Disclaimer: Chris Carter and the gang have redeemed themselves with the new season, I am happy to say that these two are in the possession of Ten Thirteen. But don't we all like getting off on "borrowing" them for a while? :-)

Rating: This story could...probably will become NC-17. But this chapter is just, idk, PG.

Spoilers: Millennium and everything before.

Author's Notes: I got the idea for this, tonight, struck by lightning, while reading a wonderful story by a wonderful author on this site. I haven't had any interaction with her (yet?) so I won't mention her name here (yet? lol.) I've been dwelling over the progression of Mulder's feelings during my latest rewatch, but for some reason this all came to me while reading that story.

Feedback? YAAAASSSSS!

To put it mildly, I had a crush on her. Scully. Dana Scully. I don't know how it's come to this. I would like to say that it's always been this way, or I knew the exact day it began. Perhaps, after she was abducted and returned to me. When I noticed how life wouldn't be the same without her so early on. Then again, no. Or, that day I hugged her in the hallway of that hospital, during her cancer. She so fragile, yet strong in my arms. Yes, that would be a good time to say it began. But, still, no.

I truly believe we have been entwined in each other's lives for eras, as I spat out during that past life regression session. Certainly, in this life, from the start, we've had an exceptionally strong bond. Fiercely loyal, protective and supportive of each other, professionally and in times of personal hardship. But our relationship was so black & white at one time. And somehow it has shifted into the gray for me. Slowly, my thoughts of her went from simple and easy to jumbled and chaotic. Imperceptibly slowly, like water in a pot coming to boil.

First, tiny, pin sized bubbles sitting down low on the Teflon. I began to notice how funny she was. Her wit was catching me off guard, drawing sharp laughter out of me. The challenge of trying to elicit a rise from her. The faintest lift of her eyebrows, the slightest flicker of amusement in her eyes, the easiest stifle of a smile on the very corners of her mouth. I called them victories, those moments.

Next, the bubbles doubling, tripling in size and floating to the surface. At one time, if we weren't on assignment on the weekends, I would do my own thing. Do research, clean my fish tank, chase down a lead, hang with the Gunmen, whatever. I began to look forward to and make excuses for seeing her. Calling her to join me on weekend trips to find lake monsters, calling her to a haunted house on Christmas Eve, stuff like that. I began to crave her companionship.

Then, the water bubbling rapidly up from one point over the hottest part of the element, near the center of the pot. My lips an inch, less, away from hers in my hallway before she was stung by that bee. Her thumb brushing my lips, in what seemed like the promise of a kiss in my doorway, after she'd told me of Diana's death. Kissing some alter-Scully on a ship in the Bermuda Triangle.

My heart was pounding, as it had done on sporadic, random occasions near her in the recent past. I stood there with her, watching the ball drop. I had thought about this moment a lot lately. Watching the couples on TV kissing, ringing in the new year, I wondered if I, too, should kiss my partner. I wondered if I should seize this moment, for a first kiss. Rather than leaving it to some desperate moment of hurt, some impetuous act in a dire moment. My eyes shifted from the TV to her profile. I see the almost imperceptible movement of her eyes, she using her peripheral vision to look at me.

I know now if I don't take this moment I will dwell on it for days, weeks. I lean in some and my hand feather lightly brushes her jacket where it drapes near the small of her back. I pause for the briefest of moments, over her shoulder, wondering what she will do. As cliché as it sounds, there are butterflies in my stomach when she turns her head towards mine. Not only turning to see what I want, but tilting her head, knowing what I want. I blink once but open my eyes again, catching a glimpse of her lips just before my own come to rest on them. They are warm, so warm. It is, overall, a chaste kiss. Our lips barely move, my hand comes to rest on her waist, above her hip. After several moments and the slightest tilt of our heads, neither of us give any welcome to the other to advance things further and I simply move my lips in that ending a kiss way. When I pull back and look at her, I try to read her eyes. I look at her lips once more before giving her a proud smile, a shit-eating grin. There is the flicker of amusement in her eyes, but no stifle of a smile. She is smiling widely-for Scully, anyway.

"The world didn't end." I say.

"No, it didn't." She replies.

I look over her shoulder, unsure what to do now. It was a nice kiss, but I feel like a teenager. The water is at a full boil now, I swear I can feel it replace the butterflies in my stomach but have never had less of a clue what to do about it. "Happy new year, Scully."

"Happy New year, Mulder."

Author's Notes: Is anybody there? I have ideas for three more chapters after this, would anybody be interested if this writing bug stays with me?