From: DashaK@aol.com
Date: Sun, 2 May 1999 16:18:49 EDT
Subject: NEW: Increments by Dasha K. (1/?)


Note:  This story is a work in progress.  However, since I only have a few 
more chapters left, I thought I'd start posting the story a few parts per 
night.  I've always liked the idea of a serial. <g>


Increments by Dasha K.

Please archive at Gossamer.  If you would like to archive 
anywhere else, I'd appreciate a quick note.

Summary:  Sometimes love and healing don't happen all at once, but in 
Increments.
Rating: NC-17 for adult situations.
Classification: SRA, MSR
Spoilers: Tithonus and back.
Disclaimer:  Not mine, no siree Bob.
Feedback:  Accepted most gratefully at dashak@aol.com.

Note:  This story follows "Light Sleepers", but if you 
haven't read that Story, don't worry.  This story sums up 
what happened.  This story also gleefully ignores the 
events of Two Fathers/One Son.  The Mulder and Scully in 
those episodes do not appear here. <g>

Author's notes will be posted at the end of the story, but I must take a 
second to thank my generous and wonderful editors, Plausible Deniability and 
Gwen.

If you are missing parts, you can find them at 
http://dasha.simplenet.com/increments.html

Chapter One- Retire

He dreamed of a long hallway, white and sterile, smelling 
of the harshness of disinfectant and the bodies of the ill.  
He was running, running, trying to find room 874, but every 
time he glanced at a number on a door, it was the wrong 
number, sometimes too low, sometimes too high.  Sweat 
streaming down his face, his tie flapping about him, he 
kept running, looking for her, knowing she lay dying.

She dreamed of nothing at all.  She was suspended in a warm 
bath of repose, where she saw nothing, felt nothing.  

When he awoke, he realized he was still in bed with her.  
The sun was beginning to rise and like a thief, he crept 
out of bed and her bedroom to settle on the couch, pulling 
the quilt around his body.

When she awoke, the bed seemed much too big and empty.  
Shivering in the early morning cold, she struggled to find 
a comfortable position for her aching body.




The next evening, Scully put down her book and yawned.  "I 
think I'm off to bed," she announced, rolling her shoulders 
as if to get the kinks out.

Mulder looked up from his laptop and was surprised to find 
it 11 pm.  Another Saturday night in the lives of our two 
fun-filled Federal agents, he thought with a small smile to 
himself.

After Scully sequestered herself in the bathroom, Mulder 
automatically went for the closet to fetch the blankets and 
pillows for his couch bed. He'd adapted himself somewhat to 
her hours in the five days he'd been staying with her and 
he found himself ready to sleep, too.

Scully came out of the bathroom in her oversized flannel 
pajamas, the ends of her hair damp from face washing.  He 
smiled to see her, drowning in material two sizes too 
large, face scrubbed free of makeup, looking like a teenage 
girl, freckles standing out on her nose.

"What are you doing?" she softly asked.

"I'm getting the couch ready for bed."

She paused a moment, biting her lip, and he wondered what 
was running though her mind.  "You don't have to do that," 
she finally said.  "I mean, my bed's . . . um . . . big and 
much more comfortable than that little couch."

Mulder blinked at her.  "It's okay," he said.  "I'm used to 
couches."

Her face melted into full smile that was all the more 
irresistible given the nervous eyes above it.  "If you'd 
prefer the couch, I understand, but I slept really well 
last night with you there."

An offer nearly impossible to resist, Mulder thought.  
Scully, always so reticent, expressing  need, and one that 
didn't involve being left alone.  There was no way he could 
refuse, knowing that if rejected, she might never make such 
an offer again, as proud as she was.

He took a deep breath.  "There's nothing I'd like better, 
Scully."

In the bathroom, while brushing his teeth, he thought about 
the night before, of sliding into her crisp cotton sheets 
that while clean, still smelled of her, of her skin and 
shampoo and soap.  He had fallen asleep halfway through LA 
Confidential and only awakened when the tape ran out and 
CNN began blaring the news.  He switched off the set and 
sat up to return to his post on the couch but he was so 
comfortable, ensconced in her soft bed under the down 
comforter, that instead he turned off the lamp and rolled 
over.

It felt entirely natural to share a bed with Scully, as if 
they'd been doing it for years.  As if it were an ordinary 
Friday night in the life of a couple, watching a movie and 
falling asleep in their shared bed.  He wasn't at all 
surprised to find how much he liked it.

But now, he wondered if they had been on the same page when 
he'd asked, "When do you think it'll be our time?"

She had answered.  "I think it is our time."  They were 
words heavy with promise but her meaning had been left 
unarticulated, for she had fallen asleep just after saying 
them.

Time for what?  To deepen their friendship?  To finally 
push the boundaries and go further?

Mulder changed into a tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants.  
Ordinarily he slept in just a pair of boxers, but he felt 
uncomfortable going to Scully's bed with so little on.  He 
didn't want her misunderstanding his motives.

He felt shy walking into the private refuge of her bedroom, 
like a virginal bride heading off to the marriage bed, not 
quite sure of what to expect.  Scully was sitting up, 
propped by several pillows, her glasses on, flipping 
through a magazine.  She smiled to see him and he realized 
she was as apprehensive as he was.

Feeling conscious of his every move, he climbed in bed, 
careful to keep on the far side.  Scully let out a small 
chuckle.  "This seems strange, doesn't it?"

Humor would help, he thought.  "I won't tell Kersh if you 
don't."

"It's been hard for me to fall asleep.  I've always gone to 
sleep on my stomach, but I can't do that right now."

"Soon," he said.  "You're healing."

Scully switched off the light and the room seemed too dark 
to him, a strange room that smelled of her, a room in which 
he could hear her breathing.  The night before had been a 
happy accident, now he was here on purpose and it felt odd. 
He heard her roll onto her side, the good one, facing him.  
"Thank you, Mulder."

"For sleeping with you?  I should be thanking you."

"No.  For all of this.  This is above and beyond the call 
of duty."

He paused, frozen to the mattress.  Did she truly believe 
that he was doing all this- running her errands, taking out 
her garbage, folding her laundry- because he felt it was 
his duty as her partner?  If anything, his motives were 
entirely selfish, an excuse to be around her, to spend time 
with her outside of the strict confines of their 
professional life.  And not so selfish, too.  Scully was 
his friend and she needed help.  End of story.

"It's not about duty and partnership," he said, pulse rate 
beginning to pick up.  "I'd like to think it's more than 
that."

Her soft hand touched his bare arm and she sighed.  "It is, 
Mulder.  I think we both know that now."

Mulder's breath caught in his throat.  "Is this our time?"

She moved closer.  "We may have to face the distinct 
possibility that we may never get the X-Files back.  I 
think we have to take a look at our . . .partnership . . 
.and recognize the other things that keep us together."

"Such as?"  Mulder had his own answers, but he needed to 
hear hers.

Scully paused a moment and he swore he could hear her brain 
actively thinking.  Finally, "Things like friendship.  
Trust.  Understanding."  She paused again and he wondered 
if she had anything else to add to the list.  And she did.  
A simple word.  "Love."

His stomach tightened as he remembered her incredulous face 
when he told her he loved her in Bermuda.  "Love," he 
echoed.

Her voice was gentle.  "It's been there a long time.  Now 
we have to decide what we want to do with it."

"It's a big step," he admitted.

"Yes, it is," Scully agreed and she took his hand, just as 
she had the night before.

He moved in closer to her and Scully rested her head on his 
shoulder.  Automatically, his arm wrapped around her back 
and he buried his face in her hair, breathing deeply her 
clean, womanly smell.  Mulder felt her breathing soften and 
become regular and he realized she had dropped off to 
sleep.

Smiling in the dark, he loosened his grip on her body.  
Scully had an impeccable sense of timing- an unerring 
ability to fall asleep in the middle of late-night 
conversations about matters close to their hearts.

They'd have to find a way to discuss such things in the 
light of day, not while sharing a bed.  

Mulder had never been able to get a decent night's sleep 
while touching another body in bed with him.  He needed his 
space, not to be bumped up against another warm body.  But 
this time he was oddly unwilling to let Scully go, 
unwilling to do without her sleep-pliant flesh molded to 
his.  After all, most nights the only thing he hugged was 
the leather back of his couch.  He couldn't feel the 
heartbeat of the couch, nuzzle his nose into the soft skin 
of the couch.

Conscious of the smile still on his face, Mulder sunk into 
sleep, feeling surrounded by an emotion that had eluded him 
for more years than he cared to account.  He felt loved.

Chapter Two- Gratitude

She blinked awake, realizing it was full morning and she 
had not awakened once in the night.  Scully found herself 
on her uninjured side, with the unfamiliar press of human 
flesh against her back.

It had been shamefully long since she had awakened to that.  
She was surrounded entirely by him- the smell of male 
night-sweat, the soft rumbles of snores from his nose, the 
feel of his chest pressing into her and his erection firmly 
poking into her bottom.

It was intimate, terribly intimate to wake in such a 
fashion and she ruefully realized she and Mulder hadn't 
even kissed.  Yet here they were, tumbled in bed together 
as if they had spent the previous evening making love.

She wasn't exactly sure how she felt about such intimacy.

It was easy to attribute the sudden rush of need for Mulder 
to be a psychological aftereffect of her shooting.  A sign 
of trauma.

Despite the warm body wrapped around her, Scully shivered.

She had told him she loved him, in so many words, before 
she fell asleep. She had not lied.  Yes, she did love him, 
she had for many years, but she had never taken the luxury 
of stopping to fully consider the meaning of it.  There are 
many manifestations of love and she did not know which form 
her feelings for Mulder took.

Mulder mumbled something in his sleep and moved against her 
body, his hard-on brushing back and forth across her 
bottom.  She shivered again, but it had nothing to do with 
being cold, or being scared.  Desire thrilled up her spine 
and as if against her will, she pictured being whole and 
strong enough to simply roll over and throw her leg over 
him.  To, in one swift instant, thrust upwards and fill 
herself with him, rock against him, mindlessly take her 
pleasure and give him his.  Just that mere thought and she 
felt her nipples stiffen against the flannel of her pajama 
top.  

It's been too long, she thought.  Too many years of denial 
and sacrifice.  For one shimmering day, she simply wanted 
to make love, to have a strong, sound, unscarred body, to 
lose herself in wave after wave of pleasure.  To drown in 
his skin, his hair, his smell, his muscles and sinew.  To 
arch her back like a cat and call out his name as he 
surrounded her entirely.

But that wasn't their reality, their situation.  Not yet.

Stealthily, she wiggled out of Mulder's grasp and he 
flopped onto his back, mumbling, "Bring more ammo."  She 
stifled a laugh and got out of bed, feeling the now-
familiar dull ache of healing injury and muscles overtaxed 
by physical therapy.

She didn't dare cast a backwards look at the man still 
lying in her bed, though she knew it was a pretty picture.

While standing under the hot needles of the shower, Scully 
decided to go to Sunday Mass.  It had been far too long and 
she needed the ritual to feel centered and back in her 
routine.  Normally she attended Mass with her mother, but 
she wasn't quite ready to start driving yet.  St. Joseph's 
was just around the corner, not even a half block away.

She dressed as quietly as possible, pulling on a loose wool 
dress that wouldn't strain her sore abdomen.  In the living 
room she scribbled a note to Mulder, explaining where she 
had gone.  How strange it was to suddenly feel accountable 
to another, something she hadn't felt since Jack.  A secure 
feeling, yes, but also slightly smothering.  

It felt exhilarating to step outside of the house alone for 
the first time since her return from New York.  The air was 
crisp and cold, but she was well bundled in her winter coat 
and hat.  The sky was a technicolor shade of blue and she 
felt somehow restored by the weak January rays of the sun.  
Slowly, she made her way to St. Joseph's, a process that 
took twice as long as normal in her weakened state.

She arrived at the small brick church in triumph and 
gratefully collapsed on a pew inside.  The air smelled of 
dusty hymnals and incense and Scully felt immediately at 
peace.  She was where she belonged.

The familiar and stately order of Sunday mass was a balm to 
her vaguely troubled soul.  No matter how much trial and 
tribulation there was in her life, Mass was always the 
same, from the Processional, to the Homily to Communion.  
It brought back sepia-toned memories of the Scully family, 
lined up in one pew, scrubbed and starched in their Sunday 
best.  Memories of the boys furtively nudging each other, 
of Maggie shushing them, her father singing off-key, of 
Melissa fiddling with the ribbons on the end of her braids 
and Dana staring at the stained-glass windows, wondering if 
God really listened when she prayed.

Now she knew he did.  She felt his gentle presence in her 
times of greatest need.  Her faith had supported her when 
Emily lay dying in the hospital, when she was on the ice 
with Mulder, wondering how they would survive.  He was 
there, she felt it.  It was at odds with everything she 
knew, her deep belief in the regular order of science and 
logic, but she had learned, over the past few years, to 
accept the duality of her beliefs.  Yes, there was science, 
but it belonged to God.

After Communion, as the choir sang, she sat back down at 
the wooden pew and bent her head to pray.  Scully didn't 
ask God for anything, she simply expressed her gratitude 
for being spared her life once again, for the love of her 
family, for having Mulder- however he was to fit into her 
life now.

When she rose with the rest of the congregation to receive 
the priest's final blessing, tears filled her eyes.  No 
matter what happened in the future, it would be what was 
meant to be.  It was as simple as that and she felt immense 
gratitude.

After the final hymn, she went to the small alcove at the 
side of the church and lit candles.  When she did this 
after Mass, she always lit a candle for her father, one for 
her mother, one for Melissa, one for Emily and one for 
Charlie and Bill and their families.  Then, she always lit 
an extra candle for Mulder.  This time, she lit all the 
usual candles, but instead of one for Mulder alone, she lit 
one for the two of them.

She looked at the white candle, burning with a strong flame 
in its glass holder and she knew.  At that precise moment 
she understood the form and shape and texture of her love 
for Mulder and she was no longer afraid.

A smile on her face, she walked out of the church and found 
Mulder, leaning against the railing of the steps, a white 
bag in his hands.

Chapter Three- Continental Drift

Increments by Dasha K. (3/?)

Info and disclaimers in part one.

dashak@aol.com


Mulder stood in front of the church, scanning the exiting 
parishioners for Scully.  She had given him a minor scare 
when he'd woken to find her gone from the apartment, but he 
found her note sitting on the kitchen table soon after.

After the flood of churchgoers slowed to a trickle, he 
poked his head inside the church.  He had never liked 
churches, or temples for that matter, associating them with 
a God who had turned his back on him at an early age.  
Still, he admired Scully's quiet surety in her faith, 
despite the horror she had witnessed in her life in the 
Bureau.

Sometimes he wondered if his faith was simply faith in 
Scully.

Eyes scanning left, he spotted her small figure, standing 
in front of a bank of flickering candles, holding a long 
taper in her hand.  Mulder suddenly felt like an intruder 
on a private moment and stepped back outside to wait for 
her to emerge.

Scully walked out the big wooden doors a short time later, 
an oddly dreamy expression on her face.  She stopped in her 
tracks as soon as she noticed him.  "What are you doing 
here?" she asked, brows knitting together.

He fumbled the white bakery bag between his fingers.  "I 
went out for bagels and I thought I'd pick you up on the 
way."  Mulder didn't mention his small but nagging fear for 
her weakened health, realizing how deeply important her 
sense of independence was.

She flashed him a skeptical look and he knew she wasn't 
buying a single word of it,  but she simply slipped her arm 
through his and said, "Bagels?  Did you get cream cheese to 
go with them?"

Mulder tapped the bag.  "I would never forget the cream 
cheese.  You can eat this, right?"

They started down the church steps.  "I hope so, because if 
I eat another bowl of cream of wheat . . ."

With slow, deliberate steps, Mulder and Scully made their 
way home.

After breakfast, Mulder washed the dishes and Scully 
insisted on drying.  "I'm tired of being waited on," she 
said with her `don't argue with me' look."

When the last coffee cup was placed in the cabinet, Scully 
turned to him.  "Mulder?"

He put down the sponge in his hand.  "Yes?"

The little line appeared between her brows, the line that 
indicated she was thinking hard.  She bit her lower lip.  
"We never finished our conversation last night."

His hand found the sleeve of her blue dress and he stroked 
the soft wool.  "Yeah, well, somebody fell asleep in the 
middle of it."

Scully tilted her head up to him, faint rosiness spreading 
across her cheeks.  He noticed how much healthier she was 
looking, how the deep shadows under her eyes were fading.  
Vibrant, he thought.  She looks vibrant again. 

Her voice came out in a slight stammer that was foreign to 
him.  "Mulder," she said.  "I . . . . want to . . . but I 
don't know where to start."

Mulder nodded, heart skittering.  "I don't think I do 
either," he admitted, shrugging.

"It's time."  She raised on tiptoe.  Feeling out of his 
body, as if he were watching himself from a distance, 
Mulder bent and met her halfway.  

At first their noses collided, but a small shift of their 
faces and their lips brushed against each other, simply the 
merest graze.  It was the most chaste of kisses, but Mulder 
felt the electricity just the same.

"It was about time we got that right," Scully murmured, and 
despite his nerves, he laughed with her.  He drew her into 
his arms and held her close, careful not to hug her too 
tightly and hurt her still-sore abdomen.  Her face pressed 
against his chest and he kissed the top of her head.

"Are we really going to do this?" he asked, feeling a 
little foolish for needing the reassurance.

Scully pulled away and he noticed the sheen of tears in her 
eyes, reminding him of that horrible, hot night in his 
hallway as he'd desperately tried to stop her from leaving.  
"I don't think we have a choice," she simply said, with a 
lift of the chin.  "We are doing this."

Yes, he thought.  It's all been slowly moving towards this.  
Scully and he were like two continents, moving at an 
infinitesimal rate towards each other, the collision 
inevitable.  His hand found the back of her neck and he 
pulled her mouth to his again, nearly gasping at the 
sensation of her lips against his, full and soft and 
tasting of cinnamon tea.

She let out a soft whimper and opened her mouth to him, her 
tongue venturing to tentatively touch his.  Mulder 
remembered all the times when he had been so close to doing 
this very thing, but had backed off for one reason or the 
other.  His reasons now seemed trite and childish, as he 
and Scully merged in a kiss.

He had never before known that an entire universe could be 
contained in a single kiss.

They pulled apart and opened their eyes, stared at each 
other in wonder.  Scully lifted her hand to her flushed 
cheek.  "Oh, my," she breathed.

"Are you okay?"  He squeezed her hand, marveling at how 
small it was in his own.

Smiling and nodding, she lifted his hand and kissed it, a 
gesture far different than when he'd done the same for her 
so many times before.  Her eyes no longer held tears.  "I'm 
overwhelmed," she said, "but in a good way."

Mulder kissed her temple.  "Overwhelmed is a good thing.  
And when you're healed we can overwhelm each other even 
more."  He took a deep breath, wondering if he'd been too 
presumptuous.

Her answer was to smile more widely, teeth and all.  "I'll 
ask my doctor next week," she said. 

Tugging her hand, he pulled her into the living room and 
sat her down on the couch.  "In the meantime, how about I 
try to beat you in chess?"

Scully arched an eyebrow.  "As if you could, Mulder."

He went off to get the set from the closet.

End of Chapter Three

Increments by Dasha K. (2/?)
dashak@aol.com

If you are missing parts, you can find them at http://dasha.simplenet.com

Disclaimers and info in Part One.

Chapter Four- Reflected

Scully awoke from a fitful nap on the couch Tuesday 
evening, disoriented and with her neck aching.  She 
grimaced, adding it to her rather long list of various 
aches and pains.  She struggled to pull herself up off the 
couch and headed to her bedroom, deciding a hot shower 
might loosen up her sore muscles.

From her chest of drawers she pulled out a pair of dark 
blue flannel pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved tee shirt.  
She never thought she'd live to see the day but she 
actually missed her business suits.  Oh, to be fully mobile 
and functional again, to zip down the halls of the Hoover 
Building in charcoal gray Ann Taylor, pantyhose and three-
inch heels.

She unbuttoned the pajama top she had on and let it slide 
to the floor, along with the matching bottoms.  Clad only 
in her panties, she walked to the mirror over her dresser.

The last time she'd looked at her torso in the mirror was 
right before leaving the hospital.  She'd been avoiding the 
scar, pretending it didn't exist, but it was there and she 
knew it.  With some trepidation, she allowed her eyes to 
stray to her abdomen.

The sight was not as horrible as she'd imagined.  The scar 
was red and raised, but the doctors at NYU had done an 
excellent job of making the scar from the bullet hole, and 
the ensuing surgery, as small as possible.

Gently, she touched the scar.  Almost healed, she thought.  
Soon I will be back to normal.

She touched her lips, remembering kissing Mulder in her 
kitchen on Sunday.  She'd be back to normal soon, but their 
lives would never be the same.

Scully thought of young Agent Ritter.  She wondered how his 
healing was progressing.  The last time she'd seen him, 
when he came to visit her in the hospital, he'd seemed 
devoured by his own guilt.  That and the fact that he'd 
been suspended without pay for 30 days and censured by OPR 
made her almost sorrier for Ritter than herself.  Almost, 
but not quite.  He'd been blinded by his inexperience and 
ambition and he would pay the price for the remainder of 
his career.

It didn't mean she hadn't hated him for his haste and 
stupidity.  In her first few days of consciousness she had 
marinated in a pool of anger that he had done that to her, 
brought her down because he'd failed to follow simple law 
enforcement procedure.  As fluids dripped into her arm via 
the IV and fluids dripped away with a catheter, she stared 
at the white ceiling tiles of her hospital room and wished 
an equally painful and humiliating fate for Peyton Ritter.

The rage had quieted somewhat when Ritter entered her room 
a week after the shooting, bearing an armful of hothouse 
flowers.  The vibrant, cocky agent seemed a mere shell of 
himself, hollowed out by his guilt.

She'd touched the small cross hanging at her neck and 
realized it wasn't her place to hate him.  Ritter was doing 
a good enough job of it by himself, hating himself enough 
for the two of them.  The three of them, really, if you 
counted Mulder, who hovered outside her door like Cerebus 
at the gates of Hades.

As Ritter softly touched her hand and inquired after her 
health, she'd decided she had to make the effort to forgive 
him.  It wouldn't be an instant process, for she was 
certainly no saint, but she had to be awarded points for 
trying.

Still staring at her reflection, Scully tried not to think 
of how close she'd come that day in Fellig's darkroom.  She 
had cheated death many times, but this had been the closest 
yet.

She shuddered.

The door creaked open and startled, she turned to see 
Mulder stride in.  

His face registered instant embarrassment to see her in 
such a state of undress.  "I'm sorry," he said, face 
coloring.  "I just got home and I thought you were in the 
bathroom, so I came in for my sweatshirt."

Scully smiled at his reflection in the mirror.  Curiously, 
she found herself not upset by his invasion of her privacy.  
"It's fine, Mulder."

Mulder stripped off his coat and tie and laid them on the 
chair next to the bed.  Slowly, he approached her until he 
was standing directly behind her.  She stared at the two of 
them in the mirror and felt dwarfed by his height, noticing 
how her head barely cleared his shoulders.

"Is this okay?" he asked, fingers drawing a slow line down 
her spinal column.

She nodded, transfixed by their reflection, by the hungry 
expression she wore on her face and the reverent one on 
his.  This is right, she thought.  This is our time.  
Forget duty, forget the Bureau and what partners should as 
shouldn't be doing.  It's the two of us now and this is 
right.

Mulder's fingertips lightly circled the snake on her lower 
back.  "I've never really seen it before," he breathed.  "I 
caught a glimpse in Antarctica, but I didn't get a good 
look."  He bent his head to the tattoo and she felt his 
warm breath on her skin.  "It's beautiful, Scully."

She shut her eyes and remembered the hot buzz of the needle 
in her back and the waves of pain and pleasure coursing 
through her as the serpent was etched into her skin.  And 
later that night, the dull throbbing as Ed pulled her to 
him and their vodka-soaked mouths collided in a kiss.

Lifting his head, Mulder looked at her through the mirror, 
one hand rising to touch her nipple.  She watched in 
fascination as it involuntarily hardened between his 
finger.  "Did you?" he asked, and she knew just what he 
wanted to know.

She half-wanted to lie, to tell him what he wanted to hear, 
but she found the truth spilling from her mouth.  "Yes," 
she said, still watching as his fingers circled and lightly 
pinched first one nipple and then the other.

His face didn't betray any great shock, or even surprise.  
She bit her lip as his other hand found her right breast 
and started lightly dancing across her skin.  "Why?" he 
asked, and drew her hair off the back of her neck to press 
his lips against her nape.

It was difficult to articulate her reasons in the best of 
circumstances, and even more so when he was touching her 
like that and kissing the back of her neck.  Scully 
struggled for her words.  "I could blame it on tainted ink 
or three vodka tonics, I suppose.  I could say it was 
loneliness or a kind of rebellion against what I saw as 
controlling behavior on your part.  I could say that deep 
down, I somehow knew I had cancer.  But the real truth is 
that I wanted him and he wanted me."

Mulder pulled away from her neck and turned her around, 
looking directly into her eyes.  His face was neutral, 
perhaps just a bit sad.  "I wanted to know," he said.  
"Thank you."

She let out her breath.  "It wasn't like me, not at all.  
It was just one of those things that happens.  It had been 
so long for me, since well before you and I were partnered 
and for one night, I wanted to be touched."

He nodded.  "I had a night like that, when you were gone."

Scully thought about how well they had learned each other's 
shorthand over the years, that she knew exactly what he 
meant by gone. The three months erased from her life.

Continuing, Mulder said, "It was my way of trying to 
forget, for just one night, that you were missing.  I 
wanted to lose myself."

Her hand brushed the light evening stubble on his cheek.  
"Did it work?"

"Temporarily, while I was in the moment, but it all came 
crashing back afterwards and that made it worse in the 
end."

She wrapped her arms around his waist.  "I don't think sex 
is good for forgetting.  At least, I don't want it to be 
about that, a tool for avoiding the realities of my life.  
I want it to be about remembering, and honoring, what's 
good about you and me."

He kissed her lightly on the lips, a sadly sweet kiss that 
made her shiver.  "We're really doing this, huh?" he asked 
in a tone of wonder.

Pleased to feel the same sense of wonder, she nodded.

He turned her towards the mirror again and she felt 
suddenly conscious of her nudity in his fully-clothed 
presence.  But his eyes held nothing but respect.  He 
touched her scar with light fingers.  "This isn't so bad."

"I can live with a scar."

He unbuttoned his blue dress shirt and it floated to the 
ground.  Scully looked in the mirror again and was struck 
by the contrast in their skin tones, hers light cream and 
his a warm gold, even in his winter pallor.

Mulder pointed to the puckering underneath his left 
shoulder.  "Scars are a good way of remembering."

She let out a soft laugh.  "Remembering that I shot you?"

"Well, that, too," he said with a sheepish grin.  "But also 
for remembering how temporary life is and how important it 
is to live it.  I forget that most of the time."

Scully kissed his scar.  "I do, too.  I want that to stop.  
When I die I want to be able to review my life and be able 
to say that I was loved."

His arms went around her and for the first time she felt 
the true security of being held.  "You will be able to, 
Scully," he said hoarsely.  "Because you are loved."

Against the heated skin of his chest, she smiled.  "And I 
love," she said.


Chapter Five- Exhale

Warmed by her words, Mulder led her to the bed and pulled 
the comforter to the side.  She lay down without a word of 
protest, he noticed.  It was funny how awkward and 
stumbling they'd been when they'd kissed in the kitchen on 
Sunday, but now it felt much smoother.  Perhaps it was 
because they were finally reaching a place where they could 
talk about dark places, like their pasts.

If truth be told, at that moment he wanted nothing more 
than to rip her little white cotton panties off and finally 
claim what he'd coveted for so long, but he knew it was not 
possible.  Not yet, he counseled himself.

Besides, he thought, the slow dance they'd begun somehow 
felt appropriate, given the glacial speed at which they had 
approached that point.

Scully looked up at him, eyes a translucent blue from the 
light of the bedside lamp.  It cast a warm glow on her pale 
skin and coppery hair, and for a moment he could only stare 
at the regal lines of her face, thunderstruck.  

Her hand reached out to him.  "Are you planning on just 
standing there all night?"

It would be enough, he thought, but he began to unbutton 
his jeans with thick fingers.  Clad only in his boxers, he 
moved across the bed to her and crouched over her slender 
frame.

"I know you're not ready," he said, tracing the hollow of 
her collarbone with his fingers.  

"No, not yet.  Not physically.  Mentally, yes, I'm ready."  
A mischievous grin flashed on her face.  "But it doesn't 
mean we can't play."  Her soft hand strayed to the fly of 
his shorts, where he was hard as granite.  He stifled a 
gasp as her fingers slipped inside and lazily ran up and 
down his cock.

Mulder couldn't remember the last time sex had been sheer 
fun for him, when it didn't involve guilt, obligation or 
merely plain need.  This was a whole new side of lovemaking 
for him, a languorous exploration on an early evening in 
winter.  All he wanted to was to slowly map and chart every 
inch, every nook and cranny of Scully's body.  

After all, they'd been having a love affair of the mind for 
many years.  Now it was time for the body.

He marveled at how small, yet how womanly she was.  Scully 
had been so frail and emaciated-looking after her illness 
and he had been pleased to see her regain her curves in the 
year after.  With more than casual curiosity, Mulder had 
watched as her hips and breasts re-emerged with her health.

"Kiss me," she demanded in the greedy tone of a child.

Again, he was reminded of a universe contained in a kiss.  
It was a full bore assault on his senses, the feeling of 
her biting and suckling at his lower lip and plunging her 
tongue into his mouth.  He had to fight to keep his eyes 
closed, to not drink in the vision of Scully, after so 
long, kissing him with abandon.

Her hands pushed his boxers down and he struggled them all 
the way off.  "Fully functional, I see," she quipped and he 
lightly bit her on the tip of the nose.

"I am not a Ken doll."

"And I'm not Barbie, either," she said and slid off her own 
panties and set them on the bedside table.

"Awww, but we'd make such cute action figures, Scully," he 
said, trying not to let his head explode with the knowledge 
that he was lying on her bed with her, not a stitch of 
clothing between them.

Again, she circled his cock with her hand.  "We're really 
doing this," she said and he bent closer to nip at the 
sweet flesh of her neck.

"Oh yes, yes we are," he said in a half-groan as she began 
to run her hand up and down him, stopping to tease the head 
of his cock with nimble fingers.  Mulder dipped his head 
lower and took a nipple between his lips.  God, she was 
sweet.  Scully arched her back in response and he noticed a 
grimace passing over her face.

"Watch it," he warned, once again aware of her limitations.

"It's hard," she muttered between her teeth.

"Yes, it is hard indeed," he said, wincing at his own bad 
pun and the maddening feeling of the dance of her hand.  He 
moved his lips to her other nipple as she laughed at his 
lame joke, and grazed it with his teeth.  Mulder felt her 
fight to remain relatively still and was pleased to hear 
her breathing quicken.

It was taking a large amount of mental fortitude to keep 
himself in check now that finally the day of reckoning had 
come.  Her skin was so fine and she smelled faintly of her 
white ginger shower gel and even more faintly of her 
growing arousal.  All he wanted to do was to selfishly 
drive into her, finding her slick and hot, and allow the 
pleasure to explode around him.

Slow, he thought.  This has to be slow.

He thought he might lose his mind.

His fingers inched down her body and for the first time he 
felt the crisp patch of hair between her legs.  As soon as 
his hand landed on her mound, her hand tightened its grip 
on his cock.  After briefly kissing her on her open, 
panting mouth, he asked, "Is it okay if I touch you?"

Scully's eyes flew open, feverishly bright.  "Oh yes," she 
sighed.  Her slender white legs spread a bit, and reaching 
between the reddish brown curls, his fingertips found her 
clitoris swollen and already wet with her excitement.

This is really happening, Mulder thought, grimacing against 
the rising commotion in his own body.  We are doing this 
and God help me if I fuck it up.  He gently brushed her 
clit with his index finger and he felt the shudder run 
through her body.  "Don't move," he whispered, "or I'll 
have to stop."

"No, don't," she gasped, her left hand now circling and 
cupping his balls, the right now stroking in earnest from 
root to tip.  It was so much better, so much sweeter than 
the feel of his own hand, so much more exciting than solo 
sessions on the couch with his silicone bombshells 
cavorting on the TV screen.

He was close, dangerously close to the edge now.  
Redoubling his efforts, he plunged his index finger into 
her, finding her as warm and snug as he'd imagined.  Scully 
whimpered and threw her head back, and he tried to keep 
pace with her fingers, still lavishing his mouth on her 
breasts all the while.

In desperation, he attempted to distract himself, to focus 
on all the background checks he'd have to do the next day, 
the conjugation of the French verbs etre and avoir.  But he 
couldn't help being pulled into the present, to peeking at 
her flushed face, contorting in pleasure, to feeling the 
firmness of her nipples under his tongue.  Scully's legs 
began to shake and he heard the breath sharply catching in 
her throat.  Could it be?  So soon?  In his not-so-very-
large wealth of experience, women just didn't up and have 
an orgasm after a mere five minutes of touching.

But it was real, she did, yes, she did, he felt her 
internal muscles rhythmically contract around his finger 
and heard the staccato cries from her mouth.

The triumph was enough to push him over the cliff, too.  
Even in the grip of her orgasm, Scully, bless her unselfish 
heart, had kept her hands busy on him and as soon as she 
started coming, he found himself past the point of no 
return.

His hands buried themselves in her silky hair and he 
clamped his eyes shut, running to and running away from 
release.  But it was too late, he was there, he was there, 
God, he was there.

And then he opened his eyes, almost afraid to find it was a 
dream.  It was no dream, Scully was lying beneath him.  But 
he was ashamed to see he'd come on her stomach, like some 
pathetic teenager.  Her poor abused abdomen, talk about 
adding insult to injury.

Still, Scully was a glorious sight, her hair fanned against 
the white of the pillow, a dusky flush rising in her pale 
cheeks.  Mulder bent to kiss her mouth, stopping for a 
moment to admire the way her lips were slightly swollen and 
reddened with her passion.  "Did I hurt you?" he hoarsely 
whispered, dropping beside her.

She shook her head, a tiny smile forming on her lips.  "On 
the contrary.  And sex is good for the healing process; it 
improves circulation."

Ah, the fun of bedding a doctor was finally revealed.

"I'm sorry about the mess." he said, face reddening.

Her head raised up a little and she appraised the small 
pool of semen on her stomach.  "There's nothing to be sorry 
about."

"Hold on a second," he said and rolled off the bed and onto 
post-orgasmic rubbery legs.

Mulder returned with a damp washcloth and wiped her off, 
which elicited ticklish little laughs from her.

"I'll take it as a good sign that laughing doesn't seem to 
hurt much anymore," he said and rejoined her at her side.  
Mulder pulled the down comforter over them and sighed 
happily.  He couldn't stop touching her, kissing her 
softly, to reassure himself that she was real, that it had 
truly happened.

"We'll have to do that again," she said with a most un-
partnerlike gleam in her eyes.

He drew slow circles on her neck and shoulder with his 
tongue.  "I have no objection," he said when he'd finally 
had his fill.

Scully yawned.  "I just don't have much stamina right now . 
. ."

"Whenever you're ready, I'm ready," he whispered and she 
curled into him, damp and warm.  He watched her fight her 
exhaustion, her eyelids and auburn lashes fluttering open 
and shut.

He smoothed her hair and held her as she let sleep take her 
away.

Mulder felt like he had been holding his breath for six 
years and had finally been allowed to let it out in one big 
gust of air.

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, he breathed with her until 
finally he, too, slept.

End of Chapter Five

Increments by Dasha K. (3/?)

Disclaimers and all that in part one.

If you'd prefer to read the whole story so far in a big chunk, you can find 
it at http://dasha.simplenet.com/increments.html

Chapter Six- Revelation

Margaret Scully stopped by early Wednesday evening, just as 
the sun was setting behind the venetian blinds.  Scully 
hadn't seen her mother since she'd left the hospital, as 
Maggie had come down with the flu.  Now Maggie had been 
given the all clear by her doctor and arrived bearing 
Tupperware containers of chicken soup and loaves of banana 
and pumpkin bread.

They settled on the couch with cups of hot cider and some 
slices of the banana bread.  "It's been difficult, not 
being able to see you all this time," Maggie said.

Scully looked at her mother's face, still beautiful, but 
creased with new worry lines.  It disturbed her that so 
many of them must have come from worrying about her.  "I 
know," she said, looking down at her hands folded in her 
lap.  "I've missed you, too."

Maggie looked around the living room with an appraising 
eye.  "The house looks nice and neat.  Fox must be a better 
housekeeper than one would think, given that he's a 
bachelor."

Grinning at the mother's outdated terminology, Scully said, 
"He's been very patient and generous."  She fought back 
thoughts of the night before, of the glorious release of 
finally being with each other on a physical level.

"Dana," Maggie said with a proud rise of the chin that 
reminded Scully of herself.  "We need to talk about your 
future."

"My future?"

Maggie nodded.  "I worry about you, about this life you're 
leading."  Scully winced with pain as she saw tears glimmer 
in her mother's brown eyes.  "I couldn't have borne it if I 
had lost you this time."

Scully was well aware that Mulder had been the one who'd 
had to call her mother with the bad news, shortly after he 
arrived in New York.  She couldn't even begin to imagine 
what it had been like for her mother to pick up the phone 
that night and hear the news that another of her daughters 
lay gravely injured from a gunshot wound.

She took Maggie's hand and squeezed it.  "I'm sorry, Mom."  
Tears were beginning to well in her own eyes.

Maggie squeezed back.  "I know you are, Dana, but I'm 
scared for you."

Just then they heard the rattle of the door lock and Mulder 
strode in, back from work.  She smiled to see him, tall and 
imposing in his navy suit and red tie, her man now, her 
lover, her partner.

Her mother said a pleasant hello to Mulder but Scully 
caught Maggie giving her a sideways glance.  She got an 
even more significant look when Mulder bent to kiss her 
cheek.

For a few minutes, Mulder joined the two women and 
pleasantly chatted about trivialities, but then he rose and 
announced that he might go see the Gunmen.  He went into 
the bedroom and emerged a few minutes later in jeans and a 
turtleneck and after kissing Maggie and Scully goodbye, 
fled out the door.

Scully noticed yet another look from Maggie.  She smiled at 
her mother.  "You keep looking at me as if I've sprouted a 
third eye or something, Mom."

Maggie delicately dabbed at her lips with a napkin.  "You 
and Fox seem . . .awfully close."

I'll say, Scully thought, picturing Mulder's warm lips on 
her neck.  She chose her words carefully.  "Mulder and I 
are close.  He's been my partner for six years."

Shaking her head, Maggie said, "That's not what I meant, 
Dana, and you know it.  I'd have to be a lot more 
nearsighted that I am to miss the way he looks at you, and 
you at him."

Scully inwardly sighed.  Okay, time to fess up.  She'd 
never been good at keeping the truth from her mother, even 
as a teenager.  "Things are changing between us.  They have 
been for a long time, but we've reached a new understanding 
about where we stand in each other's lives."

A faint smile quirked on Maggie's lips.  "I'll take that as 
Dana-speak to mean you love him."

Scully nodded, feeling embarrassed to discuss the topic 
with her mother.  As much as she loved Maggie, and she did 
wholeheartedly, she had never felt overly comfortable about 
discussing matters of the heart with her.  That role had 
been reserved, since puberty, for Melissa, who was able to 
listen to her sister without dragging in Catholic theology 
or advice straight out of the 1950s.  At times like this, 
she missed her sister's forthright, if New Age-tinged, 
counsel.

Maggie continued, "And he loves you.  It's plain as day on 
that face of his."

"This is new to us, Mom. We're trying to figure everything 
out."

A pained expression passed across Maggie's careworn face.  
"On one level, I'm happy for you, Dana.  You know I want 
you to be happy more than anything.  But I can't help but 
want a more settled and peaceful life for you, for you to 
have a man in your life who doesn't represent so much 
danger."

If only it could be that simple, Scully thought.  She set 
down her plate of banana bread, no longer hungry.  "I know 
that's what you want for me," she sighed, "but it's not the 
reality of my life.  My life is dangerous.  It's often 
horrible and terrifying.  I've been hurt and violated in 
ways I don't even want to fully consider."  Scully took a 
deep breath, exhausted by the weight of her emotions. 
"However, what I'm doing is right and deep down I love it.  
I'm sorry for all I've put you through, but I can't give up 
on this and I can't give up on Mulder."

"That's what worries me, that you're in this because you 
want his love and approval, that you're doing it all for 
Mulder."

Scully shook her head.  "No," she said, voice cracking.  
"It's not about Mulder, not entirely.  I love my job, I 
love solving puzzles and answering previously unanswerable 
questions.  I love how my science is being pushed in new 
directions.  I love being an agent and being able to mix 
medicine with investigation.  In the end, nothing makes me 
happier."

Maggie squeezed her hand, but said nothing.

She continued, "It's hard for me to tell you this, Mom, but 
I love him.  I've never loved anyone like this, 
unconditionally.  No one knows me like Mulder and no one 
loves me like him.  No one possibly could."

Her mother smiled through the tears beginning to trail down 
her cheeks.  "I know he's a good man, sweetie.  I watched 
his anguish when you were taken.  But I can't help wanting 
something easier for you."

Leaning over, Scully kissed her mother's cheek.  "I know 
you do, but you're going to have to accept him in my life 
and hopefully you can learn to be happy for me."

Maggie kissed her back, smelling, as always, of Chanel 
Number 5.  "I remember my own mother telling me that if I 
married your father it would be nothing but heartache for 
me, that I'd always be alone while he was at sea and I'd 
probably be widowed young.  I think I told her many of the 
same things, Dana."

Scully felt a pang that she'd never have a similar 
conversation with her own daughter.  The chain from mother 
to daughter would end with her.

She shook off the dark thoughts and smiled for her mother's 
benefit.  "Come on," she said, handing her mother a tissue 
from the coffee table.  "Let's heat up some of the soup 
you've made for me.  Mulder is good at keeping my apartment 
clean, but no one will ever accuse him of knowing how to 
cook."

Maggie helped her up and they went off to the kitchen, a 
new level of understanding between them.


Chapter Seven- Awakening


She was hovering on the first plane of sleep when the give 
of the mattress awakened her.  "What?" she mumbled, 
disoriented, unsure of where she was.  Opening her eyes, 
she saw Mulder's face hovering above hers, shadowed in the 
dark of the room.

His lips pressed against her own, tasting of Crest and 
something darker.  Whiskey, perhaps.  "I didn't mean to 
wake you," he whispered.

It still wasn't quite registering with her that they were 
now lovers.  That they'd well and truly crossed the final 
border.  It was a realization that filled her with a small 
fear, one of the unknown, but also a new twinge of hope 
that was foreign to her.  "Hey," she said in a lazy, sleepy 
voice.  "Have fun with the boys?"

Mulder brushed away strands of hair that had fallen across 
her face.  "The usual.  Played some video games, hacked 
into the Pentagon."

A brief survey with her hands on his body revealed he had 
come to bed in his boxers and nothing else.

"I'm sorry I missed the excitement."

His hands moved down the front of her pajama top, deftly 
unbuttoning as they went.  "My, what sexy sleepwear you 
have, Scully."

She poked him in the side, producing a satisfying yelp from 
him.  "Any more cracks about my pajamas and I'll never show 
you what I have in the bottom drawer of my dresser."

He said nothing, but carefully slid off her pajama bottoms.  
Against the pillow, Scully shut her eyes.  So this is what 
it's like to have a regular man, she thought.  It meant 
perks like amorous middle of the night awakenings.  There 
were definite advantages to the new situation.

Without further ado, her panties were removed and Mulder 
moved to the foot of the bed, bending his head to her.  
Gentle hands spread her legs a bit and she felt his warm 
breath stirring the curls between her legs.

He raised his head and in the faint light she caught a 
dangerous grin on his face.  "I've been thinking about this 
all night," he said, hands running up and down her thighs.  
"I nearly got a speeding ticket, rushing back so I could 
taste you."

Oh God.  Scully felt the heat rise in her face and between 
her legs.  Her brain struggled for a comeback and finally 
found one.  "You mean you sat around with the Gunmen, 
thinking about this?"

"Oh yeah."  His voice was a silken purr.  "Don't worry, I 
didn't say a word.  I just sat there and let my mind wander 
while we downloaded pictures of Dealy Plaza."

Mulder reached up and grabbed a pillow.  "Can you lift your 
hips, Scully?" he asked and she shivered.

She obeyed, pleased to see it didn't seem to hurt at all to 
move her pelvis tonight, that her muscles were healing.  
Mulder slid the pillow under her bottom and again bent his 
head.  Holding her breath, Scully suddenly felt self-
conscious, suddenly far too aware that Mulder, her partner 
of many years, was about to go down on her.

In the past she'd never been able to derive much pleasure 
from receiving oral sex, contrary to popular theory about 
women.  It just seemed . . . icky . . . to her that a man 
would want to put his mouth there and lick her.  Her lovers 
had been rather perfunctory about the act, as if going down 
on her was a box to be checked off before proceeding to the 
main event.

This time, she lay back and tried to enjoy it.  Mulder 
knows there's not going to be any event, he's doing this 
because he wants to, she told herself.  So relax.

He spent a long time teasing her, kissing and sucking at 
the insides of her thighs, skimming his fingertips along 
her folds, but not parting them.  Almost against her will, 
Scully began to squirm against the mattress at his single-
minded ministrations.  Briefly, he moved up the mattress to 
kiss her with consuming ferocity and then returned to his 
post between her thighs to open her with warm fingertips.  
It's like electricity, she dimly thought as she felt his 
tongue make one smooth trip along the length of her.  She 
heard him groan and he lifted his head again, licking his 
lips.  "You're delicious," he pronounced.

"Yeah, right," she said, wrinkling her nose.

He shook his head.  "You have no idea."  Scully felt him 
move up the bed again and suddenly his face was above hers.  
"Taste yourself on me and you'll know."

His lips, hot and swollen, closed down on hers and 
instinctively she opened her mouth to him, letting his 
tongue slide in.  She moaned at her own raw flavor on his 
lips and tongue.  It sent waves of new arousal running down 
her legs and straight to her clitoris.  Her hair felt like 
it was about to stand on end.

Mulder pulled away from her mouth.  "Do you want me to go 
back?"

Wordlessly, she nodded and gave his bare shoulders a push 
with her hands.  For a brief moment, she wished for her 
body to be fully healed so she could feel, for one instant, 
the rough satin of his skin pressing fully on hers.  No 
barriers, no need for caution.

You can't have everything at once, she told herself.

Besides, as consolation, Mulder was back between her legs, 
the teasing over for good.  His tongue alternated between 
circling her clit and sliding up and down her slick inner 
folds.  Her grip on his shoulders increased with the rate 
of her breathing as conscious thought blurred into bursts 
of sheer want and need.

A cry ripped from her mouth as she felt Mulder's lips 
surround her clitoris and gently suck.  Sweat trickled down 
her forehead and she urged him on with hands and voice.  
"Don't you dare stop, please don't stop, please . . ."

Was that truly her, uttering such incoherencies?  Scully 
shrugged off the intrusive thought and bent her knees to 
give him better access.  Her abdominal muscles began to 
ache a bit, but any pain was overridden by the exquisite 
sensations Mulder was producing in her.

Suddenly, she jerked.  Mulder had abruptly slid two long 
fingers into her.  Overload, she dreamily thought as his 
fingers joined his lips and tongue in cadence.  It's too 
much, too good, too, too much.

She felt her orgasm approaching, just over the horizon and 
she struggled towards it, feeling as if she were climbing 
an icy peak.  Her teeth ground together as she reached the 
top and stood, suspended at the summit, for what felt like 
eternity.

And then she fell.

Waves, she thought, the waves just won't stop.

And then she didn't think for a long time.

When breath finally returned to her, she realized she'd 
bitten her lip.  She tasted the iron tang of blood in her 
mouth and touched her finger to the wound.  Mulder crawled 
back up the bed and curled up next to her.

Words, she thought.  Must. Find. Words.  

"I think you almost killed me," she finally said, winding 
her fingers around his bicep.

He brushed his lips, still tasting of her pleasure, against 
hers.  "Good.  That was my plan all along," he cracked.

"I knew it."  She yawned.

"Am I boring you, Scully?"

"Hardly, it's just late and I'm kind of worn-out.  I'm 
sorry that I can't . . .reciprocate . . . tonight."

Mulder's forehead brushed against hers.  "This was an 
introductory offer, Scully.  A freebie.  Next time, though, 
you have to pay."

She chuckled, wondering how she had gotten to be her 
advanced age without having realized that sex could be 
funny.

"I'll keep that in mind," she mumbled, her head dropping 
down onto his shoulder.

I should thank him, she thought, as her eyes began to shut 
of their own accord.  I should be telling him I love him 
after something like that.  But instead, she found herself 
falling asleep in the middle of the conversation.

It was getting to be a routine for them.

End of (3/?)

Increments by Dasha K. (4/?)

Disclaimers and all in part one.

If you want to read the whole thing so far in one go, you can find it at 
http://dasha.simplenet.com/increments.html

Chapter Eight- Ancient and Modern History


On Thursday evening, Mulder drove home through icy winter 
rain that spattered against the windshield.  Home, he 
thought, turning on the wipers.  Where is my home?  He had 
been back to his apartment exactly twice since Scully's 
shooting, once to hastily pack a bag for New York, the 
second time to gather more clothes and flush the dead fish 
down the toilet.  His phone calls were forwarded to 
Scully's apartment, as was his mail.  He had a key, a 
toothbrush hanging in the bathroom rack, a drawer in her 
bureau and about a quarter of the bedroom closet.

Did that make it his home, though?

It was still Scully's apartment, of course.  The striped 
couch and all the other furniture all belonged to her.  The 
pictures on the end tables and fireplace mantel were of her 
family and friends.  Unless he happened to leave his shoes 
in the living room, there was no way to tell a man had been 
in residence for two weeks.

Scully's health and strength were slowly seeping back into 
her.  She no longer slept most of the day and had been 
catching up on her stacks of pathology journals instead, 
tapping notes into her computer for a possible article of 
her own.  She no longer had nightmares and had stopped 
wandering the house in the middle of the night.  Her doctor 
had told her on Thursday that she could begin driving again 
and set her date for a return to work to a week from 
Monday, half days at first.

Of course he was delighted to see her blooming and thriving 
again.  Mulder had been devastated to see her in the ICU, 
white as typing paper, with tubes seeming to come out of 
every orifice. He had been enveloped in the worst kind of 
dark, dank fear and his hands had began to shake 
uncontrollably and his legs refused to properly hold his 
body up.

But, he couldn't help reflecting as he stopped at a red 
light, what was going to happen to them when they finally 
returned to the routine of their regular lives?

One of these mornings Scully was bound to wake up, touch 
him softly on the arm and say, "It's time for you to go 
home."  Trouble was, he wasn't sure he really had a home 
anymore.

It was sentimental to admit, but his home had become her 
bed.  Her bed was a place of serenity where he could feel 
her heart beating against his as they drifted to sleep 
together.  Some men might turn to liquor, some to 
meditation to find their peace, but his salvation was the 
simple wood framed bed trimmed with crisp, white sheets.  
No wonder he had slept so poorly in the past.

Mulder was chagrined to be so insecure about what was 
happening between Scully and him.  However, it had been 
years since he'd had a woman in his life, let alone a woman 
whom he loved so thoroughly.  

At Oxford he'd seen a few women until he settled down the 
last two years with Phoebe.  He'd loved her with a 
frightening tenacity, even after she betrayed him time and 
time again.  Mulder had been bewitched by the idea that 
this gorgeous, brilliant creature with her upper-crust 
accent and feral eyes could possibly want him, too.

He returned to the States a shattered man, after Phoebe had 
finally left him for good, left him for the posh attentions 
of Lord Somebody of Inbred Genes.  Never again, he vowed.  
He would never let one woman ensnare him body and soul like 
that, leaving him vulnerable to the raw pain he now felt.

In his early years with the Bureau, Mulder became something 
of a serial boyfriend-two months with this one, four with 
another.  He was ashamed to admit that now he could barely 
associate faces with names.  Was Jane the tiny brunette?  
Did Suzanne have the throaty laugh?  He had treated his 
women well, had a great time, but as soon as a serious tone 
insinuated its way into the relationship, he was out of 
there like he'd been shot from a cannon.

And then Diana showed up.  He could still clearly remember 
the first time they met, at a crime scene in Arlington, her 
forthright handshake and brown eyes brimming over with 
intelligence.  Mulder didn't waste any time; they became 
lovers that very night after sharing pizza and a bottle of 
wine at her apartment.

For the first time in years, he refused to run.  Diana was 
a good lover, a great talker, someone who shared his 
growing interest in the paranormal.  He confided in her his 
secrets and she shared hers on late nights in her candlelit 
bedroom.  Like Phoebe, Diana was gorgeous and patrician, 
but she didn't share his former lover's cruel streak.  
Instead, she was sweet and loving in their private hours, 
someone who made him forget his pain, forget the young boy 
who'd lost his sister.

He hadn't yet told Scully that he lived with Diana for 
nearly a year.  Overnights blended into weekends and whole 
weeks until finally they sublet their respective apartments 
and got one of their own.   They painted walls and bought 
furniture.  At night they returned home from their various 
Bureau duties and worked on their new project, the X-Files.  
Sometimes they got the Sunday paper and looked through the 
real estate section, planning the house they would someday 
buy.  Somewhere in the mess of his bedroom closet he still 
had a box of checks from their joint account, embossed in 
black- Fox Mulder and Diana Fowley.

Then, one night, she came home late, set her briefcase on 
the dining room table and announced she was leaving for a 
post in Berlin.  Stunned, he looked at her face, suddenly 
hard and closed off to him, and wondered if he'd even truly 
known her in the past three years.  Mulder had been aware 
of her ambition, her desire to make a name for herself in 
the Old Boys Club of the Bureau, but he still could not 
fathom that she'd so easily dust herself off and leave him.  
But she did, gone within a week, her only contact with him 
an annual Christmas card.

Shortly after Diana's departure, Mulder began regression 
therapy with Dr. Werber and the X-Files slowly began to 
consume his life.  Who needed love when he had the 
intoxicating search into the past and his quest for the 
truth?

And now, Dana Scully.  His partner, his friend, skeptic to 
his believer.  The kind of woman he would have turned his 
nose up to in the past, considering her too cold, too 
rational.  But she slowly unfolded to him over the years, 
revealing her rich layers of depth, the beauty of her 
razor-sharp mind, the kindness and generosity of her soul.

He was aware that he tended to put her on a pedestal 
sometimes, to idealize Scully.  Truth was, there were times 
when he wanted to take her by her slim shoulders and shake 
her, screaming, "You saw it!  Why can't you believe it?"  
Her stubbornness on relying so heavily on her science had 
frustrated him to the point of tears on too many occasions. 
When it came down to it, Scully had her flaws and he had 
his own, but in the end they complemented one another, oil 
to vinegar, salt to pepper.

Mulder couldn't pinpoint the moment when he first began to 
love her.  His love had grown in increments, so slowly he 
didn't notice until it was far too late to do anything 
about it.  It had become a part of him like his flat feet 
and the mole on his cheek.

Licking his lips, he swore he could still taste her there 
from the night before, despite having brushed his teeth and 
eaten two meals in the interim.  Strangely enough, his most 
well loved and well-used fantasy of Scully in the past had 
been about going down on her, of Scully trusting him enough 
to spread her legs for him and allow his tongue to slide 
into her most secret and forbidden places.  And when the 
time had finally come last night, he'd had a moment of 
sudden fear that perhaps the reality would pale next to his 
rich fantasy life.

He had been wrong.  Scully had tasted better that he'd 
imagined.  Mulder had never understood other men who 
disliked eating a woman.  In his past he'd been a 
connoisseur of the flavors of all the women he'd slept 
with.  He might not be able to put names to some of the 
faces, but line them up and he would be able to tell them 
apart by their personal taste.  Scully had a rich taste 
that reminded him of a good Bordeaux rolling over his 
tongue, full of smaller notes of honey and black tea.  As 
he turned onto Scully's street, he grinned at his fanciful 
imagination and what a romantic sap he was becoming in his 
old age.

Parking his car a few houses away from her building, Mulder 
again licked his lips.  It pained him to think that it had 
taken a horrible injury for the two of them to finally let 
down their guard and become lovers, but it had happened and 
he was glad.  He had run and hidden from love for far too 
long, buried himself in his work and his obsession to avoid 
the pain he saw as inevitable.  Despite his greatest 
efforts, however, love had found him.  There was no point 
in fighting it any longer.  He and Scully would simply have 
to learn to cobble some kind of life together, despite 
their often glaring differences and solitary natures.  
Despite the cloud of danger and tragedy that seemed to 
constantly hang over their heads.

We can do it, he thought, switching off the ignition.  We 
can try.  We'll find a way and somehow figure out how to be 
happy.  It isn't beyond our reach.

Buoyed by an unusual sense of optimism, he headed down the 
sidewalk to what he hoped had become his new home.

End of (4/?)

Increments by Dasha K. (5/?)

Disclaimers in part one.

All feedback delightedly read at dashak@aol.com		

The whole thang at http://dasha.simplenet.com/increments.html


Chapter Nine- Shiver


Despite the chill in the winter night air, they traveled 
down the sidewalks at a deliberate pace.  They were walking 
much slower than either was accustomed to, but it didn't 
particularly bother Scully.  She had become used to 
operating her body in an overly conscious manner since the 
shooting.

She tilted her head up to Mulder.  "This was a good idea, 
don't you think?"  The breath came out of her mouth in 
little clouds of steam.

Squeezing her hand, he smiled.  "I had to air you out and 
get rid of the cabin fever."

Her physical therapist had ordered a half-hour to forty-
five minutes of walking every day, so she had dragged 
Mulder into the cold night after dinner.  They had stopped 
for coffee at a cafe on M street, crowded with Saturday 
night yuppies, and now were on their way home.

Home, Scully mused.  Is it my home or ours now?

Either way, she was supremely content to be moving again, 
to be out of the house, to have a belly full of decaf 
mocha, her lips still tasting of the bittersweet liquid.  
And content to be walking down the street, holding Mulder's 
hand.

Sometimes it was the simple things that had to be captured 
for savoring later.  She was guilty of not being able to 
exist in the moment, of constantly looking ahead to the big 
picture.  Right now she didn't want to think about the big 
picture, of what would happen when she returned to work, 
about what to do about the X-Files.  That was for another 
time.  All she wanted to do was breathe in the crisp, cold 
air and walk by his side.

She was going to have to learn to accept contentment.

Two blocks from her apartment she began to tire and by 
unspoken accord they slowed down further still.  "Mulder?" 
she asked, the grip on his hand tightening.

He bent his head to her, nose and lips reddened by the 
cold.  "Yeah?"

"It's funny, I've had a lot of spare time to think lately.  
I've been trying to figure out . . ." Her voice trailed 
off.  Scully had never been good at articulating her most 
personal feelings and her words were slow in coming.  "I've 
been trying to figure out when you became so important to 
me."

Mulder stopped walking, a quizzical expression on his face.  
"Did you come up with anything?"

She nodded.  "I think it was in Alaska, when I sat by your 
bedside for almost four days.  Something clicked then and I 
began to understand that you were the most important person 
in my life."

He inhaled sharply, a quick inrush of breath.  "That means 
a lot to hear that from you."

They were standing under a street light at the corner and 
Scully observed how the glow picked up filaments of gold 
and green in his eyes.

"I resented it for a long time," she continued.  "I 
resented that my family, my friends, my goals had taken a 
back seat to you, that you could run off and get yourself 
in trouble and I'd still come running because you had 
become so significant to me."

Mulder hung his head like a scolded child.  "I'm sorry, 
Scully," he muttered.

She held up a warning hand.  "No, wait, I'm not finished.  
What I was going to say was that I slowly realized it went 
both ways with us, that I was important to you, too."

He ran his tongue across his lower lip, a gesture that made 
her want to pull that lip into her mouth.  "You are, you 
know."

"I know," she said, nodding sagely.  "Over time I 
understood that that was what made our partnership so 
special and unique.  And that what we had went beyond the 
boundaries of mere partnership.  I also realized that I was 
letting the other things in my life diminish of my own 
accord, that I had no one to blame but myself."

Resting his chin on her head, he said in a low voice, "We 
do get awfully focused, don't we?"

She emitted a gentle laugh.  "Yes, yes we do.  I want that 
to change.  Our professional lives are important but I 
think I need to explore the other aspects of my life more 
from now on-see my family, make new friendships, love the 
man in my life."

Mulder pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her.  
She buried her face in his neck, smelling the wool of his 
turtleneck and underneath it the faintest whiff of chlorine 
from his afternoon swim.  It was times like this that 
everything seemed so simple-man loves woman, woman loves 
man.  Yet deep down, she could feel the fear of the unknown 
thrilling up her spine.

I don't want to need him like this, she treacherously 
thought.  And then another thought immediately contradicted 
the first one.  It had been a long time, perhaps never, 
since she had needed anyone.  Perhaps her true weakness all 
this time had been never allowing herself.  She was still 
strong in sprit, opinionated and intelligent.  Loving 
Mulder would change none of those things.  She wouldn't let 
it, not as long as she had breath in her body.

Mulder kissed the top of her head.  "We've reached a 
crossroads, Scully.  What you said the other night was 
right.  If we never get reassigned to the X-Files, we're 
going to have to take a hard look at our lives and 
priorities."

She smiled.  "For the record, Mulder, I think we'll find a 
way eventually.  We're nothing if not resourceful."

"Even so, you're entirely correct.  This . . . quest . . . 
we've been on is important, but I can't go on living only 
for the truth.  It's not enough, not anymore."

"We can try, Mulder, but knowing us . . ." 

She sighed.

"Trying will have to be enough."

A gust of wind blew in from the North, whipping her hair 
across her face and prickling her skin into a multitude of 
goosebumps, despite her sweater and wool coat.  Scully's 
teeth began to chatter. 

Mulder tugged at her sleeve.  "It's cold.  Let's go home."

Inside, the apartment was warm and smelled of the tomato 
soup and grilled cheese they'd made for dinner.  Nursery 
food, bland childhood dishes intended to avoid upsetting 
her delicate digestive system.  Lately, Scully had been 
dreaming of spicy food- green Thai curries, empanadas 
stuffed with shrimp and cilantro, scraping up an Ethiopian 
wat with a piece of spongy injera bread.

Despite the heat of the room, she was still shivering as 
she drew off her coat and hung it in the hall closet.  
Mulder, ever observant of her physical state, asked, "You 
cold?"

She nodded.

"Why don't you take a shower?"

"I took one before dinner, remember?"

He moved behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder, the 
other rising to caress the swell of her breast under the 
lambswool. His whisper was husky in her ear.  "I said, why 
don't you take a shower?"

Her nipples peaked against the material of her bra and she 
found herself nodding.  "I'll get it ready," she said and 
headed for the bathroom.

Mulder was right, the hot water felt magnificent coursing 
over her chilled body.  She had just reached for the soap 
when she heard the rings of the shower curtain pulling 
across the metal rod.  Mulder stepped in, a slightly 
sheepish expression on his face.  "Is there room in here 
for two?"

"In your case I'll make an exception."

Scully moved aside so he could have a chance at the hot 
water and while he bent his head back to get his hair wet, 
she took the opportunity to look, really look at his body.

It certainly wasn't the first time she'd seen him naked, 
but like staring at an Impressionist painting, she saw 
something new every time she looked.  This time she let her 
eyes travel from his broad shoulders down the lightly 
muscled expanse of his chest and flat stomach to his penis, 
flaccid but still impressive, resting in a forest of wiry 
dark curls.

Her mouth watered at the sight, she was amused to discover.  
Scully loved his mind, his soul, but she was just learning 
to appreciate the delights of his body.  There had been a 
few new discoveries over the past week, that his nipples 
were as sensitive as any woman's, that his armpits were 
extraordinarily ticklish, that he loved to have his balls 
stroked when she touched him.

She wished, as she always did when she was alone with him, 
that she was in full form, that she could sink to her knees 
to the bottom of the tub and take him in her mouth, sucking 
him to full hardness while the water sprayed over them.  

Mulder opened his eyes, water running over his face in 
rivulets, and she noticed how his pupils were dilated, a 
sure sign of growing arousal.  "What are you looking at?" 
he asked.

She moved closer, until their bodies were a mere inch from 
touching.  Her hand strayed over the firmness of his ass.  
"You," she rasped.

"Do you like what you see?"  Mulder pressed into her and 
she felt his growing erection against her belly.

"Oh yeah."  His large hand reached around to the back of 
her neck to tip her face up for a kiss.  Opening her mouth 
to him, she slipped her tongue into his mouth, allowing it 
to twine with his.  Her hand found him flaccid no more, 
full and long and ready for her.  The wetness pooled 
between her legs, her clit throbbing with blood.  She had 
to fight a terrible urge to wrap her legs around his waist 
and slide down onto his cock.

Eyes still closed in the kiss, Scully heard him fumbling 
for something and opening her eyes she saw he'd grabbed her 
bottle of shower gel.  "We've got to get you clean, 
Scully."

She didn't bother repeating the fact that she'd already 
showered not two hours before.  Not when he worked the gel 
into suds between his hands and began to spread the foam 
across her breast.  All she could do was lean against the 
wall for support as he stroked and circled with attentive 
fingers.  God, sometimes she swore she'd forgotten what it 
felt like to be touched like this, to feel her body humming 
alive with voluptuousness.

One of Mulder's hands kept at her left breast, while the 
other moved between her legs.  She gasped.  The feeling of 
his slick, soapy fingers sliding between her swollen folds 
was so extraordinary she had to bite her lips.

"I love to touch you," he moaned into her ear.  "I love 
touching you and watching your face at a time like this, so 
alive and turned on."  One and then two fingers pushed into 
her and she bent her knees a bit to take him in further, 
nearly screaming at the sensation of fullness.  "Hang on, 
Scully, because I'm going to fuck you.  I want to make you 
scream."

Her eyes shut as three fingers now slid in and out of her, 
roughly taking her.  In her most outrageous flights of 
fancy, she had never imagined him saying such erotic things 
to her, or been able to imagine herself enjoying it.  On 
the contrary it only made her wetter, hotter, closer to the 
edge of insanity.  Mulder's other hand joined the first 
between her legs, pushing against her clitoris in a way 
that made her breaths come out in ragged pants against his 
shoulder.

"Ah, Scully," he sighed,  "if I had only known it could be 
like this."

Wordlessly, she agreed as her muscles became taut in 
readiness for her orgasm.  His mouth again found hers and 
she wrapped her arms around his waist for support as he 
crushed her lips in a desperate kiss.

She pulled away from his mouth.  "I . . .I can't stand it," 
she crooned, feeling the waves approaching.

His mouth curled into a dangerous smile.  "If only you 
could see yourself right now."

Her head bumped against the wall.  "So close . . ." she 
panted.

And then his fingers pulled out of her, still slick with 
soap and her juices.  She felt his index finger push up 
against her rectum and she froze against the wall.  Was he 
going to do it?  One smooth motion later and his finger was 
buried in her anus.  The shock was enough to spill her 
over, crying out sharply as she felt the coursing waves not 
only in her clitoris, but her anus, her legs, her stomach 
and all the way up her spine to her neck.  It felt like no 
climax she'd ever had before, darker and more powerful.

As soon as her body stopped quaking from the force of her 
orgasm, she fell forward, muscles gone to rubber.  

Mulder was there to catch her.

Scully buried her burning face in his chest and he held her 
until her breathing finally slowed.  She looked up at him 
in amazement.  "W-where did you learn to do that?" she 
stammered, brain slow to snap back into focus.

He looked a bit embarrassed  "Are you okay with it?  I 
didn't hurt you, did I?"

Laughing, she shook her head.  "Hurt me?  You've got to be 
kidding, Mulder."  Letting out her breath, she slid her 
hand down his body and found him still hard.  "No one has 
ever done that to me before."

He shrugged, as if attempting to be nonchalant, but she 
also felt him tense as she began to move her fingers up and 
down his hard length.  "Call it improvisation," he said.

Jesus, she thought, what kind of beast have I unleashed?  
Perhaps a beast was what she needed to bring her out of 
herself and strip away her many layers of reticence.  
Either way, Mulder was turning out to be quite a lover.

She couldn't say she was entirely surprised.  There was 
something about the way he moved, the small touches he'd 
given her in the past, that had informed her that he was as 
passionate about sex as he was about the X-Files.  Mulder 
was a man who carried his sensuality just barely concealed 
beneath a deadpan face and Italian suits.

Scully moved away from his grasp and took her hand away 
from his cock.  "What are you doing?" he whined.

Flashing a close-lipped grin, she shut off the water.  'Get 
out of the shower," she ordered in a tone she usually 
reserved for a handcuffed suspect.

"What?"  It amused her that arousal made him as slow-witted 
as it did her.

Her tone softened as she opened the shower curtain and 
reached for a towel.  "If you get out now, I'll make you a 
very happy man."  She let her eyes move down to his cock 
for punctuation.

Realization dawned on his face and his mouth opened.

He actually leaped over the edge of the tub.

End of (5/?)

Increments by Dasha K. (6/?)

All feedback accepted with shrieks of glee at dashak@aol.com

Disclaimers and all in part 1.

The entire story can be found at http://dasha.simplenet.com/increments.html

Chapter Ten- Birch and Sand


Mulder heard the crunch of newly fallen snow under his 
boots as he traveled through the woods.  Surrounding him, 
as far as the eye could see, were the slender skeletons of 
birch trees, glowing unnaturally bright in the light from 
the full moon overhead.

It was eerily silent, that forest in the dead of night.  No 
rustling of branches or scampering of small animals, just 
the sound of his own steps making tracks in the snow and 
the beating of his own heart.

He stopped for minute, winded after walking so long, and 
wrapped his gloved fingers around a tree for support.  With 
fascination, he watched the way some of the birch bark was 
unwinding in places, forming little curls here and there.

And then he felt a light touch on the shoulder.  Startled, 
he whirled around to see Samantha, standing there in the 
snow in her white nightgown sprigged with roses, her dark 
curls spilling over her shoulders.  Still a little girl of 
eight.

He gasped.

"Hello, Fox," she said in a grave tone.

"Samantha?"

She took his hand in hers.  "I want to show you something."  
She led him further into the woods.  Dazed, he followed in 
her wake.

They reached the end of the woods and found themselves on 
the edge of a frozen lake, covered with a thick blanket of 
virgin snow.

Samantha turned to him, her small face lit up with a smile.  
"It's good to see you again, Fox."  Although her body was 
that of a child, her voice sounded oddly adult.

He felt only numbness, seeing his sister again, in her 
childish form, her skin weirdly pale in the moon's light.  
"What happened to you?" he asked.

She shook her head.  "You know I can't tell you that.  You 
wouldn't understand, anyhow."  Samantha squeezed his hand.

"So what are we doing here, then?"

Lifting her head, Samantha scanned the horizon.  "We're 
waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

She flashed him a disgusted look, the kind she used to give 
him when he'd pretend to eat worms.  "You ask too many 
questions.  Be patient."

The silence became deafening, oppressive to him.  He had so 
many questions, questions that had kept him tossing and 
turning in the night since she'd been taken.

He had to risk asking one more question.  "Are you alive, 
Samantha?"

She shrugged her thin shoulders under the flannel of her 
nightgown.  "It depends."

"Depends on what?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly.  "It depends on your definition 
of life."

Mulder was about to follow her enigmatic statement with 
another question when the wind began to gust, a full gale 
that nearly knocked him flat to the ground and sent 
Samantha's long hair whipping around her head.  She dropped 
his hand.  "It's time!" she shouted over the wind.

The wind stopped blowing and the heavy silence again 
descended over the nightscape.

Until the quiet was ripped apart by the shattering scream 
of a woman.

Samantha's brown eyes filled with tears.

"Nothing lives forever, Fox," she said and wrapped her arms 
around him, burying her small face in his coat.

"Who . . . who is it?" he stammered, his heart spiked with 
sharp needles of fear.

Don'tletitbeScullydon'tletitbeScullydon'tletitbeScully . . 

The screaming stopped.

Samantha looked up at him.  "It's not her," she said.  "Not 
who you were just thinking about."

Relief washed through his every pore.  "Then, who is it?"

She pulled away from him and shook her head.  "She's happy 
now, Fox.  She's at peace."

Grabbing her by the shoulders, he hoarsely shouted, "Tell 
me, Samantha!"

"I can't."  She pulled away from him.  "Goodbye, brother."

Without looking back, she walked back into the woods, 
melting into the birch trees.


He sat up, completely bewildered.  The woods, the lake, the 
snow, all gone.  He was in a dark bedroom, the sheets and 
comforter tangled around his feet, perspiration coating his 
bare upper chest and his heart beating madly.

Only a nightmare.

No, it had felt real.  He had been there, in those woods, 
walking with his sister.  Mulder could recall every minute 
detail, the feel of the tremendous wind pressing his face, 
the high-pitched screaming of the woman, echoing over the 
lake and all around his head.

A bad dream.  An intense, hallucinatory dream, but a dream 
nonetheless.

His eyes adjusted to the dim room, he saw Scully, curled in 
a small ball on her side, wearing only her panties.  Mulder 
touched her arm, relieved to find it still warm.  He could 
hear her regular breathing in the silent room and his hand 
trailed down to her breastbone and felt the steady, slow 
drumming of her heartbeat.

Okay, a bad dream.  He had a lot of those.  He could deal 
with it.  Nightmares had been a part of his life, his 
sleep, for so long that they rarely fazed him, no matter 
how terrifying they had been.

But this had seemed so real.

Sighing, Mulder realized he'd never get back to sleep, at 
least not right away.  He bent his head to Scully's neck, 
inhaling deeply of the rich perfume of soap and her own 
spicy personal smell.  Soothed, he climbed out of bed, his 
legs shaky and weak.  He straightened the twisted bedding 
and covered Scully with the quilt.

In the living room, he turned on a lamp and settled on the 
couch, trying to parse the meaning of the dream.  Freud and 
Jung had volumes to say about the significance of dream 
imagery, but he rejected the meanings he'd studied as a 
psychology student.  The dream hadn't been about 
abandonment or fear of commitment or his latent Oedipus 
Complex.  It had been just what it had appeared to be.  It 
was a dream of death.  

A portent, an omen.

Someone had died.

All he could do was wait and see.  It had already happened, 
he somehow knew, and there was nothing he could do to 
change things.

Think of something good, he told himself.  Mulder rose from 
the couch and headed for the kitchen.  He found a bottle of 
water in the fridge and downed half of it in one draught, 
the cold water rushing down his dehydrated throat and into 
his stomach.

He switched the kitchen radio on to the soft, soothing 
prattle of NPR, something about the Lewinsky scandal, of 
course.  Scully may have been shot, they may have been 
slowly falling in love in the refuge of her apartment, he 
may have been having dreams of death, but in the greater 
world scandals were brewing, and politicians were still 
lying.

Somehow, that thought was immensely comforting.

The radio program switched to a music segment and soft 
Latin music filled the room.  Sitting at the kitchen table, 
Mulder suddenly longed for a simpler life, in which he 
could take Scully to the hot sand of a Mexican beach.  He 
pictured rubbing sunscreen into her pale skin, her lush 
curves in a black bikini, the two of them sipping 
margaritas in lounge chairs, staring at the rolling waves 
of the Gulf.  Blue skies, hot sun, endless sand, was it too 
much to ask?  Too much to want to take her back to a dim, 
cool hotel room and peel the bikini off her body and taste 
the tang of salt and sweat and coconut oil on her skin?

Sighing, he supposed it was.

Someday, he vowed.  Someday when it's all over, if we get 
through it with our sanity and bodies intact, I'll take her 
to Mexico and we'll spend a week doing nothing but loving 
each other.

And then another thought struck him.  Why wait?  If 
something happened, if their luck finally ran out, they'd 
never have that time together.  

Mulder made a mental note to himself to call his travel 
agent on Monday and book a trip to Cozumel.  Her birthday 
was coming up in a few weeks.  They could find a way to get 
away for a three to four day weekend.  He had a tons of 
vacation time accrued and, God only knew, the Bureau owed 
Scully after she'd nearly lost her life from friendly fire.

Grinning, he sat back in the chair and drained the rest of 
the water.  He was a man with a plan.

His nightmare relegated to the back of his brain, he 
allowed himself the luxury of remembering earlier in the 
evening.

The memories came to him in burning, crystal-clear shards. 
Scully's beautiful face, tipped back against the shower 
wall, twisting in ecstasy as he buried his fingers in her 
impossibly slick depths.  The way she curled up next to him 
on the bed, the both of them still wet from the shower, and 
took him in the heat of her mouth.  Being afraid to shut 
his eyes and miss the incredibly erotic sight of her red 
hair between his legs and his cock disappearing between her 
full lips.  The rough-smooth grain of her tongue painting 
filigree patterns along the length of him and around and 
around the head.

Shouting her name as the heat licked at his body, 
threatening to immolate him in a rush of delicious flame.

Her sly smile as she raised her head and licked her lips, 
one lock of hair falling across her eye.

It was real, it was happening, they were doing this.

Incredible.

He didn't know what he'd do if it ever had to end.

It couldn't.  It wouldn't.

Sometimes he could feel her balking, struggling against the 
weight of her need and love for him.  He wasn't really sure 
why he was so ready, why he had so few reservations about 
loving her any more.  He just was.

Scully was all about self-control and mastery of her 
emotions.  She wasn't one to heedlessly throw herself into 
love.  And it scared him that perhaps one day she might 
choose to again wrap herself in the cloak of her solitude 
and turn away from him.

He rather hated himself for needing her so.

But something from deep within told him no, that Scully had 
always loved him in her quiet and steadfast manner.

If anything, she needed time.  He'd just have to allow her 
to have her doubts and fears.

Yawning, Mulder made his way back to the bedroom. 

Once under the covers, he willed himself to forget the 
dream, moving closer to Scully's warm body.  His fingers 
trailed over the smooth dip of her shoulder down her arm to 
her fingertips, curled in sleep.

Mexico, he thought.  Think of the burning light of the sun 
and the shock of the cool water on hot skin.

He could actually smell the salt of the ocean as he fell 
asleep.


End of (6/?)

Increments by Dasha K. (7/?)

dashak@aol.com	

Disclaimers and everything in part one.

Part Eleven- Fluency


One bleary eye opened and then the next.  A glance at the 
alarm clock by the bed told her it was almost 9:00 am.  For 
one panicked split-second she thought she was terribly late 
for work.

No, it was Sunday morning and it had been more than three 
weeks since she'd last done a full day's work.

Sunday morning, a week since they'd shared their fumbling 
first kiss in the kitchen.  A week when everything, and 
nothing, had changed.

Scully had always believed that love, real love, would 
transform her.  All her doubts and fears would magically 
vanish when she found the man of her dreams.  For a 
creature of logic and rationality, she truly had been a 
secret romantic.

Now she knew she was the same woman she'd always been.  She 
still had moments when the thought of loving Mulder sent 
her into a tailspin of tremendous fear.  Sitting in the 
living room together in the evening, both of them reading, 
she'd sometimes look over at him and wonder, what the hell 
are we doing?  This is insanity.

Her solitude had always been comforting.  It was so easy to 
know that when the day was over she could return home to 
the quiet and tranquillity of her apartment.  Time to 
decompress, kick off her heels and relish the silence of 
her own space.  She had been accountable to no one in the 
end, her happiness and peace of mind entirely at her own 
control.

But in her heart of hearts, Scully knew she could never go 
back to a safe solo life.  She had committed herself to 
allowing Mulder into her inner life, to letting him invade 
her private spaces both physically and psychologically.

They'd have to make some adjustments once they were both 
back at work, when what passed for normality re-asserted 
itself.  Simply put, they'd have to find a way to be 
together and still have time for themselves.  Too much 
togetherness at home and the office could quickly send them 
over the edge of sanity, she knew.

Loving Mulder didn't make her a better or a worse person.  
She was still Dana Scully, outwardly cool and analytical, 
inwardly roiling with the usual laundry list of 
insecurities.

She rolled over and smiled at Mulder, his handsome features 
slackened and softened in slumber.  I'm going to try, she 
silently told him.  From now on I'm going to do my best to 
walk by your side, no matter how much we disagree on how to 
get to our destination.  Sometimes it'll be your way and 
sometimes it'll be mine, but for the first time I'm going 
to try to let go and enjoy the journey.

With her fingertips she ruffled his dark hair.  I love you, 
she wordlessly said to him.  They hadn't yet said that to 
each other, not in so many words.  The two of them weren't 
good at the traditional endearments, preferring to express 
the depth of their emotions through a telegraphed look, a 
gesture, a private smile across the room.  The language 
they spoke the most fluently with each other had no words.

And yes, that fact had often created conflict and 
misunderstandings between them in the past.  It was one 
reason, out of many, that it had taken them so long to the 
place where they now were.

Perhaps their greatest challenge ahead was simply learning 
to talk, really talk, to each other.

If they sometimes couldn't verbally express themselves, 
they did speak the language of the body exceedingly well.  
A warm flush spread across her cheeks and chest as Scully 
thought of the multitude of little ways they'd learned to 
please each other over the past week.  Amazing what fingers 
and mouths could do, body parts used for such prosaic 
actions as eating and typing.  Fingers and mouths that 
could create trails of fire on the body and reduce one's 
lover into a boneless, sweating mass of pure pleasure.

Now she could see the depth of sexuality that had always 
run in a secret undercurrent deep inside herself.  It 
wasn't Mulder, exactly, that had let it emerge, it was she 
herself.  Finally, she trusted enough to let go, to make 
love with every inch of her body, from her soul, her very 
heart.

Amazing what a difference that could make in the simple act 
of pleasure.  It was transformed into an act of love.

And she suspected it was the same for Mulder.

Just you wait until I'm completely recovered, she warned 
the sleeping man at her side.  You won't know what hit you.

Her fingers drew patterns on the light patch of dark hair 
on his chest, down the strip of hair growing on his belly, 
to his hard morning cock.  A feline smile quirked on her 
lips and she reached for the bottle of hand lotion on the 
bedside table.  After squirting a small amount of the 
lotion on her palms, she rubbed them together, releasing 
the aroma of vanilla into the room.

Scully pulled back the comforter and watched his toes 
twitch as she ran slippery fingers from base to tip and 
back again.  She knew penises weren't supposed to be 
inherently beautiful, but she loved seeing Mulder's cock in 
full form, long and thick, the head turning ever darker 
with blood with each lazy stroke of her hand.  Her left 
hand found the firm curves of his balls and she cupped and 
stroked them with the newfound confidence of a woman who 
had learned her lover's likes and dislikes.

Mulder's eyes fluttered open, turned a soft gray in the 
morning sunshine.  "Scully?" he croaked.

She moved closer and pecked him on the lips.  "Yes?"

His eyes began to roll to the back of his head, she noticed 
with great amusement.  "What are you doing?"

Increasing her grip, she began to move her palm and fingers 
along his shaft with speed.  "What do you think I'm doing?"

Mulder lifted his head from the pillow and glanced 
downwards.  His head flopped back.  "I think you're trying 
to kill me."

"I can stop," she offered.

"If you stopped right now, I'd have to hurt you."

Tugging on his arm, she got Mulder to shift onto his side.  
She scooted down the bed until her face was level with his 
crotch.  With a deep inhale, she breathed in the smell of 
the vanilla lotion mixed with the earthiness of his 
personal scent, the scent of a man fully aroused.  She 
parted her lips and let him slip inside her mouth.

A deep sigh came from his lungs.  "Twice in row?" he 
moaned.  "You're spoiling me rotten, Scully."

You deserve it, she thought.  What you need is someone to 
be good to you.

The flavor of the hand lotion was bitter on her tongue, but 
not entirely unpleasant.  She gripped him tightly at the 
base and allowed her tongue to make an idle journey around 
the engorged head, tracing the ridges and contours of his 
penis.

"You're good at this," Mulder muttered in a thick voice.  
"Jesus, Scully, you're so very, very good at this."

Her lips wrapped around his cock, she had to stifle a laugh 
or risk serious injury to his genitalia.  As she began to 
suck in earnest, her right hand left him and moved between 
her own legs, finding herself slippery with excitement, her 
clitoris already swelling.  "Oh yeah," he breathed and she 
knew he was watching her touch herself.  A brief flash of 
shame burst through her, but she shrugged it off, telling 
herself- nothing is wrong, nothing is shameful between the 
two of us.

Mulder's rough fingers absently rubbed the back of her neck 
as she slid his cock in and out of her mouth, her wet 
tongue dragging up and down the length of him with every 
stroke.  It didn't take much for her to lose it, her 
fingers flicking against her clitoris.

So sweet, so good, God, so sweet, she thought as her orgasm 
took her over.  A muffled moan escaped her lips and she 
felt Mulder stiffen, entire body gone taut as wire.

With fierce contractions, he spilled over into her mouth, 
his fingers gripping her neck.  Mulder went limp against 
the mattress and she let his cock slip from her mouth.  He 
was wearing what she now recognized as his loopy, post-
coital grin.

If only I had a camera, she thought.

She rejoined him at the head of the bed, breathing in the 
delicious fragrance of sex in the bedroom, a heady mixture 
of sweat, vanilla lotion, body secretions and soap.  
Curling into him, she smiled.

God, she felt simply wonderful.  She wondered if there was 
a medical paper in her situation- "The Role of Sexual 
Activity as Therapy in the Care and Healing of Gunshot 
Wounds to the Abdomen."  This was the first morning when 
nothing ached or twinged.  Instead, her body felt alive and 
crackling with energy, every pore humming with pleasure and 
contentment.

So this was how it felt to be truly alive.  She'd 
forgotten.

Mulder kissed her on the forehead.  "I think you're a 
keeper."

She raised an eyebrow.  "So, you're saying that if my oral 
sex skills were less than adequate you'd have to get rid of 
me?"

"No, I'd just have to teach you how I like it."  He flashed 
her an artificially cocky look.  "Thankfully, you're a 
natural."

Raising an arm, she stretched a bit.  Good, that didn't 
seem to hurt either.  "What do you want to do today?"

"You mean we have to get out of bed?"

"I'm hungry, Mulder."

He glanced at the clock.  "Are you planning on going to 
church today?"

She shook her head.  "Not today.  I committed a mortal sin 
and I won't be able to receive communion until I've 
confessed."

His face turned grave.  Oh dear, he didn't know she was 
joking.  "You don't really consider what we just did to be 
a sin, do you?"

"No, I don't.  Like a lot of people, I'm a `Grab-Bag' 
Catholic."

"Grab-Bag?"

Scully realized she was absently touching the gold cross 
around her neck, an automatic gesture she always made when 
talking or thinking about her faith.  "What I mean is that 
I don't necessarily agree with everything the Vatican has 
to say.  I think women would make great priests, that 
homosexuality is not sinful in the least, I'm pro-choice 
for the most part."  She squeezed his hand.  "And I think 
that premarital sex is not a sin, either, not when there is 
genuine depth of feeling between the two people involved."

"Is it hard to reconcile all that with what you grew up 
learning?"

"Sometimes.  But just because I don't agree with what the 
hierarchy says doesn't mean my faith is any less."

Mulder brushed his cheek against hers, stubble scraping on 
smooth flesh.  "I envy your faith sometimes, Scully."

"You have faith, too, Mulder.  You just believe in 
different things, like lights in the sky."

He grinned.  "Perhaps I do."

She sat up, and again, no real soreness.  "If I don't go to 
the bathroom, you're not going to want to share a bed with 
me anymore, Mulder."

Crossing his arms at his chest, he stuck his tongue out at 
her, a gesture that was so silly and entirely out of 
character for him that she nearly fell over laughing.  As 
it was, she barely made it to the bathroom without wetting 
her pants.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, clean from a shower 
and wrapped in her bathrobe, she smelled the aroma of 
something frying in butter and coffee brewing.

In the kitchen, clad only in his boxers, Mulder was 
standing by the stove.  He waved a spatula at her.  
"Breakfast is almost ready, princess."

She wrinkled her nose at the endearment, even through she 
knew he only meant it in jest.  She devoutly hoped that 
they wouldn't start calling each other by silly pet names.  
God, what was it that couple called each other during the 
Van Blundht case?  Oh yes, Sweet Baboo . . .  Disgusting.

"Coffee?" he offered.  She wasn't supposed to be drinking 
it yet, since it was harsh on the stomach, but she longed 
for the rich taste of French Roast mixed with milk.  You 
could say what you wanted about Mulder's culinary skills, 
but the man knew how to make a mean pot of coffee.  She 
nodded at his offer.

"Sit down on the couch," he said, pouring a mugful for her.  
"I've got the Sunday Post and the Times and we can have 
breakfast and watch all the political talk shows."

"You're revoltingly cheerful this morning, Mulder."

"This is what morning sex does to me, Scully," he said in a 
tone of mock solemnity.  He handed her the mug.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind."  She took a sip of the 
coffee.  Oh, wonderful, nearly as good as sex, hot and 
mellow, flowing straight into her stomach.

"Go," he said, waving her into the living room.  "I have to 
flip the omelet and it might not be a pretty sight."

The omelet was surprisingly good, if a little misshapen, 
filled with cheddar cheese and mushrooms.  The coffee was 
better than good, but she allowed herself only one cup, 
switching to orange juice after that.

They watched the pundits argue on the McLaughlin Group, 
laughing at the way they got into such a lather about Ken 
Starr.  After the breakfast dishes were cleared, she lay 
with her head in Mulder's lap, reading the Post.

She glanced up at him, still watching the political idiocy 
with amusement on his face.  He was sickeningly sexy right 
now, wearing only his plaid boxers and glasses.  She 
briefly plotted to flush his contact lenses down the toilet 
in the middle of the night.

It was one of those rare times when it felt so damn normal, 
to have a quiet Sunday together- breakfast, coffee, papers 
and sex.  To read the Metro section of the paper while he 
laughed at Eleanor Clift and absently stroked her hair.  
Shadowy men smoking cigarettes, mutants and the Hoover 
Building seemed far, far away.

Remember this so you can enjoy this next week while you're 
shuffling papers in the bullpen, she told herself.

The ringing of the phone made them both lift their heads.  
"I'll get it," said Mulder and he slid out from under her 
to pick up the phone across the room.

"Hello?" he said.  "Yes, this is he."  

No, she thought.  No business, no Bureau, no informants 
today.  This is our day.

"Aunt Jean, it's been a long time . . ."

Abruptly, he took the cordless phone into the bedroom and 
shut the door.  

Aunt Jean?  She didn't even know he had an aunt, although 
Mulder wasn't one to sit around and tell family stories or 
head off for Mulder family reunions.

A long time passed and still the door remained closed.  She 
could no longer hear the sound of his voice from behind the 
door.  She sat up, body gone tense.  

The phone call obviously hadn't brought good news.

She went to the bedroom, heart beating rapidly.  Did she 
dare invade his privacy?  

Yes, yes she did.  She opened the door and found Mulder 
sitting on the bed, staring at the white phone in his hand 
as if it were the most fascinating thing on earth.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

He looked up, eyes dull and unfocused.  Mulder shrugged.  
"I think so," he said, voice flatter than normal.

"Do you want to talk about it?"  She sat next to him and 
took his hand.

He shut his eyes.  "It's my mother.  She's dead."

End of (7/?)


Increments by Dasha K. (8/?)

Disclaimers and all info in part one.

The whole story can be found at http://dasha.simplenet.com/increments.html

dashak@aol.com- feedback worshiped like a demi-god


Chapter Twelve- Stairway


He saw nothing, felt nothing, was only aware of a high, 
keening buzz of white noise blocking out everything else 
from his consciousness.

Blank.  Empty.

Mulder didn't hear the door open, or see his lover standing 
in the doorway, her brow furrowed with concern.  
Eventually, though, her words did register in his brain.  
"Are you okay?"

His eyes slowly rose to meet hers.  "I think so."

Cool, strong fingers wrapped around his own but he barely 
felt them.  He was a thousand miles away, walking in the 
forest of birches.  

"Do you want to talk about it?"

It was easier to close his eyes and allow the soothing 
darkness to swallow him whole.  He licked his lips, his 
mouth gone dry.

"It's my mother.  She's dead."

Scully's fingers tightened their grip.  "Oh, Mulder, I'm so 
sorry."

The buzzing sound abruptly stopped and his ears registered 
the normal sounds of the apartment- the TV in the living 
room, a car starting down the street, the whining of a 
vacuum upstairs.

"I think I need to be alone."

Her soft lips slid down his cheek and stopped to rest at 
the spot on his skin where he knew his mole was.  "Maybe 
you'd feel better if you talked about it."

A small spark of anger lit in him and he rolled his eyes.  
"That's fine advice coming from you, Dr. I-Don't-Want-to-
Talk-About-It."

Scully's voice was even.  "We're not talking about me right 
now, Mulder.  We're talking about you."

He tugged his hand away and stood up.  "I think I'm going 
to go for a run."

"It's freezing outside today."

"I need to run."  He went to the closet and dug his running 
shoes out.

Five minutes later he was out the door, taking off down the 
sidewalk at a sprint.

It felt better to be in motion, his breath exhaling in 
great clouds of steam as he covered the short city blocks.  
Don't think, he told himself, just run.

He hadn't run in months, barely finding the will and energy 
to hit the pool, either.  Losing the X-Files had sapped 
some of his strength and desire to keep himself in top 
form.  Who needed good muscle tone to run background checks 
and sit at endless stakeouts?  Mulder was annoyed to find 
himself winded and with a side ache after only a few 
minutes.  Still, he pushed himself to go farther, stopping 
every so often to catch his breath and stretch the pain out 
in his side and shins.

Being in motion meant he didn't have to remember.  Remember 
how the dream had been real.

Finally, he looped back to Scully's place and made it to 
her front door, stumbling more than running, his nose and 
ears numb from the sharp wind.  A glance at his watch told 
him more than an hour had passed.

He'd pay the price with sore muscles the next day.

Panting and sweating, he unlocked the door with stiff 
fingers.  Scully was standing at the kitchen sink, washing 
the breakfast dishes.  What an asshole he'd been, brushing 
her off and shooting out the door like that.  He stood in 
the doorway from the living room to the kitchen, waiting 
for her to turn around and give it to him.

Instead, she looked at him with soft eyes.  "You look cold, 
Mulder, maybe you should get in the shower."

He'd said nearly the same words to her the night before.  

Mulder nodded and walked to the bathroom on legs still 
burning with lactic acid.  He stripped off his sweaty 
running clothes and got in the shower just as the room was 
beginning to fill with steam.

Better, much better.  His mother had had a saying when he 
was a kid.  "Everything looks better after a hot shower."  
The nearly scalding water didn't do much for his troubled 
mind, but the rush of water did soothe the muscles in his 
legs and back.

He felt the shower curtain part and Scully stepped in, 
bringing back more memories of the previous night.  He 
shook his head.  "Scully, this isn't a good time-"

She took his hand.  "I'm not here for sex, Mulder."

He felt ashamed for misreading her intentions.

Wrapping her arms around him, she held him close.  "I just 
wanted to be sure that you're okay."

In other words, she didn't want another repeat performance 
of the shaking, disoriented creature she'd found huddling 
in the motel shower in Providence, he thought.  "I'm okay."

"You've taken such good care of me, Mulder.  All these 
weeks and not one complaint.  Let me take care of you now."  
Her voice broke.  "Let me help you."

Mulder felt the first tears begin to trickle down his face, 
mingling with the water of the shower spraying against his 
skin.  For a long time, he let her hold him, as the water 
washed them clean.

Eventually, he pulled away and kissed the bridge of her 
regal nose.  "Thank you."

A glimmer of a grin passed over her face.  "You're welcome.  
Now you know it goes both ways with us."

Scully took the shampoo bottle and squeezed some of it into 
his hair.  He felt silly, letting her wash his hair, but he 
also felt the calming effect of her fingers massaging 
chamomile-scented suds into his scalp.  He shut his eyes 
and let her fingers work their magic, practically purring 
at her touch.

He bent backwards and allowed the water to wash over his 
head, the bubbles oozing down his face and body.  While he 
did this, Scully gently rubbed soap all over him.

It was amazing how many moods her hands could represent.  
In the autopsy bay they were sharp and analytical, rarely 
hesitating.  In bed they alternately swept along his skin 
with greedy ferocity and slow ardor.  Now, she touched him 
with only affection and compassion, a light touch as if he 
were especially fragile and might shatter into pieces on 
the porcelain bottom of the bathtub.

Scully kissed his chest.  "You're all clean now."

He opened his eyes and struggled to smile.  "Thank you."

"You don't have to keep thanking me, just turn around and 
rinse the soap off."

After his rinse, he shut the water off.  Scully stepped out 
first and handed him a towel.  Suddenly, he felt drained of 
all his energy, completely leaden in his limbs.  "I'm 
tired, Scully," he mumbled as he rubbed his wet head with 
the light blue cotton.

She took him by the hand.  "You need to lie down.  I 
remember the feeling well."

They'd both been through this so many times before, hadn't 
they?

Mulder collapsed on the wrinkled white sheets that still 
smelled pungently of their lovemaking.  She curled up 
around him, her skin warming his chilly body.  With a tug, 
Scully pulled the comforter around them and stroked his 
damp hair with one hand.

"I think you're on your bad side," he whispered.

She applied a row of tiny kisses to his shoulders and upper 
back.  "It's okay, Mulder.  Go to sleep."

And miraculously, he did.


His friends' houses might smell of dinner on the stove or 
furniture polish, but the scent that hit his nose when he 
unlocked the door was of dust, stale cigarette smoke and a 
litter box that needed changing.  The house was dark, as 
usual.  He sighed and tossed his backpack on the kitchen 
table, careful to remove his snow-encrusted boots and place 
them on the mat by the front door.

The breakfast dishes were piled in the sink, along with 
yesterday's plates and glasses, and probably those from the 
day before that.

He dreaded passing through the living room on his way 
upstairs.

He knew she'd be there.  She always was.

The living room was lit by the bluish, flickering glow of 
the television, but the sound was turned off.  His mother 
was lying on the couch, still in her bathrobe, a cold 
compress on her forehead.  Her eyes fluttered open at the 
sound of his footsteps on the creaky floorboards of the old 
house.

"Fox?" she called out in a tremulous voice.

"Yeah, Mom, it's me."

She removed the compress and set it on the coffee table, 
amid a jumble of magazines, glasses, an overflowing ashtray 
and an array of prescription pill bottles.  "I have a 
headache today," she said.

A headache, he thought.  She constantly had a headache, 
ever since that night almost two years before.  She never 
said how was your day, or did you win your basketball game 
or what is it like in junior high.  It was, I have a 
headache, I can't get up, you'll have to fix your own 
dinner, your father isn't coming up from Washington this 
weekend, can you run to the store and pick up a few things?

It was the same every day.  His mother, lying in the dark.

It went without saying that he didn't bring friends home 
from school any more.

He gulped.  "I hope you feel better," he said and headed up 
the stairs to his room.

Fox didn't bother turning on the lights in his bedroom.  
Like his mother, he tended to lie in the dark.  He turned 
on his stereo, touching the needle to the Led Zeppelin 
album on the turntable.  On the bed, he lay down with his 
headphones on, staring at the pinpricks of greenish light 
the phosphorescent stars on his ceiling made.

Guitars churned in his ears and Robert Plant wailed about 
the stairway to heaven.

It's always the same, he thought.  Too dark, too quiet.

The truth was, they'd all died the night Samantha was 
taken.  There was no Mulder family, not anymore.

We are the dead, he thought with a grim sense of 
satisfaction.

ChapterTwelve to be continued...

End of (8/?)