Synopsis: "all things" from Mulder's POV (Yes, another one. So sue me.)

Author's Notes: I could hear Duchovny's voice speaking this as if it was a voiceover from an episode; another that I wrote in just a couple hours as if it was being dictated to me.

Dedicated to my husband Joe who, though he doesn't care for the show, still reads my writing.
And frequently complains that their dialog is a little on the sappy side sometimes...
inspiration comes from the most unusual places sometimes, does it not?

Finding the One
By Suzanne L. Feld
Rated PG-13 for adult situations

I've had four serious relationships with women in my life. The first was with Amy Goldberg in our senior year; that ended with a whimper rather than a bang when we each went off to a different college and we never saw each other again. But we did break each other in and that has to count for something.

Second was, of course, Phoebe Green; the less said about that the better especially when I think about how I could have fallen back into her clutches so easily.

The third, Diana Fowley; she, like Phoebe, led me around by the dick and after that debacle was over I swore to never let it happen again.

Even after the mess with Diana ended so badly I somehow knew that my one in five billion was out there somewhere, but I was going to make sure of her before I fell head over heels again. I also decided that I wasn't going to search; no bar-hopping or speed-dating or well-intentioned blind dates for me. At least I didn't have to worry about friends setting me up; my only real friends were just as socially inept as I had become during my hermit-like years and saw less of women than I did.

If we didn't find each other along the course of our natural lives then it wasn't going to happen for me.

The fourth turned out to be the one that I had hoped I would meet someday; I did find her despite myself. The one that completes me. But then she was the one woman I could not have for myriad reasons.

My partner.

Just figured, with my luck. And it took years for me to figure it out, of course. I knew I had strong feelings for her when she was fighting her cancer, but I managed to damp them back and see her as no more than a friend and partner for years after that. It was safer for us both that way, truth be told.

It wasn't until her confessions tonight that I made myself honestly realize once again how I really felt about her. Listening to the life-altering past few days she's had I felt my heart swell with love for her no matter how cheesy that may sound. It's the truth.

Looking at her now, dozing peacefully on my couch and knowing that she's comfortable enough with me to unexpectedly fall asleep in my apartment and not worry about anything untoward happening makes me happier than I think I've ever been. (Take that, Padgett.) No one else has ever trusted me like this. No matter what I've done to her, how many times I've ditched her or lied to her or refused to listen to her, she is always at my side when I need her.

She is my one in five billion in every way that counts even if we never take that next step. But that doesn't mean I don't want to take that next step; even watching porn I fantasize about Scully because no other visual does me any more. I wonder if she ever fantasizes about me, but am afraid to hope.

She is what completes me, but it's her choice to be so.

I stand here in the middle of my living room watching her sleep, the bluish glow of the aquarium washing over her finely-boned features. God, how I want to take her into my arms and kiss her until we're both breathless, make love to her until we can't walk straight. But she has to come to me; I won't force myself on her or make her feel obligated to me. I know I've made it damn good and clear that I want her, how I feel about her, and now I wait.

And wait. And wait.

More than likely I'll wake up tomorrow morning to the smell of fresh coffee and maybe a muffin or bagel; the few times Scully's slept here she's always gotten up before me and gone out to get us breakfast. I'd leave a few bucks out to cover it but I know, without either of us saying a word, that that's her way of thanking me.

As I stand there gazing at her I note that she's moving her head around almost as if her neck hurts; she is in what looks to be an uncomfortable position. Without thinking about it I go over and gently lay her on her side rather than sitting up, making sure the pillow is under her head and tucking the blanket up around her shoulders. Her eyes flutter open and she murmurs something unintelligible that I know is supposed to be my name.

"'S okay, Scully, go back to sleep," I tell her, kneeling by the side of the couch and rubbing her arm gently through the blanket. "We can finish talking in the morning. Sleep well."

I lean down to kiss her soft cheek and she turns her head so that my lips ends up square on that incredibly sexy rosebud-red mouth of hers. I start to back away but her hand comes up and cups the back of my head and she whispers against my lips, "Don't you want to kiss me, Mulder?"

I can only groan and fall back onto her mouth at this affirmation that it wasn't a miscalculation on either of our parts. She turns onto her back so that I'm over her and our arms are around each other and it's everything I dreamed of, tongues dueling and teeth clashing and noses bumping. She tastes like my dreams. It's beautiful beyond description, our first honest true passionate kiss with no holding back, no pretending it's not what it is, no artifice at all.

When we have to break for air we can only pant against each other's lips, and I realize that I'm holding her tightly against my chest, her arms around my shoulders. "Scully..." I murmur, not sure what exactly to say. Here it's dark and warm and safe and I'm afraid—no, terrified—to move from this spot. What changes will come over us if we do; what do we stand to lose? To win? Can I take the next step knowing that it will alter our lives beyond anything we've know before? The effect of Samantha's disappearance on my life was of no more importance than the proverbial drop in the bucket compared to this earth-shattering event.

"Mulder..." she breathes, the voice of a dream. Or a fantasy. "Take me to your bed."

I groan and bury my face in the sweet darkness of her neck. "Are you sure about this?" I manage to utter. "Scully..."

"I am," she says clear as a bell into the stillness of the room, her fingers in my hair. "I've waited long enough. Hell, you've waited long enough. Love me, Mulder."

"Oh, god, Scully, I do," I tell her, raising my head and gazing down at her dimly lit but shining beauty. My mouth runs away without my brain, but I don't regret or try to stop it even if I do end up coming across as cloyingly mushy. I know she'll understand. "I love you more than I can ever express—you are my everything. You really do complete me."

"And you are mine," she whispers against my lips before pulling my head back down to hers again.

Somehow we fumble our way from the couch to my bedroom, shed clothing without killing ourselves or each other, and are both immensely relieved, pleased, and gratified to find that--finally--we are just as good at bedroom sports as we are at hunting down paranormal monsters and outthinking twisted serial killers. This had always been one of my biggest worries and, I later find out, one of hers too; that after all those years of wondering and fantasizing and yearning, we wouldn't be any good at this.

But, thank whatever deity there may be gazing benevolently down at us, we are. And then some.

Afterwards we talk. Naked, still damp with drying sweat from our exertions, we sit up against the headboard of my bed unable to stop touching each other just because we can. She curls between my legs and we hold each other, reveling in the freedom. I run my hand down her naked back; she presses a kiss into the hairy center of my chest. We discuss nothing of importance and everything that matters. We jump from subject to subject, tease, get choked up, laugh, pause to kiss and caress, sigh and moan with complete and utter surrender to the other. We've both given up fighting what we feel; I gaze openly at her hiding nothing and she smiles back at me with nothing held in reserve. Tomorrow, the next day, for the next few years perhaps we'll have to hide this, but not now. No, at this moment we can freely be the lovers we've so long dreamed of, and we waste no more time in doing so.

I know she'll have to leave before morning and that things may be awkward for a while in the office. There will be quite a learning curve but I believe we're up to it. I know there's nothing we can't do together. Might be easier for her than me; I've gotten the idea over the last year or so that I've been wearing my heart on my sleeve where Scully's concerned even if I didn't realize it. She's always been the taciturn one, the tightly held yet yearning heart.

At last we begin to get sleepy; it's still dark outside, the gutter of the morning we're far too familiar with. The wind has picked up, rattling the trees outside into beating staccato against the windows, and I wish she'd stay here with me in case it storms but I know she won't. I slide down under the tousled covers as she gets up, totally unselfconscious in her soft pearly nudity as she goes looking for the scattered articles of her clothing in my dimly lit room. I could get up and turn on a light but I'm too sleepy and satisfied and enjoy watching her wander around my bedroom mumbling to herself.

Before even getting dressed she comes to kiss me goodbye; more whispered declarations of love and devotion that I'm sure would sound asinine to anyone but us. Words like touchstone and constant and complete likely seem hackneyed and perhaps even eye-rollingly sappy. But we mean them; sincerity goes a long way when exchanging bed-banter with your old friend/brand-new lover.

She brings me peace like clouds floating over a high mountain lake, still and quiet. For the first time in so long I can't remember I am fully at rest, neither my mind nor my body anxious and suspecting that I'm missing out on something that I may well never have. Something so special that it ended up rocking both our worlds to their foundations as we had both hoped. As I lay dozing I hear the snick of the bathroom door closing, then later register the front door shut quiet but firmly. I feel bereft, alone, but not lonely or sad as I drift towards the beckoning inkiness of sleep. My life is now fulfilling with something to look forward to in a way I haven't since childhood. More so than my life's quest, destroying the Consortium, or even just the job I've been entrusted with badge and gun to fulfill, Scully now fills my heart and hopes.

I've found the one at long last. After waiting so long, enduring a couple of bad trial runs, I know it and I am content. It's an unfamiliar emotion to me, this peace, but I think I could get used to it. In fact, I will get used to it—and enjoy it to its fullest. It doesn't matter that we put our lives in danger every day and that either or both of us could die at any time; this contentment transcends that. If the unthinkable does happen at least we'll not have shuffled from this mortal coil without knowing the ecstasy of each other's bodies and minds in every way humanly possible.

I roll over and push my face into the pillow she so briefly used, still hovering in that twilight state between consciousness and true sleep. It's like my mind just doesn't want to give up the memories for now, forget this amazing night for even a few hours. But there will be more, I know it; many more nights in both my bed and hers among other places. This is just beginning, and I can't wait for this next stage of my life to get in gear.

At long last, I sleep.

finis