TITLE:  Physics 101
AUTHOR:  Lysandra
E-MAIL:  Lysandra31@aol.com or Lysandra@mediaone.net
CATEGORY: SRA; Scully/Other; MSR (Shippers won't be disappointed, though, so
don't be put off by that Scully/Other!  <g>) 
RATING:  NC-17 (for sexual situations & strong language)
SUMMARY:  Mulder wonders what Scully did last night with her new boyfriend.
ARCHIVE:  Yes, but I'd like to know where it goes...
SPOILERS: Through US Season 5 to be safe!  
TIMESPAN:  Ummm, pre-FTF & forget about Small Potatoes.  Kind of a 5th season
netherworld where M&S haven't ever kissed at all, and they still work on the
X-Files from their basement office.
NOTE:  Things aren't always as they seem.  ;-) 
THANKS: At the end of Part 8!


PHYSICS 101 - PART 1 of 8 (NC-17)
by Lysandra


F.B.I HEADQUARTERS 
MAY 31 - 9:05 A.M.

Mulder barely looked up as Scully walked into the office, just as she did every
day, although she wasn't usually five minutes late.  Crisp suit, gold cross,
heels clicking on the linoleum.  It was Scully, all right, but something about
her made him take a second look.  Something about Scully was different this
morning.

"Hey, Scully."

"Morning, Mulder."

What was it, exactly?  Her hair was the same as yesterday.  No new cut, no new
color.  She smelled of sweet vanilla, as always.  Same makeup as usual.  Mulder
had seen this particular suit plenty of times before, so it wasn't her clothing
either, although he could have sworn she usually wore a different blouse with
this Liz Claiborne.  No new jewelry, no new shoes, no new accessories of any
kind.  

Maybe she's wearing new lingerie, he considered with a sly smile.  

Well, his x-ray vision was on the blink so he doubted he'd be finding out if he
was right about *that* any time soon.  

No, Scully wouldn't like that much, and neither would Robert McMahon.  Scully
had gone out and gotten herself a regular Friday night date, an actual
boyfriend.  Mulder had to admit he was a bit jealous that he didn't have Scully
all to himself these days.  Not that she'd abandoned him, or the X-Files, not by
a long shot; but she just wasn't at his beck and call anymore.  

Monday to Friday, nine to six, or anytime they were working on a case, Scully
was all business, and all his.  But lately, she'd rebuffed him a few times when
he'd called her after hours to ask a question.  She'd sigh, "Mulder, I'm busy
right now.  Can we please talk about this in the morning?"  And then he'd hear
soft male laughter in the background as Scully hung up without even saying
'goodbye.'

Scully had met Robert McMahon at a wedding five weeks ago, and Mulder could tell
she liked him.  He seemed very nice - not too suave, not too boring, good sense
of humor.  He was a physics professor at Georgetown, obviously intelligent, and
like she once said, "Smart is Sexy."  The physics thing couldn't have hurt his
chances with Scully either.  

Robert was good-looking in an everyday way, Mulder supposed, one of those guys
who at first seems unremarkable, but then after you got to know him, you
couldn't help but like him.  Well, Mulder *didn't* like him, actually, but it
was nothing he could put his finger on.  Robert just annoyed him.  But he seemed
trustworthy and all...  Mulder had even had the Lone Gunmen check Robert out on
the sly, and the man was clean.  He'd done it to be cautious, nothing more. 
Just making sure his partner was safe and secure.

Mulder didn't begrudge Scully any happiness, really; he just wished she wasn't
the only one who had a social life.  It made him feel a little lonely.  He and
Scully had been in the same boat, dating-wise, for almost the entire time they'd
known each other, and frankly, he'd found it comforting.  They were both chained
inexorably to the X-Files, both celibate - well, practically celibate, anyway -
and both pretty disinterested in the dating scene.  After all the things they
had seen and done, normal First Date conversation just seemed impossible.  How
do you tell someone you've just met that you are trying to expose a global
conspiracy that just might ruin the world as we know it?  Or that you've been
searching for your missing sister for 25 years?  Polite dinner conversation
rarely revolved around alien viruses, flukemen, or liver-eating mutants.  

He wondered what Scully and Robert had talked about on their first date.  Mulder
had heard her talk to Robert on the phone from the office, but, always the
professional, she never discussed anything too personal, at least not while
Mulder was in the room.  He'd listened in as she made dinner plans, discussed
whether to rent a video or go out, and asked what she should wear to Robert's
faculty dinner.  Mulder wondered if Robert could ever know Scully as well as he
did.

He and Scully had been on a case in Florida for a seven long days - hot, sticky
Florida.  Scully had called Robert every day while they were there, except that
night they'd slept on a barge and her cell phone battery had run out.  Mulder's
cell phone, of course, was lost forever to the Everglades, probably lunch for a
gator by now.  Victor in the FBI Communications Department had just laughed when
Mulder called from the hotel to requisition yet another new phone.  

One of those humid nights in Florida, Scully had put Mulder on the phone with
Robert. 

"Talk to Mulder for a second, I've got something in my eye," she'd said, handing
Mulder the phone as she headed for the bathroom.  Hearing laughter on the other
end, Mulder asked Robert what was so funny.  Robert told him, "I just think it's
odd that you and Dana call each other by your last names," adding, "it seems so
formal."

Formal?  This guy's an idiot, Mulder thought.  "I guess it might look that way
to an outsider," he answered.

"I mean, it's kind of nice, I suppose, like using a nickname," Robert said.

Mulder couldn't bear to talk to Robert for another second.  "Hold on, I'll see
if Scully's okay in there," he said, not waiting for a reply as he set the phone
on the night table and walked away...

Mulder's mind snapped back to the present as Scully shuffled some papers.

There was definitely something unusual about her this morning.  Mulder couldn't
quite put his finger on it, but he could absolutely feel something crackling in
the air.  She'd been her normal self in Florida, other than having nightly
conversations with Robert, but now, without her even saying a word, he knew she
was a different Scully.  And whatever it was, the change in her had occurred
since he'd dropped her by her apartment last night on the way home from the
airport.  

Hmm, Scully, Mulder thought, what's happened since eight o'clock last night? 

He cleared his throat.  No response.

She had her back to him, so he knew he'd have to work at this.  He didn't want
her to think he was profiling her, even if he was.  Scully was no dummy.  

Slow and steady wins the race, Mulder, he told himself.  Patience is a virtue. 
But he needed to see her face.

"Hey, Scully."

"Hmmm?" she asked, seemingly intent on her laptop as it booted up.  

"Scully."

This time she spun her chair to face him.  "I hope you're not going to tell me
we have another case already, Mulder, because this report is going to take at
least a few hours, and I'm *not* getting on another airplane until I've done my
laundry."

He had to laugh.  "Nope, nothing like that."

Mulder saw something just then, something new... What the hell was that *look*
in her eyes?  Not an angry look, but a new look completely.  It had been a long
time since Scully had shot him a look that surprised him.  Now we're getting
somewhere, he mused.  

Scully's left eyebrow rose just a touch.  "Mulder."

"What?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what, Scully?" he replied as innocently as he could.

"Mulder, you're staring."  Scully's lips hinted at a smile, just slightly, but
it was there.

An imaginary light bulb blinked on just over Mulder's head.  He had a pretty
good idea as to what was different about Scully this morning.  And he was going
to enjoy this.

"Oh, was I staring?  I'm sorry, Scully.  But you looked happy there for a
second."

"Happy?"

"Yeah, happy.  Glad, joyous, blissful."  He paused for dramatic effect. 
"Satisfied."

"Mulder..."  Scully dropped her gaze to the floor, apparently very interested in
the heel of her left shoe.

Oh my God, Mulder thought.  I'm *right.*  "Scully...?"  His voice was wrapped
around a tease.

He knew, and she *knew* he knew, but he could tell she wasn't ready to give in
that easily.

He had never seen her this flustered before, and he actually thought it was
cute.  She looked like a little girl, making circles on the floor with the toe
of her shoe.  A few freckles peeked out through her foundation; Scully was
actually *blushing.*  Mulder felt it as much as he saw it.  

Then she looked up at him defiantly, her eyes a vivid blue against her flushed
cheeks.  "*What,* Mulder?"

"Since we've seen each other last, is there any chance that you..." 

Scully was caught in the headlights.  Mulder could barely detect the fear behind
her eyes, and he'd give her one thing - she put up a valiant fight.

"Mulder, what is it?" she challenged.  "Would you just spit it out already?"

"I was just wondering, Agent Scully ... if you got laid last night."


**END PART 1/8 **

Feedback would be swell - spit it out already, to: Lysandra31@aol.com or
Lysandra@mediaone.net

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * *

PHYSICS 101 - PART 2 of 8  (NC-17) 
by Lysandra

FBI HEADQUARTERS
MAY 31 - 9:02 A.M.

Scully lingered in the elevator for a moment, reluctant to step out into the
basement.  Her fingers itched to press the button that would return her back to
the safety of the parking garage.  She had considered calling in sick, but
settled for dawdling at home for five extra minutes, changing her blouse at the
last second.  She had an almost overwhelming urge to run back home while she
still had the chance. 

He'll know, she thought.  Mulder will take one look at me and know something's
different.  She studied her reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator,
then silently chastised herself.  You look fine; stop worrying.
 
She mustered up her courage, stepped out into the hallway, and strode
purposefully toward their office.

He scarcely noticed when she walked in.  That was good.  They greeted each other
as always, and she immediately sat down and turned her back on him, contenting
herself with the busywork of pulling her laptop out of its case and setting it
up for the day.  Power cord, printer cord, modem...

Avoidance was a good tactic for now, Scully supposed; if she could get through
an hour or so without Mulder picking up on her mood, she might be able to calm
her nerves enough to survive the rest of the day.  She hoped he wasn't alert
enough to sense a change in her.  With any luck, he'd be too tired to notice. 
The case in Florida had been draining, and she suspected that if Mulder was in
the office before her, he hadn't gotten enough sleep.  

*She* definitely hadn't gotten any sleep at all last night.... 

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Arlington, VA
May 30

Mulder had dropped her off around eight, and she went straight for the shower,
not even bothering to move her suitcase from its spot by the door.  After
cleansing herself of all things Floridian, she slipped into her favorite sweats
and a big Redskins T-shirt that she suspected she had inherited from Mulder.  

Laundry, then bed; that was the extent of her agenda for the evening.

But at eight-thirty, Robert arrived unexpectedly with flowers, food, wine, and a
smile.

"I missed you," he said, kissing her on the cheek as he set the things on her
dining room table.  His bounty included fresh fruit, cheese and bread from a
local French bakery, complete with plastic plates and utensils.  "I know," he
sighed, "it's bad for the environment, but so are dishpan hands, Dana.  You've
worked hard all week; tonight leave everything to me." 

"You're on," she smiled, giving Robert a quick kiss before settling on the couch
and tucking her bare feet beneath her.  Her hair wasn't even close to dry, her
face was devoid of makeup, and God only knew *what* she was wearing, but Robert
looked at her like he was ravenous, and not just for bread and cheese.  

What if I'm Robert's 'thou,' she mused.  As in 'a loaf of bread, a jug of wine,
and ... me.'

As Robert spread out a picnic dinner on her coffee table, she reflected on how
long it had been since she had attended any sort of picnic.  Especially not with
service like this.  Robert kept her wine glass full, and fed her grapes.  If
she'd been a little less tired, she might have insisted on feeding herself - but
independence wasn't all it was cracked up to be, she thought.  It was actually a
nice change to be waited on hand and foot.  

Speaking of feet, he gave hers a lovely massage after dinner.  Dana watched him,
thinking he had pretty strong hands for a professor, and that she'd never have
graduated if any of her teachers had his ready smile and golden-brown eyes.

"Mmmm, 's nice," she murmured, feeling slightly woozy from the wine.  And it
*was* nice, she thought.  Why haven't I had my feet rubbed like this in so long?

Robert was easy to be with - no stress, not a lot of shop talk.  On their first
date, she'd told him about the X-Files, as impartially as she could, as if she
were talking about someone else's life.  As if it were just a *job.*  He took
her at face value, and told her he wasn't as interested in what she did as in
who she was.  He was so sweet.  He had no idea, of course, of what she had been
through because of the X-Files, and how much further they were likely to take
her.  She had dropped the subject after that, and was thankful that he had never
picked it back up.

She happily noted that the moment she tilted her head from side to side to
stretch her neck, Robert caught on at once.

"Here, c'mere," he whispered, grabbing a pillow off the sofa.  He sat her on the
floor between his legs, while he remained behind her on the couch.  He moved his
hands to her shoulders, ministering to her sore muscles with great care.  "Have
I told you that I used to date a physical therapist?" he asked.  "She taught me
all the tricks of the trade."

"Mmmm, I'll bet she did," she replied quietly, grinning.  

Robert's fingers lightly kneaded her neck, tangling delightfully in her damp
hair as he massaged her scalp.  "Relax, Dana," he whispered.  "You're so
tense... God, you smell good."  

As his hands lowered onto her back, she relaxed, leaning forward slightly.  Now
working on her shoulder blades and spine, he draped soft kisses just above the
neckline of her T-shirt, and murmured, "Mmm, when did you get this little scar?"


Ignoring the question, she hoped she hadn't tensed up.  She wasn't ready to
discuss her implant with Robert, not yet.  It would only lead to a discussion of
life, death, cancer, conspiracy, and infertility, and she was having too
pleasant an evening to broach any of those subjects.  Relieved that he didn't
push for an answer, she let her muscles loosen up at his touch. 

She silently thanked Robert's ex-girlfriend for whatever massage techniques
she'd imparted to him, and she thanked Robert's parents for giving him such nice
hands, and she thanked her lucky stars that she was on the receiving end of all
this tenderness.

"This ex of yours was a good teacher," she mumbled into her chest.

"Pardon?"

"Your ex-girlfriend, thank her for the lessons, this feels ... oh, that's good,
right there..."

Robert chuckled.  "I'll send her your regards, Dana."

She fleetingly considered sending Robert's former flame some flowers, or a
bottle of wine, or ... mmm, that felt great ... maybe a new car.

His touch was so gentle, yet firm, and his voice was so soothing, and for a
moment, she barely registered that Robert had moved from the couch and was now
seated behind her, his legs wrapped around hers.  She lost the power of speech
as he gently snaked his right hand in front of her, pulling her into him,
surrounding her with his comforting warmth.  

His left hand crept back up to her neck, but his right ... oh, his right hand
was sneaking under the hem of her T-shirt and whispering feather-soft caresses
on her stomach.  Dana leaned back into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

She wasn't surprised when Robert twisted her body slightly so his mouth could
find hers.  She managed to drape one relaxed arm around his neck, opening
herself up to his now-roving right hand.  

"Not in full uniform tonight?" Robert teased into her mouth as his thumb grazed
the underside of her bare breasts.

"No," she whispered, "I wasn't expecting a gentleman caller this evening."

"Should I go?" Robert asked, knowing her answer already.

"You should stay," she said, turning toward him to fully participate in the
activity at hand.  She kissed him hungrily, pushing her body against his.  He
tasted of the wine they'd been drinking, and, oh yes, it was a very good year.

His hand explored her left breast, ohhh, that felt *very* good... She absently
wondered how long had it been since anyone but a doctor had touched her there.

Robert's tongue found the same rhythm as his hands, very circular, she noticed. 
How did he manage to be methodical and sexy at the same time?  She pondered the
question for a moment, decided she was thinking too much, and returned her
attentions to the very nice man in her living room.

"Dana..." he whispered.  Robert always called her 'Dana,' never 'Scully.'  It
had been so long since she'd been just Dana to anyone outside her family.... The
X-Files had dragged Dana away and buried her under layers of mud and muck and
mucous, dragging Scully into a world of corpses, cancer, and conspiracies. No
wonder it had been forever since she'd felt feminine and pretty and all those
silly girlie things that she was feeling tonight.  

Her hands moved up his chest, and as her fingers worked to unbutton his shirt,
she felt Robert go a bit tense.  

"What is it?" she asked, looking into his warm brown eyes.

"Nothing... It's just," Robert shifted a bit uncomfortably, "...It's just that
if our clothes start coming off... I don't think I'm going to want to go home
tonight."

She pondered this for all of a millisecond.  Scully might have been practical
and sent him home; after all, it was getting late and she had laundry to do. 
Tonight, however, Dana was in charge, and Dana was about to have sex for the
first time in ages.  Decision made.

"You're not going home tonight, Robert."  

And that was that.  Her hands flew back to his shirt buttons, pausing only to
let Robert pull her T-shirt over her head.  In a moment his bare chest was
against hers, and a moment after that he was pulling her up off the floor,
kissing her like she hadn't been kissed in years, and a moment after that, he
quite literally swept her off her feet and carried her into her bedroom.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

FBI HEADQUARTERS
MAY 31

And now, Scully was trying like hell to ignore Mulder, who was trying like hell
to get her attention.  

Mulder, being Mulder, wasn't giving up, so she finally turned around and tried
to divert his attention, saying she couldn't go on a new case until she'd done
her laundry.

Nope, *that* didn't work.  Mulder's eyes were suddenly as big as saucers.  This
really wasn't good.   He must have seen her blushing; she felt very flushed all
of a sudden.  Maybe she could get out of this if she went on the offensive, she
hoped.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she queried.

"Like what, Scully?"  Mulder's face was innocence personified, but she didn't
buy it for a second.

Like what, indeed, she silently snorted.  "Mulder, you're staring."

"Oh, was I staring?"  She hated him at that moment, him and his little knowing
smile.  "I'm sorry, Scully.  But you looked happy there for a second."

Shit.  "Happy?" she replied, hoping her voice didn't betray the legion of
butterflies that had set up residence in her stomach.

"Yeah, happy.  Glad, joyous, blissful."  Shit.  "Satisfied," he smirked.

Scully couldn't bear to look at him right now, but she managed to slide a
warning into her voice.  "Mulder..."

His reply was mocking.  "Scully...?"

Shitshitshit.  Scully could feel colorful heat rising through layers of skin,
burning its way to the surface, and fought the urge to fan her face like a
Southern belle on a scorching Atlanta day.  Thankfully, that impulse passed
before she acted on it.

"Yeah, what, Mulder?"

Scully tore her stare from the spot on the floor to look straight at Mulder.

"Since we've seen each other last, is there any chance..."  His voice trailed
off.

Let's just get this over with, Scully decided.  "Mulder, what is it?  Would you
spit it out already?"

Mulder dove right in.  "I was just wondering, Agent Scully, if you got laid last
night."

Without a moment's hesitation, Scully looked him right in the eye as she
replied.  

"No." 


** END PART 2/8 **

Confused yet?  Feedback *might* get you a hint!  Lysandra31@aol.com or
Lysandra@mediaone.net
  
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* * * * * * * *
 
PHYSICS 101 - PART 3 of 8  (NC-17) 
By Lysandra
Disclaimer, etc. in Part 1 


No??  Did she just say 'no?'  Mulder knew that his partner didn't lie to him;
she had occasionally lied *for* him, but never *to* him, other than her tendency
to say she was fine when she wasn't.  But how could he have been so wrong about
this?  Immediately, ideas raced through his mind, and all the signs pointed
toward the validity of his ScullyGotLaid theory...  

First, she was trying to avoid looking at him.  Scully never had a problem
meeting his eyes before.  

Secondly, she had a boyfriend.  She'd been seeing Robert for just about the
right amount of time that she'd consider getting intimate with him.   And they
had just been apart for a whole week, the first time they'd been separated since
they started dating.

Then there was the blush!  Scully was not a woman who normally blushed.

What was with the different blouse? It had a higher neckline than usual,
probably to hide something - a hickey?  A rash caused by Robert's razor stubble,
maybe?

And that look in her eyes -- Mulder thought he recognized it now... It was a sex
look, an 'I've had sex' look.  Not that he'd really seen it on *Scully* before. 
And it'd been a few years since he'd seen it in the mirror, but that was beside
the point...

Something had changed since he had last seen her.  Something internal and
fundamental.

More than anything, Mulder had a hunch.  A ScullyGotLaid hunch that wouldn't go
away.

Ergo, therefore, consequently, Scully *had* had sex!  That's all there was to
it.

He decided to challenge her.  "I'm sorry, Scully, did you say 'no?'  As in, you
*didn't* get laid?"

Scully was regaining her composure now.  Her eyes didn't waver, her skin seemed
to be thinking of returning to its normal hue, and her voice was even and
controlled as she replied.
 
"Not that it's any of your business, Mulder, but no, I didn't *get laid,* as you
so delicately put it.  Now can I get back to the report?"  She spun back to face
her computer without waiting for a reply.

"Sure, Scully, report away."  He studied the back of her head, wondering how he
could have been so wrong.  There must be something he was missing.   An
important clue was somehow being obscured, lurking within the shadows of
Scully's soul.  And hell if he wasn't going to figure this out.  

Scully was typing onto her laptop, but the clicking had a different rhythm than
her usual report-typing cadence.  Her face was hidden, but he wanted to believe
he knew what she was doing: he supposed she was staring at the screen, praying
he wasn't profiling her, and typing gibberish.  Mulder felt like a lion on the
hunt; he was prowling, while she was hoping he'd find something else to devour. 
Now this was personal for some reason.  He had to know What Was Going On With
Scully.

Caught up in his own thoughts, it took a moment for him to realize that she had
risen from her chair and was walking out of the office.  "Hey Scully," he
casually asked, "Where're you going?"

"Well, Mulder," she said, not an ounce of humor in her voice, "after I sneak off
for a quickie in the stairwell with James from the mailroom, I'm going to a
discount warehouse to buy a gross of condoms, some whipped cream, and five
pounds of strawberries.  Do you want me to pick anything up for you?"  

Mulder sagged in defeat.  "Jesus, Scully, forget it."

"Forget it??  Mulder, since when has *my* sex life had anything at all to do
with *you?*"  The color was creeping back into Scully's cheeks, but now, Mulder
knew, it was born of anger.  "What would make you think that I'd come running in
here after having sex and discuss it with my partner?  We're only partners at
*work,* Mulder.  Now if you don't mind, I'm going to the ladies' room.  Is that
okay with you?"

Ouch.  Don't hold back on account of *my* feelings, Scully, Mulder thought, but
the phrase that actually escaped his lips was, "Sure.  Fine.  Whatever."

Scully was already out the door, heels clicking on the linoleum again.

Okay, maybe it was childish, but Mulder wanted to know what she'd been typing. 
Her computer's screen displayed no word processing, he saw as he rose to get a
closer look.  She'd obviously hit Alt+Tab, so he hit it again, and, bingo, her
document came into view:
 FUCK YOU MULDER, FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK YOU
Hmmm.  So it was like that, was it?

A thumping sound in the hallway jarred Mulder from his musings.  He listened for
a moment, heard nothing more, returned Scully's computer screen to its previous
incarnation, and sat back down at his desk.  

Oh yeah, *this* was going to be a fun day in Scullyland.  Mulder knew he'd
angered her, but some of her little speech was a tad harsh, even for Scully. 
Yeah, they were partners at work, but they were friends, too ... weren't they?  

Outside of work, *weren't* they friends?  After all they'd seen, all they'd been
through, was this still just a *job* to her?  Of course we're friends, he
reassured himself.  They called each other at all hours.  She drove him to to
pick up his car when it was in the shop.  They occasionally had dinner together,
even when they were in town.  He had a key to her apartment. And on a
particularly bad day in a particularly bad motel when Scully had been suffering
from a particularly bad case of PMS, she had sent him to the drugstore to buy
her some Natural Instincts Cinnaberry hair dye, which she applied in the
bathroom.  He noticed that she seemed to feel much better afterward.  For
heaven's sake, Mulder knew Scully's menstrual cycle, and even which brand of
tampon she preferred.  This is silly, he thought.  We've saved each other's
lives more times than we can count.  Scully's not just a job, she's an
adventure.

Back on track, Mulder, he chastised himself.  Whether they were friends wasn't
the issue here.  What *was* at issue was Scully and What Was Wrong With Her. 
Why had she gotten so bent out of shape when he'd asked if she'd had sex?  The
comment wasn't any more lewd or lascivious than countless others he'd made in
the past, and she'd never reacted this way before.  He'd hit a nerve; he could
feel it in his bones.  He was definitely on to something, but ... what?  

Okay, let's say she she *hadn't* gotten laid.  Then where was this sex vibe
coming from?  All her signals pointed to sex.  Her not wanting to look him in
the eye was the most glaring for some reason.  She'd avoided eye contact after
she'd gotten that tattoo in Philadelphia, and sex had been involved there,
hadn't it?  Mulder had never found out whether Scully had actually slept with Ed
Jerse, but the way her eyes didn't meet his had told him more anyway.  Whether
she'd had intercourse with the guy or not, something sexual had happened between
them, Mulder knew that for sure.  And he had gotten the same feeling from her
this morning.  

Christ, he didn't expect Scully to come running in like he was her best
girlfriend and give him all the juicy details, but he had hoped that at this
point they were above keeping secrets.  She hadn't exactly kept Robert away from
him; Scully had made a point of introducing them the first time Robert had come
to pick her up at work.  She spoke to Robert on the phone every day and didn't
bother to keep those conversations private.  She'd gone so far as to offer up
the information that she felt normal dating Robert.  "Like a regular girl," she
had said a few weeks ago.  Mulder had wondered at the time why she would want to
be regular, but he had let it go.  Well, he wasn't going to let *anything* go
now.

Scully's heels again graced the hallway tiles, and he caught her gaze as she
walked right in front of his desk to her own area, neither of them daring to
speak.  She turned her attention back to her computer, and again Mulder was left
pondering the back of her head.

"Scully?" he ventured, suddenly feeling a bit ashamed at the fact that he was
profiling her.

Her voice dropped like an anvil.  "What?" 

"I'm sorry."

A moment passed.  Then another.

Scully turned to look at him now, and her face held something sad, something
troubling to Mulder.  Although her eyes were currently dry, she looked as though
she could burst into tears at any moment.  Her bottom lip jutted out slightly,
as if she were concentrating on something important.  

"Mulder, I...."  She paused, looking away from him for a moment.  Dammit, why
wouldn't she look at him?  Was she *trying* to frustrate him?

"Look," he interrupted, "It's possible I'm being a jerk; I know that's nothing
out of the ordinary.  But something's obviously bothering you.  And maybe it's
not my place, as your *partner,* to ask you to tell me what it is.  But if you
want to, Scully, I'll be right here."

At this, a solitary tear trickled silently down Scully's cheek.  She made no
move to wipe it away, just held his gaze and whispered, "You're always right
there, Mulder."

He started to feel scared.  Terrified.  Her voice hadn't held much of a clue as
to what that cryptic statement meant, but what had started as mere teasing had
suddenly turned into something much more serious.  Why was his being *right
there* making her cry?  Was she glad, sad, or mad that he was *right there?* 
Was this about *him*?

For once Mulder's profiling finesse flew completely out the window.  He didn't
have the slightest idea what was the matter with her, but he knew one thing.

He didn't want to make Scully cry ever again.  

She sat very still as another tear fell, sliding off her cheek in slow motion to
hit the ground with what Mulder heard as a crash.  

He rose swiftly, and in a moment Scully was in his arms, sobbing.  Her face was
at his chest, and she shivered as though she were freezing, the tremors heaving
her whole body against his in grief, or fear, or some horrible emotion he still
couldn't place.  The last time they'd been in this position, with her emotions
swirling this close to the surface, was the night she'd nearly been killed by
Donnie Pfaster.  

Mulder held her close, not daring to speak.  What would he say at this point,
anyway?  He knew that when her tears subsided she'd give him an explanation.  So
he held her, and stroked her hair, and let her lean against him for who knew how
long.  Maybe five minutes passed before she made an effort to pull away.

She gazed up at him, and there it was again, through her tears, that look she'd
given him earlier, the look that still perplexed him.

Mulder suddenly felt very protective of Scully, a different sort of protective
than usual.  He wasn't trying to keep her out of harm's way here, nobody was
holding a gun to her head; but he felt like she needed saving somehow, from her
own feelings, the feelings that had propelled her into his embrace.  Something
close to her heart was torturing her, and he wanted to make it all go away.

He studied her tear-marked face, looking again for a clue.  He decided to just
come out and ask her.

"Scully?"

She held his gaze, but didn't answer, and simply kept looking at him that way.

This wasn't just curiosity on Mulder's part now; he was seriously worried about
her.  He decided to try a different tack.

"...Dana?"

She opened her eyes fully, then took a giant step back, breaking contact with
him.  Her eyes were wide and wild now, feral and blazing like an animal's. 
Jesus, what just happened?  

Finally, she spoke.  "*What* did you just call me?"   

"Dana... I called you Dana."  It *was* her name, after all.  He just didn't use
it very often.  He could count on one hand the instances when he had.  Usually
someone had just died, he realized belatedly.

"What's wrong?" he asked, needing, no, *aching* to know what was going on here. 
A brand-new sensation of butterflies and adrenaline and pure pain churned his
stomach, making him feel as if he'd like to sit down and put his head between
his knees, but he didn't think he should move at this point, not when he was so
close to Scully's secret.

Her eyes never wavered now; she was staring at him with such intensity he almost
looked away.  And when she spoke, her voice now clear and strong, her words
rocked him to his foundation:

"Mulder, the next time you call me 'Dana,' it had better come from deep in your
soul, and you'd better be prepared to deal with who I am, and all that I am, and
what you mean to me."  She pointed one manicured index finger at him in a
stabbing motion, emphasizing her warning.  "Don't you *ever* call me 'Dana'
unless you can do that."

Mulder couldn't stay upright now.  What was she saying?  He was dizzy again, and
this time didn't he fight the feeling.  He sat down abruptly and lowered his
spinning head between his knees.  

Her words swam in his head.  <<"...You'd better be prepared to deal with who I
am ... and what you mean to me." .... "Don't you ever call me 'Dana' unless you
can do that...">>  This was like watching a foreign film with bad subtitles; he
heard the words, but their meaning was unclear.  And Scully usually wasn't
vague; she must be telling him something.  But what?  What, exactly, did he mean
to Dana Scully??

After a minute he felt stable again, and dragged his head out of his lap,
looking up to see ... his very empty office.  Scully was long gone.


** END PART 3/8 **
  
Are you needing, no, *aching* to know what was going on here?  Part 4 will clear
up a lot...
Send feedback to: Lysandra31@aol.com or Lysandra@mediaone.net

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * *
 
PHYSICS 101 - PART 4 of 8   (NC-17) 
By Lysandra
Disclaimers, etc. in Part 1
(except for this note:  Shippers, hang in there...you'll make it.)

FBI HEADQUARTERS
MAY 31 - 9:18 A.M.

Scully wished she'd never gotten out of bed this morning.  The elevator wasn't
taking her away from Mulder fast enough for her taste; she could still feel his
arms warming her, and the sweet smell of him lingered on her clothes.  She had
just run out of the office like an idiot, after making a fool of herself.  She'd
told him he'd better not call her 'Dana' again until he knew what it meant to
her....  He probably thought she *was* an idiot, but she didn't want his little
guessing game to get too far, lest she say something she'd regret later.  She'd
already said too damn much.

Mulder thought that she'd had sex last night, and God knows that was dangerously
close to the truth, but at the same time, it wasn't the point at all.  The
reason she *hadn't* had sex, that was what she was trying to avoid telling him. 
And she'd almost blurted out too much.  

She hadn't done a great job of fending off Mulder's questions, so she had
escaped to the Ladies Room for a few minutes in an attempt to pull herself
together; but being alone with her thoughts wasn't any easier than being in a
room with Mulder.  She had literally banged her head against the wall in the
restroom, hoping to clear it of all this doubt, indecision, and fear.  All she'd
managed to do was give herself a headache.

So she'd returned to the office, resolved that she wasn't going to lose her
cool, and then ... she'd just lost it *all* in front of Mulder.  Hell, she'd
latched onto him and cried a thousand tears, feeling safe and warm in his
embrace as long as she didn't have to look at him.  She thanked God for small
mercies, grateful that she hadn't divulged even more than she had.

The day was only beginning, and what a mess she'd made of it already.  Calm
down, be rational, she told herself as she willed the elevator to quickly
deposit her in the parking garage.  God, I can't believe I cried.  

Her thoughts drifted back to last night, when all this began.  Things had been
progressing nicely with Robert; they drank good wine, ate good food, and he gave
her a great back rub, and when the situation started getting sexual, they had
adjourned to her bedroom to get more comfortable...

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

MAY 30 - 9:42 P.M.

Robert gently laid her down on her bed, and paused to look at her.  The hungry
look in his eyes said she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and then
he said it out loud: "Dana, you're... you're gorgeous."  

Nobody had ever called her gorgeous before.  Where had she found this man again?
 Oh yes, it was Michelle's wedding, she remembered, and he'd looked very
handsome.  

"You looked gorgeous yourself in that tuxedo the night we met," she replied.

He almost blushed, and then reclined on the bed beside her, stroking her face
and hair, kissing her cheek and neck oh so gently.  

She went on, "Who has a formal evening wedding in this day and age?  Who has
time to plan that sort of thing?"  

Lapping at her skin, Robert agreed.  "Practically all the people I know who've
waited this long..." he nibbled her earlobe, "...end up flying off somewhere
tropical like Aruba..." he suckled, hard, just above her collarbone, "...and
getting married on the beach with a few friends, barefoot and happy."  

That's going to leave a mark, she thought, not caring.

"You're barefoot," he added with a smile.  "Now let's see about making you
happy."  He turned his full attentions to Dana's body, kissing her more
ferociously than he ever had before, one hand tangling in her hair, the other
twisting her left nipple between his fingers in a torturous dance of pleasure
and pain which made her moan with delight.

This feels really, *really* nice, was her only thought.  God, had she really
been so *very* celibate for all this time?  What had she been thinking?

He pried his lips away from hers slightly, to ask, "Getting close to happy?"

"Mmmm, happy..." she sighed, not really giving it a thought one way or the
other.

His tongue dove back into her mouth, seeking answers from her own, which
responded of its own volition.  Robert was a good kisser, not that she'd had
much to go by recently, but she was pretty sure she was right about this.  Like
riding a bike, she supposed.  His lips were gentle yet daring, his tongue soft
yet insistent, and he tasted like the zest of the cheese and the earthiness of
the wine.  

Dana's hands finally decided to do some exploring of their own, quite separate
from any conscious decision on her part.  They stroked him, up and down his
back, wrapping around his strong arms and caressing his face, finding a hint of
five o'clock shadow.  She ran her fingers through his wavy hair, and again
fleetingly thought she'd never had a Physics professor anything like Robert. 

His lips, his hands, his chest -- all the parts of him that were touching all
the parts of her felt so nice; the soft noises coming from deep in his throat
serving to remind her he was really here with her, not a fantasy, not a dream. 
A real man, here in her bed, half-naked and filled with desire for her.  Mmm,
this was turning out to be a very pleasant evening.  This is *much* better than
doing laundry, she thought, making a mental note to get up early in the morning
to do just that.

His mouth moved to her right breast, licking and kissing and sucking and
nibbling so very nicely that she barely noticed when his hands slipped inside
the waistband of her sweats, gently pushing them down over her stomach, her
hips... 

Dana didn't even realize she was wriggling her legs to rid herself of the
sweats, didn't realize when she stopped caressing his upper body to fiddle with
the button of his jeans, didn't realize when she pushed his jeans and boxers
over his hips; she just knew that she wanted his skin against hers from head to
toe.

Robert lightly chuckled as he helped things along, and moments later they were
both naked, the last of their clothes crumpled in a heap somewhere at the foot
of her bed.  She luxuriated in the feel of his legs tangled with hers and his
hands trailing lower on her body as he continued kissing her with abandon.

There was no talking now, only soft moans echoing throughout her bedroom, vague
shadows dancing on the wall as cars passed in front of a street lamp outside.  

She was mesmerized by it all: she felt as if the logical part of her had taken a
much-needed vacation and the only part that mattered at this moment was the part
that was being stroked and fondled and caressed.  Dana was feeling warm and
cherished and safe here in her sanctuary.  Robert wasn't a dangerous unknown
like Ed Jerse had been; this wasn't rough, not a one-night stand, and Robert
certainly didn't have psychotic tendencies that would make her question her
judgment in the morning.  He was reliable, and tender, and here with her now,
making her feel wanted and sexy and adored.

Ohhhh--!!  Nobody had touched her *there* in quite awhile, and God, it felt
good.  A hand had slipped between her legs, and she unconsciously spread them
wider to give the hand better access.  One finger slipped inside her, *wow* that
was nice, oh, right *there,* yessss....

Always adept at multitasking, she didn't have to think about anything in
particular as she reached for his penis, and began stroking him, mimicking the
rhythm of his finger, or now fingers, inside her.  He was already hard, and
getting harder by the second as she trailed her hand over his length, noticing
he was as hot on the outside as she felt on the inside.  

His moans became stronger and more insistent, and she felt him edging closer to
her on the bed, and his voice was ragged as he spoke:

"Mmmm, Scully..."

SCULLY??

Her eyes flew open, her hands stopped moving, and her whole body tensed up as
her surname hung in the thick air of her bedroom.

No, this is all wrong.  This man does *not* call me 'Scully,' she thought. 
Mulder calls me 'Scully.'  Only Mulder.

Robert, jarred by her sudden stiffness, stilled his hands as well, then
retrieved his fingers from her depths and leaned back to look at her, apparently
frightened by her expression.

"Dana?  Did I do something wrong?  Did I hurt you?"  His face held concern, and
worry, and a question as to what just happened.

Oh. My. God.  This is Robert, here in my bed, she remembered.  We're in bed, on
the verge of something really intimate, and ... Mulder.  Nobody in my bed should
be calling me 'Scully' except Mulder.

Fuck!  Mulder's not *in* your bed, Scully!  Mulder's probably doing his own
laundry right now, or else he's already asleep on his couch, or maybe he's
fiddling around on the internet looking for conspiracy theories, but Fox Mulder
is definitely *not* part of this scenario.  Nor should he be.

"Dana?"  

Shit.  Robert.  How could she explain this to him?  "Why did you call me that?"
she asked.

"'Scully?'  I don't know, I..."

Hearing him say 'Scully' again only made it worse, and she didn't want to hear
any more.  "I'm sorry, this-" she managed a vague gesture at him, then at
herself, "This ... isn't going to happen, Robert."

His gaze retreated behind his eyelids for a moment before he looked at her
again.  She didn't know him well enough to read his expression, but
disappointment, concern, and anger were all possibilities at this point.  

Robert pulled completely away, leaving her feeling cold and alone as he rose
from the bed, grabbed his clothes and silently walked into the bathroom,
shutting the door behind him.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, her voice a bit more committed now that she was
talking to a closed door.

Shit.  Where had *Mulder* come from, anyway?  She hadn't given him a thought all
night; she'd never even considered that she should be in bed with him instead of
with Robert.  Damn Mulder for invading her brain at the most inopportune moment
possible - it's not bad enough that he invades my personal space, she thought,
he's got to come into my head when I'm in bed with someone *else?*  

Thoughts raced through Scully's mind, molecules whizzing around atoms swirling
around protons.  Why had the mere mention of her last name deposited Mulder into
her conscience?  Why couldn't she just go with the flow, for once, and not
analyze things to death?  Why, why, *why* did someone else's fingers need to be
stroking her inside and out when these feelings for Mulder hit her like a Mack
truck??

Robert opened the bathroom door, now fully clothed, clearly uncomfortable with
the situation but unwilling to give up completely.  He sat down on the edge of
the bed, remaining silent for a moment.  "I'm not sure what happened here
tonight, Dana," he finally uttered.

She wrapped the sheet around her front as she sat up to face him.  "Robert, I
think... I think I wasn't quite ready to make love with you tonight, and I'm
sorry that things got so far before I realized it."

"Look, I thought we wanted each other," Robert said, his voice betraying a hint
of anger.

"I did... I did want you, Robert," she answered.  "But..." she paused, taking a
deep breath, "When you called me 'Scully,' it just set something off in me that
I didn't even know existed.  All of a sudden, I realized..."  She trailed off,
unwilling to finish her thought aloud.

Robert seemed to need her to finish it, though.  "Realized what, Dana?"

Her own eyes welled with tears now, her heart thumping madly as hidden feelings
jumped from her subconscious into the realm of her real life.  "I realized, when
you called me 'Scully,' that nobody calls me that except Mulder."

He kept looking at her, waiting for more.  "So ... this is about Mulder, isn't
it?"

That's the understatement of the year, she thought.  "Yes, it is."  

"Jesus, I should have known... I thought it was sweet, his calling you by your
last name, but I guess it's not, is it?"  Robert rose from the bed, unable to
hide his annoyance.  "We'll talk about this when we're both a little less
emotional, okay?"

Scully tried to imagine feeling less emotional.  Her mind swam, passions mixing
with thoughts mixing with memories, until her brain was overloaded and simply
wouldn't process anything more.

"Robert?"

"Yeah, Dana?"

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah."  

He turned to go, and she realized she couldn't leave it like this.  

"Robert, wait."

"What?"

"I don't need to talk about it."

Robert studied her face for a moment before she saw it dawn on him that she was
breaking up with him, and he didn't have any say in the matter.  Scully felt a
little sorry for him, but not much.  He hadn't invested any more than she had,
she thought.

Finally, he muttered, "So that's it."

Quick and clean, she thought.  "Yes.  That's it."

"Fine, *Dana.*  Goodbye," he sneered.

With that, Robert walked out of her bedroom, and Scully felt an embarrassing
twinge of relief when she heard her front door click shut behind him as he left
her alone in her apartment.

She grabbed Mulder's T-shirt from the floor and put it back on, slipping into a
clean pair of panties before heading into the bathroom.

The face in the mirror looked strange to Scully.  She'd seen her own reflection
a million times before, but now there was something different, something in her
eyes.

She stretched the neck of the T-shirt to look at the mark Robert had left behind
on her collarbone.  Didn't hurt much, she realized as she touched it.  

Although she'd been about to make love with Robert, she didn't *love* him.  It
was only going to be sex with Robert, just sex.  Not like it would be with...

Shit.

She was in love with Mulder.  


 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

FBI HEADQUARTERS
MAY 31 - 9:20 A.M.

So here she was, in the parking garage of the Hoover building, sitting in her
car wondering where she should go now.  Home didn't seem safe.  Not only did it
feel like the scene of a crime, but worse, Mulder would surely find her there. 
She fumbled around in her purse for a moment, found her cell phone and turned it
off.  She knew he'd call her eventually, and she couldn't bear to talk to him
right now, not even over the phone.  She'd check her messages later.
  
It was 9:20 a.m. on a Tuesday.  Where would someone who didn't have a job *go*
at 9:20 on a Tuesday?  Were stores open yet?  Maybe she could go to the library,
but that seemed too much like work.  She hadn't had her morning coffee and this
life-altering realization was seriously taxing her overwrought psyche.  

Coffee.  That was it.  She'd find a nice, relaxed coffeehouse, sit and sip a
vanilla latte, think about her life, and work through this.  She couldn't be in
love with Mulder.  She shouldn't.

Scully drove all the way to Bethesda, passing three or four coffeehouses before
she saw one that fit her mood, though she couldn't actually identify the mood. 
She couldn't even decide if this mood belonged to Dana or Scully, and cursed the
fact that she was so confused.  The place wasn't crowded, and wasn't populated
with yuppies.  This was more of a neighborhood place, she sensed.  It wasn't in
*her* neighborhood, wasn't in Mulder's either, and wasn't anywhere near the
Hoover building, and this comforted her.  She wasn't likely to run into anyone
she knew here.  She'd sit here for an hour or so, let the classical music flow
over her, think logically where she should go from here, and get on with her
life.  

Yeah, right.  

Well, she thought, I won't go wrong with caffeine, so let's start there.  She
placed her order with the college student behind the counter and found an
almost-secluded spot behind a bookshelf, folding her legs under her in a big
overstuffed chair.  Heaven.  

Or Hell.  The idea that she was in love with Fox Mulder, of all people, was
nearly too much for her to even imagine.  Mulder?  My partner, Mulder?  How
could I have let this happen?  

Sure, she had feelings for him, but it had always been camaraderie, trust,
friendship.  Not love.  Not love like this.  Not 'I need him I want him I must
have him' love.  Not 'what does he taste like feel like kiss like' love.  This
was unthinkable.

Oh God, had she really given up a night of perfectly good sex because of Mulder?
 She wasn't likely to have another chance very soon, this she knew.  Not with
Robert, anyway.  

Scully shifted in her chair to idly grab a book off the shelf, and came to the
conclusion that she didn't really want to have sex with anyone but Mulder
anyway.  Not now.  Now it would be a betrayal - not of Mulder, but of herself. 
Dammit, why did she have to be so introspective, so logical?  Who cares if it's
a betrayal?  Mulder had no claims to her, and she doubted he'd even want to. 
This was all her doing, all in her own mind.  

Mulder was probably wondering where she'd gone.  Screw him.  He'd ditched her so
many times that payback was only fair.  See what it's like to be left high and
dry, Mulder.  Of course, he'd have no idea what she was paying him back for, and
he was no doubt pacing the floors already.

She managed an insincere smile of thanks at the waitress when her coffee
arrived, in a big blue mug with a mismatched saucer.  What had she said to him
again?  <<"...The next time you call me 'Dana,' it had better come from deep in
your soul...">>  God, she was psychotic.  As if they both didn't have enough
problems...   

Deep in his soul...  If Mulder felt anything for her, deep in his soul, it was
respect, gratitude, friendship.  She scowled even while taking a sip of her
latte.  Mulder's soul was filled to the brim with the darkness of guilt and
obsessions long held, and she wasn't sure she wanted to be thrown into that mix.
 

This is ridiculous, she thought.  I'm already *in* Mulder's mix.  And he is most
definitely in mine.  

She wasn't getting anywhere.  But this coffee was good, so she'd sit and think
some more.  

Where the hell was Dana?  She'd been let out of her cage for an evening with
Robert, but that wasn't the real Dana, not all of her.  She hadn't given him her
heart.  Her heart was still buried beneath the muck and mud, beating away just
like always.  Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump.  How could Mulder have been the
one to bury her heart and also the one to make it want to jump out of her chest?


<<"...You'd better be prepared to deal with who I am, and all that I am, and
what you mean to me....">>  Did she actually threaten him?  And with what,
exactly?  Herself?  Big deal - she didn't even know who she was these days. 
This split personality business wasn't funny.  How had she let her job rob her
of her identity this way?  When exactly had the X-Files taken over her life? 
When had Mulder?  


** END PART 4/8 **

Feedback?  Yum!  Send it to: Lysandra31@aol.com or Lysandra@mediaone.net, who
wonders when, exactly, X-Files fanfic had taken over her life.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * *

PHYSICS 101 - PART 5 of 8  (NC-17) 
By Lysandra
Disclaimers, etc. in Part 1


FBI HEADQUARTERS
MAY 31 - 9:20 A.M.

Mulder surveyed the wreckage of his office.  There wasn't any actual physical
damage, but devastation hung in the air, thick and misty.  Scully's raw emotions
had burst onto the scene when he called her by her first name, and now his
confusion over her reaction added to the dank feeling of unrest that surrounded
him.  He and Scully had worked, bantered and argued in this room for years, but
their basement hideaway had never taken on an atmosphere quite like this.

Think, Mulder, think.  

Had Scully been on the edge when she walked in this morning, or had she been set
off by the sound of her name from his lips?  He tried to recall exactly what had
taken place over the last fifteen minutes.  Fifteen minutes.  Such a short time
for something so momentously mysterious to have happened... 

Yes, something was different about her, from the moment she'd arrived in the
office.  He mentally kicked himself for assuming that Scully had had sex;
apparently his instincts had failed him.  Anyway, she was right; it was none of
his business.  But that didn't stop him from being curious.  He'd had thoughts
of Scully from time to time, sexual thoughts.  He had chalked those thoughts up
to the fact that, well, he was a man, and she was an attractive woman, and they
were in close proximity.  He'd tamped them down where they belonged, deep in his
subconscious.  Scully wasn't some girl he'd picked up in a bar; he had to look
at her across his desk every day.  He had to sit in cars with her for hours upon
hours.  He had a pretty good thing going with Scully for all these years, and he
was proud of himself for hanging on to the one sane relationship he'd built.

Then a horrific thought came into his mind, unbidden, unwanted.  Unimaginable. 
Was it possible she had been raped?  That would account for her embarrassment,
her reluctance to make eye contact, and for the high neckline on her blouse;
what if she were hiding bruises?  Shit.  

Think, Mulder, think...  That might just be it, he reasoned.  Someone could have
been waiting for her inside her apartment last night, could have ambushed her
the second she walked in the door.  She'd had her suitcase in one hand, her coat
in the other along with her keys, when he'd dropped her off in front of her
building.  Fuck!  Of all the times to be in a hurry.  Why couldn't he have
walked her to her door??

Mulder was feeling pain, physical pain in his chest.  He took a deep breath. 
Okay, think about this logically.  Was there anything about Scully that would
*discount* the rape theory?  Anything at all?  

She'd smiled a little smile that seemed, well, a tad devious, like she was
keeping something from him, and at the time he'd assumed she was hiding some
delicious secret, not something horrible like this. 

And she'd made a joke about going to buy condoms, but when he replayed the
comment in his head, she didn't actually sound amused.  

And when she flung herself at him and started crying, the tears had come from
someplace deep inside her, someplace she didn't want to go.  She didn't seem to
be in any physical pain, he realized; he had held her tight and she hadn't
flinched - that, at least, was something.  She at least felt safe in his arms. 
And, he realized, he felt safe too, holding her in his arms.  It had been the
right place for both of them to be at the time.

But nothing that she had said or done would completely erase this disturbing
theory from his mind.  Dana, he'd called her Dana, and it had set her off on a
rampage.  If someone *had* raped Scully, maybe it was someone who knew her, knew
her name.  Could it have been Robert?  Date rape is still rape.  Fuck fuck fuck.
 

Mulder paced furiously in the small office, unable to sit still.  She'd
obviously showered this morning; he could still smell that vanilla shower gel
she always used.  If she had been raped, the evidence would be washed away -
unless she'd been to a hospital already.  She had looked a little tired; what if
she'd been up all night dealing with this?  And why hadn't she called him? 
Surely she would have called him, wouldn't she?  God, it would be just *so*
Scully to go through something horrible like this and only be five minutes late
for work.

Mulder considered calling Mrs. Scully to see if she knew anything, and went so
far as to pick up the phone before deciding against it.  With his mind so
muddled, he thought he'd better calm down a bit before worrying her; what if he
was completely wrong, and he scared her to death?  She'd been through enough;
he'd wait.

He had to find Scully.  Right now.  He grabbed his jacket and keys and slammed
the door behind him as he left.


ARLINGTON, VA
10:02 A.M.

Mulder didn't find Scully at her apartment.  He also found no sign of forced
entry, which made him feel slightly better, but didn't erase his concern.  Maybe
she'd given Robert a key.  *Robert.*  If Robert had been the one to hurt her,
Mulder would kill him.  It was that simple.  Christ, if *any* man had laid a
finger on her without her permission... Mulder couldn't stomach the thought.

He saw that her suitcase was still sitting by her front door.  So she really
*hadn't* done laundry.  He hesitated a moment before heading into the bedroom. 
It smelled like Scully, and he took a deep breath before looking around. 
Nothing out of the ordinary as far as he could see.  Her bed was made, and
everything looked to be in its place.  Not that he knew where everything's place
*was* in Scully's bedroom, but it looked fine to him.  

He wondered if the place was a tad *too* neat.  Often, he knew, rape victims not
only shower, but clean up the scene of the crime to erase any memory of the
attack.  He checked the wastebaskets, and the laundry basket in her bathroom; no
sheets, no blood; again, everything looked okay.

For a moment he considered waiting for her, but he felt like he was invading her
privacy, and he resisted the urge to linger.  

He drove by Mrs. Scully's house; Scully's car wasn't anywhere to be seen, and he
didn't stop.

On a whim he drove to his own apartment.  Nope.  No Scully.  No surprise there;
she had obviously wanted to get away from him.

He dialed her cell phone.  "The mobile unit you've called is not responding..." 
Shit.  She *never* turned off her phone.  She *really* didn't want to talk to
him, did she?

This is useless, he thought.  She could be anywhere.  Frantic thoughts twisted
in his head, images of Scully crying, her eyes brimming with liquid pain. 
Concentrate, Mulder, he told himself, even as his own eyes stung with unshed
tears of frustration.  She's hurting, and she needs you to be the sane one for
once.  

He headed back toward the Hoover building, reasoning that if Scully *did* need
him, that's where she'd look first.  He also thought that at least one of them
should get some work done today.  He'd finish the report himself, maybe. 
Anything that would clear his head at this point would be an improvement over
his present state of panic.

No.  *No!*  He couldn't just sit and wait when she might be in serious pain.  He
had to DO something.

He made an illegal U-turn, heading back toward Georgetown University.

All the way up four flights of stairs to the Physics Department, Mulder silently
repeated his mantra with each step: 'Scully, Scully, Scully,' willing her to be
okay.  

He didn't have too much trouble locating Professor Robert McMahon, and waited
outside his classroom.  Keep your cool, Mulder, he told himself, pacing the
hallway like a caged animal.  He could see Robert writing equations on the
Dry-Erase board as he spoke.  There were only six or seven students, and just
one female among them.  Mulder imagined Scully in college, in the same
situation.

As Mulder paced, he silently raged with unspoken questions: 
Why is she unhappy today? 
Tell me, Robert, what did you do to her?   
Robert, did you hurt her?  
Did you *rape* her?

When the students had filed out, Mulder entered the room, trying valiantly to
keep his cool.  He spun one word into a threat.  "Robert."

Robert turned and stared at Mulder, trying to place him.  Mulder didn't notice,
and dove right into his inquisition, grabbing Robert roughly by the shoulders. 
"What *happened* to her?"

Robert looked terrified as he broke free of Mulder's hold.  "Who *are* you?" he
yelled, walking quickly toward a phone on the wall.

Mulder realized then that Robert didn't recognize him, and was probably about to
call security.  He beat Robert to the phone, blocking Robert's path.  "Fox
Mulder," he hissed.  "Scully's partner."

Robert studied him for a moment.  "Jesus, Mulder, I didn't recognize you.  What
the hell's *wrong* with you?"

Mulder took a step backwards, trying in vain not to sound accusatory.  "Scully's
... upset about something... And she was fine when I dropped her off last
night."  He spoke through clenched teeth.  "So I was hoping you could shed a
little light on the situation."  

Robert suddenly looked very uncomfortable.  *Very* uncomfortable, and very
silent.  The profiler in Mulder didn't like this one bit.

He took a step toward Robert, who had turned to look out the window.  

"Have you seen Scully since we've gotten back from Florida?"

Robert paused a moment before answering.  "Yes.  I saw her last night; why?"

Mulder lunged, whipping Robert around by the shoulders, until they were again
face to face.  His voice now crackling with anger, Mulder challenged Robert,
invading his personal space.  "What did you *do* to her, dammit??"

"...Christ!" Robert managed, again freeing himself from Mulder's grasp, "...Calm
down. I didn't do anything to her."

Mulder saw truth in Robert's face and almost sighed with relief as the
realization sunk in.  Robert didn't rape her.  But he also saw something in
Robert's eyes that told him there was more.  Robert knew what was wrong with
Scully.

Mulder took a deep breath as he considered his next words.

"Look, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean -- Shit..." he sighed, frustration evident in
his voice.  He moved to sit down, but never made it to a chair, pacing
restlessly instead.  He continued, "I'm well aware that this is none of my
business, but..."  

Robert looked at Mulder strangely, staring into his eyes, apparently searching
for something.  Mulder started to worry again when he saw the disturbing
expression on Robert's face.

Robert snapped at Mulder.  "No. This *is* your business.  But not here."  Robert
looked angry now.  "Not with me."

Had someone *else* hurt her?  Had Scully turned to Robert last night, instead of
him?  What the hell was going on?  

No time like the present to find out, he thought, so he said it out loud: "What
the hell are you talking about?"

Robert shook his head, derisively clicking his tongue against his teeth.  "Do
you *always* call her 'Scully?'"

Mulder was suddenly uncomfortable with this conversation.  Robert seemed to be
almost toying with him now, but Mulder couldn't walk away, not if there was a
chance he'd get the answers he'd come here for.  

Answer a question with a question, he thought.  "Why is that important?" 

"Do you ever call her 'Dana?'" Robert volleyed back.   

This guy was really pissing Mulder off.  "Rarely.  Why?"

"I was just wondering."

"Where is this going?  I call her 'Scully,' okay?  What's that got to do with
anything?"

Robert laughed quietly.  "You'll have to ask *her* that, I think."

Mulder's anger was on the verge of spiraling out of control.  "What if I did
call her 'Dana,' what difference would that make to you?"

"Hell, you can call her anything you want, and it won't make a difference to
me," Robert said.  "It's not like I..." he trailed off.  "Never mind."

What the fuck was this guy talking about?  Mulder realized that Robert and
Scully had broken up last night, or at the least had a fight.  But what was it
about her *name* that was making Robert steer this conversation in circles?  

Think, Mulder, think.  Slowly, his mind started to make the connection - still
tenuous, but better than nothing.  When he'd called her 'Dana' earlier she'd
lost it completely.  And Robert knew something about this, apparently.

"It's too late for 'never mind,' you know that," Mulder said, giving up the
struggle to keep his voice down.  "Why don't you just tell me what made her so
*fucking* upset?  Something about her name?"  

"This conversation is over."  Robert grabbed his briefcase and his coat.

"I'm not through with you," Mulder managed through gritted teeth.

Robert wasn't biting.  "Whatever you say from now on, you'll have to say it to
Dana."  He closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head before continuing, his
voice taking on a distinctly bitter tone.  "Sorry.  You'll have to say it to
*Scully.*"  Robert choked out her surname as if it were an epithet.  

And then he stalked out of the classroom, leaving Mulder alone.

Mulder tried to wrap his brain around what just happened. Unable to stand still,
he kicked the rubber wastebasket, but didn't get any satisfaction from the act,
and, looking for something more substantial to wreck, he picked up Robert's
chair and flung it against a wall, listening to the clattering echo as he headed
out of the building, fists clenched.  

He had to find Scully before his head exploded from the twin burdens of worry
and curiosity.  

On the drive back to the Bureau, Mulder could think of nothing but Scully.  

Think, Mulder, think.  Robert had given him clues, and now it was up to him to
decipher them and find her.  He felt slightly better, now that he was relatively
sure that no sexual assault had taken place last night.  But there was still a
mystery to by solved.  Talking to Robert, Mulder had gotten the distinct feeling
that he himself was part of the problem with Scully.  But what had *he* done? 
He'd dropped her home last night, and now, this morning, she was apparently in a
state of extreme anxiety over the difference between being called 'Dana' and
being called 'Scully.'

This was like an X-File, but he wasn't lucid enough to put the pieces together
yet.  His mind once again spun with snippets of the day's conversations
replaying on a tired loop:
"...We're only partners at *work,* Mulder..."
"...Do you *always* call her 'Scully?...'"
"...You'd better be prepared to deal with who I am, and all that I am..."

Scully.  Robert knew what was wrong with her and Mulder hadn't gotten it out of
him.  Not all of it.  Robert had probably hurt her, and now Mulder suspected
she'd hurt Robert too.  Mulder thought about it for another moment, then
realized he didn't care if Scully had hurt Robert at all.  That was of no
consequence to him.  He only cared about Scully and whether she was all right. 
Scully, and Dana, and whoever else was inside her head today.  As for Robert,
that prick could drop off the face of the earth and Mulder wouldn't mind a bit. 
Anyone who could swear her name, the way Robert just had, didn't deserve Scully.

She hadn't been back to the office, he discovered upon his return.  He realized
that he didn't know her hangouts, didn't know where she might go on a Tuesday
morning when she was upset.  

Mulder did know some things about Scully -- some important, some not so
important.  

He knew she had a sweet tooth.   
He knew that she hated being interrupted when she was taking a bath. 
He knew she missed her father.   
He knew that she taped "Ally McBeal," although he also knew she would never
admit it.   
He knew she blamed herself for Melissa's death.  
He knew she wore glasses when her eyes got tired.  
He knew that she grieved for Emily every single day.
He knew that her eyes were the bluest he'd ever seen, and that her heart was the
purest he'd ever known.  

And in a flash of clarity, he knew without a doubt that he was in very, *very*
big trouble here.  

He realized that whatever he knew about Scully, it wasn't enough.  He wanted to
know her hangouts, and her secrets, and her favorite song.  He wanted to know
her most embarrassing moment, and her most treasured childhood memory.  He
wanted to know it *all.*  

And he knew that he loved her.


** END PART 5/8 **

Please send feedback, before my head explodes from the twin burdens of worry and
curiosity!
Lysandra31@aol.com or Lysandra@mediaone.net

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* * * * * * * *


PHYSICS 101 - PART 6 OF 8  (NC-17) 
by Lysandra
(disclaimers, etc. in Part 1)


The Big Cup Coffeehouse
Bethesda, MD
11:41 A.M.

Scully leafed through the book in her hand as she sipped her vanilla latte. 
Despite lounging in what must have been the most comfortable old chair in the
world, she shifted and squirmed miserably, finding it hard to make herself sit
still.  

The book she had grabbed was a well-worn copy of "Bartlett's Familiar
Quotations."  Great.  All the advice in the world in one book, and thousands
more opinions than she could handle right now.  She already felt like she had
two people inside her head, and that was one too many as it was.

Still, she absently thumbed through the pages, not really looking at the quotes,
occasionally spotting a familiar name flying by.  Shakespeare, Milton, Jane
Austen.  

God, Scully hated Jane Austen; completely useless dreck.  Full of unlikely
romance and silly twittering girls with no sense at all.  She scowled as she
read an Austen quote: 
 "A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps 
 from admiration to love, from love to matrimony 
 in a moment."
As if Scully didn't feel bad enough having come to the conclusion that she was
in love with her partner, Jane Austen assumed she wanted to *marry* him, too? 
Jesus.  She daydreamed that Jane Austen was alive, walking into the coffeehouse
wearing one of those long dresses with a high waistline.  Scully imagined
kickboxing Jane back into the 19th century where she belonged.

Unable to concentrate, Scully dropped Bartlett's in her chair to mark her
territory as she got up to peruse the shelves for another book.  She wasn't sure
why she was bothering; her eyes could barely focus on the titles, she was so
scattered.  The books were in no order at all.  Paperbacks mixed with hardcovers
and a few magazines; Karl Marx sat next to Bret Easton Ellis; both shared a
shelf with Norman Schwarzkopf, Dorothy Parker, and Stephen King.  If she'd been
looking for something specific, she thought, it would take forever to find it.

Scully heard some scuffling nearby and peered around the shelf to see what was
going on.  On a couch opposite her chair, a young couple, maybe in their late
teens or early twenties, was making out so voraciously she thought they might
choke on each others' tongues.  Thank you very much, she thought.  I really
needed to be reminded of what I missed out on last night.  I was where you are. 
Only unlike you, you little punks, I wasn't in a public place.  She imagined
shooting them dead, right there on the spot, if only to put them out of her
misery.  They were only about ten feet away.  They'd never feel a thing.  Hell,
they were so intertwined, one bullet might suffice for both, if she caught just
the right angle.  She fingered her gun.

No, she decided, she'd let them live.  Her sexual frustration wasn't their
fault.  It was her own damn fault.  She was so close, so close to having sex. 
With the wrong guy. 

She padded over to her big chair, moved Bartlett's Quotations onto the little
table, plopped down, and sighed.  Her latte had turned tepid.  She signaled the
waitress for another, as if she were in a bar.  "Can I get another over here,
the same, please," she called out.  The waitress smiled, giving the
ever-annoying 'thumbs up' sign.  Everyone's happy in here but me, Scully
thought.  People going about their lives, working, kissing, and I'm drinking
coffee in a strange part of the city where I don't know anyone, just so I can
avoid Mulder.  Pathetic.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and pictured him.  His lips first and
foremost, of course.  Those lips were his best feature by far, she thought.  His
lips always looked like they wanted to kiss and be kissed.  She'd imagined
kissing them a thousand times, and that was when he was just her partner.  Now
that she was in love with him, she suspected they'd pull on her like a magnet. 
Best not to think of his lips.  No, they were dangerous.  

Stop this, Dana, think of something else.  His hair.  That should be safe. 
Mulder had pretty good hair most of the time, although he tended to go through
goofy spiky phases now and again, making Scully wonder if he was really aware of
what decade it was.  But it always teetered between being cute hair and good
hair.  Sometimes she was jealous of his hair.  It somehow fit his face better
than hers fit her own face.  It was always the right color, always perfect
Mulderhair.  

Oh, now she was going off the deep end.  

Screw it.  She was in a coffeehouse where she knew nobody, and she could think
about Mulder if she wanted.  What else?  Mulder had gorgeous eyes, though for
the life of her she couldn't name the color.  Murky, she thought.  But that was
fine; murky suited Mulder most of the time.  If eyes are the window to the soul,
then Mulder's eyes were perfect for him.  His soul was confused, and beautiful,
and shadowy, and pure.

Thank God the waitress brought her another latte just then, or she would have
started thinking about parts of Mulder that weren't attached to his head.

Ahhh, this was more like it.  Good latte.  Hot and frothy, just the way she
liked it.  But those damn kids were still on the verge of orgasm within spitting
distance.  She narrowed her eyes, again imagining their untimely deaths, before
chastising herself.  Hell, she was just jealous and she knew it.  But they
really should come up for air, she thought, if they don't want oxygen
deprivation to permanently damage their brains.
  
Again, Mulder popped into her mind, unwanted and annoying.  Who is this person I
love? she thought.  What made me fall in love with *Mulder,* of all people? 
Certainly he was good looking, in a goofy sexy sort of way, she supposed, what
with his lips and eyes and all.  She'd seen him at his worst - bruised and
battered, drugged, frustrated, disrespectful, cocky, argumentative ... she could
go on and on, listing and categorizing the many faults of Fox Mulder. 

She'd seen the best of Mulder, too - caring, intelligent, sweet, protective,
funny, awestruck, loyal, interesting.  He was all those things, and his good
points balanced out his faults quite nicely.  

And yes, he was more than a little attractive.  Scully's mind drifted back to
her picture of him.  No, make that pictures, plural, like one of his infamous
slide shows.  Mulder laughing in the rain on their first case.  Mulder wearing
his glasses, lifting a sunflower seed to his lips.  Mulder in his boxers after
that hotel fire.  Mulder covered in dung... 

No.  This wasn't helping.  When Scully still thought Mulder was sexy covered in
shit, she realized just how hopeless this situation was.

She grudgingly went back to looking at Bartlett's Quotations.  Again, she idly
turned pages and watched the authors' names fly by at an alarming rate.  

Until something caught her eye.  Thomas Henry Huxley.  She thought he was Aldous
Huxley's father, if she remembered correctly from college.  He had been a
biologist, a scientist.  Good.  "Science," she murmured out loud.  

What science had to do with love, she had no idea.  *This* Huxley had written
essays on Darwinism, and Education, and Nature.  But two quotes caught her eye. 
Quotes that had little to do with biology, she realized.  They were both from
something called "Technical Education" - she hadn't read it, whatever it was. 
These words, this advice from a man long dead who she'd never known, sounded
like something her own father might have told her.

The first was short and sweet: "The great end of life is not knowledge but
action."  True, she thought.  She spent her whole life trying to avoid acting on
her feelings.  Trying to keep it together as things around her fell apart.  She
knew that the time for this was over.  Time to face the music, Scully.  You love
Mulder.  You can't keep this knowledge locked away or it will kill you.  You've
got to tell him.  

The next quote seconded the thought: "Perhaps the most valuable result of all
education is the ability to make yourself do the thing you have to do, when it
ought to be done, whether you like it or not."  Jesus.  There it was.  A bolt of
lightning she couldn't ignore, printed on a page in black and white, from Aldous
Huxley's dad.

She'd always been practical.  She'd never avoided tasks she found distasteful,
due to her sense of duty, or maybe her strong Catholic upbringing.  The Scully
household wasn't a place for lollygaggers.  Everyone did what they had to do, be
it chores, homework, or church activities.  There was no putting off 'til
tomorrow what you could do today.  Well, there.  That was something that 'Dana'
and 'Scully' had in common.  

As a girl, Dana Scully was a contradiction: the little tomboy with her nose in a
book.  She spent half her time trying to outdo her brothers athletically, and
the other half inside studying diligently so she could be a doctor someday. 
She'd had a temper that rarely came out, and a thoughtfulness that both charmed
and annoyed her family.  She'd been too intellectual for the bunch of them, and
sometimes she wished she were normal, just a regular girl like Missy, out on
dates and not worrying about getting into a good college and medical school. 

As Dana grew up, she'd unconsciously avoided having a personal life; it would
interfere with her goals.  She'd dated, but always kept a part of herself
hidden.  She hadn't given herself fully to either of her two college boyfriends,
and then not to Jack, and not to Ethan.  Always, always, she'd give a little and
pull back before things got too serious.  Too serious emotionally.  She'd been
doing the same thing with Robert, she realized.  She and Robert had nice safe
discussions - physics, politics, films, favorite books - but she'd never shown
him even a sliver of who she really was.  He hadn't met Dana *or* Scully.  Both
had been safely hidden away inside her in a secret place unknown even to her.  

Robert didn't know about her abduction, or Emily, or Melissa, or any of it. 
She'd been relieved that he never asked her much, but now she wondered why.  Why
*didn't* he ask about her family, or her work?  She spent so many hours working
on the X-Files, and yet Robert knew only the barest sketchy outline of what she
did with her time.  "My partner and I investigate cases with a paranormal bent;
he tends toward the outrageous explanation, while I try to validate or
invalidate his theories with scientific fact."  Sounded logical.  As if the
X-Files had anything at all to do with logic.  She laughed out loud at the
thought, sitting here in this coffeehouse with a mug of vanilla latte warming
her from the inside out.

No, Scully, science won't help you now.   She vaguely wished that she had a best
friend to bounce this off of, but Missy was gone, and *Mulder* was her best
friend.  She was on her own here, and Huxley was taunting her.  "Make yourself
do the thing you have to do...whether you like it or not."  

*No.*  Fuck Thomas Henry Huxley.  The last thing in the world she could do right
now was tell Mulder she was in love with him.  It would surely ruin everything
she'd worked so hard for; five years of hard-earned trust would fly away in a
flash of lightning if she dared step over that line.  There was simply no reason
to lay this on Mulder.  She'd just had a bad experience, and made a mistake, and
she would get over it, in time.  

They didn't have any cases lined up, and that was good.  Maybe she would take a
few days off.  Get her head together.  She couldn't concentrate on an
investigation right now anyway, not with these feelings taking over her life the
way they were; being in close proximity to Mulder might just make her
spontaneously combust.  She just needed a few days: a few days to think, and
settle her stomach, and make sense of this strange new feeling.  

She'd never told a man she loved him, and she wasn't going to start with her
partner.  So unprofessional.  She would, however, go talk to Mulder, and try to
explain away her behavior this morning.  She owed him that.  

She could tell Mulder she was upset about the breakup with Robert.  Which wasn't
really a lie.  Well, yes, it was.  But it would have to do.   She couldn't bring
herself to tell him the truth, and she couldn't very well avoid him, so she
would lie to him, just this once.

Scully deposited the book back on the shelf, left a tip for the waitress, threw
one last scowl at the oblivious couple on the sofa, and headed out the door. 
She was going to get this over with, whether she liked it or not.


** END PART 6/8 **


Feedback just might make me spontaneously combust - bring it on!  (Whether you
liked it or not!)  Lysandra31@aol.com or Lysandra@mediaone.net

Author's note: Jane Austen quote taken from "Pride and Prejudice."  With
apologies to Ms. Austen, whose work I actually like very much.  Some of it,
anyway.

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* * * * * * * *

PHYSICS 101 - PART 7 of 8  (NC-17)
by Lysandra

FBI HEADQUARTERS - X-FILES OFFICE
MAY 31 - 12:14 P.M.

Mulder would probably look the same as usual to anyone walking by his office
door, but he imagined that his head was ricocheting off every wall, every
corner, every nook and cranny in his messy office.

He loved her.

"I love her," he said, aloud, nearly scaring himself to death.

He tried it out again.  "I love Scully."  At least he didn't jump this time.

"I'm in love with Scully."  This was getting easier, he thought.  Although if
she walked in right now, he wasn't sure he'd even be able to speak, let alone
declare his undying devotion to her face.  

But he *did* want her to walk in.  He needed to see that she was okay.  And yes,
he *would* tell her.  There was no getting around it.  Now that he knew he was
in love with her, she had to know it too.

Mulder was strangely elated.  He'd never felt this way before, never, and it
would take some getting used to.  His head was still swimming, but now it was
unexpectedly filled with possibilities instead of worries, hopes instead of
fears.  

Scully was okay, he just knew it.  He suspected she'd stopped off for some
coffee to get herself together.  She wasn't worth a damn until that first cup of
coffee, and she needed time to think.  Hey, he thought, I'm profiling her again,
and this time it's working.  She'll be coming back soon, and I'll tell her I
love her.  

He was both excited and terrified at the prospect.  She was in the middle of
some unknown personal trauma, and he was about to spring something very unusual
on her.  More unusual than any X-File.  How would she react?

She might hit him.  That would be bad.  Scully could really hit.

There was also a big possibility that if he didn't say it just right, she'd
think he was joking.  What if she laughed at him?  No, Scully wouldn't laugh. 
She might walk out of the office and never come back.  

She could misunderstand and think he was talking about brotherly love.  He'd
have to make sure to tell her he was *in* love with her.  

She might say something like, "Mulder, I don't have time for this," or "You
can't be serious," or "Very funny, Mulder, now get out of my way so I can finish
that report."  

He thought about this for a second.  Why wasn't a *positive* reaction popping
into his head?  Why couldn't she say something like, "Mulder, I love you too; I
always have..." and then wrap herself around him and give him a big juicy kiss
with her perfect mouth?  He smiled at the thought, unlikely as it was to
actually happen.  A kiss from Scully was too much to hope for, he realized.  He
knew that if he ever had the chance to kiss those lips, he'd never be able to
stop.  

This was getting ridiculous.  Here he was, daydreaming about kissing his
partner, when he was probably about to get shut down entirely.  This day had
certainly taken some unusual turns, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet.


FBI HEADQUARTERS - PARKING GARAGE
12:14 P.M.

Scully found herself pulling into the parking garage of the Hoover Building for
the second time today, without knowing how she got there.  Suddenly the knot
she'd had in her stomach since last night twisted just a little tighter.  Every
step she took brought her closer to Mulder, and closer to tears.  Scully wasn't
usually a sentimental person, but today she didn't think she could keep from
crying if she saw one of those sappy telephone commercials.  

Today, her emotions were raw and jagged and too close to the surface.  All this
fresh love, and nowhere to put it.  Certainly, she couldn't put it where it
belonged, in Mulder's care.  Mulder was so focused on his quest for justice, and
his search for his sister, and his passion for the X-Files, he wouldn't know
what to do with love if he found it.  He would surely discard her gift,
shattering Dana's heart and ruining Scully's career in one fell swoop.   

No, Thomas Huxley be damned; she was *not* going to tell Mulder she was in love
with him.  And she wouldn't think about how right it felt to be folded in his
arms.  She reminded herself of The Plan:  March in, tell him she needed some
personal time effective immediately, march out, and start driving.  In and out. 
She knew it was now or never as the elevator doors slid open. 

Ding!  

Mulder's heart leapt into his throat and down to his stomach and settled in his
groin when he heard the ding! of the elevator.  The hydraulic whirring of the
doors sliding open.  The click-clack of Scully's shoes in the hallway. 
Click-clack, click-clack.  Closer.  Jesus....

His heart skipped a beat.  Literally.  There she was, in the doorway, walking
toward his desk.  He sat, mouth agape, just staring at her for a moment.  This
was the first time he'd seen her since he'd been *in love with her.*  She was a
vision, an absolute angel to his soul.  She was the only woman in the world. 
The only woman that mattered.  And he finally realized, in his lovestruck haze,
that yes, she *was* all right.  No harm had come to her.  A wave of emotion slid
off her and slinked toward him, but it wasn't pain or fear anymore.  He didn't
quite know what it was; he thought it might be the echo of his own feelings,
hitting her and reverberating back to him.

And maybe it was.  Scully was staring too, giving him that *look.*  That strange
and wonderful look she'd given him earlier.  She was silent too, as she studied
him as he studied her.  

Mulder wasn't aware of it, but a huge grin had laid claim to his face as a
lightning bolt hit him full force.  She was in love with him too.  It was so
clear to him now.  How had he missed that before?  It wasn't an "I've Had Sex"
look; this look said something along the lines of, "I *Want* To Have Sex...With
You, Mulder."  God, it was the best look he'd ever seen.  The very, very best
Scully look she had ever directed at him.  

His grin reached the back of his head, and Scully kept looking at him that way,
and they just stayed there for a few more moments, and he realized that he would
call her Scully, or Dana, or Honey, or Baby, or Sweetness, or whatever she
wanted him to call her.  There wasn't a name big enough for what he felt inside.
 He couldn't believe he had never had this feeling before.  All those years were
just a warm-up.  His life started now.  Nobody should have to go through life
without feeling like this.  He loved her and she loved him.  He closed his eyes
to remember this moment forever, but the grin stayed put.

"Mulder."  Oh, Jesus, had she always said his name that way?  His name on her
lips was sweet as honey, and dripping just as messily into his psyche.  And then
she said it again.

"Mulder."

Scully's mouth was working, but she couldn't take her eyes off of Mulder's face.
 His mouth hung open as he studied her as if he'd never seen her before.  He
stared at her as if she were a porn star, an EBE and his sister Samantha all
rolled up in one.  She felt so hot, ablaze from his gaze.  She imagined herself
bursting into flames on the spot.  

And then he smiled.  No, strike that.  A smile is an upturned mouth, maybe a few
teeth.  This was much more than a smile.  Mulder's face lit up completely, a
goofy grin overtaking all his features.  God, he's gorgeous, she thought.  I'm
in big, *big* trouble here.  She watched him close his eyes, as if he were
remembering the world's best dream.  God, Mulder, what the hell are you thinking
about?  Because it can't possibly be me.

"Mulder," she said, trying to stir him from his trance.   And still he grinned. 
He was obviously trying to drive her insane.

She had to get out of here, that was for sure.  In and out, quick and clean.  

"Mulder," she repeated, and this time he responded.

"Scully?  You okay now?" he asked.  

In and out.  "I'm fine."  Just do it.  "Look, Mulder, I'm sorry about earlier--"

Mulder couldn't help himself.  "No problem, Scully.  Anytime I get full body
contact it's okay with me."  This was working out, he thought.  He still sounded
like himself.  And he would bide his time, because he was *not* going to fuck
this up.   He only had one chance to tell her he loved her for the very first
time, and he was going to make it perfect.

"Mulder..."

"I'm sorry.  Go ahead, Scully."

"I need to get away for a few days, maybe the rest of the week..."  He could see
she was scared.  He had forgotten for a moment that she didn't know yet that he
loved her.  But still, he had to wait.  

Wait, Mulder, wait.  He felt like Hank Aaron, waiting for the right pitch for
his 715th home run.  Can't swing too early, it'll happen....

No way was he letting her leave town.  She wasn't even leaving this office until
she knew how he felt.  

He tried out a casual tone and said, "Scully, it might not be a good time for
that."  

Frustration crossed his partner's beautiful face, telling Mulder that she didn't
want to be in this office a second longer than she had to; she wanted to get
away from him because she was scared.  Scared of him, and scared of herself.  He
knew all of this in an instant, and he wasn't falling for it.

"Mulder, I've got some personal things to work through, and I can do the report
while I'm away--"

She's winding up, Mulder, choke up on the bat.  Personal things, indeed.  This
was as personal as it got.

"Personal things, Scully?  Care to share with the class?"

Mulder apparently wanted to play.  She was in no shape to play.  In and out,
Scully.  She opted for acting annoyed with him, though it felt like another lie.

"No, Mulder, 'personal' means I do *not* want to share with the class right
now."

"Not right now?  Why not, Scully?..."  He went on, but she couldn't listen any
more.  His eyes were on fire, the way they would get when he was finally making
his way inside a suspect's brain.  Sirens blared in her mind.  Red Alert,
Scully!  With his beautiful eyes fixed on her, and his voice wrapping around her
like a pretty bow, she was unable to flee.  She was caught in the Mulder Tractor
Beam.

"Mulder, I just..."  

She was faltering.  He knew it.  She knew it.  Big, big trouble.

"You just what, Scully?"  He was still smiling.  Was this fun for him?  "You
just need a spur-of-the-moment vacation?  You were crying a few  hours ago - did
you just need some comfort?  Did you have a fight with your boyfriend?"  He
twisted the word 'boyfriend,' as if he knew it was a lie.  

She couldn't take much more of this.  She'd been here two minutes and she was
already so worn out she thought she may need to sit down, maybe put her head
between her knees like she'd seen Mulder do earlier as she was running out the
door.

No.  In and out.  Throw him a bone, let him think he's right, and get out.

"Look, Mulder, if you must know, I completely blew it on the boyfriend count,
okay?  Is that personal enough for a Tuesday morning?"

He looked like he wanted to play with the bone a bit, gnaw on it and bat it
around.  

God, Mulder, I'm burning up over here.  Stop, please.  Don't play with me.

He didn't stop.  "Oh, really?  Professor Wonderful giving you problems, Scully?"

"No, it's not him, it's me... I..."  Dammit, she'd said too much now.  She spun
away from him.  If she had to look at his eyes for another second she'd fall
apart again, and that was unacceptable.  One crying fit in front of Mulder today
was plenty.

Mulder watched as she turned her back on him, and he knew she was not able to
talk about this while they were face to face.  Okay, Scully, he thought, but
you'd better spill the beans or else my face will be so close to yours you won't
be able to ignore it.  Wait, Mulder.  Wait.  

"Go on," he said quietly, not wanting to spook her.

"He ... he said something..."

What had Robert said to get her so upset?  Mulder thought back to his
conversation with Robert.  He'd asked if Mulder ever called her 'Dana...' and
then Robert had said 'Scully' like he hated her.  Oh God.  Robert couldn't have
called her 'Scully,' could he?  No.  Surely he hadn't.  

Jesus.  Mulder could feel a wave of heat coming off of Scully, and she was ten
feet away.  He had that feeling, the feeling he got when he had just figured out
what made some monster do the horrible things he did.  That feeling that he was
right; he knew; he was inside her head now.  Quite a place to be.  So Robert had
called her 'Scully,' and she hadn't liked it.  She hadn't reacted well,
apparently.  Mulder would have to tread very carefully here.

He rose, and walked slowly around his desk, coming up behind her and lightly, so
lightly, placed his hand on her shoulder.  He didn't spin her to look at him; he
just stood behind her, touching the woman he loved to let her know he was close.
 "Scully, tell me."

Mulder felt Scully shiver slightly at his touch, but was glad that she didn't
try to get away.  Her head was bowed a bit, as if she was looking at the floor,
but he suspected her eyes were closed.  His left hand remained on her left
shoulder, and without realizing it, his right had come up to gently stroke her
hair.  He'd done this before, when she was in the hospital; he'd done it this
morning when she had cried.  But now, now that he knew he was in love with her,
she felt so different to him.  He never wanted to let her go.

"Mulder..." she started hesitantly, then continued, her voice a bit stronger:
"Mulder, what I have to tell you is very personal, more intimate than it should
be between partners..."  Her voice caught a bit.  "So if you don't want to hear
something really personal about me, now's the time to bail out... I won't hold
it against you..."

Oh, God.  This was it.  Mulder wished he could see her face right now.  Hang on,
slugger, hang on, she's going to lob a fastball straight down the middle.  Wait
for the pitch, Mulder.  

He waited.  "Scully, nobody's bailing here. Tell me."

His heart sang a song of joy as she turned to face him again.  Thank you,
Scully.  Thank you.  Her eyes welled up with tears.  God, she was gorgeous.  He
wanted to kiss each tear hello then swallow it goodbye.  

He wasn't touching her at all now, and was devastated by the loss.  

"Tell me," he said.

Scully's plan was shot to hell.  This was hopeless.  It was all going to come
spilling out of her any minute anyway.  Buck up, Scully, she told herself.  He's
not letting you go.  Thomas Henry Huxley was right.  Do the thing you have to
do, when it ought to be done.

She couldn't quite place all the emotions in Mulder's eyes, but they held
satisfaction and happiness.  Probably satisfaction at wearing her down, she
thought.  He probably thought this was some little game, and he probably thought
he was about to win.  Well, partner, you're about to get more than you bargained
for.  You're about to get Scully, and Dana, and Starbuck, and it's going to be
too much for you to handle.

And still he gently persisted.  "Tell me, Scully."

Scully felt like she was the bone, and Mulder was the dog, intent on burying
her.  

God, he smelled so good, and she didn't know if she could even speak.  She
needed a piece of him, something to steady her and tell her she could get
through this, and she unknowingly grabbed his hand and held on for dear life.

"...Last night, Robert and I... we were in bed, and..."  She looked up at Mulder
shyly, as if this were just too mortifying for her to say out loud.  "Do you
want me to go on?"

Mulder didn't especially want to picture her in bed with Robert, but yes, he
wanted her to go on.  He needed her to go on.  

"Keep going, FBI woman," he said, smelling the sweet latte on her breath.  God,
I was even right about the coffee, he thought. 

She let loose a small smile before she continued.  "I hadn't slept with him, not
yet...but we were getting really close..."

Mulder knew in his heart that she hadn't slept with Robert; he could accept the
rest.  But he could feel her tension, and he thought it might snap her in two if
he didn't say something quick.

"How close, Agent Scully?" he coaxed, giving her a sly smile.

"Jesus, Mulder, *close,* all right?"  This was good.  She was almost laughing.

His hand went back to Scully's hair, just touching the ends, near her neck, his
touch as quiet as his voice.  "Okay, you were close.  And then what?"  

"And then ... and then... Mulder, he...he called me 'Scully.'"

Mulder could barely believe it.  Am I *good,* or what?  He couldn't hide his
smile of satisfaction.

"You think this is funny, Mulder?  Do you?"

"No, Scully, he's an idiot, and I'm just glad that you're not still in bed with
him letting him call you 'Scully,' when he doesn't know you, doesn't know
anything about you.  He doesn't love you, Scully."

Oops.  Maybe he'd just swung at a bad pitch, but he couldn't keep that inside.

Scully took a step back.  "How do you know what Robert does and doesn't know
about me, Mulder?"

"Scully, after this morning, I thought -- Shit...  I thought it was possible
that he'd ... that he'd raped you.  So I went over to Georgetown, and had a
little chat with him."

Scully was stunned.   So this is how Mulder had spent his time while I was off
drinking a latte, she thought.  He thought he was protecting me, and he was
pumping Robert for information...  Robert wouldn't have told him anything... 
She didn't think he would have, anyway.  Oh, God, she prayed he hadn't.

"Mulder, I can't believe you."  And she couldn't.  "How could you do that?" she
asked, trying to sound angry instead of mortified.

Mulder lost his cool then, and stopped playing.  "Scully, you wouldn't talk to
me; I couldn't find you anywhere..."  Jesus, she'd scared him good this morning,
hadn't she?  "...And you had that 'I've Had Sex' look, and you're wearing a
different blouse, and you were crying like something horrible had happened..."

"First of all, I haven't--"  No, that was too much information.  He didn't need
to know that she hadn't had sex since she'd met him.  She chose curtain number
two instead.  "I'm wearing a different *blouse*?" 

More truths came tumbling out of the man she loved.

"Yeah, that's not what you usually wear with that suit, you wear that green
thing, and I thought at first you were hiding a hickey, but then after you were
so upset I thought it could be bruises or something..."  Oh yeah, she'd scared
him all right.  "...Jesus, Scully, from the way you reacted when I called you
'Dana,' I figured that if someone *had* raped you, it was someone you knew,
someone who called you 'Dana,' and Robert...I thought it was Robert."

Scully was hit by a strangely pleasant wave of nausea then, as Mulder ranted
about her behavior.  How could she have missed this?  He was worried about her,
and jealous... Oh my God, he was in love with her too!  She somehow stayed still
even as the nausea subsided and her knees buckled and her insides danced.  She
felt a smile overtake her, and couldn't for the life of her wipe it off her
face.   Mulder loves me.  He *loves* me.

She wanted to look into his eyes and savor this moment forever.  "Mulder, look
at me."

And he gazed at her as if she were the woman of his dreams, and this  *was* a
moment she'd savor forever.

"It was a hickey, okay?  Look."  She pushed her lapel aside, revealing the
bruise Robert had given her last night, eons ago, in a galaxy far, far away.

Mulder's eyes lit up like she'd just shown him the Holy Grail.  He hesitantly
reached out and touched it, his fingers feather-soft on her purple skin, and she
shivered at the sensation of his fingertips on her sensitive flesh.  She needed
him to touch her everywhere, and all her secret bruises and hurts and soft spots
would be his for the taking.  

Even though he had already figured out that she hadn't been raped, Mulder felt
such relief just then, not only at her saying it out loud, but at her
willingness to show him.  He gently stroked the dark spot on her collarbone, put
there by another man, and couldn't help but want to kiss it.  Kiss it away, kiss
Robert's mark off of her.  But Mulder hadn't seen his pitch.  Not yet.  

Scully's eyes fluttered closed, and Mulder knew it was because of the way he was
touching her.  Suddenly the air in the office was sexually charged, and Mulder
was as aroused as if Scully were naked beneath him.  He was going to have to
tell her soon, he thought.  Come on, Scully, lob it in, I need that pitch.  No
curve balls, Scully, please...

"Scully, you didn't sleep with Robert."  Not a question, a statement.

"No."

"Why?"

Scully looked up at him, her fingers again intertwined with his.  Her tears
weren't so close to the surface now, but Mulder felt her pulse racing at her
neck where his other hand lingered.  This is it, Scully, he thought.  Say it. 
Say it.

"You're right, Mulder, he doesn't know me."  She seemed to be measuring out her
admissions in small doses, but Mulder would wait.  He was desperate for her to
tell him the whole truth, but if she had to waste a few pitches, that was fine. 
He realized he'd been waiting five years for this day, and he could wait another
minute or two.

*I* know you, Scully, Mulder said silently.  I know you.  His thumb grazed her
collarbone, so delicately.

She continued, "And I don't love him."

No, Scully, you love *me*.  His grip on her hand tightened.

Scully, you're so close.  Come on.  Tell me.

"I..." she closed her eyes again, unable to continue.

"Tell me," he said, softly. 

He said so much in two words, she thought.  His voice, so soft, told her all she
needed to hear in those two little words.  Tell me, Scully.  Tell me you love
me.  Don't put it off.  I love you too.  Give up your fears.  Jump, Scully, I'll
catch you.

"Mulder..." she barely breathed his name.  She opened her determined blue eyes,
and looked into his.  This was more than The Look.  This was a Scully Look he
wanted to put in a box and carry around with him forever.

Mulder loved her, and she loved him; they both knew it now.  It was just a
matter of saying it out loud, making it real.  They both knew it was coming;
both knew what she would say next.  When she  exhaled, he breathed in her air,
hoping the words would be carried by the current.  But still she held on to
them, like a secret, hers for a moment more.


** END PART 7/8 **

Don't keep your feedback a secret!  I might put it in a box and carry it around
with me forever.  - Lysandra31@aol.com or Lysandra@mediaone.net

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * *

PHYSICS 101 - PART 8 of 8   (NC-17)
by Lysandra
Disclaimer, etc. in Part 1
Please see author notes at the end of this chapter!  <g>



Scully felt electricity flying through the air between them.  This was normal,
she knew: just electromagnetic fields, static electricity, ions and atoms. 
Usually, the electricity wasn't visible.  Today, on the other hand, she could
swear she was seeing sparks, fireworks, the whole shebang.  

So this is what it's like, she thought.  This is what it's like to be face to
face with Fox Mulder, a mere moment away from telling him I love him.  

Time really did stand still, or maybe it was just hanging there in the charged
air, waiting for her to catch up.  The time between now and "I love you" was an
eternity in a moment, and Scully didn't know if she was ready to let the moment
go.  But let it go she did, and there would be no turning back.

"I love you, Mulder," she said, quietly, almost more for her benefit than his.  

Her secret now out, Scully smiled as a near overpowering sense of relief washed
over her.  "I love you," she repeated, as if the first time had been a
rehearsal.  She sighed a contented sigh, a sound she'd never heard herself make
before, and she had to swallow the urge to shed blissful tears.  

Mulder's grin returned, pure joy dancing in his eyes, his heart beating like a
jackhammer.  It was the ninth inning of Game 7 of the World Series, the bases
were loaded, and the pitch was right down the middle.  

Mulder swung for the fences.

"I love you, too," he almost yelled, unable to keep the words inside for another
second.  "I love you, Scully," he repeated, absently tightening his grip on her
hand.  

Mulder's grin had apparently traveled all the way to Scully's face, because now
she was wearing it, too.

And the two of them stood there, grinning like idiots.  Just stood there, so
close, both unwilling to move for fear of ruining the moment.

Mulder finally broke the silence.  "Uh... Scully?"

Scully was still reeling from Mulder's declaration, and it took her a moment to
answer.  She didn't rush, wetting her lips in slow motion before she spoke. 
"Yeah?" 

Mulder was so taken with the sight of her tongue he nearly forgot what he was
going to say.  He knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but for some
inexplicable reason, curiosity won out over logic.  "Uh... If you love me," he
blurted, still grinning, "and I love you ... What were you doing in bed with
Robert last night?"  

Her expression changed to one he *had* seen before: an eye-roll which was
usually accompanied by a tirade about his unscientific approach on a case.  But
he continued anyway.  "I mean, it's all right, but...?"

Scully sighed, wondering how it was possible that she had fallen in love with
someone so infuriating.  "How could I let some other guy give me a hickey when
I'm in love with you?  Is that what you mean, Mulder?"

He laughed, his warm fingers playfully twisting her hand like a teenager on a
first date.  "Well, Scully, I wasn't gonna put it in such a high school way, but
yeah, I guess so."

"I just ... everything was fine last night," she told him.  "I hadn't even
*thought* about you..."  She looked up at him, hesitating slightly before
continuing.  "Things were moving along, and I was honest-to-God on the verge of
... having sex with him."

Mulder slid his hand into her hair, studying each Cinnaberry strand as he spoke.
 "And is this when he said the 'S' word?"

"Mm-hmm," she managed, shivering as Mulder's fingers grazed her neck.  "And
that's when it hit me."

"What hit you?"

"That he -- he wasn't *you.*"  Scully peered up at him, feeling a bit silly to
be admitting such a thing; but she continued, her words picking up speed as she
went on.  "He wasn't you -- and all of a sudden it just seemed so wrong to be
even *thinking* of having sex with someone who wasn't you, and... I just
realized at that moment that I was in love with you."  She stopped, worried that
she was saying too much.  "This is completely crazy, I know..."

"Scully," he said, giving her shoulder a little squeeze, "How do you think *I*
feel?"

"What do you mean?"  Scully looked into his eyes, more than a little
apprehensive at what he might say.

"Well, I came to work this morning like any other day over the past five years,
expecting a little banter, a little arguing."  He flashed a loopy grin, and she
immediately fell in love with him all over again.  

He continued, "But you came in with this *look* on your face, a look *I've*
never seen before, and ten minutes later you're crying, and *that's* never
happened before.  And hell if I wasn't going to find out what was wrong, and
then when I saw What'sHisName, God, I *hate* that guy..."  

This made Scully laugh again.  "Wait, Mulder, are you saying--"  Scully wanted
to hear it out loud for some reason.  "Are you telling me you were *jealous?*"

"Hell, *yes!*  Granted, it took me a little while to figure out what it was,
because I've never really experienced it before, but yeah, jealous would be the
word.  After I got over being scared for you, I was jealous."

Scully struggled not to smile at this, though she couldn't have been more
pleased.  Yes, it was a little petty, but she was glad that Mulder had been
jealous of Robert.  Glad in retrospect, anyway.  She mused that maybe she was a
regular girl after all.  Going out with someone else to make the love of her
life jealous.  Of course, she hadn't even known that was what she was doing at
the time, but, she thought Missy would be proud of her just the same.  She
giggled at the thought.

"What?" Mulder asked.  "That's funny?"

Scully laughed, "It's crazy that after all these years I would even
*subconsciously* try to make you jealous, that's all."  

Mulder pulled her close, wrapping his arms fully around her.  "And crazier that
it would work," he added.  Her hair smelled lightly of something flowery, and it
was so soft against his skin; all of her was so soft against him.  "Jesus,
Scully, it was a normal morning, and now I'm in love with you."  God, he loved
the way those words felt in his mouth.

Scully's suit was made of a silky material that slipped and slid against his
palm, and he sent his hand on a journey across her back, finally feeling the
hidden curves he had only imagined over the years. 

Scully's elation gave way to rational thought for a moment.  "Mulder," she said,
nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck, seeking sanctuary from the words
she was about to say, "...what are we going to do with all this?" 

"All this *what,* Scully?  All *this?*"  He gave her another affectionate
squeeze.

God, his hands felt so right on her, and she again regretted letting Robert
touch her at all.  "All this love," she returned, feeling more confident now.

She felt him shiver slightly at her words, the muscles in his back flexing
beneath her touch.  She'd never imagined his spine to be so absolutely straight
and strong, or his back to be so very smooth.  Even through his shirt, she felt
as though his skin was sizzling into her palms, her fingertips, branding her
hands as though she were his property.  

And maybe she was.  And maybe Mulder's mine, she thought.  All mine.

He smelled like he always smelled -- clean and salty and a little like some
cologne Scully couldn't place, but for some reason, now she couldn't get enough
of his essence.  She felt like an animal, ascertaining if he was friend or foe
from his scent, although she knew now that he was more than a friend.  Now he
was her mate.  Like swans, she thought, mated for life.  Mulder was her dark
swan.    

Mulder almost couldn't believe she was real.  He'd dreamt about her, to be sure
-- but even his wildest dreams didn't do justice to Scully's delicate strength. 
In his dreams, yes, he'd have sex with her, but he'd never imagined feeling
anything like he felt right now.  

This real life moment, just holding her in his arms after they had both declared
their love, was better than any fantasy he'd ever had.  Although right now, his
living, breathing dreamgirl was feeling very sexy indeed, warm and inviting and
wrapped up in his arms, her small soft hands drawing circles on his back,
unbroken and unending.  

And, if he wasn't mistaken, Scully's softest parts were rubbing against him
quite pleasurably.  Scully's breasts, against his stomach, for example.  How had
he not noticed *those* when he comforted her earlier?  He knew that his hardest
component was pushing into her stomach as well, and marveled at the contrast. 
He ground into her slightly as Sexual Fantasy Scully merged with Real Life
Scully in his mind.

She pulled away, but dragged him with her as she headed for the door.

"Where are we going?" he wondered aloud.

"Nowhere, Mulder," she replied with a mischievous smile, as she closed the door
to the office.  "I just don't think I need anyone walking by right now, that's
all."  She pressed herself into him, trapping him against the door.  

"And why is that, Agent Scully?" Mulder asked, perfectly content to be caught
between a Scully and a hard place.

Suddenly hesitant, she pushed away from him slightly, ducking her head before
looking up at him through her lashes.  "Well, Mulder, for two people who've just
said 'I love you,' I think we've forgotten something."

"And that would be...?" he whispered.

"We haven't..."  She felt her face flush again.  "Mulder, we haven't even kissed
yet." 

Mulder didn't need to be asked twice. 

He leaned toward her, and slowly, deliberately, kissed her forehead, "That..."
and her cheek, "can be..." and her chin, "arranged."  

Scully fought to keep her eyes open as Mulder's lips touched hers for the first
time, not wanting to miss any of this.  She half-expected an awkward moment that
never materialized; this was as natural as breathing, for both of them.  So
softly, his mouth covered hers, lingering lightly for a moment before he
increased the pressure slightly.  Scully realized in a flash that this was
already the best kiss she'd ever received.  This chaste kiss reached into her
heart, and her mind, and her soul.  

What a difference the right man makes, she thought, as she slipped her eyes
closed and happily allowed his tongue to slide between her lips.  It was the
first part of Mulder to ever be inside her, and it immediately became a
cherished part of her, and she wanted to swallow him whole right then and there.
 She'd never forget this moment as long as she lived.  Trite, but true, she
thought, as she joined her tongue with his, tasting love and light along with
toothpaste and sunflower seeds.

As for Mulder, he was just astonished that he was kissing the love of his life. 
This was the perfect kiss, he thought, and it had only just begun.  Scully's
lips were softer and more impossibly lush than he'd ever hoped, and she was
making such a sweet noise, a half-hum-half-moan which caused him to
involuntarily thrust his hips against her.  He sighed with relief when he
realized that Scully not only didn't mind, but as a matter of fact was herself
grinding him into the door with increasing force.  And her tongue, that tongue
that had aroused him a hundred times when it had ventured forth to lick her
lips, was now licking his own lips, his own tongue.

He simply couldn't get enough of her, and tangled one hand in her hair as the
other gathered her to him just a bit closer, if that was even possible at this
point.  He wondered how anything could be better than kissing Scully, even as
his mind wandered to other things that would, indeed, be better.  She tasted
bittersweet, like the coffee she had drunk, and he could stay here forever
kissing her, and tasting her coffee, and kissing her some more.  

With a sudden burst of insight, he knew that for once in his life, he was in the
right place at the right time.  With the right woman.

As Mulder's tongue probed her mouth mercilessly, Scully responded eagerly.  She
stood on tiptoe, increasing her body's contact with his, twining her fingers
through his hair, shivering in anticipation of More Mulder.  She needed all of
him; she wanted him to climb inside her and make a nest.  

For just a moment, Scully's thoughts returned to last night, and she inwardly
screamed at herself for letting things go so far with Robert, when it should
have been Mulder all along.  Only Mulder could kiss her like this, flinging all
her cares away, making all the pieces of her universe fall into place; he'd been
holding the missing pieces to her puzzle, and she had been holding his. 
Suddenly all her doubts and fears were cast aside, and all her mysteries were
his for the solving.  

Abruptly, the Man She Loved halted the World's Most Perfect Kiss, and,
breathless, Scully looked into his eyes again, noticing that they weren't murky,
at least not today.  Mulder's eyes were green, like Spring.  Like a fresh start.
 

She gasped for something to say, something to mark the moment.  "Mulder, your
eyes, they're green," she blurted.  Yeah, that was brilliant.

"Yeah, Scully," Mulder whispered, his thumb tracing the cheekbone beneath her
left eye, "and yours are blue.  And now that I'm able to look at them for any
length of time," he smiled, "I see they've got little greenish-gold starbursts
in the middle.  Does that make us incompatible?"

"No, but it's probably the only thing that doesn't."

"You've *got* to be kidding," he said incredulously, pulling back to focus on
her more fully.  "Who's more compatible than we are?"  He planted his hands
around her waist, anchoring her to him.  "How many husbands and wives spend as
much time together as we do?"

"Is someone in this scenario a *wife,* Mulder?" she asked, aiming for sarcastic
sweetness but ending up with straight sarcasm.

Mulder looked slightly hurt, but gave as good as he got.  "No, Scully, after one
kiss, no matter how incredible, I'm not proposing."  As his mouth returned to
the grin he'd sported earlier, the glint in his eyes was unmistakable.  "Yet."

Scully was about to make a witty comeback, but all her thoughts flew south for
the winter when Mulder's hands skimmed up her sides until they were at the outer
edges of her breasts, his thumbs teasing her suddenly erect nipples through her
suit jacket.  Her witty comeback turned into a breathy moan, to his obvious
delight.

Mulder's gentle caress sizzled through the layers of her jacket, her blouse, and
her bra, and her heartbeat quickened along with his touch.  Looking into
Mulder's eyes as he increased the pleasant pressure on her breasts, she was
stunned with the realization this was already so much more erotic than anything
she'd felt last night with Robert, more erotic than anything she had ever felt
in her life, period.

As he felt her body respond to his touch, and watched her eyes flutter closed,
and listened to the sweet kitten sounds she didn't seem to know she was making,
Mulder silently questioned how someone so very strong could possibly be so
delicate.  He increased his ministrations, trying to ignore the ecstatically
babbling voice in the back of his head that kept saying that these were Scully's
breasts, her *breasts*, he had his hands on Scully's BREASTS.  

Go slow, Mulder, you made it through I Love You, now don't blow it.  But God, he
really wanted to see those breasts, to feel just how soft she was under her
blouse, how they'd feel against his fingers, his mouth.  He'd settle for a
nibble on her neck right now, however. 

Scully had always known Mulder's lips were sexy, but she had never in her most
specific fantasies imagined the salty smoothness that was his tongue ... which
was wet on her neck, just beneath her right ear, ohhhhh.... and his hands, the
hands she'd watched throwing pencils, and flicking sunflower seeds, and drumming
on steering wheels, those amazing palms and fingers and thumbs were now covering
her breasts with warm and loving caresses, and she knew that if Mulder was as
aroused as she was, they were either going to make love here in the office, or
they were going to have to stop this.  Very soon.  But not yet.  Please, don't
stop, Mulder, she thought.  Not yet.

"Mulder," she purred, her mouth at his ear, "if Robert had made me feel
*anything* like this when he touched me, I'd still be with him right now; I
would have called in sick and made love all day."

Mulder gently chuckled at Scully's admission.  Who would have imagined Special
Agent Dana Scully playing hooky for nookie??

Mulder did remove his hands from her breasts, but only to turn his attentions to
unbuttoning her suit jacket.  He released buttons from holes, bottom to top, and
when he nudged her to free her arms from around him, she complied with a shy
smile.  The loss of bodily contact again nearly made Mulder weep, so he wasted
no time pushing the jacket off her shoulders and flinging it onto her chair as
neatly as he could.  "Scully?" he murmured, as he released the top button of her
blouse from its hole with a surprising gentleness.

"Mulder," she teased, "I don't want to talk right now," and she reached for his
tie, dragging him to her, and kissed him so forcefully he almost lost his
breath.  He pulled away for a moment, spinning around so it was now Scully
trapped against the door, making a muffled thud he hoped nobody heard in the
hallway.  

The kiss resumed - Jesus, could she kiss or *what?* - and Mulder lost his train
of thought for long moments and all he knew was Scully's tongue, dueling with
his, licking the roof of his mouth, her teeth against his, overbite meeting
overbite.  He inwardly cursed every day over the past five years he had gone
without knowing what it was like to kiss her. 

"Mmm, Mulder..." she murmured against his lips, thinking of protests even as she
worked to rid him of his dress shirt.  First the tie, unceremoniously flung
across the room.  After unbuttoning his shirt, Scully pulled the shirttails from
his trousers.  What a welcome sight Mulder's finely muscled chest was, already
starting to glisten with the sweat of his arousal.  Her objections were muted by
passion as she was finally able to glide her hands over his bared abdominal
muscles, shedding her customary professional detachment.  No, she was definitely
attached today, *very* attached to her partner.  

"Oh my," she said, unashamedly taking a good look at him.  He looked like a GQ
model, shirt hanging open like that, hair mussed, bedroom eyes, lips lips
lips...  She leaned in and took his nipple in her mouth as she pushed the shirt
off his shoulders, and the feral gasp that escaped from Mulder only served to
arouse her even more.  

Mulder, stunned that he was getting away with *any* of this with his usually
straight-laced partner, silently thanked her for playing along, and for playing
along so very enthusiastically.  It had been far too many years since he'd felt
anything even remotely close to what he was feeling now.  He wrapped his hand in
Scully's hair as she nibbled on his chest, and he thought that he could die
happy just tangling himself with her forever.  

Tangled, he thought; I've been tangled with Scully for so long already, and I
never want to be untangled.  Her fingernails lightly scratched up and down his
back, sending shivers south as he slipped one of his legs between hers, and the
moan he elicited with that move was a rich reward.  "God, Scully," he mumbled,
unable to form a full sentence, he was so caught up in listening to the sexy
sounds coming out of her.

Scully felt nearly complete already, practically fused with Mulder's soul, but
when his thigh hit her crotch, it was nearly too much for her to handle.  Robert
had touched her much more intimately the night before, but she had been
disconnected then, only partly there to enjoy it.  This, *this* was more like
it.  Her mouth was now traveling over her partner's chest, and she was happy to
take her time and taste every delicious inch of him.  She spent a long moment
kissing the scar she'd given him a couple of years ago, noting it had healed
fairly well considering she'd had to stitch him up herself.

And then someone knocked on the door.  

Scully felt the door quake at her back, and jumped, landing more securely than
ever in Mulder's arms.  She froze, looking up at him with panic in her eyes, as
if to say, "I knew this was a bad idea."  The look he shot back said, "Don't
even think it."

Mulder cleared his throat twice before managing to speak.  "Who is it?" he
finally asked through the closed door.

"Skinner."

Oh, shit.

"Just a second, Sir," Mulder called out.  "We're just...just a second."

"Oh, *that* was smooth," Scully quietly hissed, as she pulled Mulder's shirt
back over his chest and started to button it up.

And he had the audacity to kiss her again, just a peck, but even that was enough
for her to narrow her eyes at him.  Does nothing faze him? she thought.  Jesus.

He reached over, grinning, and combed through Scully's hair with his fingers,
and though she knew he was trying to help, his touch felt far too sensual with
AD Skinner standing on the other side of the door.  She pushed Mulder away and
made a dash for her purse, knowing that her lipstick had been kissed away.

Mulder finished buttoning his shirt and tucked it in quickly while he made his
way behind his desk, sitting down and popping a sunflower seed in his mouth.  He
struggled to control his still-ragged breathing by inhaling deeply and exhaling
some stress.  He hoped he looked like it was business as usual.

Skinner's voice resonated through the wood of the office door.  "Everything okay
in there, agents?"  He sounded impatient as always.

Mulder looked at his partner, who was desperately searching for her lipstick. 
He sent her a look telling her she was out of time.  She plopped down in front
of her computer, purse in her lap, and gave him a little nod.  Now or never. 
Another thirty seconds would arouse far too much suspicion.

Standing outside the office door, Walter Skinner was rapidly running out of
patience.  He was about to raise his hand to knock again when he heard Mulder's
voice saying, "Yeah, Sir, come on in, it's open."  

Skinner opened the door and walked in, taking in the scene in front of him. 
Something was definitely different with Scully, he thought.  Though she had her
back to him, he immediately sensed that she was nervous, agitated.  "Are you all
right, Agent Scully?" he asked.

She didn't face him as she answered. "Yes, sir, I've just got something in my
eye."  She fumbled for something in her purse, and Skinner turned his attention
to Mulder.  Something was different about him, too.  He looked too calm, too
happy, too something.  Mulder just didn't quite look like Mulder.  It was like
one of those pictures in a kids puzzle book, where there are ten things wrong
and you have to find them.  There was something wrong with the picture these two
presented today.  Scully was hiding, and Mulder... 

Aha!  Mulder's tie was missing!  "Agent Mulder, I wasn't aware this was Casual
Friday," Skinner said, a tinge of amusement coloring his words.   

Scully swung her chair around then, and the look on her face... Oh God.  She was
flushed, and heat practically oozed out of her.  She was absolutely pink from
her hairline down to her chest, which Skinner was seeing more of than ever
before.  Besides her obvious blush, she sported a hickey on her collarbone. 
This was *Scully*?  Skinner mused that if *he* had made her look like that, like
she'd just been thoroughly kissed, he'd never have let anyone see it.  He would
have barricaded the door. 

He had a pretty good idea what was going on here, and he could feel a headache
coming on at the thought of all the problems this would to cause him.  Jesus,
this was going to be complicated. 

"What, my tie?  Sir, I was hot, so I took it off," Mulder offered.

A likely story, Skinner thought, scanning the room quickly.  He walked over to
the file cabinets and gingerly picked up Mulder's tie off the floor in front of
them.  Silently, he walked the three steps to Mulder's desk and laid the tie on
the blotter.  Mulder had the audacity to shrug like Alfred E. Neumann, giving
Skinner his best "What, me worry?" look.

Scully shot Mulder an unamused stare.  Skinner almost laughed, but thought if
they could pretend they hadn't been fooling around in the office, he could
pretend he hadn't noticed.  Don't ask, don't tell.  They'd saved his life in the
past, more than once.  Fair is fair.  But now it was time to get down to
business.

"Agents, this isn't a social visit," he said.  "I need you to investigate some
deaths in Scottsdale."

Mulder hated Arizona.  Too hot.  Although now that he thought of it, a
wet-with-sweat Scully sounded quite appealing.

"Arizona?" he asked, hoping that talk of the case would make Skinner forget
about the missing tie, and Scully's gorgeous bee-stung lips, and the
pheromone-enhanced air in the office.

"Yes, Arizona," Skinner sighed.  "It seems that the members of a certain country
club are dying.  Alphabetically."

"Sir?" Scully asked, all business now.  "Alphabetically?"

"Yeah.  And it doesn't look like your run-of-the-mill serial killer, either. 
The victims have all died differently.  The first was a heart attack; the second
was a car accident.  The third drowned.  And so on; there have been six deaths
so far, and it finally dawned on the club's social secretary that the dead were
the first six on the membership list, in order."  Skinner looked at Scully for a
moment.  "So far it looks like a series of unfortunate coincidences, but we'll
need full autopsies on the latest two victims."

"Should I shine my golf shoes, sir?" Mulder asked, smiling.

"I'm afraid so, Agent Mulder," Skinner replied, thinking he should say something
to these two, but not quite sure what.  He gave each of them a knowing look. 
"And agents, if you could try to stay out of trouble, I'd appreciate it."

With that, he dropped the case file and plane tickets on Mulder's desk and
walked out, shutting the door behind him - only to have it pop open again a few
seconds later.  He turned to see Scully standing before him, a nervous look on
her face. 

"Sir, may I speak with you for a moment?"

"Of course, Agent Scully," Skinner said, wondering what she would say in the way
of an explanation.

"Sir, I know you saw this," she stated, pulling her collar aside to reveal the
mark on her collarbone.  Skinner nodded, raising his eyebrows in a silent
question.

Mulder couldn't hear the conversation in the hall, but figured Scully knew what
she was doing.  He lifted his collar and shook out his tie before bringing it
around his neck, leaving it hanging loosely.  God, he'd love a job where he
didn't have to wear a tie, he thought.  He'd love it if Scully didn't have to
wear *anything,* but that was beside the point.  He absently bit his bottom lip,
relishing the memory of her tongue sliding over it, and wondered when he'd feel
the real thing again.  He already knew that Skinner had smashed the window of
opportunity for any real action here in the office.

He perused the plane tickets; their flight wasn't until 10:45 the following
morning.  Mulder grinned.

Scully returned, a smug smile playing on her face, and Mulder had to ask.  "What
was that all about, Agent Scully?"

"Well, Agent Mulder," she grinned, extremely happy with herself, "I simply told
him that no matter what it looked like, that this hickey isn't your handiwork,
and that you and I are *not* lovers, and never have been. The look on his face
was priceless."

Mulder smiled as he shook his head in awe.  Scully had deflected Skinner's
suspicion off their new relationship, and hadn't even had to lie.  Oh, this
woman was smart.  

Of course, Mulder hoped that by tomorrow the part about not being lovers *would*
be a lie.  

"Have I mentioned that I love you, Scully?"

"I believe you have, but I'm glad to hear you haven't changed your mind already.
 And now I really have to get my laundry done before we leave."  She bent to
power down her computer and gather her things, rising just as Mulder stepped
into her space.

She felt the heat rising in her again as Mulder stood a foot away.  "Mulder,"
she said, looking at him through an errant lock of hair, "You can't stand this
close to me in the office.  I can't handle it."  She silently congratulated
herself at her truthful assessment of the situation.  There was no reason to be
coy.  This was, after all, Mulder.

He knew he shouldn't push his luck, but he just wanted to be near her, to catch
another whiff of her before she left him for a few hours.  And then she blew her
hair out of her eyes so sensually he thought he might die from the sheer heat of
the moment.  

Scully was stunned at the look Mulder bestowed upon her.  He was gazing at her
as if she'd just handed him a pair of courtside tickets for a Knicks-Bulls
playoff game.  He looked at her as if she *were* the tickets.

"When do we leave?" she asked, wondering what brought on that look, a look she
wouldn't mind seeing again if she had the chance.

"Scully," he said, fiddling with the lock of hair she'd just blown out of her
sightline, "Don't *ever* grow this piece of hair.  I love this piece.  You can
do whatever you want with the rest of it, but just leave this alone."  He let go
of her hair, leaving it dangling in her eyes again.  

"Mulder, you're crazy," she whispered, blowing the hair out of her face again. 
She was rewarded with that look.  Ohh... *now* she got it.   

"Besides, I could say the same for you," she added, catching him slightly off
guard.

"Scully?"

"Well, there's this lock of hair, right here..."  She reached up and threaded
her fingers through the hair on his brow.  "And when it gets just a little too
long, just before you get a haircut, there's about a week's worth of you combing
it back with your fingers... I love that.  That's always a good week, Mulder."

"Jesus, Scully, if I'd  known that, my hair would be down to my waist by now."

They both laughed, and Scully took a small step backward.  "Seriously, Mulder,
the first time we..." and she was overtaken with sudden shyness at saying the
words again; somehow now it seemed all real, and not a game.  She cleared her
throat.  "The first time we make love, Mulder, it's going to be just you and me.
 Not Robert.  I don't want *either* of us to be thinking about anyone else
touching me."  She looked around the office before adding, "And definitely no
X-Files."

Mulder leaned over and kissed her temple, leaving a whisper of wetness behind. 
"This might be a first, Scully, but I agree with you.... As much as I'd love to
ravish you right here and now, this isn't the place." 

"Mulder," she asked, "what time is our flight?"

"Tomorrow morning; we're on the 10:45 out of National."

"Tomorrow?" she smiled.   Good.  This meant she had time.  Time to buy new
lingerie.  Time to have her bikini line professionally waxed.   Time to change
her sheets.  "Then I'll see you at seven, Mulder?"

"Yeah, I guess that gives us enough time," he sighed, back in work mode.  "I'll
pick you up at your place?"

"Yes, seven o'clock.  *Tonight.*  And make sure you're packed, because I'm not
driving to your place in the morning."

Oh, yes, he loved this woman.  "I will definitely be there,"  he laughed, and he
had a sudden thought.  "Scully, can I ask you a question?"

Why not, she thought.  She was an open book for Mulder at this point.  "Sure,
Mulder.  Shoot."

"Tonight, when I'm ... ravishing you..." he said provocatively, leaning closer,
"...what do you want me to call you?"

You're practically ravishing me already with that voice, she thought.  "Mulder,"
she answered, breathless again, "*you* can call me anything you want.  Within
reason."

His eyes held a smile, but his intent was serious.  "And ... is 'Dana' within
reason, Scully?"  He knew what he meant to her now, and he was prepared to deal
with all of her, if only she'd let him.  Don't change your mind, Scully, don't
back out of this, he thought.  Let me in.

She pondered his question for a moment, and knew her answer.  Yes.  Yes.  Yes. 
She was shocked at how quickly she'd made the decision to let go of herself and
let Mulder in.  But now the thought of *not* letting him in was inconceivable. 
She'd done what she'd had to do, and now, well, now, she was going to like it. 
A lot.  

"Hmm ... I don't think I'd actually *mind* it..."  She flashed him a sly smile. 
"But I just might be tempted to call you 'Fox' in retaliation."

She saw his eyes widen slightly as his mouth curved into a knowing smile. 
"'Scully' it is."  

She leaned over and gave him a sweet, soft kiss which held a promise for tonight
and forever.   She walked out the door, calling back, "See you later, Mulder."  


END 8/8

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

AUTHOR NOTES: 
== I sincerely thank *anyone* who's read this far!  (If you haven't pressed
"delete" by now, you're my friend for life, and I send you virtual chocolate in
thanks.)
== I'd love feedback, in case you couldn't tell from the desperate pleas at the
end of each chapter, and if you've waited until now, well, there's no more story
left, so send it on out, to: Lysandra31@aol.com or Lysandra@mediaone.net  --
Liked it? Hated it?  Tell me about it!
== My most heartfelt, mushy, sappy thanks to the best BetaGirls in the world:
Magdeleine, my Wonder Twin; and Pebbles, the queen of well-written sap; and to
our den mother Erlybird, who encourages me in the twinight.  Great big thanks
also to Jill Selby and the not-so-enigmatic Heather, who both gave me some
excellent beta advice early on for this story!  Last but by no means least,
thanks to Shannon and Brandon, who both stepped up to the plate in the bottom
of the ninth.  <g>