Author's Notes: I caved to peer pressure and wrote a sequel. Happy now?
Spoilers: Absolutely none whatsoever.
Sequel to California Dreaming; you must have read that first to get this one.
Thanks again to my beta reader Mimic117 for her hard work on my stories
California Dreamers
Rated R
Suzanne L. Feld
Dana looked out the clear glass patio doors and sure enough, Mulder was on the beach again even though it was barely eight a.m. He was sprawled in one of the low recliners down near the water and all she could see was one tanned leg hanging off the side, his toes digging in the pale sand.
But she knew what the rest of him looked like; oh, yes. Though she'd spent a minimum amount of time actually on the beach since moving here seven months ago, she now spent at least part of every day out there with him. He hadn't been able to talk her into skinny-dipping even though it was a private beach, but he usually wore so little as to almost be naked. She thought it was a bit chilly to be sunbathing since northern California wasn't as warm as the southern part of the state in the winter.
Still, Mulder said he liked the heat of the sun against the coolness of the breeze and she didn't argue, since it was good for him to get fresh air while recovering. It had been just over a month since he'd been shot and he was coming along remarkably well. Many people who had subdural hematoma surgery experienced lingering complications, among them speech problems, being unable to concentrate, and seizures. But he'd had none of those. While still in DC she'd made arrangements for rehab therapy he never needed. He was on restricted activities, but could do anything that wouldn't risk jarring his still-healing head.
As far as she could tell, both physically and mentally Mulder was doing fine. Though Walter Skinner hadn't gotten the job in LA, he had found one in Salinas and now lived less than two hours away. They visited every week or so, often meeting halfway in San Jose for dinner. She thought that it helped him a lot to have another friend to talk to. Especially one who shared what Mulder acknowledged had been the most important part of his life.
The only thing that worried her was that he seemed to be totally uninterested in what had once been his greatest passion-finding out the truth about alien life on Earth. After all they had seen and experienced, she was rather surprised that he would just drop the whole subject. She wasn't sure if it had something to do with the brain injury, or the X-Files being closed, or that the Consortium/Syndicate had been pretty much destroyed, but he hadn't mentioned anything about aliens even once. She wasn't sure if she should bring up the subject and so stayed mum for the time being.
Dana poured two cups of coffee and went outside, pushing the patio door closed with her foot. Though it wasn't quite warm enough for sunbathing, it was a beautiful day. Most of the early fog had burned off and it looked like it was going to be clear and sunny. She walked the sandy path down to the beach carefully; it wasn't overly steep, but it did have several switchbacks that were rather sharp. "Up early this morning Mulder?" she said as she stopped at his side, handing him one of the matching mugs. For once, she saw, he was wearing more than his red Speedo—he was dressed in a plain grey t-shirt and baggy gym shorts. He'd had his cut hair short, almost buzzed, to match where it'd been shaved for his surgery and she was still getting used to this new look. Dana hoped he'd let it grow out again.
"Thanks. Yeah, I didn't sleep well so I finally got up and came out here, and dozed off for a bit. I wish I'd known that the ocean had the power to soothe me when I was having all those nightmares during the years in DC."
Lowering herself to sit cross-legged in the cool sand facing him, she nodded. "That's why I leave the bedroom window open if it's not too cold, to hear the waves."
"I like it when you do that." Mulder turned and smiled at her. With the height of the chair he was sitting in they were almost eye to eye and she beamed back. "Then, if it does get cold in the room during the night, you snuggle up to me."
Although they slept in the same bed, for now they were living as platonic roommates, at least until his doctor gave him the go-ahead for more vigorous physical activity. Dana had hoped he'd be up for more sooner, but she understood his doctor's hesitation. With this being his third serious head injury they couldn't be too careful. He was still not allowed to run, though he could walk, swim, and ride a stationary bike to stay in shape.
She had gone back to work full-time two weeks ago, but reduced her patient load so she could spend more time with him. Now she was usually home by six every night, and often had Saturday evenings and Sundays free, barring emergencies. This Sunday morning she had slept in longer than usual, but they'd stayed up past midnight watching a Classic Monster Movie marathon on TCM.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, taking a sip of her hot, milky coffee. Though it had been weeks since he'd suffered a serious headache or any other ill effects from his surgery, she doubted she'd ever stop asking him that.
"Pretty good. No headache, just kinda tired, probably from lack of sleep."
"What's what you get for staying up and watching Dracula, The Mummy, Frankenstein, and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari one after another," she scolded with a smile. "We could have recorded them and watched them later."
He gave her a lazy grin, the back of his head resting against the chair's multicolored nylon straps. Short, spiky dark hair stuck out from between them. "What's the fun in that? And I didn't dream about monsters, at least not fictional ones." He heaved a sigh. "I'm… I'm worried about what I'm going to do now, Scully. I mean, really worried. I think Dr. Asmara is going to clear me after my next appointment, and I need to start looking for a job but nothing I've seen so far seems right."
"What, you don't want to be my live-in houseboy?" Dana grinned at him, trying to lighten the mood. As always, Mulder tended towards melancholy and she didn't mind cheering him up. "You've been doing a pretty good job so far."
Though he was supposed to be resting and recuperating, Mulder had been up and about within days after his surgery. They'd driven from DC the week after he'd been released since he wasn't cleared to fly. Though she tried her best, he refused to lounge around and relax. One day she came home to find all her shelves of books, CDs, and videotapes alphabetized, another he'd moved the living room around "for better feng shui".
After that she gave him tasks; nothing strenuous, mostly on the Internet doing research for her. She bought him a gift card to an occult bookstore downtown, which was within easy bus-riding range since he wasn't cleared to drive, with the agreement that she'd never find a poppet or juju bag in the house.
He often cleaned and straightened up without being asked, and did a pretty nice job for as bad as his old bachelor apartment had looked. To her surprise he sometimes cooked, though his best dishes seemed to be chili, spaghetti, and tacos.
"I could handle being a kept man—if I ever get cleared to do what most kept men are kept for," he said suggestively, waggling his eyebrows at her.
Dana laughed. They'd been dancing around the ghost of their one week as lovers since he'd come to live with her, but it wasn't an uncomfortable subject. She had made it clear that she wanted him in her bed for more than sleeping, but also that absolutely nothing was going to happen until he was cleared medically. "Keep your eye on the prize, Mulder. Better to wait than end up with complications by doing too much too early."
"Don't I know it. Doesn't make it any easier," he grumbled good-naturedly. "But in the meantime, I do have to figure out what I'm going to do for a living."
"Did you look at those job ads I sent you Thursday?" She set her half-empty coffee cup aside, digging it down into the sand a bit so it wouldn't tip over.
He shrugged. "Yeah, nothing I'm really qualified for."
"The deputy job seemed… what?"
He was giving her a dubious look, that sexy lower lip puffed out. "After being an FBI agent, Scully, I don't think I can start from the bottom again."
She heaved a sigh. "Then aim higher. Have you looked into going back to school, perhaps getting re-certified as a psychologist?"
Mulder turned to contemplate the calmly undulating sea and she followed his gaze, watching the leisurely lapping waves as the tide gradually receded.
"I don't know, Scully. I want to stay in law enforcement, but I'm not going back to the academy and starting over. Not to mention my less-than-sterling FBI record. Also, I need to be able to get out and do what I want when I want, not be stuck in a patrol car until I pass my detective's test."
"Hell, we couldn't do that even during the best years of the X-Files; Skinner did rein us in now and then," she pointed out, turning to look where he was gazing. Far out in the water she thought she saw a fin, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. But she had seen whales passing several times since she'd lived here, so it wasn't improbable. "Like you said, Mulder, you need to do something more than be my houseboy or, in a week or two, my captive love slave."
He laughed heartily. "I'd be your full-time love slave. That'll be my new career."
Dana grinned back at him, getting up and brushing the sand off her khaki pants. She picked up her coffee cup, then put a hand out to help him out of the chair. "Well, until then we need to find something to keep you occupied. Come on, we'll go over the job listings together. It's a big city."
He took her hand although he didn't use it to get out of the chair. He held it as they walked up the shifting sand to the path together. "I could be an exotic dancer," he mused. "Do they have ladies' clubs here, Scully?"
"Uh-uh, you can't do any activity that may agitate your brain as you well know, though I suspect it's too late for that," she said with a warning sideways glance. Just a few days ago she'd watched him in the pool at the Y when she went to pick him up and though he was supposed to be taking it slow, he'd been doing laps faster than she knew he was supposed to. "Besides, aren't you getting a bit long in the tooth to be a Chippendale?"
"What? Are you impugning my hot bod?" They continued to the top of the path and padded across the smooth blacktop jog-and-bike path that ran across the top of the low bluff. It was only a few steps to the low deck outside her kitchen. "I can shake it with the best."
"You'll have to show me another time," Dana said as he slid the patio door open. "But I will hold you to that."
# # #
After breakfast, they spent the rest of the morning perusing the job ads for the city but Mulder couldn't seem to find anything he felt he was qualified for that wouldn't bore him to tears. He did pause at a trade school offering PI licenses, but then moved on. She ignored him when he pointed at a classified ad looking for male dancers in the Tenderloin district.
Over the last few weeks they'd slowly but steadily been touring the city's tourist attractions, which Dana hadn't had much time to see since moving to San Francisco the previous year. Today's trip was to the de Young museum, which she thought wouldn't tire him too much. He was keen to go to the zoo but she thought that might be too much exertion too soon. She wanted him to fully recuperate so they could spend the rest of their lives together.
Every moment she spent with Mulder, Dana recalled why she had fallen in love with him and stayed by his side through so much. His mind was amazing, going from serious or whimsically poetic in one moment to totally farcical and ridiculous the next. He pointed out interesting facts about exhibits in the museum that he had looked up on the Internet before they left and kept her both amused and bemused. She was still totally enchanted by him.
And he by her, she could tell. Their easy camaraderie had a deep anticipating, sexual undertone that she was well aware of just by the way he treated and looked at her. He touched her every chance he got, and more than once she caught him looking at her in a way that the primal female in her responded to. She had made him agree to nothing even vaguely sexual until he was cleared, not even kissing because she knew that once they did, all of her good common sense would fly out the window. She'd screw him until his brain rattled in his skull, ruining all the good work that the surgeon in DC had done.
But in the meantime, it wasn't easy for her to hold back. When not being morose, he was sweet, charming, treating her like a woman in ways he never had back when they were partners. Not once did he push himself on her like he had after they'd slept together. He seemed to sense when she needed her space, and left her alone when he recognized or she told him that she needed it.
Dana eventually realized that Mulder's reaction to her asking him to leave the day of the argument stemmed from his own insecurity, not jealousy or possessiveness. Understanding now, she was more forgiving and empathetic when he did occasionally get a bit clingy.
As they left the museum she asked, "Tired? Or up to getting a bite?"
"Kinda tired, but not so much that I can't buy you dinner," he said, capturing her hand and holding it firmly as they walked.
"You don't have to— "
"Scully, come on. I seriously can't be a kept man. You won't let me help out financially other than putting gas in the car, but at least let me take you out to dinner," he said, frowning.
She had no idea of the state of his finances, but didn't want him to worry about money while recuperating. She'd made it clear to him that she was flush but he stubbornly insisted on trying to pay his way. In this, at least, she could bend.
"All right. Just not to that zombie-themed vegetarian café. In fact, anywhere but there."
During dinner they talked mostly about her work. Mulder seemed interested although she knew he didn't understand half of what she was talking about, medically speaking at least. Still, his interest made her feel good. Though she had been a respected agent and doctor for years, no one made her feel quite as appreciated and accomplished as he did.
"Not thinking about becoming a doctor, are you, Mulder?" she said over post-meal coffee. She'd talked on at some length about children with microtia—born without ears—she had recently become interested in working with. They were holding hands over the table around their cups and now she toyed with his long, elegant fingers. "You certainly have the hands for it."
He smiled across the table at her. "My mom used to say I had piano player's hands, but I managed to weasel myself out of lessons no matter how much she tried." His smile faded and he hesitated as if to say something else, but didn't.
"We got out of it because we never seemed to live anywhere long enough to take lessons, though Charlie always seemed to find a Little League team and Missy, the nearest mall," she said, amused at the memories despite the tinge of sadness.
"And what did the sprout Dana find?" His eyes were amused. "The nearest body dump for corpses to slice and dice? Morgue? Funeral home?"
She was laughing before he even finished talking. "I wasn't planning to do autopsies at age ten, Mulder," she chuckled. "Actually, I looked for parks and woodlands. I liked to go for long walks in the forest, climb trees, watch the fish in streams, look for wild animals, that sort of thing. My dad always said it was a good thing that I had a compass in my head like his, otherwise I'd have spent most of my childhood lost in the woods."
"Too bad it wasn't working that time we got lost thanks to the Mothmen in Florida."
"That was a whole different situation, Mulder. Whatever those things were, Mothmen or not, they deliberately turned us around and got us lost. I used to keep track of where I was so I could find my way back, and my mistake was letting the ranger leading us do it."
The waiter came by and very discreetly set the check tray in the middle of the table; Dana was amused that he knew better than to assume it was always the man paying although, in this case, it was. They had found a nice Mediterranean restaurant not far from the museum. Without discussing it both of them made a point of finding more upscale dining than they had endured during their years on the X-Files.
As they were leaving a man at a nearby table suddenly stood and put his hand out to stop Mulder. "Hey, wait, aren't you the guy who used to do open mike night at The Castle in DC?" he said excitedly. "Your hair's different, but you sure look like the same guy—Mulder, isn't it?"
Mulder had that trapped-rat look that Dana knew so well, but after a moment he rallied and relaxed. "Yeah, that's me," he said, shaking the other man's hand. "Surprised you remembered me."
"You were the best one there," his erstwhile fan gushed. "Before I moved here I used to go every Thursday to catch your classic rock act. Got a minute to join me?"
"Sorry, we just finished eating," Dana spoke up. She couldn't wait to find out what this was, although not in public with people staring at them. It was definitely something Mulder hadn't told her about.
"Ohhh, is this the lady you wrote those songs about?" The other man's eyes lit up. "Wow, no wonder—"
That was definitely Mulder's panic face, Dana decided with some amusement.
"Uh, hey, yeah, thanks, but we gotta—" Mulder tried.
"They've got open mike night at the Tiger Den over on Etheredge Street on Friday nights," the other man said as he finally moved away, back towards his table. "You should check it out. I'll watch for ya."
Mulder hustled Dana out and she bided her time. Neither said a word as they drove back to her apartment in the dark. Once inside Mulder disappeared into the spare room, where much of his stuff was stored, without a word. Dana turned on a few lights and just as she was about to go see where he'd gone, he came walking into the living room carrying what was unmistakably a soft-sided guitar case.
At her raised eyebrow Mulder said, with a pessimistic attitude, "I didn't want to tell you because I really don't know if I'm very good. I'd hate to embarrass myself in front of you. I haven't been playing that long, and never took singing lessons or anything."
She went and sat on one end of the couch. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" she said in a carefully neutral voice. This was not like the old Mulder—to not say something in case he was embarrassed. He had never cared before what people thought of him with his crazy ideas about aliens and Bigfoot and lake monsters. This was a side of him she'd never even imagined. Was it, she wondered, from the brain damage, or had he always been this way and she just never knew?
He sat down at the other end of the couch, just a few feet separating them. He laid the black cloth case at his feet and unzipped it to bring out a shiningly beautiful reddish-brown, wooden six-string acoustic guitar. The round dots on the neck looked to be real mother-of-pearl or moonstone, the way they glinted in the dim light, and the piece beneath the hole was a darker, polished fine-grained wood. "I've wanted to play guitar for years, but never really had the time," he said as he rested the acoustic on his knees. "After you left, I realized I needed to do something to distract myself. So I began taking lessons at a music store not far from the Hoover after work. My teacher talked me into trying out at open mike night just to see how I'd handle it, and I got a good enough response that I kinda got hooked on it. It was, if nothing else, something to do after work rather than just watch porn."
"I never knew you were interested in music," she said as he leaned over to hunt out a pick from the case, and then began to tune the instrument. "Didn't you say earlier that you didn't like taking piano lessons?"
"Yeah, and I thought about telling you then, but I was—and still am—afraid I'm going to embarrass myself," he said, not looking at her.
"Why? You never cared before. How many times did you go on and on about aliens and fluke monsters and whatnot in front of me?"
"That was work, this is my life," he said softly. Then he looked up at her, his dark eyes troubled and uncertain. "Ready?"
She nodded. Even if he was bad, she would never, ever let him know.
He took a deep breath, keeping his eyes steady on hers, and began to play and sing.
The things you said were not untrue
The things you wore were ok too
The things you kept, the things you threw away
The things you thought I never knew will stay
The love I showed was partly cold
The things I said were mostly true
The things you did were partly known
The dreams I have will go untold, yeah
They say with fate deals, time heals all wounds
Well tell that to my heart that bleeds
Cause if the hand of fate and time were truly by my side
I could look at you today without сryin'
The thing I was to you was gone
The thing were to me was blue
The thing I wanted to unfold and turn
Like paper tigers into gold or burn
The things we've said we'd never say
If things gets tough, we'll say them…
Anyway.
He had a pleasant, rich baritone voice, she was pleased to discover. Though he was clearly not a professionally trained singer, he carried the tune well. His playing needed work, but it wasn't as bad as she'd been afraid. "That was beautiful, Mulder," she said honestly. "You're a fine singer. What was that song?"
"You mean who wrote it? Me, about you."
That floored her. For one of the very rare times in her life Dana Scully was totally speechless. She could only stare at him with her eyes wide and mouth open, feeling tears well up and willing them back stubbornly.
Mulder grinned, losing ten years in the process. "You like?"
"I—I had no idea," she finally said, feeling as if she'd been clopped over the head with a beanbag. "You—you wrote that?"
"Uh-huh. Would you like to hear another?"
"Of course. How many songs have you written?"
"Three so far, with two more in the works. I have no problem with the lyrics, but the melody's a lot harder," he said, strumming the strings lightly with his little finger, the pick still between the first two. "I've considered finding someone to help me with that part. I play a lot of classic rock too. Stuff like Steely Dan, Kansas, Boston, Creedence-music that was big when we were young."
Without another word he segued into Juke Box Hero by Foreigner. Though he fumbled the chords a few times, he made it through respectably. "I just learned that one a few weeks ago, it needs some more practice," he said, lifting his hand from the neck and shaking it. "Just one more for tonight, I'm out of practice and my fingers are getting sore."
When the time comes
All I have done
All that is and all that was all I've torn and worn
destroyed and undone
Will be seen as one
We will be as one
When the time comes
I know why my caged bird sings
He's blaming others for cagey things
The devil you know and the angel in the wings
Are revealed as one
It's always just begun
When the time comes
The future runs up ahead of me
Holding hands with sometimes enemy
The present cannot keep its shit together
It's only the past that last forever
We will see that we have seen
Our kingdom come and gone
When the time comes
"That one's about the X-Files, and us," he said casually as the last notes died away. "It's not quite finished."
"That's… remarkable. I'm not surprised you have such talent, Mulder, but I'm amazed at how good you are," Dana said as he set the guitar and pick in the case. "I wish you'd told me about this before."
"I wanted to," he admitted. "I really did. I almost told you at least ten times. I should have. I think I may have had some half-witted romantic notion about, uh, singing to you in bed afterwards, or something."
"You can still do that, and I look forward to it, in a couple of weeks," she said as he zipped the case. If we end up waiting that long, she thought.
# # #
The next two weeks plodded by as they waited for his neurological appointment. One bright note was that Mulder did go to open mike night at the Tiger Den lounge twice and was well-received both times. He continued to go through job ads, but was still disillusioned as to what he could do for a living. As much as he enjoyed performing, he admitted that he knew he wasn't quite good enough to make any real money from it.
He practiced every evening now, sometimes just for her but often working on his songs or learning new ones. She came to love the sound of it. Dana looked forward to the mini-concerts whether she was working on her computer or, as she often did, having a cocktail or cup of tea and just listening and watching him.
Finally the day arrived and, as they had hoped, the neurologist cleared Mulder for most activity after going over his CAT scans with a figurative fine-toothed comb. It was recommended that he continue to take it easy for the next six months or so—no bungee jumping or flights into space, the doctor joked as they left the exam room. Little did she know, Dana thought, remembering how Mulder had once jumped on a moving train among other things.
When they got in the car Mulder was grinning and reached over to take Dana's hand from the steering wheel after she started the car. Though he was now able to drive, neither of them thought of it. "Will you think I'm being too pushy if I want to go right home?"
"Are you kidding? Unless you're willing to risk getting a ticket for indecent exposure and do it right here in the car, we're heading straight there," she assured him. After all the talking they'd done over the last couple of months she had no reservations about taking him straight to bed. He still seemed a little uncertain, probably because of the way she'd run away before, but she'd soon disabuse him of that notion.
They had gone no more than two blocks when Mulder's cell rang and, with an apologetic glance at Scully, he answered. "Mulder."
She couldn't quite hear what the voice on the other end was saying, and only got his side of the conversation.
"Yes, that's me… correct… in the line of duty, yes… what, today?"
Dana's heart sank.
"I'm sorry, I have an engagement I can't break this afternoon, but I'd be happy to meet with you tomorrow or Monday."
Whew.
"Yes, I'm in San Francisco. The headquarters in Sacramento? Sure, around three? Great, Captain Banks. I'll see you then."
He turned to her with a slightly dazed look on his handsome face. "How much of that did you get, Scully?"
She glanced at him, then back at the traffic. "You're going to Sacramento to meet with someone named Banks?"
"Yeah, tomorrow. Captain Jonas Banks of the California Highway Patrol. He talked to Skinner at a law enforcement conference last week and wants to meet with me regarding their Special Investigations division. He thinks I might be a good fit, and they have an office here in San Fran with an opening coming up. They've been looking for someone with Federal experience."
"Something tells me you owe Walter a thank-you call," she said, smiling. "Even if you don't get whatever this job is."
"That I do, but it can wait." She glanced over to see him gazing at her in a very familiar way that she hadn't seen in some time, but immediately recognized and responded to. "At the very least a couple of hours."
The shiver that went through her had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with the silky sound of his voice. If he sang to her right now, Dana mused, it was likely she'd get off, crash the car, and kill both of them. But what a way to go.
# # #
Dana woke smiling, and stretched with contentment. The night had been even better than she had imagined; though she'd made him stay on the bottom most of the time it hadn't hindered either of them.
She turned to him and her heart stopped. He was laying on his back next to her, covers pushed down to his waist. His skin was waxy-white, lips blue, eyes half-open and marbled. Dana had seen enough corpses in her time to know someone was dead when she saw them. He must have passed away during the night, she realized through her shock. Before she could control it, she flung herself over his body and wailed his name.
"Dana! Scully! Oh my God wake up, Scully! It's all right! It's me, it's Mulder, come on, wake up!"
She stopped fighting whatever was now restraining her and opened her eyes to Mulder's concerned face, only inches from hers. "You're not dead!" she cried, then burst into tears as she threw her arms around his warm neck.
He held her close, one arm around her naked shoulders and the other around her back clutching her slender waist against him. "Oh, Scully, no, no, I'm fine," he crooned as she cried heavily against his bare skin. "That must have been one hell of a nightmare."
She nodded, sniffling and trying to stop her nose from running on his shoulder. It seemed like all the emotion and worry and concern she'd had for him was coming out at one time. Though she hated to cry, Dana knew when she'd kept it bottled up too long and needed to let herself go. This was one of those times. "Hand me a tissue please," she managed to say in a broken voice when she realized that she was losing the battle with dribbling.
He did so from the box on the nightstand next to him, and she moved away enough to wipe her nose.
"Do you remember that morning you came out and I was sleeping in the chair on the beach?"
She nodded, calming herself with an effort to listen though she couldn't seem to stop the tears. They kept streaming down her face unchecked.
"I had a terrible nightmare that night, too. I dreamt that I was in the bed in the hospital all alone and I had nowhere to go and no one to care about me. I woke up shaking and there you were, sleeping next to me. I had to leave or jump you, I was so relieved that I was here."
She reached up and squeezed the hand that was on her shoulder. "I wish you'd woken me and told me about it."
"It felt weird at the time. Like I was being too clingy."
Dana shook her head, wiping her nose again. "Mulder, don't you ever worry about that again," she said, her voice breaking with emotion as she struggled to control herself.
"Are you all right now?" he asked softly.
Dana glanced at him, wondering just how bad she looked. Tears were still leaking down her face, though the majority of the storm seemed to have passed. "Sor—"
"Don't you dare say you're sorry—you've put up with my nightmares for years, before we were even a couple." He lifted the hand that was on her waist to stroke her tangled hair away from her face. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Dana glanced around, realizing that it was just before dawn. The windows were cracked open and the closed blinds had pale light streaming in around the sides. A glance at the clock confirmed that it was barely six am. She had to go to the hospital for a meeting this afternoon, she remembered, but not until one o'clock.
"I need to use the bathroom first," she said, regretfully moving away from him. "But I'll be right back, don't you dare go anywhere."
"Bigfoot driving a backhoe couldn't pry me out of this bed," he assured her, laying back on the mussed, pale yellow sheets totally naked, showing his growing interest in her return quite openly. She then fully remembered why they were both nude and hurried through her trip to the bathroom. Though the previous night had been all they'd hoped for, she knew that they were far from done.
When she returned he was still laying on the bed, though his head and shoulders were propped up on a couple of pillows and he had his guitar across his lap. He was strumming it idly, something vaguely familiar that she couldn't quite place. Just the sight of his long, lean, bare body sprawled out, even though she could only see his flanks beneath the instrument, brought her to instant and urgent arousal.
"Do you like that guitar, Mulder?" she queried sweetly as she neared the bed and rested one knee on the side of it near his big feet. Forget talking.
"Of course. I had it specially customized, with the oak pick guard and mother-of-pearl fret inlays," he said with surprise, looking up at her.
"Then I suggest you remove it from our bed since it's blocking the part of you I'm most interested in right now, or I will."
He grinned up at her and swung the guitar around to set it in its case, which was open on the side of the bed. Dana crawled over him and settled her body on his, loving every moment of contact. She rested her arms on the pillows on either side of his head, running her fingers through his short spiky hair, and leaned down to leisurely but thoroughly kiss him. Mulder's arms went around her ribs, a hand snaking down to give one cheek a friendly squeeze. That caused her to press her hips down on him, feeling the thick, hot lump of his erection press into her mons and belly. They both groaned but kept kissing, tongues exploring the insides of each other's mouth, urgency mounting as their arousal rose.
Finally she had to pull her mouth from his and inhale before she passed out from lack of fresh oxygen. "God, I can't get enough of you," Scully breathed, kissing down his neck. "I want to take it slow, take our time, after how hurried we were last night, but Jesus I want you inside me now."
"Whatever you want, doc," he rumbled, running his hands down her back as she sat up. "God knows I can't get enough of you, either."
They both groaned as she mounted him, and the room was soon filled with the sensual sounds of their lovemaking. When they weren't kissing their eyes were locked; Scully loved to watch him, her arousal rising in seeing his pleasure.
Mulder wouldn't let himself finish until she did, even though she'd told him more than once that it didn't matter to her. So it was only moments after she cried out her pleasure that he groaned long and loudly, impaling her and holding her in place tightly for a few moments.
They melted into the bedclothes together, Scully sprawled atop his long, lean body. He wrapped his arms loosely around her slender waist, and they relaxed as their breathing slowed to normal. She had her head resting on his shoulder, breathing little puffs of air against his damp neck and inhaling his delicious, musky man-smell. How and why had she ever walked away from this man? Why had she panicked? Been afraid of his neediness? And now she reveled in it all, loved having him around and living with her. The lovemaking was the icing on the cake, truly.
# # #
Since Mulder had a longer distance to travel to his meeting, they agreed that he would use the car and Dana would take a cab to the hospital. She could wait there after her meeting until he returned; Heaven knew she had enough paperwork and research to keep her occupied. And it did, for several hours.
"Hey doc."
At Mulder's bland tone Dana looked up, startled, having gotten so interested in reading an article on progeria in a medical journal that she'd totally forgotten the time. Mulder stood in the doorway of her office, holding up a sheaf of papers in a flimsy manila file folder.
"What's that?"
His hazel eyes were twinkling despite his deadpan expression. "Ah, nothing much—just some insurance forms and, uh, stuff." His flat expression failed and he broke out into a huge grin.
"You got the job!"
He loped around the desk and swung her up into his arms, whirling her as much as he could in the limited space. The papers in his hand went flying, and she laughed as she hugged him around the neck. The flimsies floated down around them like oversized confetti.
"That I did. I start in two weeks, when the present officer leaves. It's perfect—the main requirement was for someone who can look outside the box and keep an open mind regarding all kinds of phenomena. We both know that's made for me. And how was your meeting?" he said as he set her on her feet.
"Just as good as yours, I think. They're starting a new birth defect otolaryngology team here and I'm going to head it. We're going to specialize in microtia, palatoschisis-cleft palate-anophathalmia, and microphthalmia—babies born without or with very small eyes," she added. They began picking up the forms he'd tossed in the air, Dana sorting out the ones on her desk which had gotten mixed up with her papers. "The best part is, I'll be cutting my hours back at the hospital even more. As much as I like treating all of my patients, to do this right I'll have to concentrate on just these cases."
"I think this calls for a celebration, doc," Mulder said as he straightened out the forms in his folder. "Where would you like to go?"
Dana gave him what she hoped was a very sexy and meaningful smile. "Home. Straight home. You owe me some hot bod-shakin', and I'm about to take you up on that offer."
"My pleasure. And, soon, yours too." He leered at her and with a shameless butt-wiggle, led her out of the office and into their new lives.
finis