The Leap by Ambress

~*~*~*~*

Stamford Transportation Center
7:05 a.m.

They woke up in the train station.

They were propped up against each other like a couple
of runaway teenagers who had fallen asleep waiting for
the next bus out of town. Mulder started to sit up when
he realized he was conscious, but he felt a stabbing
pain through his skull and leaned back against the
bench. His head hurt. Again. And his mouth felt like it
was full of cotton balls. Scully was also beginning to
stir, probably because he was jostling her as he moved.
Her head was on his shoulder, and his arm was around
her.

He looked around slowly, trying not to jar his head.
Where were they? A bus station? An airport? Were they
going somewhere on a case? Did he have the flu?

Men and women in suits moving quickly across the floor.
A large picture window facing them, and he could see a
train pulling in below.

It slowly began to come back to him--where they had
been the night before. He groaned.

Scully opened her eyes all the way at the sound, and
straightened up, pulling away from him. She blinked
several times, once apparently to clear her vision, and
then in confusion, surprise, and irritation,
successively.

"What the hell happened, Mulder?" she asked. She put
her hand to her temple and turned gingerly to look at
him. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Maybe somebody saw something," Mulder suggested, and
heaved himself to his feet. He swooped around the train
station for several minutes, demanding to know if
anyone had witnessed them being brought there and
placed on the bench they had woken up on. The commuters
just looked at him. They had the same studied apathy
on their faces that they cultivated for the tinfoil-
hat-wearing raving lunatics they encountered every day
in the streets of New York.

When they staggered out into the crisp, cold air and
saw their Taurus in the parking lot with a ticket on
it, they weren't terribly surprised. It had been one of
those nights.

~*~*~*~*

Sixteen hours earlier . . .

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
3:05 p.m.

Mulder was carefully constructing a goal out of paper
clips, and preparing to shoot a balled-up Post-It note
in an impromptu game of desk hockey, when the phone
rang. He put down his paper clips to answer it.

"Mulder."

He listened for a moment. Then the exclamations tumbled
out of him: "You're kidding," and "Where?" and "How did
you find it?"

Scully finally looked up from her computer as Mulder's
voice got more and more excited. Bigfoot? she thought.
Elvis? Very rare copy of *Lila Licks L.A.*? Damn. I was
going to get that for him for President's Day. He
glanced up at her, but she couldn't read the look on
his face.

She tilted her head slightly, and raised an eyebrow at
him when he hung up the phone.

"Frohike," he said. He took a deep breath, as though
trying to decide what to say. "Scully, we're going to
Stamford."

"Stamford? Stamford, Connecticut? Why? What's going on,
Mulder?"

"They've located Dr. Scanlon."

They stared at each other for a moment, and he nodded
as though she had silently confirmed something that he
had known all along.

~*~*~*~*

"Are you sure?" she kept asking him. "The same Dr.
Scanlon?" She could feel a knot of anger tightening in
her stomach as she thought about it. "I can't believe
he's still going by the same name, even."

"He's not. Frohike found him living under the name
'N. Caslonn.' He's not any more creative with his
anagrams than I am. He's working at another
research facility--another fertility clinic--"
Mulder emphasized the phrase, "in Stamford."

They were walking out to the parking lot as they
talked. It was a clear cold day. Normally Scully had to
walk double-time to keep up with Mulder, but today she
was a rocket.

"We'll have to take the shuttle to LaGuardia and drive
from there," Mulder said.

Frohike was probably wrong. Just because one name was
an anagram of the other didn't mean it was the same
doctor, but if it was. . .she needed to know.

"I'll meet you at the airport," she said, getting into
her car.

"Remember, the shuttle leaves at seven after the hour.
Let's shoot for the six p.m. flight."

"Right. Good. Don't forget to pack a hat and gloves,"
she told him before she drove off.

~*~*~*~*

LaGuardia Airport
Queens, New York
7:27 p.m.

Of course, it was snowing when they arrived in New
York. They tried to get a four-wheel drive vehicle, but
there were none available. They had to settle for the
tried and true: a silver-blue Taurus.

In the car, Scully felt an unaccustomed tension between
the two of them. In the silence she was more conscious
than usual of the dark bulk of Mulder's presence on the
other side of the car.

It wasn't until they had crossed the Whitestone that
Scully felt she could broach the subject.

"Mulder . . ." she began.

He shot her a quick, enquiring look before turning his
eyes back to the road.

"I've been putting off bringing this up, but I feel I
need to be prepared for whatever we find. I need to
know what else you found in Allentown when I was in the
hospital there." She managed to get the words out.

"Scully, I--" He didn't look at her again, but kept his
eyes on the dark road framed with falling snow which
seemed to be coming straight at them in the headlights.
"I told you everything in California."

"I know what you said you believe has been done to me,
Mulder. But what I don't know is why you believe it.
What did you see there, Mulder? Who told you that all
my ova had been extracted?" Now that she had brought
herself to ask the question, she wasn't going to give
up until he had told her everything he knew.

There was silence in the car for a long moment. She
thought she could hear more than one set of wheels
turning.

"Don't you think I have a right to know?" Scully
finally asked him, her voice gentler.

"Yes," Mulder said heavily. "I do. I'm just having some
trouble being the one who has to tell you." He felt
like an accessory to the crime that had been
perpetuated against her. To tell her something about
herself, and her body, that he had no business knowing
anything about, something that should be her own
private business, made him feel unreasonably guilty.

"The guy in Betsy Hagopian and Penny Northern's Mufon
group, remember him?"

"Kurt something," she said.

"Yeah. He wasn't just part of their group, he--or I
should say they--were part of the project itself."

"They? What do you mean, Mulder?"

"Kurt was a clone, a hybrid. I saw several of him at
the fertility clinic, Scully. And more of him being
grown in vats like the ones I told you about at the
Zeus Storage warehouse. He showed me a storage vault--a
refrigerated vault--with drawers that contained the ova
of all the women in the Mufon group. Specifically, he
showed me a drawer with your name on it, Scully. Inside
it were vials, each containing one of your ova. I took
one of those vials with me." He glanced at her.

She had a stricken look on her face. She gulped
silently, trying to catch her breath. Then she forged
ahead, like she always did. "What did you do with it?
How can you be sure that it was what they said it was?"

"I had it tested. I had them check to see if they were
still viable. I'm sorry, Scully."

He glanced over at her, but she was staring straight
ahead, tight-lipped. For the rest of the drive, she
stared silently out at the whiteness flying at them,
illuminated by the headlights, and the triangle of
darkness ahead.

With the snow, it was an hour and a half drive to
Stamford. It was late when they got there. The city was
still in the falling snow, gray and silent, and very
grim.

There was no Best Western in town. No Holiday Inn.
Stamford was a corporate town--that meant either
expense accounts and expensive hotels, or the Stamford
Motor Inn with hourly rates. Their best choices for
hotels were between the Sheraton on Summer Street and
the Marriott downtown. They checked into the Sheraton.
The place was full of executives strolling through the
enormous atrium-style lobby.

Mulder came and knocked on her door as she was hanging
her garment bag in the closet.

"I think we should go straight to the facility,
Scully," he said, wasting no time on chit chat.

Of course you do, she thought. Even as she thought it,
she realized she didn't want to put it off either.

~*~*~*~*

The Dorothy L. Walker Fertility Clinic
High Ridge Office Park
Stamford, CT
10:07 p.m.

The clinic was in an office park located behind the
fire department on Turn of River Road. Mulder turned
off the headlights as they drove through the elegantly
landscaped entrance. There were no lights on in any of
the offices. There were no guards.

Mulder pulled the car up beside the building, close to
some low-hanging trees, and they got out. Scully
glanced at the building, then looked across the roof of
the car at Mulder. "Well," she said, "how are we going
to get in?"

Mulder chewed on his lip for a moment, then shrugged
and strode up toward the front door. Alarmed, Scully
followed him; surely he didn't expect the door to be
unlocked?

It was.

Mulder pulled the door open a few inches and glanced
in, then started to open it fully. Scully stopped him
with a hand on his arm.

"Mulder," she whispered urgently, "this could be a
trap."

"Yeah," he whispered back. "But we're never going to
find out what kind unless we spring it."

"An intelligent person uses a stick, not his foot," she
retorted.

The building was dimly lit. The walls were dove grey
and the carpet mauve. As they turned the first corner,
they were both surprised to see Kurt Crawford standing
directly in the middle of the hall. They were each even
more surprised to feel the sting of the needle wielded
by someone behind them.

The next thing they knew, they were waking up at the
train station in the morning.

~*~*~*~*

Sheraton Hotel
February 5, 1999
8:30 a.m.

At the hotel, Scully had just finished showering and
dressing when Mulder knocked on her door. "I just got a
call from one of the Kurt Crawfords," he told her. "He
wants to talk to us downstairs in the restaurant."

Her face registered surprise and ironic amusement. "Why
not just ask us out to tea? We'll bring the cucumber
sandwiches and he can bring the knockout drops."

He shrugged, similarly baffled.

"What do you think he's up to?" she asked.

"I don't know, but he said he wanted to talk about
you."

"Me? What about me?"

"I don't know. Let's find out."

~*~*~*~*

The lobby of the Sheraton
9:02 a.m.

The bar was in the atrium, separated from the rest of
the hotel by a white open framework, like a giant,
indoor gazebo.

The ubiquitous Kurt Crawford was sitting at one of the
green tables. He stood up as they approached him. When
they reached him, he indicated two chairs with a
gesture of his hand. They both ignored it, so all three
remained standing. From somewhere out of sight a piano
tinkled melodically.

"Agent Scully," Crawford said, "I have something that I
think you would like to see." He handed her a folder.
She took it, and with a quick, suspicious look at him,
she began reading through it.

Within moments, her face had paled. "What is it,
Scully?" asked Mulder. He shifted closer to her.

"It's a medical file. It's a medical file on *me*, to
be more specific," she said, and Mulder could hear the
anger in her voice. Crawford stood waiting, silent and
stiff.

"What kind of medical file?" demanded Mulder.

Crawford answered for her. "Documents pertaining to a
procedure performed on Agent Scully last night at the
Walker Clinic."

"Procedure?" He was starting to get more than a little
pissed off himself. He was also frightened. What the
hell did 'procedure' mean?

"These documents suggest that last night ova--my ova,
to be precise--were implanted in my uterus," Scully
told him bluntly.

She looked up at him, but couldn't maintain the eye
contact, and looked down again at the chart.

"What?"

"Only a small portion of what has been stolen from
Agent Scully has been returned to her. We have done
what was in our power," said Crawford, in his stilted
manner. He looked directly at Mulder. "These are not
hybrids. They have not been fertilized."

"*Unfertilized* ova?" Scully said in disbelief.

"We wanted to give you a choice," said Crawford, still
in that toneless voice.

"What do you mean by a choice?" she demanded.

Crawford looked at her with what appeared to be an
emotion on his face for the first time. He seemed
surprised. "Of a father."

Scully just stared at him.

Mulder felt he had to jump in. "Are you saying you
expect Agent Scully to. . .uh. . .get her ova
fertilized herself?"

Crawford was still looking at Scully. "We assumed that
was what she would want. It is perfectly safe," he
reassured her.

"This," said Scully, waving the file at him, "is just
paper. It isn't proof that you actually performed *any*
procedure on me."

Kurt nodded once. "We suspected you would feel that
way," he said. "So we brought you this." He held out an
unmarked videotape.

She took it from his hands with a dumbfounded
expression on her face. Mulder felt like he must have a
similar expression on his own.

"Why would you do this?"

Crawford didn't answer her question. He looked almost
puzzled, as if the answer were self-evident. He turned
to look at Mulder, as though expecting him to explain.

~*~*~*~*

9:32 a.m.
4 hours, 7 minutes

They argued about it in the elevator.

"It's just not possible, Mulder. Listen to me. In women
like myself, who no longer have ovarian function, it is
possible for in-vitro fertilization to occur through
the use of donor eggs. But it takes weeks of biweekly
injections of a drug called estradiol and the hormone
progesterone in order to prepare a viable endometrial
lining for *fertilized* eggs, Mulder. Do you understand
the distinction? You can't just put ova in a woman's
uterus without a carefully guided course of hormones,
and you have to fertilize the eggs before they are
transferred, anyway. The kind of procedure that this
man is describing does not account for the basic
requirements of conception for the human body."

"But isn't the fertilization of the eggs, in part at
least, a matter of insurance? Is it possible for the
same process to occur without the eggs having
previously been fertilized? And couldn't those people
who are capable of the kind of technology that could
speed up the process of ovulation in you to the extent
that they could extract all your ova also be capable of
accelerating the process required to insure
implantation?"

"No Mulder, it's not. In the first place, after an
implantation procedure like that, a woman would have to
abstain from sexual intercourse for a period of time,
and in the second, once an egg is actually in the
uterus, the sperm must fertilize it within twelve hours
for it to attach itself to the endometrial lining and
begin to grow."

"But Crawford said it was safe."

"And that's beside the point. To what purpose would
they perform a procedure like that on me, Mulder? Why
would anyone want to do such a thing? What ends could
they be serving?"

"Maybe they are sincere. Maybe they want to return to
you some part of what you've lost."

"And how exactly have they done that?" she demanded
with real anger in her voice.

He didn't have an answer for that. "I don't know,
Scully. But when I saw the facility where your eggs
were being kept, Kurt Crawford told me that they
thought of you and the other women of the Mufon group
as their mothers."

Scully shook her head in stunned disbelief.

~*~*~*~*

Sheraton Hotel
Room 725
10:07 a.m.
4 hours, 35 minutes

They had to find the concierge and wave their badges
around to get a VCR in Scully's room. They started the
tape, and the first thing they saw was Scully, covered
by a sheet, lying on an operating table. Mulder noticed
with mute anger that her feet were strapped into
stirrups with her knees up. The room in the videotape
was white and institutional green, but they couldn't
see much more of it than that. Several figures in
surgical garb stood around her, but there were even
more monitors than people in the room. Mulder could
identify the one monitoring her heart, and saw another
that looked like an ultrasound.

A Kurt Crawford with a plastic duck-billed instrument
in his hand stepped into their view. He nudged Scully's
knees apart on the tape, and Mulder heard a sharp
intake of breath from the Scully standing next to him.
"Scully," he said, "do you think it would be better if
you watched this by yourself?" He felt very
uncomfortable about watching this tape. Millions of
imaginary ants were making their way across his flesh,
under his clothes. The hair on the back of his neck was
not just standing up, but attempting to go on the
march, like that forest in *Macbeth.*

"No, Mulder," she replied, "if you can stomach it, I
need you here to help me retain my objectivity."

They watched the rest of the videotape in silence. It
was infuriating to watch these anonymous men handle
Scully's unconscious flesh. Mulder felt an oily nausea
when it was over. He couldn't tell what Scully was
feeling; her face was totally closed off.

"Scully, I think maybe you should go see a doctor." He
reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, but she
turned away.

"I think I need to be alone, Mulder."

"We should at least talk about this."

"I can't. Not right now, Mulder. Later, okay?" She
wasn't looking at him.

He agreed, because he didn't have a choice.

~*~*~*~*

10:45 a.m.
5 hours, 20 minutes

After escorting Mulder out of her room, Scully shut the
door and leaned against it heavily, her body sagging.

She went in the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She
looked like hell. She was so pale her freckles were
popping out all over her face. She leaned over and
peered more closely at herself. She had a sudden
powerful urge to smash the mirror.

She picked up the complimentary bar of soap and tore
off the wrapper. She turned on the water in the sink,
and washed her face, scrubbing it as though she
expected to find a different person underneath.

When that wasn't sufficient, she turned on the shower
as hot as she could stand it, dropped her clothes on
the floor of the bathroom with uncharacteristic
untidiness, and climbed in. She bent her head forward
and let the hot water sluice over the back of her neck.
She soaped up the washcloth, which was still damp from
her earlier shower, and massaged her body until her
skin was red. She scrubbed the area between her legs
with particular viciousness. She stayed under the water
for a long time.

When she stepped out, she kicked her clothes out of the
way in disgust. All was definitely not shipshape. What
would Ahab make of the level of disorder her life had
reached?

She sat on the bed in her towel. Mulder was probably
right; she should go see a doctor. That would be the
rational course of action. She leaned over, resting her
elbows on her thighs, and covered her face with her
hands, massaging her forehead with the tips of her
fingers.

The thought of having to explain her situation,
however, was more than a little daunting to her. Who
would believe that her ova had been extracted by some
person or persons unknown four years ago and then four
of them now replaced, unfertilized, in her uterus as a
kind of demented consolation prize? Any reputable
physician would refer her to a psychiatrist. She
pressed her fingers hard against the bridge of her
nose. Her eyes were burning with salt, and her throat
felt tight. She didn't believe it.

She had to think.

If she waited until she was back in D.C., she could use
the F.B.I. lab herself. But what if it were true? It
couldn't possibly be true. But what if it were? Then
waiting until she got back to D.C. would make it all
irrelevant.

What should she do?

Her phone rang. It was Mulder. "Scully, doesn't look
like we're going to get home tonight. I just took a
look at the weather and that snowstorm that was in New
York last night is in D.C. tonight. The airport is
socked in. . .Scully?"

"I heard you, Mulder. Thanks for telling me."

"Are you okay, Scully?"

"I'm fine." She hung up without more ado, not even
noticing if he was still speaking. What if it was true?

What should she do?

She'd become almost resigned to the way her life had
been altered by what they had done to her, and now. . .

She'd adjusted her perception of the possibilities that
were open to her. She'd allowed her faith to heal her
trauma, and her disappointment, as much as she could.

She bitterly resented having her choices narrowed so
violently. Whatever their motives, her will, and her
physical integrity, had been violated.

And the whole situation was just a taunt. Why hadn't
they just handed her a cooler with the frozen eggs in
it? Then she could have used them some time in the
future, when and if she had someone in her life that
she wanted to have a child with. What on earth could
she do about it now? What could she do?

She stood up and started to put on clean clothes. She
would go to a doctor. She would call her friend Lauren
from medical school and find someone who would see her
right now. Lauren was from Stamford originally; she
would know someone who she could pull some strings
with.

Scully would ask them to do a pelvic, and a cervical
smear. That should tell her if the video was a fake. It
wouldn't tell her what she should do next.

But it should tell her something.

~*~*~*~*

11:24 a.m.
5 hours, 59 minutes

Scully knocked on Mulder's door a little later.
"Mulder, I have to go out and run some errands," she
said. "I'm taking the car."

"Okay." He wasn't really surprised that she said
nothing about the day's earlier events. He had hoped to
be able to get her to talk about the implications of
this latest development. He understood, however, her
need to process the information. Trying to curb his
impatience, he supposed she was planning to find a
church. She would clear her head, and maybe when she
returned they would be able to discuss what this meant,
if there was a way to prosecute those responsible for
what they had done to her.

~*~*~*~*

Office of Dr. Gray Parke
Suite 306
Mill River St.
12:25 p.m.
7 hours

Scully had put her clothes back on, and she was
waiting, albeit impatiently, for Dr. Parke to come
back. He had been very nice, especially considering her
insistence that she would wait right there for the
results of the cervical smear, thank you, and could he
please expedite them?

He was evidently an old friend of Lauren's family, and
seemed sympathetic to her story, which was that she was
afraid she was ovulating, after dealing with
infertility for several years, far away from her home
and husband. She didn't feel capable of telling him the
truth, and anyway, it would take too much time.

The pelvic had been excruciating. She kept seeing the
videotape replaying in her mind, instead of the mobile
Dr. Parke had thoughtfully placed above the table. She
tried willing her body to relax, but it wouldn't do as
it was told.

She sat on the chair in the corner of the room staring
at her hands, conscious of the ticking of the clock on
the wall.

When he finally came back into the room, she jumped a
little. "Well, Dr. Scully," he said. "I am afraid you
were right. There is ferning in the mucus of your
cervix, which does indicate that right now is your most
fertile time. And the appearance and feel of your
cervix itself indicate the same. I would suggest you
get on a plane back to D.C. right away."

"There's a snowstorm in D.C.," Scully responded
absently, her brain ticking away. What should she do?
"How much time do you think I have?" she asked him.

"Well, it's difficult to gauge, as I am sure you are
aware, but if you can't get home to your husband in the
next twenty four hours, I think you'll have to resign
yourself to waiting until next month. I'm sorry. I know
this must be very difficult for you." He gave her a
sympathetic, paternal smile.

"Thank you, Doctor" she said. Somehow she managed the
requisite pleasantries. She thanked the nurse at the
window, and made it across the waiting room floor to
the door, then up the steps--one, two, three, four,
five, six, seven--to the parking lot.

She had to make up her mind quickly.

~*~*~*~*

3:14 p.m.
9 hours, 49 minutes

She was gone for more than three hours. It was starting
to snow again when he heard the door to her room open
and close again. He waited, expecting her to come knock
on his door. Then his phone rang.

"It's me." Her voice was as calm as snow.

"Where are you?" he asked out of habit.

"I'm in my room. Listen, Mulder, I think I'm just going
to take a bath, get some dinner in my room, and go to
bed. Can we talk tomorrow?"

"Of course," he replied.

After she hung up, he looked at the phone receiver in
his hand without seeing it, expecting it to translate
what she had said for him.

Mulder was starting to suspect--well, he wasn't sure
what--something. He didn't want to put it into words,
even in his own mind, yet.

~*~*~*~*

3:44 p.m.
10 hours, 19 minutes

Nevertheless, he stayed close to his door, listening
and watching out the peephole. He had almost decided
that he was as paranoid a freak as everyone believed
him to be, when he heard her door opening. She stepped
out the door, and half turned to make sure it locked
behind her. He flung his own door open.

She started, and looked guilty. She was wearing a soft,
black, velvet turtleneck dress. She had matching black
heels on, with strappy criss-crosses. The flared skirt
stopped a couple of inches above her knee. The dress
looked expensive, and it made her look like anything
but a public servant.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his jaw clenching. He
should have anticipated this, but he hadn't totally
realized what having a child meant to her.

"Out," she said, turning one palm up toward him in a
gesture that was part conciliatory, and part none-of-
your-business.

"You can't do this, Scully. For God's sake, you're a
doctor. You should know better. It's insane, and
reckless, and dangerous." He moved closer to her,
though he knew better, but his anger was controlling
him. "You remember what almost happened last time?"

She didn't even respond to his verbal thrust. "I have
to do this, Mulder," she replied quietly. "I know that
you don't understand it, and I am sorry to. . .make you
lose respect for me. . .but if this is my only chance.
. .and I didn't take it. . .I know I would be sorry for
the rest of my life."

He felt his anger draining away. How many times had he
felt the same way? That he had to do it? Had to take
the chance? Had to investigate that remote possibility,
just in case the truth was in there?

"There has to be another way," he said. "Let's just
talk about this, okay? Come inside and sit down." He
herded her into his room, grateful for even one moment
when he didn't have to imagine her doing--what she
apparently planned on doing.

She sat down in a chair by the window. It didn't look
out, but inwards, overlooking the interior of the
hotel. From Mulder's window, she could see the bar
where they had spoken to Kurt Crawford, and the atrium.
She could also see Mulder's face--tense with emotion--
watching her.

"So, you're just planning to go out and pick up some
stranger that looks promising? Is that your plan?" He
felt his anger returning even as he said the words.
"Just fuck somebody that you don't even know?"

"Well, I wouldn't have put it in those crude terms,
Mulder," she replied calmly, "but yes, that was the
gist of the idea." She wasn't surprised at his anger.
That, and the fact that it was none of his business,
was why she had decided not to tell him.

"Were you planning to tell him that you wanted to get
pregnant?"

She shook her head, still gazing out the window.

"So tell me, Scully, how is that any different from
what they did to you?"

She looked up at him then, mouth half open in shock,
eyes wide and wet.

He felt guilty then, but kept going. "And suppose you
did find some guy who was willing to--have sex without
a condom after picking you up in a bar; does that sound
like the kind of person you want to be the father of
your child? Someone who would be so careless? And what
were you going to do--ask him to fill out a medical
questionnaire before he unzipped that dress?" His
stomach twisted at the thought. "Is there heart disease
in your family? Cancer? Diabetes? Hemophilia? What
would you do if you had a child and that child someday
needed its father? Needed his blood, maybe, or an
organ?"

A tear overflowed the lip of her bottom eyelid and
tracked its way down her face. "You're right, Mulder.
You're right. It was stupid of me to think that this
was a possibility." She looked down at her nails.

There was silence for a moment in the room. He truly
hadn't realized at all how much this meant to her--how
much she wanted it. He felt like an idiot for not
seeing it before. It cost him, but he finally managed
to say, "What about artificial insemination?"

"Mulder," she said patiently, and in a defeated tone,
"Of course I thought of that. It would take months. I
have hours. If it's going to happen, it's got to happen
now. I don't even have a biological clock. I have a
time-bomb."

He took another deep breath, and said, "What about an
old boyfriend? Someone you are still friends with?"

She looked up at him then; "All my old boyfriends are
either married, or dead."

"A friend then," he said, "someone you can trust."

"You're the only one I trust," she replied.

They stared at each other--the room suddenly charged
like the air before a thunderstorm. A sudden prickly
feeling swept through him then. He knew what she was
going to say, and he was powerless to stop her from
saying it.

"Mulder, I need you to impregnate me."

He was embarrassed to find himself hard as an oak plank
at her words. Who knew that a woman making a request
like that could be such a total turn-on? Well, now he
did.

She looked directly into his face and continued, "I
know you, Mulder, so I won't say anything stupid, like
you wouldn't ever have to feel any responsibility to
the child, or to me. I know that you would. You can't
help yourself. I won't say that you don't even have to
see it if you don't want to, or be involved in its
life, because I know that you would be. I know that
this would mean irrevocable changes in both our
personal and professional lives, and that neither one
of us could possibly completely foresee the extent of
those changes. I know I am asking you for something
that I have no right, or business, asking you, but I
*need* this, Mulder--" Her voice broke, and he finally
found his.

"Okay," he said.

~*~*~*~*

It wasn't that easy, of course. "Are you sure about
this, Scully?" Mulder kept asking her, "are you really
sure you want to get pregnant? Are you ready for
motherhood? You haven't really had time to think about
it."

"I've thought about it, Mulder. I really have. I know
it may not seem logical, or rational, and perhaps it's
not, but I feel that this is the right thing to do."

"I just want to be sure you're making this decision for
the right reasons." That wasn't totally truthful of
him; he also wanted to be sure that she wouldn't blame
him for the outcome. He needed to reassure himself that
he wasn't just being a selfish pig. She trusted him
because he was her friend; he needed to be her friend.

"Like what? A sense of urgency? I think it's possible
to choose to have a child for the wrong reasons,
Mulder." She didn't think people should have babies as
symbols of their own normalcy, or to have someone to
love them, or to make someone else love them, or stay
with them. "But I am not sure what the right reasons to
have a child might be." She was asking him for an
enormous favor so she felt she had to be totally honest
with him.

"I think that's why I never thought much about having
children before I learned I couldn't have them. It
didn't fit in with any of my plans. All day I kept
thinking how bad the timing was, how I couldn't
possibly do this, how irrational the whole idea was.
Then I remembered my father telling Bill that you know
you're ready to be a father because your wife is
pregnant." She wanted to be absolutely clear about her
feelings, so she hesitated, searching for the right
words.

"Having a baby is not a reasonable, rational, sensible
thing to do. But since I was diagnosed with cancer, and
after what happened with Emily, I think I've realized
what a leap of faith having a child is. No one knows,
no one can ever know, what monsters are out there
waiting to descend." Crib death, spina bifida,
leukemia, serial killers, child molesters, all the
things you keep under the kitchen sink, the neighbor's
pit bull, a drunk driver, a piece of hard candy, the
inadequacy of the educational system, not to mention
eleven year olds with automatic rifles in schoolyards:
she'd thought about all of it. "It's always a leap of
faith, and I'm ready to take that leap."

"Okay," he said again. This time he smiled. "I'll
steady the ladder and hold your cape."

She was afraid to ask him if he was sure, because she
didn't want him to change his mind.

~*~*~*~*

4:11 p.m.
10 hours, 27 minutes

He almost did.

"I don't know if I can do this," he said. "I'm suddenly
having a wave of performance anxiety."

"It's just me, Mulder," she replied. "You don't have to
perform. I am not expecting you to juggle and tell
jokes at the same time."

"I could maybe do that--it's just--" He did look a
little anxious. She suddenly felt sorry for him.

"Look, Mulder," she began. "I don't want to pressure
you into doing anything you don't want to do, or that
doesn't feel right to you."

"That's not it at all."

"It's a normal biological process, Mulder. You've done
it many times before, right?"

"Not with you."

She was touched, but tried not to show it.

"It works the same way, trust me. Look, I know this
isn't very romantic, or seductive, but your body knows
what to do. You are a normal, healthy, attractive male
with all his teeth, and I am a normal, reasonably
healthy female with all the requisite body parts except
ova."

"Now I feel so much better."

She looked sympathetic. "Why don't you take a shower
first to relax you?"

"Oh, that's a subtle hint, Dr. Scully."

Mulder went and got in the shower. He tried to adjust
his thoughts to what they were about to do. I am going
to have sexual intercourse with Scully, he thought. No.
I am going to fuck Scully. No. I am going to make love
with Scully. That didn't seem appropriate to the
situation either. Scully and I are going to make the
beast with two backs. Sheesh.

And fatherhood? He certainly wasn't ready for it. He
didn't know if he would ever be ready. He didn't want
to be like his own father, cold and unforgiving. But
how do you stop yourself from becoming your parents? He
didn't know many people who had managed to do it.

By the time he got out of the shower he had decided
that it was better if they didn't go through with it.
He would just explain to her that he was sorry, but he
didn't think he was ready to make that kind of
commitment. He knew she would understand.

But he had left the door to the bathroom open partway,
and when he got out of the shower, while he was drying
himself off, he could see Scully's reflection in the
bathroom mirror. She was sitting on his bed, and she
looked so luminously lovely.

Her head was bent, and her hair had curtained her face.
She had her hands splayed out in front of her, as
though she were examining her nails for imperfections.
She was just sitting there, looking expectant, and how
could he refuse to do this for her? She was his only
friend. Had she ever asked him for anything else? Had
she ever asked him for anything other than to be
sensible and take care of himself?

Yes. She'd asked him to blame her for a man's death, to
save his own skin. Oh yes, she'd asked him for help
when she was abducted by Duane Barry ("Mulder, I need
your help!"), and she'd asked him to make a deal once
("I need to see my sister"), so she could see her
Melissa before she died. She'd asked him to help her
get her daughter ("I need you now to be a witness for
me at this custody hearing"). How could he refuse now
to give her what she needed? She wouldn't ask if she
didn't mean it.

He gulped. He couldn't say no.

When he came out of the bathroom, she patted the spot
next to her. "Where shall we start?" he asked.

"I think the usual, Mulder. Why don't we start with a
kiss?" He didn't know how she could be so cool and
matter of fact about the whole thing.

He sat down next to her. He had put his boxers back on
in a fit of modesty. He wasn't sure which would make
him feel more ridiculous, coming out of the bathroom in
a towel, or putting his clothes back on knowing he
would be taking them off.

He just looked at her for a moment. She looked back at
him, a half smile on her face. "I'm sorry to make you
do this, Mulder."

"You're not making me do anything, Scully. I want to do
this." He realized that he did. Of course he did. She
was a beautiful--My god, he hoped he would be able to
do this. He stomped hard on that thought. "It's just
been awhile since I've ridden this particular bicycle."

"Bicycle? Thank you." She hesitated. "I'm nervous too."
She asked herself, in a moment of blind panic, What am
I doing?

He leaned forward, and so did she, until their lips
met, and touched. She pulled back a little. "That
wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No," he said, his voice roughened, and leaned forward
again. He reached one hand up and put it on the back of
her neck and pulled her toward him so that their mouths
met once more. Her lips parted beneath his this time,
and it was suddenly and unexpectedly as though they had
jumped into the cold Long Island Sound. The icy,
shocked sense of abrupt immersion forced her breath out
of her lungs in a whoosh. The feel of his mouth meeting
hers was like an electric charge that went straight
from their fused mouths to all her extremities. She
could feel the tips of her fingers tingle.

His tongue flicked out and darted into her mouth, and
then disappeared back into his own mouth. She had to go
after it. She licked lightly at his bottom lip, just
like a little *rap rap* at the door when you aren't
sure if you are interrupting, but he welcomed her in,
and then their two tongues were sliding wetly against
one another.

Scully knew that the sexual response of the human
female is fairly predictable and largely physiological.
She knew that her skin felt hot because her blood had
rushed to all the little capillaries just below the
surface. She knew that her heart was pounding almost
painfully against her chest because the newness of the
experience of kissing Mulder and being kissed by him
had stimulated her adrenal glands in a response not so
different from the fight or flight response. Knowing
that didn't help her to slow down her heart rate. Every
time she realized, "This is Mulder, Mulder!" that she
was kissing, her heart stumbled a little in its frantic
pace and went on harder than ever. She could smell the
real him underneath the soap from the shower. He was
practically naked in her arms.

They kissed and kissed and kissed.

Periodically they broke apart and changed the angle at
which their mouths met. The human nose always has to be
accounted for in any kissing encounter, and Mulder's
had to be accounted for more than most. He kept kissing
her, his tongue circling in her mouth, backing away and
licking lightly at her lips and then opening wider and
engulfing her in his single-minded purpose, stroking
her tongue with his own. He was holding her face in his
hands and his thumbs were drawing little tiny circles
high up on her cheekbones. He kissed her tenderly,
fiercely, languorously, urgently.

She hadn't expected this. She had wanted it to be quick
and dirty. In her experience, men who were obsessed
with pornography, like Mulder, were sexually selfish.
They preferred pornography because they didn't have to
meet anyone's needs but their own. When she thought
about it, and she had to admit that she had, she had
assumed that intercourse with Mulder (that's how she
thought about it--as "intercourse") would be no
different from the several tedious fumbling bouts she'd
endured as an undergraduate with boy-men as emotionally
underdeveloped as Mulder sometimes appeared to be.
Mulder, although often endearing, always seemed to
suffer from emotionally arrested development.

She needed this to be over quickly before it sucked her
in, but she was starting to realize that he had other
ideas. He didn't show any signs of wanting to rush
ahead to the main event. He seemed perfectly content to
go on kissing her mouth for a long time.

She couldn't catch her breath at all, and she realized
that she was shaking and trembling just from their
prolonged make-out session. She thought, with a touch
of panic, that she might come just from this. The
thought appalled her; that she might come apart in his
arms so easily seemed to give him too much power.

He moved one hand slowly over her back, still kissing
her. The other came around and he placed a palm over
her left breast and squeezed gently but firmly, and
released. Then he rubbed his palm over the soft swell
until he could feel her nipple getting harder and
harder. Then he groaned. The sensation of her nipple
hardening under his fingers, and the sound of his
groan, the feel of its vibration against her mouth,
caused a sharp little pulse of wet desire to travel
straight from her breast to her clitoris. She realized
that her hands were on his still damp shoulders, and
that his skin was smooth and supple under her fingers.
This had been a terrible idea. A terrible terrible
horrible *oh*--she released a strangled little moan as
he squeezed her breast again.

As for Mulder, he was getting dizzy. Scully had
apparently drunk a glass of water while he was in the
shower, and her mouth tasted clear and cold, and
deliciously soft and wet. He hadn't completely
forgotten why they were doing this, but he was close.
Holding Scully in his arms and kissing her lovely,
luscious, kissable mouth was making him euphoric.
Hearing her soft little moan made his cock harden and
his heart expand like the Grinch's. Suddenly every knot
in his very knotty brain had untied. He could have sung
opera--with one of those horned hats on, even.

He pulled away from her mouth for a moment.
Embarrassingly, she found herself following him,
wanting to recapture his lips.

"Can I?" he asked, with his fingers on the tab of the
zipper at the back of her neck. His voice was about an
octave lower than his normal speaking voice. That,
combined with his diffident courtesy in asking her
permission, made her heart do another little *blip* in
her chest.

"Yes," she whispered, not knowing why the volume
control of her own voice had suddenly gone out. She
didn't even correct his grammar.

He slowly pulled the zipper down her back, looking at
her face the whole time. She wanted to be able to look
away, but she was mesmerized by the new color scheme of
his eyes. They were brilliant green with gold flecks.
She had long ago learned to read the barometer of
Mulder's emotions in the color of his eyes, but this
particular shade and configuration was a new one for
her. The back of her dress parted and his hand stole in
to stroke the skin of her back.

His other hand was sliding its way up the skirt of her
dress. It stopped abruptly, and he whispered, "Jesus H.
Christ," in a reverent tone of voice.

"What?" she whispered back.

"Scully," he croaked, "What the hell are you wearing
under that dress?"

"Well," she responded in an almost normal tone of
voice, "to be frank, not much."

"God almighty," he said in an outraged, or mock-
outraged tone, she couldn't be sure which. Then he
pushed her skirt all the way up over her hips.

"Are you getting religion, Mulder?" she asked, amused
in spite of herself.

"How the hell do those stay up?"

"Magic," she said. He was staring, bemused, at her
black thigh-high stockings as though they had put the
whammy on him.

"Do you wear those all the time?" he finally asked.

He was definitely getting off the subject. Leave it to
Mulder to get distracted when really important business
was at hand. "Mulder," she said, deciding that he
didn't really want to know the answer, "kiss me again."

He managed to tear his gaze away from the patches of
creamy white vanilla-ice-cream thighs between the lacy
tops of her stockings and the silky black of her
panties. He thought he had never seen anything so
burningly white in his life. He looked up at her face
again and she smiled a little at him. Oh yeah. Kissing.

Scully's mouth had that smudgy look from his kisses
already, as though it had been erased and redrawn by an
artist dissatisfied by its original look, and it
thrilled him to realize he had put it there. He kissed
her again. She kissed him back and brought her hands up
to hold his head and move her fingers through his still
lovely, though somewhat shorn, locks.

He stopped abruptly. "I want to take that dress off of
you," he said. "That was my plan before you distracted
me with those--Anyway, it's time for that dress to come
off."

"Okay," she said. "So take it off me." She gave him a
teasing little Mona Lisa smile. Her heart was still
pounding, but she felt a surprising return of power and
control. It was high-octane fuel in her veins.

He peeled the bodice down and the sleeves covering her
arms peeled away as well, until the entire dress was
bunched around her waist from both directions, where he
had pushed it up, and where he had pulled it down. He
put his hands on her waist, stood her up like a doll,
and wiggled the dress down over her hips until it fell
to the floor.

Her bra was black and lacy, and he didn't take his eyes
off the curves of her cleavage rising above it as he
reached around to her back, attempting to unhook it. It
was brand-new, which made it easier to release the
catch, but Mulder didn't know that, and he was proud of
his skill when he got it in one try. Scully shrugged
her shoulders forward, letting the straps slip off
them. He helped its progress by nudging it down her
arms, and letting it drop to the floor.

He was still for a minute, just staring at her lovely,
completely perfect breasts with their blush nipples.

It didn't seem to worry Scully. She obviously wasn't
one of those endlessly neurotic women who thought their
various body parts were either too big or too small.
Scully knew her breasts were just right for her frame.
She just looked back at him.

Mulder had a mini-flashback to a lecture he had
attended his first year at Oxford, given by a famous
classicist: "Deconstructing Hippolyta: Girdles, Gender
and Women Warriors." To Mulder, Scully looked like
what he had always imagined the queen of the Amazons to
look like: curvaceous, beautiful, and fierce.

He finally put his hands on her waist and pulled her
towards him so that she was trapped between the V of
his legs as he sat on the bed. He curved his hand under
her right breast and hefted it gently. Even with her
standing and him sitting on the bed, their height
differential made it necessary for him to bend his head
and lift her breast up slightly so that he could kiss
and lick and suck her nipple. He pulled the entire
aureole deep into his mouth and sucked hard. After only
a minute she was moaning softly and continuously. When
the sound finally reached his lust-befuddled ears he
thought he might never be able to wipe the shit-eating
grin off of his face.

Then he turned his attention to her other breast,
lavishing it with the same attention, and leaving the
right one glistening with his saliva, the nipple dark
and hard. "Mmmm," he murmured into her soft flesh, his
voice vibrating against her tender skin. He pulled his
incredible mouth off of her nipple for a moment to say,
"I can't decide which one I like best. This one is so
sweet and friendly, but this one," kneading the breast
in question, "has a reserved elegance that is
tremendously alluring." He stuck his tongue out and
gave it a tickly lick.

Catching her breath, she looked down at him with her
eyebrow raised. "Mulder, you're nuts." Her voice came
out huskier than she anticipated.

"Well, you've thought that before," he said, unabashed.
"But really, I can't be sure until they undergo a more
rigorous taste test."

"More rigorous than the one you've been giving them?"
Her voice, normally as smooth as alabaster, cracked a
little bit as she asked the question. She was not just
demurely wet now, but soppingly and fragrantly
drenched. If she weren't anchored to his body by his
legs and hands she would almost certainly melt into a
puddle on the floor.

"Umm," he said. Then he pushed them together so that
her nipples were about an inch apart and began twirling
his tongue in little circles of infinity between and
around them. She felt like a porn queen for a moment,
and she wasn't entirely sure if that was a good thing
or a bad thing. But then the sensation of his tongue on
both her nipples at once became so overwhelming that
she shuddered, and moaned loudly, her fingers thrusting
feverishly through his hair as she held his head to her
chest. Her knees were definitely trembling now, hard
little tremors, as though every nerve in her lower body
were jumping spasmodically. "Oh--oh, *God*!"

She could feel the heat from his erection against her
belly. She wanted to touch it, to wrap her hand around
it and stroke it until his face screwed up in ecstasy,
but she didn't want him to stop what he was doing. So
she just kept running her hands over his shoulders,
loving the feel of his skin.

He looked up at her, pulling away slightly, and saw
that her face--his enchantingly rigid, disbelieving,
no-nonsense, enigmatic partner's face--was totally
transformed by arousal. The soft openness, and yet
tautness, of her expression struck him in the chest
like a blow. It was amazing, fascinating, transfixing,
like a light in the sky. He remembered the straining,
open look she wore when she was under hypnosis with Dr.
Werber. At the time, he had found it unbearable. The
combination of what she was saying and the eroticism of
her abandonment in saying it had made it impossible for
him to speak afterwards. He had thrown up a wall of
reason against it. Now all he wanted to do was gaze
upon her face, and watch the changes skim over it.

"Let's take these off too," he said finally, his
fingers rolling under the edges of her stockings.
"They're very pretty, and in other circumstances I
might want you to leave them on, but tonight I think I
would rather feel your skin against me." She was
somewhat annoyed by his ability to remain articulate in
the present situation, and resolved to put a stop to
that as quickly as possible.

She let him roll the stockings each in turn down her
legs, and stepped out of them, holding onto his
shoulders for balance. Then she cupped his face in her
hands and leaned over to kiss his mouth again, sweetly
and leisurely. "Lie back," she said softly, and pushed
on his chest for emphasis.

"You're not planning to take advantage of me, are you
Scully?" In spite of his question, he slid back on the
bed, and lay down as she had instructed him. She
ignored his remark, and climbed on top of him,
straddling his waist. She bent over, so her breasts
were crushed against his chest, and placing a light
kiss on his mouth, she moved to his ear, breathing
softly in it, and catching his earlobe between her
lips. She sucked on it, and gave it a little nip with
her teeth.

"Ohh. . .You are. . ." he breathed, "I knew it. . ."
Her breasts lifted away from his chest as she shifted
to gain better access to his ear, and his hands
followed them, cupping their ripeness. He licked his
thumbs quickly, and brought them back to her breasts,
rubbing her nipples in circular movements.

She grabbed his wrists, and pushed them down against
the mattress. "What?" he asked, startled, and unclear
about exactly what his transgression had been.

"Fair is fair, Mulder," she growled, and leaned over to
lick his nipple with a couple of teasing swipes of her
tongue. His breathing began to become more irregular,
and she captured his nipple in her mouth and sucked on
it, hard. Then she took it between her teeth and held
it there. "Oh, Scully. . ." She moved on to the other
one after a minute, pleased to hear his blissful
groans.

"Do you like that, Mulder?"

"Oh yeah. . ."

She let go of his wrists and he put his hands on her
rib cage, pulling her down on top of him and rolling
her over so she was underneath him. He hooked his
fingers in the waistband of her panties and pulled them
down her legs, getting temporarily distracted on the
way by their graceful curves. He kissed her knees.

His hands were behind her knees and he was pushing her
legs apart and up so that her knees were even with her
waist. Now we're getting down to business, she thought
with relief. But his head was dipping down, and when
she realized where he was going she started to sit up,
gasping, "No, Mulder, you don't have to--I mean--"

He looked up at her and grinned. "I may not have ridden
this bicycle in a while, Scully, but I do remember the
rules of the road." He grasped her firmly around her
thighs and gave a sharp yank towards him so that she
lost her balance and fell flat on her back.

"Besides," he said, "I want to."

She was about to rebuke him for his rude manhandling of
her, but then she felt his mouth moving tenderly over
the skin of her inner thigh. "I meant," she said
weakly, "that as conception is our object, this
particular curve of the road isn't strictly necessary."

He stopped for a moment. "Actually, there is some
evidence that indicates that the female orgasm
facilitates conception," he replied, tilting his head
to the side, and making minuscule gestures with his
fingers just as he did when he explained any wild
theory to her. "So it's really your duty to lie back,
relax, and let me help us accomplish our goal."

She wasn't totally convinced. She thought, Isn't that
afterwards? but she didn't have the determination to
argue anymore. Why split hairs, after all? She lay back
and let him kiss her inner thighs at a leisurely pace.
Back and forth he went, with hot kisses that cooled and
tingled as he moved on to the next patch of flesh and
the air hit the slightly damp spots where his mouth had
been. "Umm--" she hummed, a little anxiously. She
wanted to warn him that his efforts would probably go
unrewarded. She was rarely able to relax enough to come
this way, and she certainly wasn't relaxed enough in
this situation.

But as he got closer to his final destination she felt
the tension of suspense coiling within her, and she
clutched at the sheets. She was panting hard, trying to
get enough breath in her lungs to stay on top of the
feeling.

He could feel the heat coming off her in waves. She was
so deliciously hot and juicy. "Scully, you're so wet,"
he said in a tone of delighted astonishment.

Finally, finally, finally, he was parting her pubic
hair with his fingers, gently pushing it out of his
way, and his mouth, his tongue, was touching her,
licking her openly, with no tentativeness about it, but
avidly, hungrily. His tongue searched through the folds
of her labia, finding the wet fleshy nugget of her
clitoris and running back and forth over it, again and
again. He parted her folds with his thumb and
forefinger, so the protective hood was pulled back away
from it, and held his mouth open over it, but not
touching it, just breathing softly upon it, holding it
within the cave of his mouth. Scully's hips levitated
off the bed at the intensity of the hot feeling of his
breath. "Oooohhhhhhhh," she moaned helplessly.

Then he started licking her again, his tongue rubbing
against her clit, over and over. He slid a long elegant
finger inside of her, pressing upwards within her. His
other hand rested on her inner thigh. He could feel the
small muscles in her leg quivering against his hand.
When he felt her thigh muscles tense up, he stopped,
and captured her clit in his mouth again, holding it
until the tension eased slightly, then resuming his
determined licking. He did this again and again. Each
time he felt her thighs tense up, he would stop.

Soon she was whimpering, "Mulder, I can't--I can't."
Neither of them was sure what it was she couldn't do.
Couldn't come? Couldn't bear it any more? Couldn't feel
this way?

He lifted his head fractionally, long enough to say,
"yes you can," and resumed teasing her with his tongue,
and slid another finger inside of her.

O-shaped moans were rolling out of her throat like
notes from Mozart's pen. Mulder imagined them floating
like soap bubbles around him and up, until they
collected, inexplicably unbreakable, in the corners of
the ceiling.

Her eyes were closed, her head was thrown back, and she
couldn't, couldn't, stand it anymore. She glanced down
at his head between her legs, busily caressing her with
his mouth, and the sight of him, licking her with an
intent, absorbed look on what she could see of his face
as it moved into her vision--Oh! It was Mulder! Mulder
doing this to her--making her feel like she was going
to fracture into a million shards--and that feeling, of
shock, of amazement, here it was Mulder eating her like
it was the most important work he had ever done in his
life, until she wanted--to--to--oh god--oh god--oh god-
-oh god--Mulder--Mulder--!

Her orgasm hit her like an exuberant puppy that she
didn't even see coming until it knocked her down. It
rolled through her from fingers to toes, shaking her
like a rag doll. She groaned with the sensation of the
universe contracting down to the fixed point of her
pleasure; her pleasure expanding to fill everything,
blocking out awareness.

Mulder kept on task as the aftershocks of her orgasm
rippled through her, only stopping when she sighed
deeply.

"Oh, Mulder," she said, in the same tone of voice that
a woman might use if she opens the little box under the
Christmas tree and finds that her beloved has bought
her the earrings with the really *big* diamonds. She
felt as boneless as the cartoon cat that Charlie
Brown's friend with the naturally curly hair--what was
her name?--always carried around. He could have hung
her on a towel rack.

"Frohike was right," he mumbled.

"What?"

"You are tasty."

~*~*~*~*

End Part Three

Part Four

Disclaimer, etc. in Part One. For missing parts:
http://urw.simplenet.com/ambress

~*~*~*~*

He hadn't thought it was possible, but the sight and
sound, and smell and taste and feel, for that matter,
of Scully coming had made him even harder. It was
practically painful now; he wanted to sink into her
without restraint, and fuck her for all he was worth,
but he was forcing himself not to rush it. This was a
once in a lifetime opportunity. He wanted to savor it.

He crawled his way up her body. "What are you smiling
at?" she asked, getting ready to be ruffled.

"What's not to smile at?" he answered. "I'm lying on
top of you, and I just made you come saying my name."

"I did?" she sounded a little surprised. "Say your
name, I mean, not the other."

"Either that, or you were hollering, 'Murder!' I'm not
saying it was crystal clear."

"Could have been either," she agreed.

"I guess we'll find out when security busts down the
door."

He kissed her again. She could smell herself on him,
and enjoyed it, with a guilty sense of pleasure in
having marked him with her scent.

She reached down between them, snaked her hand inside
his boxers to find his hot, hard erection. She wrapped
her hand around it firmly. She stroked it slowly, from
the base to the tip, running her thumb across the head.
With her other hand she started pulling at the
waistband of his boxers, pulling them down his hips,
and navigating them over the obstacle of his erect
penis, which seemed to have a mind of its own. After
some awkward finagling he was as naked as she was.

Oh, she was feeling generous now, and affectionate. She
kissed her way down his chest, over his belly, oh, his
skin smelled delicious, and there was his nice cock
bobbing up to meet her. She took him in her mouth and
wrapped her hand around the base. Swirling her tongue
around the head of his penis, she was gratified to hear
his happy gasp. She ran her tongue up the length of his
erection, letting her mouth slide over the head when
she arrived at the top.

"Oh--Scully--" He was definitely having trouble
speaking now. "If you make me come before I'm inside of
you we have to start the whole process over again, and
that would take time. I'm almost forty, you know."

"That would be terrible," she agreed mockingly, but not
letting go. She reached her other hand down between his
legs to cup his furry balls, which were tight and
compact with desire. She took him all the way into her
mouth, letting her saliva make her movements slick and
glib, moved leisurely and wetly up and down him for a
minute. Then she sucked his cock seriously for another
minute, imagining the archetypal golf ball moving
through that archetypal garden hose, until he was
making "ah--ah--ah" sounds. Then she released him and
lay back, pulling him on top of her. She would have
liked to suck him until he was totally incoherent and
helpless, but that was definitely not part of their
immediate agenda. Maybe later. Just as a little thank
you.

"Oh-Mulder-are-you-going-to-fuck-me-now?" she asked. It
came out all as one word. And she had completely
forgotten about "intercourse." Orgasm had temporarily
loosened every psychic bolt in both her mind and
tongue.

"Yeah. Yeah, Scully, I am." He was breathless.

He shifted his weight onto his elbows and smiled down
at her. "Top or bottom?" he asked.

"Bottom," she whispered. She had forgotten how good it
felt to have a man on top of her, that luxurious
weight, and Mulder's body felt so good, smelled so
good, the hair on his thighs brushing against her legs
felt so deliciously carnal, she wanted to feel his
weight on her. She wanted him to pin her to the bed,
hold her down so that she wouldn't crumble into sand,
so she wouldn't be unwillingly snatched away to the
stars.

He positioned himself between her legs, and holding his
cock in his hand, he rubbed the head up and down her
vulva, savoring the feel of her eager wet heat. She
moaned appreciatively. "I want to feel you inside me,
Mulder," she said, and it came out sounding almost
pleading.

He looked at her face, into those sea-blue eyes,
watching her face. He thought for a second that he was
about to jump off a cliff, that he might drown, he
might be dashed against the rocks, but he couldn't
possibly resist the urge to throw himself into her
ocean.

She sucked in her breath in a stifled gasp as he
entered her, his eyes still locked with hers, and he
immediately stopped moving. "Are you okay?" he asked,
stricken. It was just like the incident in his hallway,
when his thoughts tumbled further and further down to
despair: He was too rough. He'd hurt her. No, she was
dying. No bees here, tonight, between their naked
bodies.

"Yeah. . .Yeah. I didn't think it was possibly to
regain one's virginity, but I guess it's been a long
time."

"Oh, have you been saving yourself for me, Scully?" he
teased, relieved that he hadn't hurt her.

"Shut up, Mulder."

"Okay," he said, closing his eyes for a second, trying
to control his traitorous body, which wanted to make a
fool of him. She felt like a hot, wet, tight fist
around him. No, better than that. He was used to a
fist--his own. She felt like Scully, so hot she was
like ice. She was gripping him, holding him in place.
She was the most pivotal thing in the universe.

She felt Mulder's cock wedging her open. Oh, now she
was totally open, exposed, split apart. She could feel
him pushing against every door she'd struggled so hard
to keep shut. Her eyes were stinging with repressed
tears. He drew out slowly and then slid just as slowly
all the way back inside her, groaning as he did so.

He fucked her slowly for endless minutes, enjoying the
soft sighing sounds she made every time he thrust into
her, sounds she didn't even seem to be aware she was
making.

"Wait, wait," she said, "I want--" He moved away from
her, confused, and popped all the way out. "I want,"
she lifted her legs farther up, "I want to put my legs-
-" He realized what she was trying to accomplish. She
draped her legs over his shoulders, and he supported
them with his arms.

"Well," he said with some difficulty, "I like a woman
who knows what she wants." When he sunk back into her
he went so deep in this position that she thought he
was bumping against her heart instead of her cervix.
She let out a long drawn-out moan of pleasure. With the
new angle, his every thrust brushed against her clit.
In another moment he was hitting that perfect internal
spot that sometimes seems so elusive, and she was
crying out, "Yes, Mulder, Yes, oh, harder Mulder, oh,
God, oh, god, Oh Mulder, yes--" and coming again, not
as hard as the first time, but just sailing up and over
the bar effortlessly.

He moaned suddenly, as though the tether on his control
had snapped, and he was thrusting hard and fast into
her. He pounded into her, the way a toddler pounds on
one of those infernal cobbler benches, accompanied by a
series of inarticulate grunts. "Scully--Scully--
Scully!" he cried, his face contorting in apparent
agony, then smoothing out into the pure innocent
pleasure of a nursing child. He stopped moving entirely
as he came. He thrust into her arrhythmically a few
more times, put his head down on her chest, and sighed,
quivering as a few stray tremors shook him.

After a moment he lifted his head and kissed her
sweetly on the mouth. "Doin' you a favor is
exhausting," he said. He rolled off of her onto his
back, but kept his arm around her, and pulled her head
down so she was resting on his chest. She could feel
his heart still pounding hard and deep in his chest,
and smiled to herself.

She was still shaking, and quivery all over. Every
nerve ending in her body was charged. Where her flesh
rested against his, she was like one of those plasma
sculptures, where mini-bolts of lightning respond to
the touch of your fingers.

Scully expected him to fall asleep, and thought it
would give her a chance to regroup. Part of her was
already planning her escape. But she underestimated
Mulder's ability to bounce back.

"I think we should order room service, don't you?" he
asked after only a few minutes of lying comfortably
with her head pillowed on his chest. "I need to
replenish my bodily fluids. What do you want to eat?"
He twisted his body around to reach the phone.

"Umm. Pasta primavera."

"I think we went off the clock hours ago. How about a
bottle of wine?"

"Okay. It'll have to be my last glass for awhile."

"Oh yeah," he grinned.

He made the phone call to room service, and they lazed
in the bed until the knock on the door. Mulder pulled
on his pants and answered it, keeping the door half
shut so that the waiter couldn't see Scully at all.

Soon, she sat at the table in nothing but his dress
shirt, eating her pasta. He lounged across the bed,
jeans shed, ridiculing her for her propriety. She took
serious little bites of her dinner, with no movement
wasted.

"So, Scully, do you think it's possible for a man and a
woman to stay friends after they've had sex?"

She smirked at him. "Well, it's a nice thought, Mulder,
but I don't think a man and a woman can be friends. We
only tolerate you for the sex."

He threw a green bean at her. "No, seriously."

"I guess it depends on how good the sex is. If it was
lousy, she might not want to be friends anymore."

"Boy," he said, scooping some stray mashed potatoes off
of his chest with his fork, "after one or two orgasms
you just turn into a smartass, don't you? So, was the
sex lousy?"

She twirled some pasta, pointedly ignoring his ill-bred
table manners. "Nope. That was great sex, Mulder."

"Thank you." He smirked. "I knew what you'd like."

"Well, that sounds a little arrogant, don't you think?"

"Maybe so. But I think I had you figured out long ago."

"What? How so, oh wise one?"

"I have a system for sexual profiling."

"Oh, you must be joking."

"No, no. I mean it. You can tell a great deal about how
a person comes by how they sneeze."

"What?! Now you are putting me on. How they *sneeze*?"

"Sure," he said seriously. "You know, Scully,
physiologically speaking, sneezing is a process very
similar to that of orgasm."

"Mulder, that is the biggest load of hogwash I have
ever heard from you, and I have heard some large
loads." Ummm. Snow peas.

"Well, think about it for a moment. A sneeze starts out
as a little tickle. An irritant. Then the sensation
builds up and is explosively released. You always feel
much better after you've sneezed, don't you?"

"Well, not exactly the same way, Mulder, but I see your
point."

"Yes, so how a person approaches a sneeze tells you
something about their orgasms as well. You know those
people who sneeze several times in rapid succession?"

"Yeeaaah?"

"They're usually women."

"Oh come on. That's not true." She shook her fork at
him.

"Are you sure? And with you, for instance, I noticed a
long time ago that you try to repress your sneezes,
letting the pressure build up, and making the release
more powerful." He was leaning back against the
headboard and letting his hands do half the talking for
him. All he needed was a slide projector and a pointer.
Maybe some clothes.

She put her fork down and blinked slowly at him, as
though she couldn't quite believe her eyes.

An image suddenly popped into her mind: seeing Skinner
in the hallway suddenly stop, and then an roar of a
sneeze that practically doubled him over, shouting as
he. . .sneezed. Wouldn't do to mention that at the
moment. Dammit, she was going to think about this every
time someone sneezed around her, even people who she
didn't particularly want to think about that way.
Frohike, Kersh, Fowley. . .cripes.

"Hmmph. And that's why you--" She didn't finish her
sentence.

"Yeah," he said grinning smugly, "that's why I. But you
never answered my question about staying friends."

"You're pretty insufferable after you've come too. I
hope you know that. Well, I certainly hope that it's
possible, Mulder. That's what I am gambling on here. I
certainly don't want to lose your friendship. But
that's not really what we're talking about here anyway,
is it? The question is: can a man and a woman stay
friends after they've had sex and made a baby?"

"I guess you're right."

"And the answer," she went on, "is that what's worth
having, is worth fighting for, don't you think? I've
known many couples who had everything going for them:
they were happily married, in love with each other,
both had good jobs, healthy, but having a baby together
destroyed their relationship. It changes the paradigm,
and you have to adapt, or become extinct." She stabbed
at her broccoli for emphasis. "I believe that you and I
are capable of adapting. Our partnership works because
of mutual respect and trust--"

Abruptly he put his plate down on the bedside table,
covering his face with one hand as he did so. "Ow.
Geez."

"What's the matter?" she asked, standing up and going
over to him on the bed.

"I think I got something in my eye."

"Let me take a look," she said, leaning over him. He
removed his hand from his face, but when she leaned in
close to look in his eye, he grabbed her around the
waist and dragged her onto his lap. "Gotcha," he said
triumphantly, "and using the ol' 'I-got-something-in-
my-eye' trick', yet."

"You're gonna get something in your eye, buster. My
fist." She wriggled around, but the result was to
become more firmly entrenched in his arms. He snuggled
his face against her neck. "Scully, can I make a
confession?"

"Uh. . .okay." She felt some trepidation about the
nature of this possible confession.

"I love the idea of making you pregnant. I love to
think about how you'll look when you're pregnant. I
love the thought of starting a baby growing inside you.
It makes me want you all over again just to think about
it." He nuzzled her neck and kissed her ear, whispering
to her, "to think about how round and ripe you're going
to get, how your hair will become even more lustrous,
your skin even more translucent, your nipples even more
sensitive. I love to think about you waddling
everywhere you go and watching you, and thinking that I
did that to you. Scully, do you think I am a terrible
pervert?"

"Yes," she whispered back, "but not because of that."

He laughed softly and kissed his way down the edge of
her jaw, making pleased little "umm" noises as he
tasted her skin. "Scully," he said. "I want to make
love to you again. Is that okay with you?" He hastened
to add, "Just to make sure we get the job done, of
course."

She rolled her eyes and smiled in amusement. His hands
were up underneath his shirt, crossed upon her back,
and stroking her shoulder blades lightly. "Yes, that's
okay with me," she said, lifting her mouth up to be
kissed again. "But it's my turn to be on top."

"Oh, absolutely," he agreed, and kissed her.

They were folded together like origami on the bed. Her
legs had gotten tangled up with his. He pulled her
closer to him, and reached behind her, beneath her, his
hands cupping her ass cheeks, and lifting her up in his
arms. He held her close, and pressed numberless kisses
on her face and neck. She responded by kissing him
everywhere she could reach. "Are your vital fluids
replenished?" she asked breathlessly.

"Yes," he said, "yes I think so. They seem to be."

"Oh, you're right. They do seem to be," she said,
indicating his erection with an appreciative glance.
"Good, because I think before was a fluke, and I want
you to prove otherwise to me."

"Don't say fluke to me in this context," he joked, but
she was already pushing him back on the bed and walking
on her knees up the length of his body. She held on to
the headboard to keep her balance as she spread her
legs and put her knees on either side of his ears.

"You know what I like about you, Scully?" he asked.

"What, Mulder?"

"You're not shy."

"Well, what I like about you, Mulder, is that you like
that."

He wrapped his arms around her thighs to caress her
bottom again. "And you have the greatest ass," he said.

"So do you," she retorted. "Don't think. Make it
happen, Mulder."

"Okay," he whispered, and stuck out his tongue to trace
the contours of her labia, directly above his face.
"Ummm," he murmured as he found her clit with his
tongue again.

Soon she was holding onto the headboard for dear life,
her hips grinding against him as he made encouraging
noises, and she fucked his tongue earnestly, sincerely,
no kidding around now, she needed it bad. She was
throwing her head back in abandon, and he was holding
her by her hips down against his mouth as he worked her
with his tongue. He burrowed his way deeper into her
pussy with his mouth, and sucked on her clit until she
came with a vision of blinding white light, making a
sound halfway between a squeal and a gasp. She rested
her head against the wall, and laughed softly as she
regained her breath.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Oh nothing, just glad the room next door is mine."

She rose up on her haunches, and moved over him,
lowering herself down over his cock, letting him fill
her up. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then
opened them to see Mulder's completely unselfconscious
and unguarded look of ecstasy. She drew her finger down
his cheek tenderly, and he turned his head to kiss it.

She put her hands on his shoulders, and held him down
as she rose up and down on his cock, moving her hips in
a swivel and concentrating on making her strokes as
long as possible at first, without letting him pop out
of her entirely. She looked down at him, and his eyes
were closed, but his expression was one of intense
concentration. "Oh, Scully," he said.

"Yes, Mulder?" she said in a somewhat mocking tone.

His eyes opened then, and the look in them was as wide
open as if he really had found the truth inside her.
"Nothing," he said, "just--Oh Scully." She felt
slightly guilty for teasing him. "I love the way you
fuck me," he added.

Well, that sparked her inherent generosity, and she
made up her mind to make it as good for him as she
could, fucking him hard, and squeezing her internal
muscles as tightly as she could. That gained her the
reward of some gasping moans.

He wanted to relinquish control to her, but he couldn't
stop himself from thrusting up into her. He held her
hips loosely as she fucked him. She sped up the pace.
She was strong and fit, and she brought herself down on
him heavily, with a steady hard rhythm, again and
again, until she saw a new tension on his face; then
she whispered, "Come for me, Mulder, oh come on, baby,
I want it," and he came, crying out "Oh, Scully!" again
as he did.

She pushed his hair back off his damp brow, kissing his
nose, his forehead, and slid down until she was lying
on top of him, listening to his heart slow.

This time, sleep claimed them both quickly.

~*~*~*~*

11:24 p.m.
17 hours, 13 minutes

In her sleep, though, she rolled off of him, and slept
on her stomach, facing away from him. Even now, she was
no cuddler. She woke in the middle of the night to feel
his fingertips lazily drawing inscrutable hieroglyphs
across her back, up under his shirt, which she still
wore.

"You better be waking me up for a better reason than
chasing lights in the sky," she warned.

He chuckled softly, his breath tickling her back. "Oh--
oh, yeah. I just thought we better be sure--" His hands
snuck around her hips from either side and he lifted
her slightly, rolled over on top of her, pulling her
backwards against him so she could feel his erection
prodding at her. "Okay?"

"Yesss," she sighed, and he slid into her. He dipped
his head to kiss the back of her neck.

She sensed, rather than saw, him lick his fingers
before he worked his hand underneath her in search of
her clitoris. He rocked slowly into her as he rubbed
his wet fingers around and around her clit, sliding,
caressing her wetness. "I wish I had three hands," he
gasped, "so I could hold your breasts too."

"I'll do it," she said, working her hands under her
body, splaying her fingers in a web over her breasts,
and pinching her nipples.

"Ah, the true meaning of partnership," he offered. He
slid in and out of her slowly, like a cradle on the
sea, back and forth, easily, until she came like a wave
on the beach. A moment later, he came too, singing a
whale-song to her as he gushed into her.

"Love you--Love you," he sighed into her ear, and then
stiffened with the realization of what he'd said.
Feeling him freeze, she took pity on him.

"It's okay, Mulder. If everyone was held accountable
for what they babbled during orgasm, every church in
the world would be packed to the rafters Sundays."

That was typical Scully. She was going to gently remove
him from the hook, whether he wanted to be taken off of
it or not.

"Technically speaking, that was post-coital, not
orgasmic." He continued, "though I suppose I shouldn't
expect you to believe me, since I only have the nerve
to say it under the influence of either painkillers, or
endorphins." He wished he could see her face, but it
was still pressed into the pillow.

She was silent for a long moment. Then, finally, she
said, "I want to believe."

He pulled out of her and turned her over to look in her
eyes.

After a minute, he said, "You know that leap of faith
you were talking about, Scully?"

She nodded.

"Geronimo," he said.

The End.

Sequel: Landfall 

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