think you can find
an all-night hardware store?"

  "An all-night hardware store?" he repeated. "An all-
night hardware store? Yeah, I think I can find an all-
night hardware store." He took off his leather jacket
and threw it on the floor. What was with Scully? She
was really staring at him.

  Her eyes seemed almost ... what ... smoky with
desire? Her fingers were playing with the drawstring
of her pajama bottoms. And then, Mulder made a great
big intuitive leap. Scully wanted him! She would
most likely even do it with him if he didn't screw
things up.

  He went over to her and put his hands on her
shoulders. "Scully," he said. "I want to ... I want
to...."

  "Believe?" she offered helpfully.

  "No," he said. "I want to fuck you until you can't
walk."

  "God, Mulder," she breathed. She felt a sudden lurch
in her stomach, or thereabouts.

  And then they were in each other's arms, and he was
kissing her, hard, and she was moaning softly. He tore
off her pajamas, and then ripped off his shirt. It was
harder to get his jeans off because of his sore foot,
but he manfully pulled them off and tossed them into a
corner of the room. She looked at him expectantly. He
picked her up and carried her off to the bedroom.
Please, God, he thought, don't let me scream before I
get to the bed. His foot hurt really bad.

  He dropped her on the bed and looked at her. She was
really beautiful. He lay down on the bed with her.
Clean sheets. God. He breathed in heavily. "Downy," he
murmured. But since his hand was caressing a part of
Scully's body at the time, she thought he was talking
about her and didn't get mad at him. Then he was on
top of her and making love to her, and boy, was it
wonderful. It was unbelievably good, better than
anything he'd ever had before, not that he could
remember the other times, but wasn't that in and of
itself a good thing? She, Scully, was his soulmate,
not any of those others; even that suicide cult woman
with whom he'd been involved in his past life.
Actually, he hadn't really believed that stuff about
the past life, he'd just played along with it to see
if he could get a rise out of Scully. He couldn't
really remember those other women because she had
driven them from his mind, because Scully was "The
One" for him.

  Scully had never experienced such pleasure. None of
her other boyfriends had been any good at all in bed,
she knew that now. Mulder was fantastic; he was so
strong, so sexy. And as for his weapon ... well,
Scully knew she was a fortunate woman, indeed. He was
so perfect, he knew just how to please her. Who would
have believed it? Boy, Mulder had come
out--figuratively speaking, she corrected herself
hastily. The way he made love to her was absolutely
incredible; he knew just how to move inside her; his
rhythm was unbelievable!

  "Not the forehead, not the forehead, not the
forehead; not the jaw, not the jaw, not the jaw," he
whispered under his breath. He was pretty sure that he
was getting it right. He wished, though, that he
hadn't read any more in that sex book, especially not
the part about nervousness the first time with a
highly-desired partner. Shake it off, Mulder, he
thought to himself. He did.

  "Oh, God ... God, Mulder," Scully cried out
underneath him. She gasped. It was the best orgasm of
her life. This intuiting thing with Mulder was really
paying off in spades, sexually speaking. And where had
he learned to do that shaking thing?

  Mulder could not believe it. This was the most
wonderful experience he had ever had; he had pleased
her, he had "sexually fulfilled" Scully, as the book
put it. Now he wouldn't have to think about those box
scores. Although he wasn't quite clear in his head
about that Yankees game....

  "Mulder ... three orgasms ... I can't take any
more," she moaned.

  And so he thrust into her, again and again, until he
exploded inside her, nearly losing consciousness.
Which was okay, because it took his mind off his foot.

*****

 They lay in bed together, cuddling. Mulder was happy.
Scully was a great girl, and he loved her. And that
sex book had been wrong, too, when it said that it was
unlikely the woman could climax through intercourse
alone. Scully had had three orgasms. She was something
else. Of course, it might have something to do with
her being a medical doctor and all. He wasn't sure.
Her apartment was so nice; she had clean, sweet-
smelling sheets on her bed, and food in the fridge.
Mulder found himself really liking all these creature
comforts. He wondered how soon he might suggest that
he move in with her. He wasn't sure on the protocol
for this. Maybe he'd better go back to Barnes & Noble;
they probably had some kind of book. But this time,
he'd go during school hours. Mmmm, she even had TV in
the bedroom. He watched her holding the big, long,
thick remote control in her little hand, flicking from
channel to channel with her fingers caressing the
buttons.... He felt himself stir. "Scully," he
murmured, tracing the outline of her body with his
hand.  "Scully...."

  Oh, Mulder, she thought. She loved him. He was
really great, a wonderful lover, caring and sensitive.
She only hoped that he could figure out how to fix the
door; her landlord had put up with a lot of ... well
... things, like that liver-eating mutant breaking in,
trying to kill her, so she didn't want to make
trouble. It *was* an expensive door. Mulder was
kissing her now, caressing her. Did he want to have
sex with her again? It was hard to tell. She thought
that maybe he did as he had gotten on top of her and
she could no longer see the TV. Oh, well, it wouldn't
hurt to miss her favorite program this one time. She
could still hear it, she thought, as she tossed the
remote on the floor, and that was the best part. "Win
Ben Stein's Money." Mmmm. Ben Stein. She loved his
monotone. 

*****