E-MAIL ADDRESS: flyn121@yahoo.com
CLASSIFICATION: S, R
KEYWORDS: Romance
Website: www.geocities.com/cratkinsonflynn/ 
CATEGORY: DAL
DATE: September 10, 2000
DISTRIBUTION: Xemplary, Ephemeral, Spooky, Gossamer, yes; anywhere else,
just ask. I share. 
SPOILER WARNING: Passing reference to Requiem.
RATING: NC-17 for adult expressions of affection. You know, TenderSmut.
FEEDBACK: Please. I ask for so little.
SUMMARY: Mulder's take on that little hair-brushing ritual.
DISCLAIMER: My last name is not Carter. 

Special thanks to my friend Christine, for her patience and insight. Oh, and for
laughing at me when I forget to spell-check before I send these things off to her.
Keeps me humble.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ritual II: Another Perspective
by Flynn
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 I love to watch her.

We fell asleep with the small lamp on across the room. I woke up a little while
ago, but I lie as still as I can so I don't disturb her. She's always been a light
sleeper, I guess, and now the pressures of being pregnant are causing a few
problems. She's up like five or six times a night to go to the bathroom. She wakes
up with muscle cramps and tries to deal with them herself. Four months of having
no one to help her, I guess. She says she hates waking me. How can she feel that
way? Doesn't she know I want to do this for her? I hate that I missed so much. I
hate that I wasn't there when she was told. I would give anything to have been
there. To have seen the look on her face. 

At first she didn't accept it, of course. I don't have to be told that; I just know
Scully. She'd have said the possibility of pregnancy was simply not a factor, and
therefore she would have skipped over what had to be the most fundamental of
tests. She was thinking cancer. Metastasis. We both were. Since it was affecting
her balance, it was clearly in her brain, no doubt worse than before. The chip had
failed. Then, when the first rudimentary result came back, she'd have demanded a
battery of blood tests, and probably an ultrasound, and the attending would have
agreed to every one without argument. Professional courtesy. 

And when those results came back, probably to be repeated with the same
outcome, that's when it would hit her. The disbelief. Then the joy. The tears. Had
Scully cried? I can't begin to imagine what she must have felt at that moment.
She's tried to explain it, but sometimes words just aren't enough. 

I'll see it next time. There will be a next time. God, I want there to be.

I love to watch her sleep. I'm a good arm's length away in this big bed of hers, so
when I carefully prop my head up on my hand, it doesn't disturb her. She's facing
me, half on her back, half on her side. Jesus in heaven, she's beautiful. Her skin is
like porcelain. I can see the little veins in her eyelids. I can see the lines in her lips.
They're unique in everyone, like fingerprints but infinitely more delicate. I just
about have hers memorized. There's a little flutter in her throat from the big artery
there. It's going at a good clip, probably eighty or eighty-five. She's dreaming.
What about, I wonder.

Something happened tonight. We've always excelled at nonverbal communication,
true, but I'd never expected  . it  . would happen quite like it did. I don't know
what I was expecting, really. I *have* had trouble the past couple of weeks
keeping my hands off her, which in turn has made sharing this apartment kind of
interesting. It isn't just curiosity I mean, I've never touched a pregnant woman
before, true, but it's more than that. I want her. I want Scully. We had something
incredibly sweet, something that took us an obscene amount of time to realize and
I want it back. As my wits have returned to me, so have all the recollections of my
nights with her. I remember our first movie in a real theater. The two of us dancing
at midnight to Louie Armstrong. I remember every time we made love. Which is
why I've dabbled with the idea of going back to my own place. See, I don't want
to pressure her into anything. I've dangled the prospect for more than a week,
hoping she'll give me a clear sign that she wants me out of here. But she hasn't. 

She doesn't. 

I smile as I study her. Funny thing about Scully. She's so contained and ordered
within herself dare I say, repressed? I guess what they say about still waters is true,
because when she makes love, she does it all the way. She  . she takes my breath
away.

I guess, looking back, my bit with the hair brush was a kind of seduction. I didn't
mean it to be. I just wanted a reason to be close to her. An excuse. And I'll admit
now, I think I've always wanted to do that to her hair. Sit and brush it. Play my
fingers through it until she shivers. I can't remember a time when I haven't
preferred a redhead. Whether that predates my association with her simply does
not matter. The thing with the lotion came a little later, when I was looking around
for something I could do for her, something that maybe she couldn't do for herself. 
The backrub was a no-brainer. No, what was a little more difficult was in NOT
succumbing to the urge to do a little exploring under those big shirts she wears. I
wonder if she knew how hard it was for me to go just so far and no further? I
wonder what she would have done if I'd made my usual jesting passes? All this
time, I guess I figured it would piss her off. 

I think now that may have been a bit off the mark. 

I love watching her. Her expression as I rubbed her feet tonight, as I made my way
to her knees. Her knees. You know, seven years I've worked with the woman, and
I don't think I saw them more than a handful of times before that night in April.
God, it was hard to keep my mind on what I was doing. I wanted to kiss them. I
thought about making love to her. I kept thinking of the first time I got her off by
 . well, in a manner to which she was evidently not accustomed. And as I worked
on her feet and her legs and her knees, I could feel myself getting hard. That
bothered me, that I couldn't perform this simple task for her without turning it into
a sexual thing. You know what? I can't help it. I can't help the way my body
reacts to her. As different as she might be now, I find her arousing. 

I wondered if she was at all aware of what was happening. Her eyes never left
mine, so I know she didn't see it. Her eyes. God, blue fire. I have no idea how she
does that. I do know it was going straight to my balls. How long had it been? I
couldn't even do the simple math to figure that out. I wanted her. I wanted to get
off, yeah, but I also wanted to share the process and the journey with her. Those
are some powerful damn sensations, and I love hers just as much as I enjoy my
own. It had been so long since she felt anything besides frustration and loss and
fear, especially where I'm concerned. I think I wanted to do it for her more than
for myself. But I couldn't move. I couldn't tell her what I was thinking. I couldn't
make her want it too. It always comes down to a question of choice. 

She's been very careful to avoid certain things with me. She never lets me see her
when she's nude or even half-dressed, so I couldn't know just how much she's
changed. Pictures in those mothercare books just do not equate. So I touched her.
And she didn't seem to appreciate it; or rather, she found the whole concept
unsettling. Maybe that's my fault. I should have taken more of an active interest in
her before this. Maybe she really does think she's ugly. So I told her, nothing's
changed. I mean, *she* has, most certainly; but what I feel for her now is
unchanged from what I felt our very first night together. If anything, it's stronger.
After all, it isn't the package that stole my heart. It's no one's fault but mine that
she doesn't realize it. Non-verbal communication is great to a point, but the fact is,
maybe I just don't talk to her enough.

I touched her. And it was amazing. I mean, we've done the
hand-over-the-kick-spot a couple times, but it's always been done with the utmost
politeness. I guess we both have moved far enough from where we were before
Oregon that we just couldn't get back into the rhythm. But tonight I felt it. I felt
more than a twitch under my fingertips; I felt her whole abdomen undulate against
my hand. I felt not a kick, but the movement of something inside her. Something
that's mine. Some little piece of me actually found a little piece of her and became
another being. I'm not referring to the science of it all. I know the science. Hell,
I've known the theories of reproduction since I was in grade school. But that's all
they were: theories. See, that was never going to happen to me. It was more
make-believe than anything I've ever encountered in our work. Now I've done this
thing, and it's inside her. Some part of me is inside her right now.

That thought was, and *is*, more than a little arousing. The thought that I'd been
there and then was gone, but that I'd also stayed; that all the time I was gone God
knows where, I was also with her, *within* her, growing. Living. And she was
nurturing that little part of me, keeping it alive even before she was aware of it,
and then loving it like she'd never loved anything in her life. 

And suddenly it wasn't enough to touch her. I wanted to make her feel like I did. I
wanted to eradicate the pain and loneliness and anguish of the past months, not for
myself, but for her. Oh, don't get me wrong, it wasn't completely unselfish of me:
I wanted to be inside her again. There's really nothing more life-affirming than sex.
No denying that. But maybe for the first time in my life, I wanted just a little bit
more for someone else than I did for me.

I wanted to go slowly, but I wasn't sure I could. My damn dick seemed
determined to ruin everything. Simply tasting her for the first time just about ended
it for me. I had to do all sorts of mental acrobatics to keep my mind off how good
this all was, how good it was going to feel to actually  . well, you know. Pretty
selfish impulses, I'll admit. And it certainly didn't help my composure, but Jesus,
her kisses were the best thing I'd felt in my whole life. Like I said, she does it with
everything she's got. So I concentrated on her. I used her as a focal point; but that
raised difficulties, too. See, she's pretty vocal through the whole thing. She usually
moans a little as things progress, and then when she climaxes, she gives these
sweet little cries that go straight through me. It usually isn't a question of whether
or not it's happened. 

No doubt tonight. All this time I was afraid she'd be pissed if I approached her
about sex. Hell, all this time she must have wondered if my dick had been stolen
right along with my memories. I've never known her to be so eager, and I've seen
her have some pretty damned passionate moments. God but it was agony, that first
time. It certainly didn't take very long to get her off, but by then I was about ready
to blow. She knew it. She could tell at a glance, despite my efforts at being smug. I
think if we'd waited just a few minutes before moving on, I would have lasted a
little longer. Shit, that was embarrassing. I slid into her and felt her come, and
damned if I could hold it another second. I was like a kid with his first lay. Insert
gently and ejaculate. I couldn't help it. She was coming so hard and she was so
damned wet and hot and she was clenching around me so hard, I just couldn't. I
didn't even have to move. God, it felt good. Like I was being turned inside out
right there. 

And it didn't stop. I came for what felt like an hour, but then I didn't lose the
erection. It stayed. Jesus, that's *never* happened to me before. It's a good thing
too, because I wanted more than for her to be a receptacle for me. I started to
move and I kept moving, and the more I did, the better it got. And the sounds she
made  . like music. A whole litany of *yeses* and *Oh Gods*, with a few
*Mulders* thrown in. Then the big moment when words evidently failed her, and
the only sound she could manage was a soft, drawn-out cry. I think I also caught a
Fox, but that's awfully close to  . well, another word we've blurted from time to
time when we make love, so I honestly can't hold it against her. I mean, I hate the
very sound of the word *Fox*, but that doesn't mean she does.

It lasted longer the second time, but it still ended too soon. I think she could have
taken it if I'd been able to last an hour. But it did end. God, it felt like my balls
were being wrung out. I mean, it was so good, it hurt. I managed to miss her when
I collapsed and then the waterworks started. I hate crying. Guys aren't supposed
to, right? Guys are supposed to be tough and hide their weakness. Maybe cover it
with anger. Well, that just isn't in my constitution. I bawled like a baby. It felt so
good to be with her, to feel her and taste her and smell her that, once again, I just
couldn't help myself. See, I don't understand how she can love me like she does. It
boggles my mind. 

Damn, she's moving a little. I chance a look over her shoulder at the clock. It's a
little after one. Still lots of time. For once, I don't mind being an insomniac. But
when I look back at her, I find she's looking at me through half-opened eyes.
There's a nice color in her face now. The lighting in here isn't strong enough to
really show it off much, but I can see she's lost that terrible pallor she had when I
first came back. 

Came back. I find myself stuck on that concept for a moment. I have to remember.
I *have* to. But the more I struggle with it, the farther away everything moves. I
know she's right: I have to give it time. It took her years, literally, to piece
together enough shreds of her memory to make any sense of it. Of her own
abduction. Is that what happened to me? I don't remember. I still don't recall
anything after I left Skinner in that clearing. I have to give it time. I can't bully
anything. I can't outwit amnesia. I have to  .

Her hand slides across the bedspread, and she takes hold of my index finger.
"Hey," she says as she blinks, drowsy. Maybe she'll go back to sleep. I want her
to. She needs her rest. There's nothing I can do now but want this for her. I don't
know how to pray. I don't even know if there is a god left for her to believe in.

I lift her hand and kiss her knuckles. "Hey, beautiful. You okay?"

She closes her eyes as she nods. "Mmm. Had a dream." She's still for a while, and
after a minute or so I think she's drifted off again. Then her eyes snap open again
and she groans softly. "Ughh, damn. Have to pee."

My first impulse is to coddle her. I find I want to do shit like carry her to the
bathroom. I want to take care of her. I know that's a guilt reaction; I still haven't
forgiven myself for not being here when she really needed me. I recognize this, and
I also realize how much she'd resent it if I actually attempted to do half of what I
feel compelled to. If I've learned anything about my partner in the past seven plus
years, it's that there are damn few things she can't take care of herself. She can
out-perform me with a 9mm. She can crack the genetic code of an alien virus,
given the right equipment and enough time. She can outthink and outmaneuver a
roomful of arrogant he-Feds and not even break a sweat. She surely doesn't need
me to help her to the bathroom. 

I watch as she pushes herself to her feet. Her hand hovers over the discarded
nightshirt lying in a heap on the foot of the bed, but when she catches me looking,
she curls her hand into a fist and leaves it alone. She makes her way, nude, across
the hall to the bathroom. God, how could anyone not see the beauty in this
woman? Her body  . it looks so soft, with that sweet roundness that starts under
her breasts and just sort of glides out and then down to her hips. Like an hourglass
in reverse. She isn't all that big to look at, though I know she must feel huge. I
don't like her feeling insecure. I need to talk to her more.

I notice she didn't bother to close the door. That makes me smile. She's still rigid,
but by God, she's trying to bend a little. I recognize this. I also recognize the fact
that there's a nice cool autumn breeze coming in from the open window, and that
if she's not cold now, she soon will be. I scoop up the shirt as I roll to my feet,
then peer around the doorjamb at her. 

She's washing her hands. Jeez, as often as she does it, it's a wonder she has any
skin left. She catches sight of me, and I see a warm glow rise up in her cheeks.
"You're supposed to be in bed," she murmurs, as though afraid of waking
someone. Not likely, sweetheart. It's just the three of us, and if you're up, chances
are so's your little roommate. 

I wait until she dries her hands before offering the shirt. She frowns a little. "Don't
get a chill," I whisper, slipping it on over her head. She giggles a little as we fight
with the sleeves. Then she looks at me in such a way that my breath actually
catches in my chest. 

God, how can she love me like this?

"Cold? With you around?" she murmurs, slipping an arm around my waist and
giving me a little hug. "You keep me warm just with your eyes."

God, I can't help it. I fold her up in my arms and just hold her. I tuck her head
under my chin the height difference makes us a perfect fit and I rock her a little,
the way she rocks me when I'm sick or scared. I hear an approving sound come
from her. Her hands lace at the small of my back, and for a long while we stand
there, linked. "Come on," I breathe, turning her. "Back to bed."

I lead her by the hand. She sits down on her side of the bed, and I watch as she
arranges the pillows around her: one wadded and bunched at the base of her spine,
another wedged length-wise between her knees. I notice she hasn't put her
underwear back on. Down boy, I think to myself. It's not exactly the witching
hour. Sex is good, but sleep is necessary. 

"Set?" I ask, watching. She curls an arm around her pillow and smiles as she sinks
her head into it. I close the window, then switch off the little lamp that served me
so well not long ago, and crawl back between the sheets. 

I'm fully prepared to curl up against her back. It's a comfortable way for us to
sleep, with our asses pressed together. Sometimes we'll even hold hands for a
while, or she'll slip an arm back and rest it across my hip. Tonight she has other
things in mind. "Come closer," she whispers, catching my wrist and tugging gently.
Immediately I do a one-eighty and cozy up to her. She shifts a little and turns her
head to look at me, and I'm surprised to feel her hand on my neck, and then her
lips against mine. Mmm, fine. A good-night kiss. I can do this. Three touches in
quick succession, each soft and pliant. I resist the impulse to push for more. Jesus,
I really am hopeless. It's the middle of the night, she just got up to relieve herself,
and I'm getting hot. Evidently our little sexual drought is over. In fact, I wonder if
I would benefit from a little hormone therapy. Maybe a little estrogen to
counteract some of this damned testosterone surging through this skinny,
out-of-shape body of mine.

Oh, shit. That isn't *my* tongue I feel playing about my lips. Her hand is no longer
on my neck, but has taken a sizable portion of my hair and is holding it rather
firmly. "Mulder," she breathes, and I swear I can feel the vibrations of her sultry
tone all the way down in my pelvis. "Did you read the chapter in that book that
talks about a woman's libido in the second trimester?"

Breathe, I tell myself. That's it, suck it in, push it out. Keep the blood moving in
the brain, she's just asked a question and it might not be a hypothetical one. Damn,
all my blood seems destined for the wrong head. "Uh, yeah. I skimmed through it,"
I manage to say. "Although, technically you aren't in that particular stage
anymore." At least that's what I *try* to say, because she's kissing me again. Shit,
she is in fact tugging gently but very persistently at my lower lip. My left hand is
cradling her hip, but it's my right hand I'm really thinking about: it's making its
way between us and easing my rapidly-inflating dick into what is hopefully an
innocuous position against her rump.

I hear her giggle then, and I know the jig is up. "Yeah, I guess you have read about
it," she cracks as she gives her ass a little wiggle. The contact with my dick is brief,
but extremely effective. 

I have to give it a last try - someone has to be realistic here, after all. It's the
middle of the night, and one of us has an appointment in fewer than twelve hours
that might well involve poking around in a place already adulterated with a
decidedly foreign substance. I don't see any point in leaving more there. "Scully,
you can't be serious. Come on, it's late. You're gorgeous just the way you are, but
I have to get some beauty sleep."

She giggles again, and before I can prevent it, she's reached back and is stroking
me. Hell, leave it to a doctor to know where to touch a guy and make his eyes just
about bug out of his head. I catch her hand and carefully ease it away from me.
Okay, so far so good. My dick's ablaze now, but it's nothing I can't handle. Well,
at least I can try and ignore it. And my arm's around her now, which isn't really a
bad thing. Except she doesn't seem to be satisfied with merely holding my hand:
before I'm really aware of it, she's drawn one of my fingers into her mouth and is
sucking on it.

Shit, can't ignore that. I can't restrain the groan she draws out of me. "Scully,
you're crazy," I breathe.

I feel her smile against my hand. "No, I'm not, Mulder. I am exceedingly aroused
right now, though. You have only yourself to blame, you know, walking around
nude. C'mon, we're spooning anyway. And you can't tell me you're too tired."
She shifted her hips ever-so slightly. "See? We don't even have to move. Oh, come
on, don't make me beg. You know I'll just get you for it later."

My eyes roll up and then shut hard. "Scully, you're killing me here. What're you
possibly going to tell your doctor? What are you gonna say, that you were trying
to get pregnant? Maybe it's just me, but I don't think he'll buy it."

She giggled heartily at that. "Jesus, you think it's something he's never seen
before? He's been in practice for better than twenty years! Don't you think he
might have heard about that libido thing?" She plucks at my finger with her teeth,
then eases my hand down until it's cupping her breast through her nightshirt. 

Oh, she's shameless. I groan as I shift a little, which immediately brings my eager
boy back up to the proper position. I roll her nipple between my fingers, an action
that brings an answering moan from her. "And it doesn't bother you that he'll
know we had sex?" Shit, I can't seem to help myself, I'm delving into her.

She arches a little, opening herself. "Not as much as it'll bother me if we don't,"
she replies breathlessly. "God, quit screwing around and just  . oh, yeah  ."

Well, I've found a way to shut her up, at least. With one long slide, I'm in. The
tiny sound she makes is gratifying. Myself, I'm trying hard not to hyperventilate.
Shit, how many guys could turn down such a request, especially one posed in such
a disarming fashion? I think about that for a few seconds as I move, establishing a
nice pace. She indicates her approval by actually purring. Her fingers tighten with
mine around her nipple, and her hips set up their own rhythm, countering me. I
can't help it, I give a soft groan. God, anything for the mother of my child. And it
isn't like this is unpleasant. I think I could die a happy man here.

I know she likes having her neck bitten, but gently so as not to leave a mark.
Again, the height thing is no problem here. I curl around her, enveloping her as I
move in and out, and play my teeth gently against the nape of her neck. It isn't
long before her breathing's out of control, and I can tell she's flying. This time I'm
able to make it last a long time for her. When I sense she's ridden it out, I slow a
bit and kiss her shoulder and let her rest; then after a few minutes her excitement
builds again and she begins to pant my name, and I step it up a little. Now my
control is becoming shaky. I grasp her by the hips, using her weight to leverage
myself away until I'm angled away from her. My hips slap into her ass in an
increasingly violent tempo, one that she doesn't seem to mind in the least. Jesus,
I'm hammering her, and all that's happening is that those breathy pants are quickly
building towards a nice throaty wail. She's arching back against me so hard, we're
practically spooning in the opposite direction. And I'm losing it. Jesus, it feels so
good, I don't want it to end. Yet end it must in a few seconds I feel a white-hot
expansion starting. "Sc .." I pant. Jesus, I hope she can understand me. "Can't
hold  . g  na  . come  ."

What is she doing? Her frantic movements abruptly taper off and then she goes still
against me. At first I can't figure it out. Is she finished? Is she unconscious? It
certainly wouldn't surprise me; God knows how long it's been since she's actually
managed to inhale. Then I hear her faint whisper, and it serves to spur me on.

" . yes, do it  . do it  ."

She's waiting for me. Her body is quiet now, listening for my own release. Ah,
hell. Can't disappoint her. A few more slaps and the heat consumes me. "God, Sc
  lee  ." Somehow I choke out her name as I let go. Jesus, how can anything
hurt so good? 

God, my heartbeat is insane. Can't keep doing this, I think to myself as I slump
weakly against her. My muscles are burning, and it feels like my heart is just going
to bounce right out of my chest. Can't, I find myself panting. Can't. Can't.

Hell, now what is she doing? I hate myself for the stab of resentment I feel. Shit,
she's moving. No, she can't possibly want me to do it again. I'll die. I might die
anyway. I love her, but this in insane. I want to tell her that, too, and I will just as
soon as I can open my mouth to do anything except gulp air. 

Where is she going? I feel the bed jounce a little, but I don't have the energy to
open my eyes. I hear her moving around and doing things to the bed, but I don't
even try to look. Just lie there and pant. Too long, it's been too long and I'm in
terrible shape. Gotta do something about that, gotta start running or at least
walking. Too many weeks of sitting around and eating ice cream. Ugh. Ice cream
is cool, isn't it? Cool, and I'm so hot I feel like I'm going to spontaneously
combust. That'll be one for the books, won't it, I want to ask her. Maybe if she
witnesses it herself, she can bring herself to believe it. Oh, pissy, I chide myself.
Don't say it, it'll hurt her feelings. She can't help it if her hormones are killing me.
Can't help it. Can't  .

Something cool touches my face then, and I recoil weakly. "Shh," she murmurs,
and I open my eyes to see she's wielding a washrag. It's the same shade as her
eyes. For a minute I can't get past that. How'd she find a rag the same shade blue?
If I were to make such a purchase, I'd come home with khaki linen. Very
charming. But her stuff is almost as beautiful as she is. 

Almost.

Oh hell, what is she doing? It feels wonderful, that rag as it plays over my face,
brushing away the sweat, cooling me. I manage to smile. "I'm supposed to be
taking care of you," I say. 

Her own smile is dazzling. "You just did, and a fine job it was, too." 

It takes me a few seconds to grasp what she means, and then I actually chuckle.
The rags leaves off with my face and trails down my neck, dabbing here and there,
touching chest and abdomen. I flinch when I feel it on my limp cock. "Scully, just
leave it. It's asleep. For God's sake, don't do anything to wake it up, I'm begging
you."

I sound like I'm joking, but I'm not. Not entirely, at least.

She giggles as she sits back. I feel the bed jerk, then hear the splat of the rag
hitting the bathroom floor. "Only for you, Mulder. Come on, roll over. You're in
the middle of the bed." 

I groan piteously as I comply. "You're mean, Scully. Always telling me what to do
 ."

She smacks me once on the ass. "No, don't go all the way over there. I'm not
finished with you yet."

I cringe to think what that statement portends. Reluctantly I turn back and face
her. God, she can't want more, can she? I just don't have it to give. Her
ministrations with the rag have cooled me to the point where I actually find myself
shivering, and exhaustion is well on its way through my weary body. I hear her
smile in the darkness as she draws the blankets back up over us -- evidently they
went flying during our calisthenics. Then she settles herself against me, nestling her
round belly against my side and her head on my shoulder. "There," she whispers,
"is that okay? No more exertions. Just you and me and this little guy in the middle
here, lying in our bed."

I slip an arm under and around her, drawing her close. Her warmth spreads quickly
through me. I feel her hand move slowly up and down my chest. It's hypnotic. I
wonder if she's aware just how good it feels. "Mmm, this I can do." Slowly,
wearily, I turn and press a kiss to her forehead. "Love you, Scully."

She turns her head, and I feel her lips brush mine, this time in tender
acknowledgement and not enticement. "Mmm, likewise. You're a good man, Fox
Mulder."

I'm fading fast. "Mmm. Don't you mean, You're a good man, Charlie Brown?" I
manage to ask.

She giggles one last time, and her hand stills on my chest. When she speaks, her
voice is noticeably slurred. "Mmm, I would be if that were your name."

I feel her slim body begin to twitch then as sleep overtakes her. My own quickly
follows suit. 

'night, Scully. 

~~~~~
end