Chapter Text
Believing isn’t easy.
When Scully first met Colleen Azar – healer and crop circle researcher – she didn’t give her beliefs much credence. Shaken by her encounter with Daniel at the hospital, Scully had no emotional or mental capacity to take her seriously. However, when Colleen said, “You may want to slow down,” it stuck with her. Only in retrospect did she realize how right she had been.
Daniel had been a youthful mistake. An egregious one at that. Again, it was a revelation that she only understood in retrospect when she saw the calamity it caused his family. She had been naive and ambitious; he was an esteemed professor who had made her feel special. He had imparted individualized instruction that was not offered to others. At first, she attributed his extra attention to her academic prowess and future potential as a doctor. Only later did his amorous intentions become clear. And only as a fully-fledged adult did she understand how he had abused his position of power to take advantage of her.
Still, seeing him in person stirred up all those feelings she thought she had buried. In his eyes, she still saw a flattering reflection of herself. He thought she was both brilliant and beautiful. When he caressed her cheek, she remembered the intoxication of his touch. Back then, she had been innocent and moldable, while he was experienced and mature. At the time, she liked it. She craved it. Right or wrong, it all came flooding back in that hospital room.
If she hadn’t taken Colleen’s advice – to slow down – she could have fallen back under his spell. Daniel had appeared fortuitously at a time when she was questioning her choices.
When she told Daniel tearfully, “I don’t know what I have,” she meant it. She was so utterly confused about her life’s trajectory. For months, she had thought her relationship with Mulder was deepening and moving in a positive direction. Her trip with the Smoking Man and their subsequent fight threw a wrench in all of it. During their argument, she had opened the door for Mulder to articulate his feelings and define their relationship, and he shirked the opportunity. What are we? she had asked, and Mulder had no answer.
“What do you want, Dana?” Daniel had asked, cutting to the quick.
She had cracked open the door just wide enough for him to sneak in. “I want everything I should want at this time of my life,” she replied. “Maybe I want the life I didn't choose.”
The truth was that all she wanted was clarity. Lately, she had felt stuck in a fog of confusion. Both professionally and personally. As she did every so often, she questioned what was left to discover through the X-Files. Mulder had found closure about his sister. Did investigating crop circles on the other side of the ocean still hold meaning for him? After all the profound truths they had seen and discovered? What was left? And, personally, if Mulder still couldn’t define what she meant to him, what was she waiting around for?
She wanted a sign to guide her toward the right path. She wanted some kind of divine intervention. She wanted God or the universe or whatever to intervene.
It was only when she slowed down that she saw the way forward. She let herself wander, her feet leading her into a Buddhist temple. She meditated. She had a vision. She allowed herself to be open to Colleen’s beliefs. All these things were expressions of Mulder, the parts of him that she had internalized. The parts that made her a whole person. And that’s when the clarity finally came.
Unlike Mulder, Daniel condescended to her for all the ways they were different. Daniel said the FBI couldn’t be a passion; he characterized her leaving medicine as an excuse to exit their romantic relationship. He had also called the healing practice a “voodoo ritual” and “crap.” Regardless of his thoughts on the matter, his dismissal was hurtful. Rude. His words only exposed the fact that he didn’t understand her or value her as an independent entity. He didn’t understand who she was now, and perhaps he never did.
Despite what Daniel thought, when she quit medicine, she had taken control of her future for the first time. That choice had been the most difficult of her life up until that point, and she hadn’t made it lightly. It was brave. She had defied others’ expectations of her. The choice became part of her identity. Rehashing those memories with Daniel made her realize something important. While there could be signs – divine or otherwise – pointing her toward a certain path, she was the final arbiter of her future. It was ultimately up to her to illuminate the path forward. With every decision – through action or inaction – she made a conscious choice.
It all coalesced when she ran into Mulder outside the hospital. She had been following the woman with the blonde ponytail – the one she had inexplicably seen several times. When she caught up with the woman and grabbed her shoulder, it was Mulder. It made no sense, but she pushed away her incredulity. A rush of relief ran through her when she saw him. Suddenly, she didn’t care about their argument. Lingering doubts fell away. All she wanted was to reconnect and tell him everything she had experienced while he was gone.
At Mulder’s apartment, they sat side-by-side on his couch, mugs of tea in their hands. She relayed the events of the previous two days to Mulder, who seemed more and more intrigued with each new detail. He refrained from responding until the end of her story, though his facial expressions told her he could barely believe any of it.
“I can’t believe you never told me about this Daniel before,” Mulder said, astonished by the affair.
“As you can imagine, it’s not something I’m proud of. I broke up a family.”
“He broke up a family,” Mulder corrected.
“You’re right,” she said thoughtfully, “but it hasn’t always felt that way.”
Mulder nodded. “So how was it seeing him again after all these years?” he asked hesitantly.
As she thought about her answer, she put her tea down and started removing her heels. He didn’t seem to mind that she was settling in for a longer discussion. “Um, at first, it felt nice to see him, though the circumstances were not ideal. It’s funny how seeing someone from your past can transport you right back to that time of your life.”
Saying it out loud made her wonder if that was why Mulder had been manipulated by Diana so many times. Someone from your past can make you regress to a former version of yourself. She picked up her mug and sipped her tea. Chamomile and peppermint.
“He never agreed with my choice to join the FBI. At the time, his opinion was very important to me. His disapproval sometimes made me question that choice. Seeing him made me feel insecure about my choices all over again.”
Mulder’s brow furrowed with concern. “You regret joining the FBI?”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean that he made me feel young and vulnerable. Like no time had passed. It took some serious thought for me to realize that I’m such a different person now. All I’ve seen and experienced has shaped who I’ve become. The person he was reprimanding doesn’t exist anymore.”
She returned her mug to the table and leaned back, starting to feel drowsy. The tea had relaxed her, and she had barely slept the night before. She propped up her feet on the coffee table, mirroring Mulder’s position.
“I just find it hard to believe,” he said.
“What part?”
“The part where I go away for two days, and your whole life changes.”
“I didn’t say my whole life changed,” she protested, her speech starting to slur with fatigue.
“You speaking to God in a Buddhist temple. God speaking back.”
“And I didn't say that God spoke back. I said that I had some kind of a vision.”
“Well, for you, that's like saying you're having David Crosby's baby,” he joked.
Imagine. Imagine if she had stayed in medicine like Daniel wanted. Imagine if she had continued to be his protege. Imagine if she hadn’t ended the affair. Imagine if she had walked a different path or chosen another life. Imagine if she had never met Mulder. The thought hurt to even contemplate. Her eyelids drooped. She could fall asleep like this – with the comfort and warmth of Mulder next to her.
“What is it?” Mulder asked.
“I once considered spending my whole life with this man,” she said, pensive. “What I would have missed.”
“I don't think you can know. I mean, how many different lives would we be leading if we made different choices? We . . . we don't know.”
Barely able to keep her eyes open, she said, “What if there was only one choice and all the other ones were wrong? And there were signs along the way to pay attention to.”
Mulder’s voice rumbled with a response, but she didn’t hear any of it.
Later, she awoke on Mulder’s couch, covered in a blanket. Besides a small lamp in the corner casting a dim light, the apartment was dark. The only sound was Mulder’s heavy breathing coming from the bedroom. Several hours must have passed if he had gone to bed for the night. Her stiff legs protested from being propped up in one position. With effort, she moved them and sat up on the couch.
She glanced between the front door and Mulder’s bedroom. She could leave, slink off into the night without waking him. Nothing would change, and life would go on. But she didn’t want to go home. The past two days had reframed everything. Her entire outlook on her life. All her choices had led her here. To Mulder. That was more clear than ever. She loved him. She wanted him. For too long, they danced around their feelings, leaving her adrift. No more. Life was too short to deny herself happiness.
Mulder slept soundly in a gray t-shirt, his hair mussed. The lamp cascaded enough diffused light for her to see him. She sat gingerly at the edge of his bed, her heart beating wildly. She didn’t have a plan for what would come next, but she felt strongly that this was her moment to seize.
Love is a choice, her mother would say.
“Mulder,” she whispered.
In sleep, he looked boyish and serene. With his persistent insomnia, she was loathe to wake him without good reason, but she wasn’t sure when she would get the nerve again.
“Mulder,” she said a little louder, gently shaking his arm.
He sucked in a breath and stretched, his eyes cracking open.
“Scully,” he slurred, “hi.”
“Hi,” she replied with a smile.
He rubbed his eyes and looked around the room, likely trying to recall what had happened before he fell asleep. “Are you leaving?”
“No,” she said softly. “I want to talk to you.”
Perhaps sensing her seriousness, he didn’t question why she needed to talk so urgently in the middle of the night. He sat up with his back against the headboard so they were face-to-face.
He said, “Sorry I didn’t wake you. You seemed exhausted, and I’m a bit jet-lagged myself, so I –”
“I love you.”
The words slipped out before she could catch them. For all the times she had held those words back, something within her propelled her forward.
Mulder fell silent and blinked a few times. Maybe he thought he was dreaming.
“I love you,” she repeated, feeling her confidence grow. “I’m in love with you.”
Mulder exhaled like he had been holding his breath.
“Scully,” he said, his voice shaky. He cupped her cheek with reverence.
“Do you love me?” she asked, her chest clenching with anticipation.
“Of course. Of course, I do,” he said. “I thought . . . you knew.”
Tears filled her eyes, relief flooding through her. “Sometimes I thought I knew. But other times . . . I don’t know, Mulder. Things have been so strange lately.”
“I know.”
“These past couple of days made me think about what I want for my life. And I realized that I don’t want to hide how I feel anymore. It took me a while to admit it to myself, but I’ve loved you for a long time. And I want you to know that.”
A tear slid down her cheek, and Mulder wiped it away with his thumb. “And what do you want for your life, Scully?”
That was a loaded question without a simple answer. When Daniel had asked her that question, he had an agenda. He had wanted to create doubt around her life choices and steer her toward a life with him. When Mulder asked it, all she heard was curiosity and care. He dropped his hand from her face and rested it on her hip, pulling her closer.
“I want to be with you,” she said after a long pause.
“You want to be my girlfriend, Scully?” he quipped with a playful smile.
She grinned in return. “Something like that,” she said. Thoughtfully, she continued, “I think we both deserve happiness. We deserve intimacy. Why are we denying ourselves those things?”
Mulder bit his lip, thinking for a moment. “Deserve is a tricky word,” he said softly. He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. “What if . . . I can’t give you everything you want? You deserve everything you want out of this life, Scully. I don’t want to hold you back.”
It suddenly crystallized why he hadn’t pushed for a romantic relationship despite his latent feelings. He feared her abandonment and saw it as an inevitability. It all made sense. His history with Diana. The times he insisted she should walk away. He was protecting himself from hurt.
“For a long time, I thought I knew exactly what I wanted. Become a doctor. Get married. Buy a house. Have some kids. All things that my parents expected of me. My whole life was planned out for me before I even started living. Leaving medicine for the FBI was the first decision I made purely for myself. And that choice changed the course of my life dramatically.”
Mulder didn’t seem convinced. “But you still want those things.”
“In a sense, yes. But they’re not going to look the same as when I dreamed them up as a teenager. I want a child, but I know it won’t happen the traditional way. I want a partner, but that doesn’t have to mean marriage. Maybe I’ll be a practicing doctor again someday. Maybe I won’t.”
Mulder nodded but dodged her eyes. The fingers curled around her hip were restless, and she sensed a reluctance to accept her words.
She pressed on, mustering as much reassurance as she could, “Mulder, I don’t want to be with you so I can slot you into a predetermined life. I love you for who you are and all we’ve experienced together. All I want is to be with you. That’s it. That’s all I want.”
He remained silent, processing her words. Frustration bubbled up inside her as she waited for a response. She was wearing her heart on her sleeve, more exposed than ever. Then she remembered how little unconditional love he had in his life. His parents were largely absent, and his sister disappeared. Diana used his love as a manipulation tactic at best. Accepting love didn’t come naturally to him.
She lovingly palmed both his cheeks and urged him to look at her.
“I love you,” she said, her breath catching in her throat. “Do you believe me?”
A smile, warm and beautiful, emerged from beneath his layers of insecurity. With a chuckle, he said, “For all the times I’ve asked you that . . .”
She leaned in and kissed him. His whole body exhaled and he melted into the kiss. His kiss was slow and searching, deep and tender. It was wanting, but not urgently so. His kiss was seven years of simmering love, now allowed to be expressed. She kissed him with equal longing, her hands dropping down to rest on his chest. His hands traveled up to her waist, and he pulled her as close as he could, given their awkward positioning. His tongue explored her mouth, and she was overwhelmed by the sensory experience of him all around her. His touch, his smell. His bed.
She unbuttoned her blazer, and he eased the garment off her shoulders. It fell over the side of the bed. Breaking the kiss, she leaned back and grabbed the hem of her green sweater. She pulled it over her head and tossed it onto the floor, joining her blazer. Mulder’s eyes widened, and his eyes traveled over her chest, which was clad in a no-frills black bra.
When he didn’t move or say anything, she had a moment of panic. Had it been presumptive to assume this was leading to more? “Is this OK?” she asked.
He grinned. “This is more than OK.”
He pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing his toned chest. God, she wanted to feel her bare breasts pressed up against him. She reached behind her and unclasped her bra, letting it fall down her shoulders. While the lighting in the room was dim, she felt the thrill of exposure all the same.
“Jesus,” he breathed. He cupped her breast and kissed her, lightly squeezing. Running his thumb over her nipple, he moved to kiss her neck and whispered, “You’re so beautiful.” She shivered and threaded her fingers through the short hairs on the back of his neck.
With his face buried in her neck, verbalizing her desire came easier. “I want you,” she said, her voice husky and low. He released her breast and wrapped his arms tightly around her. Just as she suspected, her nipples pressed up against his bare chest only heightened their sensitivity.
After a few moments, she reluctantly pulled away and stood next to the bed. She reached behind her with the intention to unzip her skirt.
“Can I?” he asked. He tossed the blankets aside and kicked his legs over the side of the bed.
She nodded and stepped into the space between his legs. He put his hands on her hips, steadying her, and pressed a kiss between her breasts. Then, he unzipped her skirt, taking his time with it. With a swish, it dropped unceremoniously to the ground. She wore black cotton panties, plain and unassuming. That morning, she hadn’t dressed with this in mind.
“God, you’re sexy,” he said with awe in his eyes.
His words ran through her like a lightning bolt. All along, she had hoped he saw her as a desirable woman. It had been so long since a man had made her feel so wanted. His compliment made her feel wanton and powerful. She pushed at his chest, and he took the cue to scoot back on the bed. She climbed on top of him, straddling his lap.
Falling back onto the bed, he dragged her face down with him, firmly kissing her. She kissed him fiercely back, rubbing her hands over his bare abs and chest. His hands moved to her ass, taking full handfuls of her. Only a thin layer of cotton was between his hands and her skin. The thought made her lightheaded.
She dropped her hips and made contact with his burgeoning erection. He groaned and gripped her harder. With a move that lacked any grace, he flipped her over onto her back, fumbling to keep his lips pressed to hers. Once his weight settled on her, he ground his hardness against her, creating friction right where she needed it. She couldn’t stifle a small gasp at the contact. He slowly thrust a few more times, sparking the start of a familiar build of tension.
She felt alive, unfolding and blossoming beneath him. She felt on fire. She felt unquenchable. She felt young and new yet completely attuned to her body.
Lifting his hips away, he rolled over onto his side. After gazing at her body for a few moments, he skimmed his fingertips lightly over her stomach like he was afraid she might shatter if he pressed too hard. Maybe she would. He slid his hand under the waistband of her underwear, and she held her breath. He searched her face for permission, and she nodded subtly in response, letting her legs fall open.
“God,” he rasped. He dipped his finger into her, then spread the moisture up to her clit. Her hips lifted slightly off the bed. After a dry spell of many years, his touch overwhelmed her yet left her wanting so much more at the same time. How was that possible?
With a hint of hesitation in his eyes, he guided her hand to replace his and whispered, “Show me how to touch you.”
Even his uncertainty only made her want him more. She understood; he didn’t want to waste any time not pleasing her. They had lost so much time already.
A little shy about the prospect of touching herself in front of him, instead, she guided his hand to her clit. She pressed down on his middle finger and moved it back and forth the way she liked it. After a few repetitions, she released his hand. It was other-worldly how much better his fingers felt than her own. Already, she felt like a live wire. They had barely done anything, and she was aroused beyond measure.
After some time, he trailed lower and pushed his finger inside her. She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, letting her head fall back. Slick from arousal, his finger slid in and out easily. Her inner muscles flexed, wanting more. As he continued, he curled his finger so it dragged along her front wall.
“Mulder,” she sighed.
For a fleeting moment, she remembered his predilection for watching pornography. In those movies, the actresses writhed and moaned and screamed at the slightest provocation. That was not how she operated. More often than not, her reactions were subdued, no doubt quieter than what he saw on-screen. Did he expect a performance?
“How is that?” he whispered, his fingers playing her as if they had been lovers for years.
“So good,” she purred, her body relaxing into it. Her limbs felt liquid. She was a puddle under the spell of his fingers.
His motions began to slow. “Can I –?” he started, then stopped himself.
She rolled her head to the side and found him staring at her nervously. “What?”
Sheepishly, he asked, “Can I go down on you?”
“Oh,” she breathed. Her chest tightened. She hadn’t been pleased in that way in such a long time. Past boyfriends had never been particularly skilled or enthusiastic about the act. Insecurities born from past lovers began to surface. What if he didn’t like how she tasted? What if she took too long to come? What if she didn’t at all?
As he waited for her answer, he continued to finger her at an agonizingly slow pace. The build of her arousal simmered, begging to be escalated. Who was she kidding? Between the seven years of anticipation and how skilled she assumed he was with his tongue, there was no way it would be bad. The fact he wanted to do it at all was a very positive sign.
She locked eyes with him and nodded.
“Yeah?” he asked, licking his lips. Honest to god, he licked his lips. Good lord. She was a goner.
“Yeah,” she rasped.
He removed his hand from her underwear, and she felt a pang of loss from it. Standing up at the edge of the bed, he pulled her underwear down and off, discarding it on the floor. He swallowed and stared at her naked body like she was the goddess Aphrodite. Or, at least, that’s how it felt.
“Wow,” he breathed as he advanced toward her.
He knelt next to the bed and hooked his arms around her legs, pulling her toward the edge. Throwing her head back, she stared at the ceiling, barely believing what was happening. Her legs trembled with anticipation. Without warning, his tongue descended on her, and she flinched. The change in sensation was startling in the most exhilarating way. The cool air around her had been replaced by his warm, wet tongue. He began with a long, slow lick.
She exhaled, “Oh. Oh.”
Holding her legs in place, he proceeded to devour her. Any restraint or hesitation he showed while fingering her moments ago all but disappeared. He radiated confidence. She should have known he would be good at this. Plenty of times over the years, she had watched his skilled mouth manipulate sunflower seeds and chew endlessly on their writing implements. No longer would his oral fixation annoy her. She would never again complain about bite marks appearing on their pencils.
She felt worshipped in a way that no lover ever had before. Every touch and kiss and lick was unapologetically passionate. Previous boyfriends had made her feel self-conscious about this act. Most times, they seemed to do it out of the obligation of reciprocity, not truly enjoying it. But Mulder . . . His brow furrowed in concentrated, deep focus, his eyes constantly glancing up at her to gauge her reactions. One of his hands occasionally disappeared below the bed to stroke himself. He asked to do this; he badly wanted it. There was no room for doubt, and this reassurance felt like permission to lay back and enjoy it unabashedly.
It wasn’t long until she felt the tug of an orgasm on the horizon. His tongue had found the right rhythm while his fingers kept busy inside her.
She reached down and grasped his hair. “Keep . . . don’t st –”
Message received. He maintained his pace, slightly intensifying the pressure. And that’s all it took to push her over the edge. Everything seemed to stand still, like time was slowing. And then she came hard, waves of pleasure crashing over her. Her legs shuddered, and her breath came in rapid spurts. Her fingers in his hair curled, her nails grazing his scalp. Her ears rang. In the heat of it, she had no idea whether she came silently, cried his name, or screamed some obscene profanity.
When she regained some of her faculties – she didn’t know if it was seconds or minutes – she glanced down to see Mulder with a grin on his face, easing his fingers out of her.
Then, she laughed. She didn’t know why, but she started to full-on giggle. Covering her mouth, she tried to contain it but failed. Between the orgasm and her laughter, it felt like releasing a valve of pressure that had been holding her captive for seven years. Who knew sex could be this freeing?
Observing her with bemusement, he climbed onto the bed next to her and draped his arm over her waist. “Should I take offense to this reaction?” he asked. Happiness shined in his eyes.
She uncovered her face and smiled. “That just . . . felt so good.”
He picked a stray lock of sweaty hair off her forehead. “I’m glad,” he said.
Giving him a meaningful look, she said, “I feel so good right now.”
“Me too,” he said, tracing her clavicle with his fingertips.
His erection, still clothed, pressed against her thigh – thick and waiting. His restraint thus far was impressive. She rolled onto her side and palmed him through his boxers. His eyes slid shut. She tugged at the waistband, and he helped push them down and off.
When she stroked him for the first time, he felt full and heavy in her hand. His skin was hot and surprisingly soft.
“I want to make love to you,” he said softly.
Make love. Maybe it was the oxytocin coursing through her or the mind-blowing orgasm she just had, but the beauty of the sentiment overwhelmed her. Her eyes welled with happy tears.
He moved on top of her, resting his weight on his forearms. She bracketed her legs around his hips, and he sunk forward, his dick brushing up against her entrance. This was it. Seven years of wanting. Seven years of friendship and heartache and losses and love.
“You’re the love of my life, Scully,” he said, brushing his nose against hers. He must have been experiencing the same rush of emotions as her.
His expression changed as if realizing something. “Sorry, do you want me to wear a condom?” he asked. “I have a clean bill of health.”
She almost laughed at how incongruent the question felt after his declaration of love. Unwanted pregnancy was certainly not a concern. She was infertile, and a pregnancy, after all, would be very wanted. At least by her.
Nervously, she asked, “What if . . . by some miracle –?”
“I would welcome that miracle,” he said.
Goddamn it, she loved his man. Whether it was the hormones or that she was about to get laid for the first time in years, hearing him say those words made her feel loved and accepted in a way she never had before.
She hiked her legs higher on his torso and ran her hands over his back, encouraging him to proceed. He reached between them, aligned himself, and then slowly pushed inside once he found home. Even though she was still wet, her body had to stretch to accommodate his size. Mulder grunted as he buried himself within her, sparking an exquisite fusion of pleasure and pain. She inhaled sharply.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, his voice labored.
“No. Don’t stop.”
He experimented with a few shallow thrusts. Sweat beaded on his creased brow. She reveled in the solid, masculine weight of his body as she ran her fingertips over his slick back. As he moved inside her, she felt full. Whole. Joined and connected to another human being in a way she never had before. She wanted to cry from the sheer joy of it. When he thrust harder, she pressed her nails into his skin and scratched.
“Fuck,” he said, like his body couldn’t help but expel the word from his lungs.
“Need to think about baseball?” she joked.
He chuckled, and his body shuddered. “Something like that,” he murmured. “Will you get on top?”
While she was reluctant to change positions, she understood that he was attempting to stave off his orgasm by putting her in control. If that’s what he wanted, then she was more than willing to give it to him. Hell, maybe she would even come again.
He slipped out of her and rolled over. He placed a pillow behind him and sat back angled against the headboard.
“Getting comfortable?”
“Getting ready to enjoy the view,” he quipped, his eyes blazing a hot trail over her body.
Her cheeks burned. She mounted him and lined herself up to take him inside her. Mulder’s face was wrecked with desire, staring with rapt attention. Inch by inch, she sank down onto him. He held on to her thighs for dear life, his fingers making little indents in her skin.
She leaned forward when she reached the hilt, crushing her clit against his pubic bone. A rush of pleasure flooded her senses. She moved up and down, finding her pleasure in the experimentation of angle and speed. He watched her with interest, trying to match her movements and holding back from doing more.
“Do you think you can come again?” he asked breathlessly.
“Yes,” she rasped.
“Take what you need.”
She did exactly that, exploring the sexual choreography that would bring her to the brink. As she rode him, she wondered again if he awaited a performance from her. Locking eyes with him, she only found awe and affection, no expectation of anything more than she could give authentically.
The second orgasm snuck up on her. It was less intense than the first but lasted longer. Fluttering out from her center, it traveled pleasantly through her whole body. A whiny, needy whimper escaped her lips. She threw her head back and surrendered herself to it, bracing her hands on his shoulders. As she journeyed through her orgasm, she heard a primal, guttural moan wrack Mulder’s body. He gripped her hips so hard she expected bruising in her immediate future.
“Ah, Scully,” he cried out, his eyes slamming shut with its violent intensity.
Then, he exploded, warmth spreading like wildfire inside her. They panted with effort, their breathing blending in a symphony of fulfilled desire. His head fell back on the pillow with exhaustion. With the last of his strength, he rubbed her thighs soothingly with his hands. She pitched forward, resting her hands on his chest.
After a few moments, he took one of her hands and pressed it to his thrumming heart. Below her fingertips, his heart pumped madly. The gesture reminded her of the night after Padgett when she held his hand to her own heart. At that time, she had wanted so badly to express the depth of her feelings but couldn’t find the words. It wasn’t the right time. For so long, it was never the right time. But now . . . now was finally their time.
“I love you,” she said, her voice thick and heavy.
Why had it been so damn hard to say the first time? Why did they wait so long? Now that she had said it – now that the words had been unleashed into the world – she didn’t ever want to stop saying it. He dragged her hand to his lips and kissed it.
The unfortunate reality of the after came next. She used the bathroom first while he lay boneless in bed. After she tended to her bladder and cleaned up, she emerged from his bathroom to find him in the same position she had left him. He hadn’t moved a finger.
“Your turn,” she said, “if you’ve recovered.”
He cracked one eye open to find her teasing smile.
“Apologies if I need a minute after having the best sex of my life,” he joked, sitting up with a Herculean effort.
She walked around the bed and picked up her sweater off the floor. “Wow. Best sex of your life?”
“It wasn’t yours?”
“Depends how you define best,” she quipped with a Cheshire grin. Of course, it had been the best sex of her life, but it was more fun to tease him.
“I guess we’ll have to practice some more then.”
She smirked. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close. Looking at the sweater in her hands, he asked, “Are you leaving?”
“We have work in the morning,” she said lamely. She wanted to stay, but it didn’t seem practical, given how late it was.
“Not a cuddler, Scully?” he joked, looking up at her with puppy dog eyes.
How could she say no to that face? She ran her fingers through his hair. “OK, I’ll stay. But I’ll have to get up early to go home and change my clothes.”
“Deal,” he said, his eyes shining. Mulder rose from the bed, untangling himself from her arms to head to the bathroom.
She gathered her clothes and placed them on a chair at the foot of the bed. What would she wear?
“I don’t sleep naked, Mulder,” she called to him.
He emerged a few moments later. The bathroom was brighter than the dim room, so she could finally admire his nude physique in full lighting.
“We’ll have to work on that,” he said.
“On what?”
“Getting you to sleep naked,” he said, admiring her body in return. “Are you ogling me?”
“Are you ogling me?”
“Yes. Yes, I am. You can take anything you want from the dresser.”
The only clothing he chose was a fresh pair of black boxers. She found an oversized Knicks t-shirt, to which Mulder commented, “If you don’t want to be naked, that is the next best thing.”
They nestled close under the blankets, facing each other.
He broke the silence first. “Thank you,” he said softly, “for being the brave one.”
“I always thought you would pursue this if you wanted it.”
“I did want this,” he said, putting his arm around her waist. “I was afraid of . . . so many things. Of disappointing you. Of not being enough. I don’t have you to have regrets.”
She palmed his cheek. “I could never regret loving you,” she whispered. “I know who you are. You’re enough.”
She kissed him and then rolled onto her other side. He spooned her from behind, nuzzling his nose behind her ear.
Before she drifted to sleep, he said, “I believe you, Scully.”