Title: Halcyon Dreaming
Author: Dryad@neilclan.madasafish.com
Rating: R/NC17, MSR, UST, a bit o' angst
Spoilers: 'The Blessing Way', 'Paper Clip', 'Memento Mori'
Season: between 6-7
Archive: yes please, drop me a note as to which archive
Summary: Scully brings Mulder to a posh party
Note:  The first two parts of Halcyon Dreaming are rated R,
the third NC17, which does not have to be read for those who
don't live in the gutter with the rest of us. Reading The Gift before
this is recommended. I hadn't intended this to be a series, but guess
what...

The Gift - available now
Halcyon Dreaming - May release
The Fight - June release
One Ordinary Day  - July release
Manitou - future release
 
Feedback: Be brutal.  You know you want to.
 

"She could have anything she wants
so why not me?
She could have anything she dreams

Oh, to be one single page
one single page
in Jeannie's Diary"

Eels/Jeannie's Diary/Daisies of the Galaxy
 

Halcyon Dreaming, Pt 1 (R)

X-Files Office
Friday afternoon
 

"Hey Scully, what are you doing tomorrow night?" Asked
Mulder, leaning back in his chair.

"Trying to finish this report," Dana Scully didn't even
bother to glance up at him. "Y'know, the one I'd already be
done with if it weren't for the fact that you keep
interrupting me."

"Maybe if you weren't so fanatical about getting
everything just right you'd've finished it hours ago."

Scully stopped typing and peered over the rim of her
glasses. Mulder looked at her, gnawing on a sunflower seed.
It was no use.  He'd continue to bug her until he got the
answer he wanted. She sighed. "I'm going to a social."

Mulder's eyes went wide. "Oo, Scully, a party?"

"Yup. A friend of a friend throws a posh party every year
and this year I've been invited."

"Sounds like a big do."

Scully shrugged. "I've never been there before."

"You like things like that?" he asked.

A Look shut him up while she finished typing.  She saved,
and sent the report to the printer. Grabbing an  orange
Interdepartmental folder off of Mulder's desk, she tucked the
fresh report inside, marked it for AD Skinner's office and
tossed it into the out basket. Time to go home.

"So - "

Scully slipped into her coat.

" - you bringing a date?"

"Hadn't thought about it," No, not much.  Only every day
since she had received the damned invitation in the first
place. The RSVP of which she had checked 'With Guest', despite
not having a clue as to who she would ask. She was determined
not to ask Mulder to go with her, for as her mother kept
reminding her, it was about time she had a life separate from
his.  Unfortunately, she wasn't sure that's what she wanted.
And she always seemed to end up with him anyway, so what was
the point of fighting against it?

"Good, I'll come by around five."

Scully shook her head as she opened the door. "Dress
nice."
 

Saturday dawned heavy and overcast, the scent of snow in
the air, a stiff December wind swirling down the streets and
in between buildings hard enough to constantly rattle the
storm window by her computer. The dark was rising, winter was
coming.

Scully spent a couple of hours cleaning, going so far as
to run the vacuum extension along all the baseboards and even
behind the bureau.  From there a quick shower, lunch with
Andreas and his Finnish boyfriend, Mikka, then shopping for a
dress and shoes.

The dress took far longer to find than expected, and she
didn't get home until close to five herself, only to find
Mulder knocking on the door.  Sweat had plastered his hair to
his head, and he was dressed in both short and long sleeved
shirts as well as sweat pants and cut-offs. A black overnight
bag was in one hand.

"Scully, I was beginning to wonder if you'd blown me
off."

"Blown *you* off?!" Scully said, wrinkling her nose and
eyeing him sidelong. "Did you win?"

"Damn straight we did. Those IT chumps didn't have a
chance," Mulder followed her in and headed for the fridge.

"Don't finish all the juice," Scully called as she
brought her bags into her bedroom.  She was quite pleased with
her purchases, and happily opened the bags and boxes.

"Hey Scully?"

She quickly put the top on the dress box and turned
around.

Mulder peered around the door. "Do you mind if I clean
up?"

"Have I ever minded before?"

He flashed her one of his devastating grins and
disappeared from sight.  Moments later the door to the
bathroom shut.

Scully removed her makeup, washed her face in the kitchen
sink while Mulder warbled away in the shower.  Back in her
bedroom, door safely closed - locked, as she hadn't been able
to cure Mulder of his habit of simply walking into a room
without knocking first - she changed into the dress and
reapplied her makeup.  When she was done, she stood in front
of the full length mirror and cocked her head to one side.

No, Special Agent Dana Scully did not wear black suede
pumps with ankle straps and stiletto heels high enough to be
on the line between walking and falling.  Nor did she wear
sheer black thigh highs.  The dress itself was form-fitting,
longsleeved with a high, buttoned neck, falling loosely from
the hip to two inches above the ankle.  Scully turned her back
to the mirror and looked over her shoulder.  A backless dress
meant a braless Scully.

Backless, and how.

The top edge was only a centimeter or two from the cleft of her
buttocks, so great care would be needed when sitting or dancing.
The tattoo would be left...uncovered.  She twirled as she faced
the mirror, the brilliant white inner satin lining of the dress
delicious against her legs and startling against the storm and
sapphire blue of the velvet.  Her lips were, unusually for her, the
color of garnets, eyes made larger by the careful application
of real kohl and not too much mascara, skin luminous from
lotions and powders.  Although tempted to put her hair up, she
left it down, artfully styled to look free and easy.  The
final question - gold or silver?  She usually wore hoops or
studs, but she wanted something a little more tactile,
something cool to fight against the warmth of her perfume.
Ultimately she settled on silver teardrops that fell to her
jawline.  Melissa would have been proud.

Back in the kitchen, she discovered that Mulder had
indeed finished all the juice, putting the empty carton back
in the refrigerator.  She would have been offended if she
didn't know this was another constant habit of his.  The
things she had found in his own fridge - !

The doorbell rang (he never used the bell, either) and
she opened it to find her mother and older brother standing on
the step. "Mom! Bill! What's wrong?"

Maggie Scully reassured her with a smile. She grabbed her
daughter's hand and squeezed it tightly. "There's nothing
wrong, Dana.  We were just in town and decided to drop by on a
whim."

"Hey sis," Bill said. "Can't we visit without something
being wrong?"

Scully shook her head, already feeling guilty, although
for what, she didn't know. "No, no, it's just - you always
call first."

"May we come in?" Maggie asked, looking her over from
head to toe.

"Of course," Scully immediately stood back and motioned
them in.  She got the feeling that this was more than a social
call despite the shopping bags that both of them carried.

"That's one hell of an outfit, Dana.  Got a hot date?" Bill said with
approval. "Who's it supposed to impress?  Go on, you can tell us."

"No one in particular," Scully said, adding after a beat,
"Billy."

He merely looked at her, hurt.

Maggie held up one hand. "Dana, that's enough."

She supposed it was.  Only Melissa had been allowed to
call Bill 'Billy'. She moved into the kitchen and poured
herself a glass of water from the tap. "Do you want anything
to drink?"

"I'll take a beer if you've got it," Bill said, sitting
on one of the bar stools on the other side of the counter.

"Mom?"

Maggie shook her head. "Nothing for me."

Scully nodded and snagged one of Mulder's microbrews from
the fridge. Which reminded her that he was still here.  Pray
god he'd have sense enough to stay in the bathroom, or better
yet, her bedroom.  Or maybe that would be worse, she didn't
know.

"Christ, when did you get that tattoo?" asked Bill, shock
and disapproval plain on his face.

She had completely forgotten that they didn't know.
"Couple of years ago."

"Dana," Maggie began, glancing at Bill. "I wanted to talk
to you about the holidays."

Scully leaned back against the stove and gently swirled
the water in her glass. "Oh?"

"Charlie's coming home for Christmas and staying through
the New Year.  I'd like you to be there as well."

A sip of water drove the first tendrils of panic back
down her throat. She stared at the rim of the glass.  Non-
transferable lipstick, where would women be without it. "I
don't know if I can make it."

"Oh, c'mon Dana," Bill said in obvious annoyance. "You
used that excuse last year, and the year before that."

"I can't help where the FBI sends me.  I can put it for
holiday leave all I want to, but if I'm needed somewhere,
that's where I have to go."

"That's a bunch of malarkey and you know it - " Bill
began hotly.

Scully really didn't want to have this argument again. "I
can't make any promises."

"You mean you won't," Bill snapped.  He shook his head.
"Have you been spending so much time with that flake that
you've forgotten who your real family is?"

For all that she loved her brother, she couldn't
understand why Mulder was so important to him.  He'd deny it
if she were ever to ask, but it was true.  Maybe it was even
more simple, maybe he felt that he was the man of the family
since their father had died.  Maybe he felt that he wasn't
protecting her, as she hadn't protected Melissa.

"Bill," Maggie glanced at him again, turned her
attentions to Scully. "Dana.  We've missed you.  Your nieces
and nephews miss you.  You've only seen Matthew twice since he
was born."

Scully went to the sink and poured the water out of her
glass, set the glass down. She forced herself to speak
quietly, but she couldn't meet her mother's eyes. "I do my
best - "

"Well it's not good enough," Bill interrupted. "And
despite that face, you know it just as well as we do."

She looked up, then. "What do mean, 'that face'?"

Bill snorted. "Your FBI face. Do you practice that in the
mirror or something? Bring it out whenever you don't want
people to see the real you?"

That did it. "Bill, I have no idea what you're talking
about.  And Mulder's not a flake."

"We didn't come here for a fight, Dana," Maggie said
firmly. "You can't expect us not to - "

"Scully, you got any more lotion?"

Scully briefly closed her eyes. Did the man have no
timing whatsoever?

Mulder looked up from the bottle of lotion he was
studying as he padded out of the hallway. "Hullo, Mrs. Scully,
Bill."

Oh, lord, he was going into his 'little ol' harmless me'
routine. And why was he wearing her bathrobe?  It might have
been big on her, but on him it looked ridiculous. He also
ignored her glare. "Mulder, there's more lotion in the hallway
closet," Go and get it before Bill goes ballistic.

"Agent Mulder," Bill said it like a curse.  He swigged
some beer.

Maggie smiled, warm and wary at the same time. "Fox, how
nice to see you again."

Mulder ambled forward and shook her mother's hand. "You
too, Mrs. Scully."

"And I've told you before to call me Maggie."

"Shouldn't you be doing this in your own home, Agent
Mulder?" asked Bill.

Scully watched Mulder carefully, wondered again how other
men didn't see the alpha male in him. Although it had to be
said that Mulder didn't show it all that often, getting
whatever it was he wanted in other ways.

"If you'll pardon me, I've got to get dressed," Mulder
looked at her, eyes conveying understanding and a hint of
wickedness. "Can I borrow your hairdryer?"

Grace under pressure, Dana, grace under pressure. "Of
course. It's in - "

"I know where it is."

Scully sighed and resisted the urge to cover her face
with both hands. Silence fell. There was nothing she could say
that wouldn't make the implications any worse.  Damn him for
doing this to her.  Amends should be made, however. "About
Christmas - "

"Well.  Bill and I should get going," Maggie said
shortly, slipping her purse over her shoulder.

"Mom - "

Maggie shook her head with a sad little smile.  "We've
got things to do," She hugged Scully quickly. "Tell Fox we
said goodbye."

Bill slipped off the stool and leaned on the counter,
watching their mother head towards the door, quietly said,
"For god's sake, Dana, haven't you hurt her enough?  The least
you can do is show up for Christmas instead of FedEx-ing a
goddamned gift."

Scully watched them leave without saying anything.  The
worst part of it was that they were right on all counts.  She
had been avoiding going home, seeing the ravaged remains of
her family.  Missy's death, her own abduction and cancer, the
fact that she would never be able to produce children from her
body - these thoughts were ever present when she went home.
Survivor's guilt wasn't helped any by the fact that those
bullets had been meant for her all along.  Her own fears and
depression shouldn't be shared, not with them, not when they
had so much to look forward to.

Brooding wasn't going to get her anywhere. The dark teal
brocaded satin opera coat she put on had cost her two month's
salary and was, she decided, worth every penny and more.
Hemmed with faux black fur at cuffs, collar, and along the
bottom edge, it encased her like a clam in its shell.  Best of
all, it had inner pockets large enough for her wallet as well
as other various and sundries.

"You look great."

Scully came out of her reverie to find Mulder at her
side.  He looked good, wearing a black, wing-free collared
shirt, black coat, jacket, and trousers, black shoes, hair
still slightly damp. "You clean up pretty nice yourself,
Mulder."
 
"A huge compliment from you, Scully.  Be still my beating
heart."
 

Heavy traffic made the journey over an hour long.  Mulder
praised the Goddess of Parking as he grabbed an empty parking
space on the second swing through.

The house was large, with white trim, built of red brick
in the Federal style.  Doormen in the grand foyer took their
coats while other guests swirled around them like jeweled koi
in a pond.

"Dana!"

Scully turned, saw Pilar waving at her from across the
room. She fought her way through the crowd, greeted Pilar in
the European fashion.

"I'm so glad you could make it," Pilar said with a smile.
Her eyebrows shot practically to her hairline as she caught
sight of Mulder. "And you brought someone with you!"

"Pilar MacLeish, this is Fox Mulder."

Pilar looked Mulder up and down appreciatively. "He
certainly is. Come through to the ballroom."

Scully knew Mulder was ordinarily attracted to brunettes
and she also knew if she were to look at him right now she'd
have to slap him back to his senses.  And that would be bad,
because she might not be able to stop herself once she
started. Then again, if she were a man she'd probably have the
same glazed look in her eye, for Pilar was the epitome of
South American sexiness.  Sure, she wasn't wearing a costume,
just a spangly and sleeveless scarlet sheath, yet her hips had
that twitch to them, and not because of her heels, either. And
you didn't naturally get that particular shade of bronze in
your skin without regularly flying to sunnier climes.  Scully
didn't often wish she could tan, but even she had to admit
that Pilar was gorgeous. Too bad red hair and strong sunlight
didn't often go together.

It was a quick walk to the ballroom, down hallways full
of period detail from paint to furniture, much of which was
authentic and thus no doubt astoundingly expensive.  Scully
certainly wished she could afford it.  The ballroom itself was
beautiful, if not all Federal, complete with a black marble
floor, frescoed walls, crystal chandeliers holding real
candles, an indigo ceiling lush with gold stars.  Sofas and
settees were spaced evenly around the room, low tables in
between.  A wet bar lined one wall, and a band played generic
lounge music in one corner, not drowning out the low murmur of
conversation.  Fifty different colognes and hot beeswax
scented the overly warm air.

Pilar took Scully's arm, which could have been awkward
had she not been used to Mulder's height. Who still couldn't
keep his eyes off of the Brazilian.

"Have you met Florian Schmidt before?"  Pilar asked.

Scully shook her head, looking around the other
guests and finally twigging what was odd. "No."

"Ah, well, this should definitely be interesting. Fox - I
can call you Fox, yes?"

"Fox is fine," Mulder replied all too warmly.

"Fox - I like that name.  It's soft on the tongue."

"I like the way you say it."

 Mulder in full flirt mode.  Scully tried not to gag.  "I
could really use a drink."

"Come meet Florian first," Pilar said.  She squeezed
Scully's arm. "I told him all about you."

Pilar maneuvered them to a small group of men, two of
whom were blatantly European, the other two Spanish or South
American. "Florian, I'd like you to meet Dana Scully and Fox,
Fox Mulder."

Florian was tall, at least a foot over herself.  He even
towered over Mulder. Rail-thin, smoking an equally skinny
cigarette in an ivory holder, dressed casually in trousers,
jacket, and shirt open at the neck, he lowered his eyes and
inclined his head in possible recognition of their existence.
His gaze lingered over Mulder. "Bonjour, mon ami."

Pilar motioned to the others. "My husband, Iain - "

"Hi Dana," Iain nodded at Scully and held his hand out to
Mulder. "Welcome to the club."
 
" - my brother Estevao - "

Darker than his sister, but with the same black eyes,
wearing brown linen pants and a longsleeved shirt.

" - and his partner, Mauricio."

Who looked like he was about sixteen.  Scully glanced at
Pilar, who seemed to understand, for she hastily added,

"Mauricio turned eighteen earlier this year.  He's going
to American U.  Florian, Dana and Fox work for the Federal
Bureau of Investigation."

That certainly got their attention. The men focussed on
the two of them like owls hunting their next snack.

"D'you like it there, then?" Iain asked, Scottish accent
hanging on strong despite American overtones.

Mulder shrugged. "Just like working anywhere else.  Maybe
a little more exciting."

Scully raised an eyebrow at his bland explanation. When
had he learned not to blast his theories at everyone except
her?  She desperately wanted that drink.

"It must be difficult, working with a woman," Florian
said, his English thick and accented heavily with French, a
little German. His eyes flicked over Scully and dismissed her,
returned to Mulder.

"I haven't found that to be the case," Mulder answered.

Florian tilted his head and waved the cigarette holder,
sending a shower of ash over the arm of Scully's dress.  She
brushed it off.

"I would think that the hormones would make it, odd. They
don't do well, women, do they?  So unstable."

The question was for Mulder, but she leaped in before he
had a chance to speak. "Why would hormones make a difference?"

Florian sniffed, shrugged, raised the ivory holder to his
thin lips.

Mulder deadpanned, "Hormones make it so much easier to
shoot people you don't like."

"Iain, would you take them to the bar?" Pilar asked in
the silence that followed, touching him on the arm and
releasing Scully at the same time. "Estavao, I need to talk to
you - "

Not that they needed him, but Iain dutifully led them to
the bar, where Scully ordered a double Jim Beam and Coke.
Mulder ordered Glenmorangie on the rocks.

"What the hell was that all about?" asked Scully.

Iain grinned and bounced on his toes.  He hooked his
thumb over his shoulder. "Aye, he's a misogynist little shit,
ain't he?"

She smiled politely, not letting it reach beyond her
lips. "I'd noticed."

Iain beamed.  "Personally, if Florian fell off the face
of the earth tomorrow and never held a party again, I wouldn't
miss either of 'em,"

"How so?" Scully asked.  She sipped her drink, trying to
let the anger go.

Iain pursed his lips, pondered for a second, leaned in
and lowered his voice.  "Well, I'll tell you something for
nothing.  If Estevao weren't as thick as thieves with the man,
and if Pilar wouldn't get her knickers in a twist, I'd drop-
kick Florian to Customs so fast he wouldn't know what hit him,
d'you ken?"

"He's here illegally?" Mulder asked, scrutinizing the
tallest man in the room from afar.

"Och, no, man.  He's not so simple as that," He spied
someone over Mulder's shoulder and waved. "Hey, Rabbie! Pardon
me."

Scully already wanted to be home, curled up on the couch,
watching something stupid on the tv.  The men here, Florian
excepted, were all every mother's dream for their daughter.
Handsome enough to be host morning tv shows, wealthy, or at
least the appearance of wealth, healthy, cultured.  And yet
for all that, still completely unattainable.  Strange, her
mother had never put that pressure on her or Melissa.  Bill
had, though, even before Missy's death.  '"Go on, get yourself
married and settled down.  You don't want to be working
thirteen hours straight in a lab when you're forty-five, no
one to go home to"', that's what he'd said when she'd started
teaching at Quantico.  Now it was '"Find a man before it's too
damned late, Dana, before your head's filled with blood and
monsters and all you can dream about is death and decay"'

Little did he know.

"Earth to Scully?"

"Hm?"  Scully started at the touch of Mulder's hand on
her shoulder.

He examined her with concern. "You alright?"

"Yah.  Just thinking," She sipped her drink, found it
already to be mostly ice. Mulder snagged it out of her hand
and ordered another one.

"How do you know Pilar?" he asked.

Scully took a deep breath, already feeling looser from
the Jim Beam. Maybe she should have eaten before they left.
"We met at a bookstore, got to be friends over coffee," She
frowned. "Don't really know why, when I think about it, we're
very different people.  The friends part, not the coffee."

"Yeah, I got that."
 
"Anyway, we see each other at book club meetings."
 
"I never took you for an Oprah kind of gal, Scully."
 
She flashed him a "don't even go there" Look. "She met
Iain in Brazil. He was on his way to his hotel after four
weeks on an oil rig, saw her get in a cab, jumped in beside
her.  Unlike little green men, the rest is history.  This is
only the second time I've met him since they were married,"
The second drink had a great deal more bourbon than Coke in
it, she was pleased to taste.  She was happy enough to stand
and watch the crowd, and a bit bummed that her dress wasn't
getting the attention she thought it deserved.  She didn't
know why she had dressed up, anyway. Granted, Pilar had said
to dress smart, not formal, but even so, Scully felt a bit
uncomfortable, as if she had worn a tee shirt and jeans to a
senate committee hearing instead of a suit.  Right clothes,
wrong occasion.

Mulder shook his head, amused. "Scully's secret social
life, who knew?"

Iain returned, glass in hand. "I don't know about you
lot, but I've seen livelier wakes. Cheers."

Mulder chuckled. "This is pretty low-key."

Scully finished her drink, ordered yet another one.
Mulder, she was glad to see, didn't notice.  Which was fine
with her.  She hadn't gotten drunk in a very, very long time.
Come to think of it, she couldn't remember when the last time
was.  With Missy, maybe?  No, she'd seen too many colleagues
try and fail to make alcohol their friend to drink too often.
But the buzz was very, very nice.  She could already feel her
eyes beginning to cross.  If she hadn't been in unknown
company, she'd've dared Mulder to get drunk with her.  In
fact, she was definitely over the edge.

"Take my advice, don't touch Florian with a ten foot
barge pole," Iain said. He motioned towards Scully. "Actually,
I'm surprised there are any women here besides Pilar. It's not
an act.  Florian hates women and does his best to keep them
from being promoted in his business. Strictly secretarial.
He s not above a little rumor-mongering to do it, either."

"Great," Scully murmured, gazing at her fresh JB and C.
Lord knew she had gotten used to that at J.Edgar.  She kept
her ears open, had heard more commentary about herself, never
mind what she got up to with Mulder, than she ever guessed
would be possible among people outside of high school or
college.  And they wondered why she never moved in their
social circles, then called her the Ice Queen and worse when
they thought she was out of hearing.  God, but their duplicity
and hypocrisy made her angry.  She deserved another drink
after this one for having to deal with all of that shit.

"Aye, I don't like the man one bit," Iain reiterated.  He
shook his head.

"Hey Scully, let's dance," Mulder said.
 
She gave him a Look. "Dance?"

"Yeah, y'know, moving your body to music?"
 
"I know what it is, Mulder," Scully replied testily,
immediately regretting her tone at the look on his face.
"Alright, then."
 
Iain helpfully took their glasses while Mulder guided her
towards the band, his hand having slipped to its familiar spot
in the small of her back. She was hyperaware of the heat in
his palm, the way his fingers kept circling her tattoo.
 
They assumed the position on the edge of the dance floor,
in the dark between the musicians and the wall, no tables or
sofas nearby.
 
"Mulder, this feels decidly odd," Scully said, looking at
the other couples dancing, all of them male.  "I don't think
I've ever been so aware of being a woman."
 
"Relax, Felix," Mulder said.
 
Scully snorted.  The Odd Couple, indeed. She leaned
against Mulder and sighed, fell into the rhythm of the music,
enjoyed the warmth of his body.  She could stay like this
forever.
 
"What was that?"
 
"Hm?" She pulled away enough to look up at him. "What?"
 
"You mumbled something that I couldn't quite catch."
 
Scully stopped for a moment, frowned. Hell if she could
remember, either. Something about forever? "Haven't a clue,
Mulder."
 
The band finished its song, started another slow tune,
Glen Miller or some such, maybe Artie Shaw.
 
Scully started to speak, thought better of it, thought
about it a moment later, opened and closed her mouth.
 
"Spill it," Mulder said, breath warm against her scalp.
 
She looked up again, made his eyes return to two instead
of four. Maybe she shouldn't have drunk so much quite so fast.
"I was just thinking about something I probably shouldn't tell
you."
 
He was trying not to smile. "Oh yeah?"
 
She slowly glanced around, nearly losing her balance in
the process, then looked up at him earnestly and stage-
whispered, "I'm not wearing any underwear."
 
His eyes widened fractionally. "And I should know this
because...?"
 
She grimaced, shrugged. "I don't know.  It seemed
important at the time."
 
"Exactly how many drinks have you had?"
 
Scully took a deep breath and tried to find the answer in
the ceiling's gold stars.  Good question. "Three? Four? No,
three. I think?"  She felt him laugh.
 
"My god, a secret social life, drinking, no underwear.
What else do you have up your sleeve tonight?"
 
"I like it when you laugh," Had she just said that out
loud? "Did I just say that out loud?"
 
"Mm."
 
Aw hell, roll with it. "You don't laugh enough, Mulder.
Too serious by far."
 
"I could say the same about you."
 
Now it was her turn for the noncommittal answer. She
wrapped her arms around him, their dancing now little more
than a gentle swaying from side to side.
 
"Our silence is our grace and our curse, Scully.  Doing
what we do, being who we are, we needs must keep control in
the midst of the chaos we live in, as well as overcome the
chaos that lives within us.  Who can say how much we're
affected by it?"
 
'"Have you been spending so much time with that flake
that you've forgotten who your real family is?"'
 
Mulder continued.  "I know your family has doubts about
our friendship, Scully. They knew you before I ever did - "
 
She smiled.  It sounded obvious, but she understood what
he meant.
 
" - and can see the changes that my actions have wrought
upon you."
 
"No, Mulder.  I came into the X Files with my eyes open."
 
"You can't say that - "
 
"I think I just did!"
 
He chuckled and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead.
"Nonetheless, you can't say you knew what would happen to
you."
 
Scully shrugged. "Who can?"
 
"Our laughter is precious, as is the time we spend with
our families."
 
Scully closed her eyes. "You heard, then?"
 
"I've already requested downtime over the holidays for
you."
 
"What about yourself?" God, that she couldn't ask him
over to her mother's on the day.  Yet he would feel just as
awkward, knowing he wasn't wanted, not that her mother would
ever say such a thing.  As a person, her mother liked Mulder.
As a coworker who consistently got her daughter into trouble,
well...that was another thing entirely. And Bill, no, she
couldn't count on Bill not to say something.
 
"Frohike's got something he wants to show me."
 
"Don't tell me, I don't think I want to know."
 
"I'm not sure I want to, either," Mulder muttered.
 
Scully put her head against his chest, listened to the
beat of his heart.  The dance floor was becoming more full,
now.  She caught glimpses of Pilar and Iain as the other
dancers moved, her scarlet dress sparkling in the soft light
of the candles.
 
Mulder said, "Do you think we've changed so much?"
 
She was quiet for a moment.  "Yes, and no. We've lost our
naivete, our innocence.  The choice to assume ignorance has
been taken from us, as have people that we love.  Yet, and
yet, we are the same people.  Stronger, for what we have
experienced.  Smarter, in that we recognize what we have lost,
but equally, in what we have gained."
 
Mulder tightened his arms around her back. "Not so drunk,
then, for those words of wisdom to come pouring forth."
 
"Oh, drunk enough, Mulder, drunk enough.  In fact, I'd
really like to go home."
 
"Oo, Scull-ay, is that an indecent proposal?"
 
He leered at her and waggled his eyebrows, making her
laugh. "Mulder, my feet are killing me, and I'm as like to
fall as walk.
 
He smiled and nodded. "Let's blow this pop stand."
 
By the time they reached the car, having said their
goodbyes and 'nice-to-meet-you's', Scully was regretting the
very idea of hard liquor itself.  The headache pulsing above
her left eye reminded her with each spike why she rarely drank
the stuff in the first place.  Never mind becoming an
alcoholic, she suspected she was sensitive and maybe even
allergic to something in the process that made it so
drinkable.  Beer she was fine with, and wine, but hard liquor?
What had she been thinking?
 
The ride home was uneventful. Mulder unlocked her door
while she fumbled with her keys.  She stumbled into her
apartment, the balls of her feet sore and her calves ready to
cramp, wrung out from the events of the day and tired of being
drunk.  Hell, the effort it took just to speak clearly was
quickly getting beyond her grasp.  Thank god in heaven she was
home. The opera coat would survive spending the night thrown
over the back of the couch. "I'm going to bed."
 
"Not before you drink these," Mulder said, approaching
her with two glasses.
 
She took one and tasted the liquid in it dubiously.
"Water?"
 
"Best cure for a hangover, Dr. Scully. Dr. Mulder says
so. Go on and drink 'em, otherwise you're going to be in a
world of hurt tomorrow morning.  Trust me on this one."
 
He stood in front of her and wouldn't let her move until
she had gulped down both glasses, and then he insisted on
walking her to her own damned bedroom as if she were a
recalcitrant child. The framed velvet Elvis sneered as she
passed it, and she wondered yet again what had possessed her
to put it on her otherwise pristine white walls.  Oh yeah.
Another one of Mulder's odd post-hospital 'get well' gifts.
 
"Here we go," Mulder said, steadying her with his hand.
 
Ah, her bedroom.  Her bed. It looked remarkably like a
big russet boat, except it didn't have a mast or sails. And it
didn't have a hull.  However, it did rock from side to side.
 
"Can you, uh, get undressed by yourself?"
 
She flipped one hand back at him.  Course she could.  The
buttons were easy enough to undo, or at least they would be if
she could get her bloody fingers to work.  She tugged
experimentally on either side of the collar.  No, they'd
definitely have to be undone. "Shit."
 
Somewhere behind her, Mulder made what sounded
suspiciously like a snort. Bastard.
 
"Here, let me," he said. "Tilt your head forward."
 
Cool fingertips grazed the back of her neck, worked for a
moment, and then she was free.  Scully sighed and pulled the
collar down, tugged one arm and then the other loose of their
velvet cages.  Another pull on the front and she was
unencumbered from the waist up.
 
Mulder coughed and said, "I'll, um, be outside."
 
"'Kay," she mumbled.  Whatever.  She pushed the dress
over her hips, doing the wriggly dance at the same time, let
it drop to the floor.  Like the coat, it would survive. High
heels (she couldn't believe she was still upright in them) and
alcohol didn't mix, but she made it to the closet, pulled out
a shirt and got it over her head without too much struggle.
Damn, but it was big.
 
Back to the bed.  Scully plopped down and waited for the
room to stop moving.  All she had to do was take off her shoes
and stockings and she'd be all set.  Could float on by in her
boat-bed.  The shoes did seem an awfully long way away,
though.  She pondered.
 
There was a knock on the door. "Hey Scully, you alright
in there?" Mulder's voice came through clearly as he hadn't
closed the door all the way.
 
"I can't reach my shoes," she complained.
 
Mulder went through another bout of coughing, then
entered and squatted at her feet.  His hands were warm on her
ankles, first the one, then the other, undoing the tiny silver
buckles, sliding her feet out of the shoes.  He massaged her
soles, glanced up curiously. "Is that my shirt you're
wearing?"
 
Scully blinked him back into focus, looked down at the
shirt, a button down blue Oxford. "Oh, yeah.  You left it here
a few weeks ago.  I've been meaning to get it back to you.
Even washed it."
 
He stared at her, unusually inscrutable.
 
Had she overstepped the bounds?  She fiddled with the top
button. "You want it back now?"
 
"No, I'll get it in the morning."
 
"Mm 'kay."  To more things to do, and then she could
sleep.  She really was very tired, and the bed-boat was so
very soft, like sitting on a cloud.  Scully slid her thumbs
into the top of the thigh highs and began to roll them down
her leg.
 
Mulder shot to his feet and backed towards the door. "I
be in the living room if you want me. Need me. Anything, uh,
if you need anything. Gotta go."
 
With that parting remark, he fled, leaving her staring
blearily after him, wondering what she'd done wrong.
 

Off went the other stocking, and she gratefully laid back
on the bed.  The light was still on, but she didn't have the
get-up-and-go to turn it off.  Didn't matter anyway.  She was
in bed, under the covers, and that was the important thing.

Scully woke up in darkness.  It was two in the morning
and her bladder was about to burst.  Her tongue was really
icky, and she could smell the alcohol coming out of her skin.
She hauled herself out of the bed and stepped into the
hallway, heard the tv and went to the living room.  Mulder was
sprawled on the couch, fast asleep under the throw.  She
turned off the tv and trotted to the bathroom before she lost
all control. Mulder had been right, though, the water had
helped. She peed, brushed her teeth, took a quick shower,
drank more water, and was back in bed ten minutes later.

She dreamed:

His lips were on her neck again, on the side, just below
her ear.  His tongue flicked out and tasted her, leaving a
little trail of wetness as he moved to her clavicle.  A hand
tweaked her nipple, another caressed her from thigh to
shoulder. She spread her legs hopefully but he didn't touch
her there.  He didn't take the hint when she rolled over onto
her stomach and raised her ass, either, and quite frankly, it
was beginning to piss her off.  If he wasn't going to do more
than that, well, by god she'd just have to take care of
herself, because he was going to drive her mad.

He was behind her, now, but not as close as she would
have liked.  Indeed, he kept inching away from her. She closed
her eyes and allowed her head fall to one side, giving him a
nice long bit of neck to work on.  He obliged, and she melted.

Unfortunately that's all he did.  His hands were still on
her hips and refused to go lower, no matter how much she urged
him on with her voice. Yes, she liked her neck kissed and her
ears nibbled on, who didn't?  But didn't her lips deserve
attention?  Weren't her nipples worthy of the same treatment,
her belly, her breasts?  She reached between her legs to
relieve the discomfort.  He spoke softly as she moved, touched
her shoulder. She turned towards him happily, and he touched
her again.

"Scully - "

He sounded remarkably like Mulder, which was good,
because he was supposed to sound like...Mulder?

Scully's eyes flew open at the thought.  And there he
was, a pale shape in gray tee shirt and boxers next to the
bed.  His eyes gleamed. "Mulder, what is it, what's wrong?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing.  You've been
moaning up a storm in here.  Bad dreams?"

She glanced down to make sure her traitorous nipples
weren't clueing Mulder in to what was going on.  She didn't
care if the light wasn't on, enough came in through the
curtains for him to see everything.  A spurt of pleasure went
through her as she squeezed her thighs together. God, she
ached with unrelieved tension, and the sooner he went away,
the sooner she could do something about it. "Yeah, dreams."

He stayed silent for a moment. "Bad ones?"

Lying to Mulder had never been one of her strong points.
"Sorta."

"Think you'll get back to sleep okay?"

Well that all depended on your point of view, but yes.
Eventually. "Mm."

"How 'bout I give you some help."

She looked at him warily, fully awake. "What do you
mean?"

The mattress sank as he got on it,crabbing over her to
lie alongside, their bodies separated only by blankets and
sheets. Close enough to touch to through the covers.  He
propped himself up on one elbow.  "I was thinking that what
worked for me might work for you."

"A bedtime story?"

"No.  Well. Kinda."

His voice was very soft.  The last time he'd spoken like
that had been weeks ago, when - .  Oh.   How in damnation did
he know?  Did he have some kind of sixth sense about her in
particular, or what?

Scully barely refrained from leaping out of the bed when
he drew down the covers and put his hand on her stomach, on
top of her - his - shirt.  She swallowed hard, and tried not
to tremble.  The room was hot - had she left the thermostat
up?

"Once upon a time," he began. "like many other young men,
boys, in truth, on the verge of manhood, I used to dream of
biddable women doing whatever I asked of them, and was
bitterly disappointed when I learned the truth of what
relations were between men and women."

As he spoke, he stroked her belly, hand moving lower with
each and every pass until he was caressing the juncture of her
bare thighs.  If he kept it up - so to speak - long enough, he
wasn't going to have to do anything else.  It felt nice, very
nice, and if she wanted to remain coherent she'd have to
involve her forebrain, too. "Girls dream of the same thing,
Mulder."

"Not in quite the same way," he said. "Girls are
encouraged to contemplate romantic love rather than sex."

"True enough. A convenient way of ignoring women's
sexuality," She refused to think of her own teen years, when
even her mother had encouraged her to go wild, which in
retrospect was really quite sad.

He was quiet for a moment. "I wouldn't call myself
inexperienced in the game of love, and yet I've not found
myself completely satisfied with any of the women I've been
with."

Oh?

"Perhaps the lack is in me, and have found it easier to
blame them than take responsibility for my own behavior."

"You have to admit, um, admit that you are an odd duck,
Mulder," Maybe speech wasn't really a good idea after all.

"Even so," he mused. "I'm a healthy adult male.  Is it so
strange for me to desire the whole package, rather than the
scraps they're willing to give?"

No, definitely not.  Scully took a deep breath, shifted
her hips a little closer to him.

"Lately the prospect of dating someone has taken more of
an effort than I feel that I can give.  And then there's you,
of course."

Herself? Of course? What on earth did he mean by that?
She didn't think she would like the answer if she asked.  Her
ardor cooled somewhat, she reached to move his hand away.

Mulder stopped moving. "Don't," he whispered,
"Just...don't."
 
Scully hesitated, then shoved her hand beneath her back.

"Apart from celluloid imagery," he continued on as if
uninterrupted. "Where I've become very fond of redheads - "

She had to smile at that, squirming in a pathetic attempt
to get him to moisten his fingers amongst her folds.

" - I've been mostly celibate."

Her eyes went wide open at that tidbit of information.
Celibacy had become all too familiar for herself as well.  She
had simply assumed it was different for him.

"What about you?  What are your preferences? Short
blondes?  Muscle bound Conans?  Ordinary men like Colton?  Or
even," His voice was dry, teasing, and genuinely curious.
"perhaps, tall, dark, and big-nosed?"

She couldn't speak anymore,  and gave up all subtlety to
rock her hips against his hand.  Mulder hunkered down further
on his elbow and leaned over her.  She could feel his intense
gaze and turned her face towards his chest.  If she looked him
in the eye she'd end up telling him anything he wanted to
know.

"In the weeks since last you were at my apartment, I've
often lain on the couch and thought of you."

His fingers finally - finally! - slipped past her outer
lips, and she melted all over again with a heavy sigh.

"I find myself on the bed, equally often in the shower -.
I've thought of you and touched myself - "

O dear god in heaven.  The mental image of him, spread
eagled, one hand around his cock, the other tweaking his
nipples, mouth open, saying her name - she managed not to
moan.  Did he fondle his balls, his ass?  Her belly cramped as
she felt a flush of heat rise up her chest and throat.

Mulder lowered his voice, breath hot against her temple.
"I liked watching you come."

He didn't need anything but his voice to make her come,
his fingers almost redundant over that power to seduce and
caress.  She couldn't get enough breath, gasped shallowly
against the sheets as spikes of terribly sweet pain began to
roll through her.

"Will you come for me again, Scully?"

What a silly question.  How she loved him for it. She
jerked and quivered against him until the orgasm was over.
The strength of it embarrassed her, was such that she wasn't
sure she would be able to face him in the morning.

Mulder was silent, though his breathing was rough and his
arm trembled against her hip.  Before Scully had a chance to
catch her breath, he pressed down on top of her outer vaginal
lips, slowly pressing his fingers down until she inhaled
sharply.  He stopped and pressed harder as the lightning of
another orgasm raced through her body.  She silently blessed
the woman who had taught him that trick.

They lay there, neither speaking, for a few minutes,
until Scully began to chill.  She drew the covers over her
legs again, up to her chin, then turned her back to Mulder and
curled up on her side, thighs pleasantly slick from her own
juices, little aftershocks of pleasure going up her spine.
She was half asleep when it occurred to her that she ought to
say something to him.  To Mulder.

"What was that?"

"You," She murmured. "Always you, Mulder.  Everytime,"
She retained just enough awareness to feel her hair brushed
away from her forehead, to hear him softly say,

"Sleep, Scully. Sleep."

And Morpheus drew her down into the abyss.
 
 

Note: I swear Mulder's getting some next.  I initially had
difficulty in setting POV, but Scully decided it for me in the
end.  The story also turned out to be far longer than I
expected, due to some issues that I've been thinking about for
years.  I felt, as I'm sure many others do, that Scully's
problems with her family deserved an airing...and I wanted to
see both her and Mulder interact with people who were neither
victims nor perpetrators of crime, hence the party. More
characterization was planned for Florian and co, but
ultimately I simply couldn't fit it all in - I have to work on
my real novel, darnit!  Who knows, maybe we'll revisit them in
the future.