Acceptance (R)

Original Summary

Mulder and Scully take a significant personal step forward after a severe blow to his psyche.

Original Author Notes

Yes, that's an R rating and yes, there's a certain part of me that cannot believe I actually wrote this. But then again, maybe I didn't write it, because most of it came to me in a dream-like trance (no, I don't normally have dreams this interesting) and just maybe I was channeling some other author. In any case, let this be my contribution to the inevitable outpouring of hurt/sex/comfort stories that will flood TXF fandom after SUZ. (As an aside, I wrote the first draft of this story long before I ever saw the eps, so even though it looks as though Mulder's mother has moved since we last visited her, I'm leaving her in the same house that we've seen in the past. I need those stairs!) Time frame for this one is about ten days to two weeks after the event in question. As usual, the "M&S history" behind this comes from my Crossing Lines story and beyond. By the way, this being a serious departure from the stuff that I've written to date — in a big way — I'd really like to know what you think.

The big M&S scene here was at least partly inspired by the movie, "The Big Easy". Every time I see it, I'm amazed by that hot make-out scene between Dennis Quaid and Ellen Barkin, where, for the most part, they remained clothed. I think ever since then, I've realized that I like the artful and somewhat subtle approach to so-called sex scenes. This was my contribution to the genre.

Back Story

When I first heard of 1013's intentions to add this crisis to Mulder's life, my first thought was, "Why? Why does he need more and more tragedy?" As the spoilers unfolded, I knew that it was all becoming fodder for fanfic, so how could I resist? The fact was, I couldn't resist. Acceptance also turned out to be one of the fastest works that ever rolled off my assembly line. It took a little more than a week to complete, a good month and a half before I saw the actual episodes themselves (late December/early January). I did have to go back and revise it for content after I saw the eps, however, given that when I first heard about it, I wasn't expecting the entire Samantha storyline to be "wrapped up", so to speak. (I personally still don't think it is, but maybe that's just me.)

Hard to put a concrete date on this one, so I'm going with "real time", maybe towards the weekend of February 19, 2000? (This is assuming that the events of the two-parter took place over a period of several days in early February.)

ATXC Original Posting: February 2000

* * * * *

[As this story features R-rated content, it is only reproduced in part here.]

Dana Scully snuggled down under her blanket for the evening, book in hand, music in the background, dishes in the dishwasher, and a pint of ice cream by her side. It was a simple reward for a grueling week. And although she was alone, she was grateful for that also. There were times in one's life when it was just easier and preferable to be alone and she knew that Mulder had been feeling that way since his mother's funeral service. Friends were important at such times to provide support, but the bottom line was that true acceptance of death only comes to individuals on their own, in their own time.

He had been in and out of the office throughout the past few days despite his having taken the week off. He seemed okay as far as she could tell, but it wasn't as though they had shared any quality moments together for her to determine if that was actually the case. If anything, he seemed to be in a state of perpetual numbness, neither feeling nor "unfeeling".

Scully cracked open her book, some new thriller that she had picked up during the post-Christmas sales. Three pages later, she realized that she hadn't retained any of what she had supposedly read. It was Friday night and she didn't know where Mulder was, what he was doing, what he might be thinking. She had managed to go through the whole day without calling him but now that he hadn't called her either, she was just a tiny bit concerned.

Her phone rang. Talk about a nexus...

"Hello?"

A pause, then, hesitantly, "Scully?"

"Mulder — where are you?"

She could hear the slightest sound of tightly controlled breathing over the connection, but not much else. Wherever he was, it was extremely quiet.

"Is anything wrong?"

Still no answer.

"Talk to me, Mulder."

He must have picked up on the alarm in her voice. She heard him clear his throat. "How soon can you get here, Scully?"

"That depends. Where are you?"

Somewhere where he wasn't supposed to be, obviously.

"Mulder?"

"I'm up in Connecticut..."

"I thought I told you —" Well, it didn't much matter what she thought she had told him; he was there already. At his mother's house. Tormenting himself in any number of ways, from what she could ascertain. "Look Mulder, I'm out of here in ten, okay?"

"Thanks, Scully."

As was their habit, they broke off the connection without saying goodbye.

* * * * *

Hurricane Mulder had hit the outskirts of Greenwich...

At least that was the first impression that came to mind as Scully peered into the living room window from outside his mother's house. Pictures were off the walls and leaning against every available vertical surface, boxes in various states of fullness were scattered all over the floor, and pieces — various knickknacks and display objects — were gathered in groups along every horizontal surface she could see. Apparently he had been here for some time.

She couldn't see the man of the hour himself, however, among the chaos. He hadn't heard her knocking or ringing at the front door, either. She took a final look and went back to the front porch, meaning to call his cell when she thought to try the door. It was, of course, unlocked.

The house was eerily quiet and cool, in stark contrast to the fact that almost every light appeared to be turned on.

"Mulder?"

She passed through the set of french doors and carefully picked her way through the veritable maze that she had viewed from the window. The back patio door — the one he had used to escape from her during another crisis when she was here with him — hung open. Outside, she finally found her partner, fully reclined on a chaise swing, gazing up at the sky. She noted that he was rather poorly dressed for the weather, wearing only jeans and a thin white t-shirt.

"What are you doing out here in the cold, Mulder?"

"Scully — hey. You made good time."

"Yes I did. It's freezing out here."

"The cold helps."

He sat up and turned around to her slowly. She instantly wished that he hadn't, because there was no way that she could have prepared herself to see the despairing emptiness stamped all over his face. He looked like he'd been alternately drinking and crying all day. Just thinking about it felt like a punch in the stomach, setting off a familiar sting across the bridge of her nose.

Scully took the glass that he cradled in his hands and held it up to the patio light, then sniffed it.

"It's just water, Scully. I stopped drinking the hard stuff hours ago. Didn't do anything for me but make me sick anyway."

"All right, that's enough. We're going in." She swiped at her eyes quickly with her free hand and reached for his arm. He pulled away from her but stood up, making no protestations as he followed her obediently back inside. He stood in the center of the room and squinted against the brightness as Scully closed and secured the door behind them.

"Why'd you come here by yourself, Mulder? I told you I'd help you with this."

"There was no need for that."

"Then why am I here?"

He had no answer for that other than maybe the pitifully simple one of needing her.

"I'm only thinking that maybe you're taking this on too soon. What's the rush?"

"I'd rather not drag it out."

"That's fine, Mulder, but you didn't have to face this on your own."

"I had to try."

Scully was genuinely puzzled. "Why?"

The pained look on his face turned into one of absolute exasperation, tinged with anger.

"Don't you get it, Scully? Sometimes, just sometimes, I'd like your life not to be about shit like this —" He waved his hand around the room. "And even if you honestly don't mind that you're constantly being dragged down into my muck, I don't happen to like it!"

He turned away from her towards the nearest wall and slammed his fist against it, creating a noise that made her jump. He tried to take a deep steadying breath before continuing, in a barely audible voice, "But how pathetic am I...? Not like I could do it alone. I wasn't even sure I could last through the night here without you..."

Still facing the wall, he sank slowly down to his knees and began to tremble. Scully couldn't determine right away if he was merely cold or whether it was something else. She felt strangely rooted in place where she stood, unable to go to him. When he finally spoke again, the grief that resonated in his voice pierced her to the core.

"Why didn't she tell me a long time ago, Scully, if she knew? What am I believing now? That this is the final truth? The end... spirits and bodies travelling as starlight?"

Scully watched the scene unfold like an observer at a play. She was at a loss for words, at least for any words that might make a difference. This was too much for her all at once after her peaceful drive up. She hadn't counted on him being as despondent as he seemed, but then it was hardly unexpected. Outside of that emotionally draining night that she had spent at his apartment, he had been playing the part of the brave little soldier. He stayed around for the conclusion of the case despite his request to be relieved of duty. Then when he got home, he organized the funeral service and attended to the inevitable pile of endless paperwork. Even during the talks that they'd had on their trip back to Washington after the case wrapped up, she had found him to be amazingly healthy for the amount of turmoil that had been thrown at him. She knew that something wasn't quite right about it, and was expecting that the other shoe would still drop, that the full effect had yet to hit.

"You believed it that night in the woods. What's changed since then?"

There was a long period of silence in which he didn't reply.

"Mulder, for as long as I've known you, you've had an uncanny way of instinctively knowing what's true and what isn't. What I saw in your face that night was a clear and honest acceptance that whatever you experienced back there was real. As difficult as it must have been, you believed it. It gave you what you wanted, the knowledge that it's finally over."

She watched as he sat down on the floor, digging his fists into his eyes. She wondered if he had been going through this same cycle all day, fine one second, falling apart the next.

"She's never been here, you know?"

"Who?"

"Samantha. She doesn't know that Mom and Dad split up, got separate places."

"Mulder —"

"She has no memories of this place. No memories of Dad's place. The only home she knew isn't even ours anymore. There's so little to tie us together anymore."

Scully approached slowly and found a bare spot on the floor beside him.

"There's your summer house. You still have that."

"Yeah, that's the only thing. Costs a mint in upkeep every year, but we've hung onto it because of that. It's our only common connection to the past."

"What are your plans for this place?"

"Movers are coming late Sunday afternoon to take the packed stuff to Quonochontaug. The lawyers are taking care of the rest, putting the house and remaining contents up for sale. I can't afford to keep this, not even for Sam."

Scully didn't know what to make of this renewed fixation on Samantha, how healthy it might or might not be. It had always been one of her deepest held wishes that Mulder might someday be reunited with his sister, but she had also always known that the odds were slim after twenty-some years. And now, after this case, there just seemed no possible way, despite the fact that she fully understood Mulder's present pain and alcohol-induced confusion. She herself had been left with that same niggling thought: all those encounters over the past several years — what were they really about? Was the mystery of Samantha culminating in ghosts and spirits any more believable than an end with aliens and their supposed conspiracy? In Scully's mind, they still had no real proof, no body. They had seemingly traded one fable for another. On the other hand, if it was enough for Mulder to be convinced to let go of his lifelong obsession, it really didn't matter what she thought...

He was speaking again, sounding almost normal now.

"Have you ever thought about how easy it is to talk to people that you grew up with? Even when you haven't seen them in years, just because you have shared memories..."

She considered carefully before responding. "Shared history is an important bonding factor, yes."

"Mom and I never really talked all that much over the years, but whenever we did, the conversation would invariably lead us back to something that happened when I was a kid. Now I've lost everyone who knows anything about who I was back then."

He dragged the nearest box over and peered inside. "Everything that's in here, everything that I see or touch in this house, there's something about it that only Mom and I knew. Stories that only we could tell. And there were some that only she could tell. She was supposed to have the chance to tell them to Samantha, Scully. And Samantha was supposed to have the chance to hear them. I wasn't supposed to end up being the keeper of all this history..."

She reached over to put her hand on his leg and was mildly surprised when he quickly pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. His body language had never been clearer to Scully. For whatever reasons, he wasn't wanting to be touched.

"I never thought this would happen, but I should have. When she had her stroke, that could have been it. But this, this is different....I never thought that she'd make a choice to leave me all alone."

"I'm sure that wasn't how she saw it, Mulder." If only I could believe my own words, she said to herself as an afterthought.

"How the hell else could she see it?" He flinched at the force of his own anger.

"I told you — she saw how you let things consume you. It was to spare you the further pain of seeing her suffer even more. And, of course, it was to spare herself further pain. You know that it hasn't been easy for her either, and it wouldn't have gotten any better as the illness progressed."

"All I know is that I didn't do anything to make it better for her."

"What could you have done?"

"I don't know. I've never known, or I would have done it. She was never able to tell me..."

"But doesn't that mean that there's nothing you could have done?"

"I always thought she had something to tell me about whatever it was that Dad was involved in, and about who she — about who she knows. But for some reason, I was just never able to find the right way to get it out of her. I always got too angry. Too obsessed with my suspicions. I always ended up accusing her. In the past couple of years, we just stopped talking about it."

"Surely that was a mutual decision on both your parts. It wasn't just you."

Mulder dropped his head on top of his knees, rocking back and forth slowly. "Why didn't she talk to me, Scully? If she really knew what happened to Sam, and if she really wanted me to go on with my life, why did she leave it for so long? Why couldn't she tell me while she was alive? That doesn't make any sense..."

Scully thought back to the smoking man's comment about "kindness" and shook her head from side to side slowly. "I'm no expert, but sometimes, it just doesn't work out that way. People often make decisions that we can't understand, for what they feel are all the right reasons."

She watched him, her heart breaking for the new pain that he was feeling, the pain that she knew he'd eventually encounter, along with the questions that he'd continue to have about who had supposed knowledge of what and when. It puzzled her too, the overwhelming evidence that pointed to his mother knowing all along — at least in part — what the real story was, what had actually concluded so long ago.

Mulder lifted his head at the continued silence.

"I think I still need answers, Scully. Even if I know that she's gone and never to come back, I still need answers."

"I know you do." So do I, she thought to herself, feeling a sharp pang of sorrow as she remembered suddenly how she still had no answers regarding Melissa. "But you know that none of the answers that we're looking for are easy to come by. I think, sometimes, for our own sanity, we have to accept the answers that we have while we search for better ones."

"I'm tired of searching. Every stone we turn over has three more underneath."

"You say that now, but for as long as I've known you, digging for answers has been your specialty."

"My specialty? So how come I was led so far astray all these years? How did I get dragged off onto all these wild and crazy tangents? All this time... " He dropped his head back down to his knees and drew in a shuddering breath.

"Don't turn this into some personal failure, Mulder, that won't help you —"

He looked up at her, obviously wanting comfort but still keeping her beyond his self-made barrier.

"What will help me, Scully? I've been asking myself that all day long and I've come up with nothing. All I get is this image of my mother, in this house, all alone, getting ready to do what she thought she had to do. Deciding that this was her only choice. Leaving me a cryptic message that may or may not tell me anything."

"Time is what you need, Mulder. That's why I question you coming up here by yourself like this."

"Maybe I just needed to find out what it really feels like to be that alone. At the end of the road with nowhere to turn, in the way that she was."

"You'll never be alone. You know that."

"People are constantly disappearing from my life, Scully. You know that. Maybe I'm meant to be alone."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"You don't agree that people drop like flies around me?"

"I don't know how you expect me to answer that, Mulder."

"Just, yes I agree, or no, I don't."

They stared each other down for several seconds before Scully gave in, got up, and walked away. She went to the window and closed the curtains, trying to occupy herself with some manual task while deciding what to say next. He beat her to the punch.

"There are times when I think it'd be better if you just left and pursued some other life somewhere safe."

Patience and understanding was one thing, but that remark made her angry. "Better for whom?"

"For you, of course."

"That's a lie. It'd be better for you. So that you can finally stop fearing all the things that might happen."

That one came out much too quickly for her to consider whether or not she should have said it. She didn't mean it, after all. In fact, she really wouldn't be one to say that Mulder was afraid of very much at all. Or if he was, he would never be the sort to allow fear to stop him. It was something about him that — while terribly annoying — she actually admired.

However, her comment seemed to have had the benefit of awakening him from his funk.

"Is that what you really think?"

"No. Not unless you really think it'd be better if I left you."

He gazed up at her briefly, long enough to let her know that he didn't believe it.

"What I really think is that you've been wallowing in this for long enough today, Mulder. I can help you with the packing now or we can get an early start tomorrow morning. Your choice."

He looked at her, seeing the compassion on her face, her desire to comfort him. He couldn't trust what he was thinking or feeling, however, to accept any of it. When he called her earlier tonight, he had wanted nothing more than to hold her and perhaps be held by her, but the thought of doing so now was frightening to him. He had gotten to the point where the hurt seemed to have been numbed somewhat; he didn't know what would happen if he were to seek any type of refuge in her arms.

She looked at him and saw that his face appeared weary and resigned for the moment. No longer quite as anguished as when she first saw him, but still far from well. She remembered the cycles of pain and numbness that she felt when her father died, and could only imagine what it would feel like to lose her mother also. She had always believed that children, regardless of age, forged a unique bond with their mothers. In a relationship as complex and as difficult as Mulder's had been with his mom, she could only guess at the agonizing depths of what he must be feeling, the hurt mixed in with the understandable anger that was only surfacing now.

The clock on the wall chimed loudly, interrupting their thoughts. Mulder stood up and did a quick survey of the room.

"So, Scully, I don't see your overnight bag anywhere in this mess of mine. Did you bring one?"

"It's still out in the car."

"Give me your keys. I'll go get it."

She watched as he went out the front door. She hadn't moved from her spot when he came back in with her bag and dropped it beside her. He stood in front of her, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I think it's late enough to call it a night."

"That's probably a good idea."

"There's a room ready for you upstairs. Yellow bedspread."

"Okay. I'm going to hit the shower first, though. You're going to be all right, Mulder?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

Scully frowned slightly but picked up her bag and headed upstairs. Was it her imagination or did Mulder just give her her standard treatment?

* * * * *

Scully came out of the bath and peered into Mulder's room. The bedside lamp was on. The bed was turned down but it did not look as though anyone had disturbed it since. She felt a cool draft and pulled the belt of her robe tightly around herself as she quietly made her way to the top of the staircase. There were no lights on, but she could make out a dark form huddled at the bottom of the stairs. The front door was wide open, allowing the cold night air to sweep into the house. She went down to him and put her hand tentatively on his shoulder. He didn't move away this time.

"I thought you were going to call it a night, Mulder. Please, get some rest. Everything will still be here tomorrow."

"Isn't that moonlight something, Scully? I remember seeing it like this a few days before Christmas." Actually, even on Christmas Day, it was still a sight to behold. He remembered sitting here in this very same spot, having gone through the whole day waiting for her to call. She never did. She had promised to, but the call never came. He never brought it up, either, outside of giving her a slightly biting "Merry Christmas" greeting during their first case back the following week. Sometimes he just didn't know what she felt about where they were headed.

"Yes it is, but it's very cold and I don't think you want to risk getting sick if you intend to go back to work next week."

"Was it clear where you were at Christmas?"

"Yes, yes it was."

"Did you look at the moon?"

"Yes, but I didn't fixate on it." She didn't really want to think about Christmas. She knew that he was bothered by the fact that she didn't call him like she said she would. But what he didn't know was that it hadn't been the best of Christmas mornings for her. Her mom had let the cat out of the bag about her and Mulder's progressing relationship and brother Bill certainly hadn't warmed up to the news. No way could she have gotten to the phone that day, and if she had, she wouldn't have trusted herself not to let on what had happened.

"Is that what you think I'm doing? Fixating?" His normally vibrant voice sounded dull and lifeless.

She closed the door and locked it; Mulder remained seated on the bottom riser, watching her. The moonlight coming through the window reflected off the tiled floor, providing enough illumination for them to see one another's faces. God only knew what sort of thoughts he had been revisiting while she was in the shower, but she could tell that they couldn't have been good ones. His eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"Come on up to bed, Mulder."

She stepped past him, but paused when he got up and turned towards her. They were eye to eye as a result of their tiered positions on the stairs. She knew instantly that he was moving in to kiss her and she knew that it was going to be a kiss unlike all others that they had previously shared. It wasn't going to be anything playful or experimental or even gentle. She knew that this was going to be a raw exploration of sexual need that would invade her spirit and awaken her deepest of desires. In short, it was going to be totally inappropriate for the moment that they were in.

And yet Dana Scully could feel her body responding instantly to the mere thought of the potential behind this kiss. Was it the seduction of the moonlight? The way he was consuming her with his look? She was almost appalled by the churning in her stomach and the latent heat pooling in her lower regions. She had not experienced this reaction while in the presence of a man for such a long time that she was afraid Mulder would see it in her face.

Fortunately — or perhaps unfortunately — Mulder was too consumed himself to see much of anything clearly. He connected hard against her lips, open-mouthed, his tongue searching for hers immediately. The connection wasn't really rough, but it was slow, deep, and persistent, surpassing anything they had ever tried before. One part of his brain reminded him that this was not a good idea. But another part told him that this time, it really was Scully's turn to take charge. If this wasn't what she wanted, she was going to have to stop it. And if by some chance she did want it, it was going to happen, pretty or not. At this very moment, Fox Mulder felt nothing other than a singular desperate need for something to dull his pain. For life to give back a little for everything that had been taken away from him over the past two weeks. Hell, for everything that had been taken away from him over the past twenty-six years and counting. As pathetic as it probably seemed, right this second, he wasn't even above accepting pity sex from his partner. Not that that would ever be the case anyway, would it?

[SNIP R-RATED CONTENT]

* * * * *

The aroma of coffee was strong and seemingly very close to his nose. That was odd...

Mulder opened his eyes to the sight of Scully hovering beside him, waving a cup of fresh coffee back and forth. He smiled and swept aside his covers to make room for her to sit. "What are you doing?"

"Returning the favor."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, several months ago, you made me coffee in bed... I know, I know, it seems like neither one of us is domestic enough to take on the whole 'breakfast in bed' challenge."

"Well, I'm not much of a breakfast person anyway."

"Have you eaten much all week, Mulder?"

"Let's just say that I'm not wasting away."

"I haven't checked out what sort of food supplies we have here, but I'm game to cook us up a light brunch." At Mulder's pensive expression, she let the thought trail off. He was abnormally pale, but there was no longer any evidence of trauma or pain. "How are you feeling?"

"Rested; I actually slept. Not much different otherwise, unless you want to count embarrassed. Lucky, maybe."

Now there was an intriguing choice of a word for Fox Mulder. "Lucky?"

"Yeah, I think so. Lucky that my partner accepts no end of outrageous behavior from me. Lucky that she cares enough to offer to make me feel better in a way that I would never ask. Lucky that she'll drive to another state in the middle of the night just because I call. And that's just from yesterday. Want me to go on?"

"You'd do all that and more without even blinking, Mulder."

"Yeah, but that's me. Thanks for coming out, Scully. I probably didn't get a chance to say that last night in between my morose conversation and my trying to maul you."

"Neither part was all that bad, Mulder. I don't know how many more times I have to tell you that."

"I promise it'll be nicer next time."

"Nicer? What if I don't like 'nicer'?"

Mulder was surprised by how bold Scully often was these days. It was somewhat jarring, although he appreciated it all the same.

"I can do it whatever way you like, Scully."

Oh, I'm sure you can, Scully thought to herself. Memories of last night came back to her so vividly that she could almost feel them.

"I didn't hurt you last night, did I? I mean, I hope I wasn't too rough..."

"No, no sir, you weren't. It was all just — it was 'all good', I believe, is the correct expression."

Her face colored as she said the words. When she turned away from him, he sat up and reached for his coffee, noticing the mug for the first time. Basic wildlife theme. This one had a fox on it.

"Where did you find this mug, Scully?"

"It was just there, in the cupboard. I figured it couldn't be any more appropriate. Why?"

"I remember Mom and I having this conversation one afternoon...one of our more irreverent conversations, actually, interestingly enough. That same old lament about why Dad had to name me 'Fox'. I was complaining that I couldn't even go out and buy myself a simple mug with my name on it. You know, all those personalized things that you can find out there for every Tom, Dick and Sally. Anyway, the next time I showed up here she served me my tea in this thing. Said I was right."

"That's a sweet story." Good, Scully thought to herself. He's perhaps moved on to thinking about the happy times and not so much hanging on to the regrets. She saw him smile sadly as he examined the mug from all sides before switching his focus back to her again.

"Life goes on, is that what they say?"

"That's what they say, Mulder, and it does. Fortunately or unfortunately. It all depends on how you choose to view it."

"And she's also in a better place?" It didn't seem so much a question as a desire for confirmation.

"What do you think?"

"I'd — I'd like to think that she's found peace somewhere... in a happier place than what she was forced to occupy in this world. I might never understand what she went through, but that's what I'd want for her."

"Then that's where she is. Sometimes faith can be as simple as that."

"Is that enough...for the both of them?"

"It is for now. Like I said last night, we'll keep searching. Only we'll keep everything in perspective; it won't rule our lives."

It would still take time, as she knew perfectly well from personal experience, but Scully could see in his eyes that the worst of it was over. For all the blows that fate kept pounding on this tortured soul, she knew that he would always find the will to return. She had always believed in his strength, even when he didn't.

"Thanks, Scully. For everything." He reached over and patted the top of her hand. She felt a distinct thrill at his touch this morning. That was different. Interestingly different. So different that she felt herself blushing again. Time for a new topic.

"I didn't notice any of your stuff in the bathroom up here. Have you not brought in your bag yet?"

"I took over the downstairs bath."

"Well then, let's get you cleaned up and shaved while I see what's in the kitchen for food. We have a long day ahead of us."

She led the way out of the bedroom and headed down the stairs. It looked like a nice sunny morning outside.

"So, Mulder, why did your father name you 'Fox'?"

From behind her, she heard him respond, "You don't get to hear that story until after we have real sex, Scully."

She stopped and turned around, causing him to halt in mid-step, almost losing his balance. His face was otherwise inscrutable as he awaited her reaction. As for Scully, she knew that her choice of a response was going to be pivotal in Mulder's acceptance of what happened between them last night. Given that, there was only one response that she could make.

"Really? Can't wait."

* END*

Updated Author Notes (2008-2010)

Throughout the latter part of 1999 and into 2000, I had some regular readers with whom I occasionally corresponded about my stories. A few of those readers had been pushing me since CL to resolve the M&S UST (which, for the uninitiated, stands for “unresolved sexual tension”). Those requests ultimately gave rise to the “sleeping together” ending of SOUL ON SOUL and the “first kiss” at the start of TWO STEPS BACK. After writing TSB, I had begun to plan in earnest for M&S’s ultimate union to take place at the end of the timeframe depicted in season seven.

Then along came season seven’s February sweeps period contributions: Sein Und Zeit and Closure. During this time, I had been allowing myself to be “spoiled” for upcoming episodes, so I learned about Mulder’s newest family tragedy while the episodes were being filmed. While I questioned the need for this particular type of torture from the creators, ultimately, the opportunity to add another angst-ridden piece to my collection was too good to pass up. And this time, the angst would result in some intimate activity between our two heroes.

In my original notes, when I said that most of “it” came to me in a dream-like trance, I was referring to the story’s R-rated segment. I remember that the sequence more or less wrote itself; I merely took dictation. Wherever the inspiration arose from, it was effective. Perhaps a little too effective. To my dismay, I received a feedback in 2003 from a 14-year-old boy who said that the story was “hot” and wanted to know more about me. Can you hear me groaning even now?