Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Files, no matter how much I wish that weren't true. They belong to Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen.

Rated M for Mature, kiddos.

***SPOILER BELOW IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN PUSHER FROM SEASON 3***

I love the Russian Roulette scene between Modell, Mulder, and Scully. I've always thought that the aftermath of that little game would be a wee bit more intense and dramatic than in the episode. So here you go. Takes place post Pusher.

Pushed

by Mooncombo

Adrenaline surged through him like an alternating current. He sucked in breath after breath, trying to steady the erratic and frantic beating of his heart. His hands shook as he clenched and unclenched his fists in a vain attempt to purge the excess energy flowing through his body.

He sat in the hard chair, his head in his hands and his heart threatening to break free of his ribcage. His brain fired off thoughts and images in rapid succession until he shot up from the chair and stumbled into the hallway as if to escape the assault of his own mind.

He stared at the ugly sea foam wall, his hands still flexing and relaxing. Law enforcement swarmed the halls, stepping around him as he remained motionless in the hallway.

"Agent Mulder-"

"Not now," he heard Scully murmur softy, her voice gauzy, as if she spoke the words under water. He wanted to respond, willed his mouth to speak, but he could only stand there, mute. There would be reports to file and statements to make. The halls were thick with agents and medical personnel as they scurried about, tending to Modell and the other patients in the wing.

Scully fended them off one by one, assuring them that Mulder would, indeed, make a statement. His ears were ringing faintly as if Modell had left residual traces within his mind. He could make out the tightness in Scully's clipped speech. She issued rapid directions to those around her and responded to questions just as quickly, occasionally reaching out to press her palm against his arm, grounding him to the present.

Her touch was white hot against his flesh and he considered that there was a chance he might be going into shock. Tendrils of tingling cold snaked through his body. As if he could bypass his body's physiological reaction by sheer force of will, he dragged as much air as possible into his lungs and held it there for a moment.

Slowly expelling his breath, he felt the tightness in his ribs begin to weaken and relax. Scully clutched at his arm as he slowly came back to himself, euphoria rushing in to replace the adrenaline. Finally, he turned to look at her. She stood still, her eyes wide and darting around. Apparently, she wasn't fine, either. That last bullet had her name on it, after all.

They blinked at each other for a moment. She still gripped his arm and he rested his palms on her shoulders, willing her eyes to settle on his. She lowered her head and squeezed her lids shut for a moment before meeting his gaze. She nodded slightly, took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders.

It was a tacit agreement to keep moving and get the job done before either of them succumbed to the aftermath of playing Russian Roulette with Modell.

Two hours passed before Mulder realized that he was still wearing his Kevlar vest. He fought for a breath as his chest squeezed. A chill spread through his limbs and the hair on his arms prickled with electricity. He felt charged and caged, the vest suddenly too tight around his torso. Tearing at the Velcro, he ripped it from his body and tossed it aside.

His eyes scanned the room in search of Scully. She was on her knees, measuring God knows what. Then he began to feel it: the first stirrings of rage. On some level, he knew what to expect. But his head felt scrambled and fuzzy. Invaded.

He watched his partner as she slid around on the aging hospital floor, making notes. She scribbled furiously as she gauged the trajectory of the bullet fired from Mulder's gun. He wasn't really sure why she was being so meticulous. Maybe she had to reassure herself that it wasn't her own brain that housed a brand new bullet.

She paused for a moment, pressing her fingers to her temple. Her hand trembled slightly as she sucked in a gulp of air. Blinking rapidly, her chest rose and fell erratically. Her gaze jerked upward to find his and pinned him with a wide eyed stare. There it was. Scully's patented delayed reaction.

He felt his anger ratchet up a notch before he moved toward her. Fucking Modell. Crossing the room in three strides, he landed at her side, but she just stared up at him from her position on the cold tile floor. Her sharp staccato breaths filled his ears as he leaned down to drag her to her feet. She wobbled for a moment and gripped his arm to steady herself, her nails digging sharply into his skin.

She hadn't bothered to shed her vest, either.

He gently unfastened the tabs securing the vest to her slight frame, and pulled it from her body. She barely blinked when he told her that they are leaving. They had done all they could do there for the moment, and Mulder was beginning to think that his head may just explode if he didn't put some distance between himself and the blood spattered hospital room.

Energy rolled off of Mulder in waves, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The road stretching ahead of them blurred as he fought to push the last remnants of Modell out of his mind. Even though, logically, he knew that Modell was no longer controlling him, he still felt the ghost of his presence. The harder he fought to rid his mind of him, the harder his head was starting to pound.

He spared a glance toward Scully. A million thoughts crashed through his mind. Things he wanted to say. Apologies he wanted to make. An overwhelming need to just explain himself. But all the words in the world couldn't accurately express what he was feeling. All of the words he knew just felt…trite.

As for Scully, well, she stared straight ahead, stoic as ever.

She didn't bother to ask him if he wanted to come up to her apartment, but made no argument when he did so. She simply unbuckled her seatbelt, grabbed her coat, and opened the car door. She did pause, as if waiting to see what Mulder would do next, but never once glanced his direction. In fact, she stood so still, he thought maybe she had stopped breathing all together. It wasn't until he slammed his car door that she moved at all, visibly starting at the abrupt noise.

"Scully." It wasn't even a question, rather a verbal nudge to bring her back to herself.

He didn't wait for a response, but swiftly moved around the car to escort her inside, his arm around her shoulders.

Once upstairs, she moved from room to room as if utterly unaware of his existence, from shedding her jacket and hanging it in the closet to straightening pillows on the couch. Mulder stood deathly still in the center of the living room, watching her. The more rapidly she paced, the more still he became until the whole room was a buzzing, spinning blur with one central focal point: her.

Finally, when she had tread upon his last nerve, his hand snaked out and grabbed her arm, effectively stopping her movement. She sucked in her breath sharply in surprise, but made no attempt to move away from him. Long minutes passed as they stood in her living room, his fingers wrapped around her arm anchoring her to him. The room ceased buzzing and moving, as if they had found themselves within the eye of a raging storm.

Finally, she sighed and leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. His forehead dropped to rest against hers as he strained to check himself. Her breath was just as ragged as his, tickling his ear and causing his pants to suddenly feel a bit too tight.

He soaked in the moment as he waited for her acquiescence to what they both knew was about to happen. The air surrounding them was charged and thick and he wanted her, God, he wanted her, but still he waited. He could take anything from her at this very moment and he knew she would not deny him but in the aftermath of him nearly putting a bullet in her skull, the decision could only be hers.

Her warm hands pressed against his chest, feeling his muscles through his shirt. She stroked and explored him chastely, even nervously, as the emotions and fear that she had kept at bay for several hours threatened to bubble to the surface.

She pulled back suddenly, grabbing his face between her hands. Her eyes frantically searched his as she tried to show him everything. She tried to show him in the only way that she knew how that she had been scared for them both. That she forgave him. That she knew it wasn't his fault.

That she wanted him.

And then suddenly, she was on him, the eye of the storm giving way to more turbulent currents. She tightened her arms around his neck and clung to him as her mouth crashed over his. He could feel the aftermath of fear and adrenaline pouring off of her as he kissed her. He had imagined a hundred times over all the ways this precise moment would come about, but never had he imagined that it would occur mere hours after he nearly killed her.

He met her ferocity and kissed her back. Ripping at clothing, they sank down to the carpeted floor not bothering with the bedroom or even the couch. Her mouth hardly left his as Mulder tugged her dress slacks down off of her legs. Bracing himself above her, she fumbled with his belt and pushed his pants just far enough down his hips to grasp the length of him in her hand.

The air around them was charged and electric as if their emotions were manifesting physically. It was all happening so fast- too fast- and Mulder was aware on some level that maybe this was dangerous territory.

But she was urging and clutching and encouraging him on, faster, and he just can't think. It's too much. All of it. Her face, a tear seeping free as he points the gun at her. Modell, trespassing in his mind, taking over, forcing him to level the firearm in her direction. Scully, now below him, frantic and wild, mostly undressed, save for the bra and open shirt. Mulder, poised at her entrance, hard and ready, his pants still loose around his hips.

It was too much, too overwhelming. But also too powerful. Heat rolled off of her and though he tried, he couldn't pull himself back. Reminiscent tendrils of adrenaline fueled him.

She gripped him with her thighs and arched against him, the head of his cock teasing her. A groan slipped through his clenched teeth as he fought with everything he had to not to simply impale her. Anything and everything that she offered was his for the taking.

The room spun around her as he probed at her entrance, the earth tipping off of its axis. She had waited so long for him, so long. She felt his coiled energy, felt him straining against it, fighting to keep himself in check. She understood his reservations, even shared in them, but in this very moment in time, she let it all go. Stubble tickled her fingertips as she softly, sweetly, and so gently, cupped his face in her hands.

"Mulder," she whispered, her voice a soothing caress against his frayed nerves. "Look at me."

And he did. He looked at her. Saw her. Saw the permission and understanding flowing freely from her onto him.

She relaxed beneath him as he drove into her, her legs opening to him and accepting him. Accepting him and this moment for everything that it was. Accepting that there would be time later for touching and learning.

Her thumbs stroked his cheeks as her hands continued to frame his face, keeping his eyes focused laser sharp on her own.

He pounded into her and she welcomed it, welcomed the slight discomfort of him pushing past her initial tightness. Welcomed his power and strength. Welcomed all that he was as he possessed her body.

He never broke his rhythm as he reached between their entwined bodies to graze a thumb across her clit. She arched in response, her head falling back and her breath releasing on a choked sob.

"Scully," he murmured, his voice velvety to her ears and his eyes piercing and intense as his voice retrieved her broken gaze.

She was close, so close. Opening her legs even wider, she felt not only the pressure of her impending release begin to build in her belly, but the high tide of rising emotions she had kept in check for several hours.

"Stay with me, Scully," he whispered, as he watched her eyes flood with tears and ecstasy. She never looked away, but rather pinned him with her gaze letting him know her in a way he never had before.

Suddenly, she reared up, arching beneath him as she came. She cried out softly as pleasure rippled through her limbs and pulsed around him. He bit his lip, and ground to a halt waiting for the shudders to pass.

He knelt between her legs and drank her in, her body flushed and open to his gaze. One hand stroked her thigh as the other slid across her center against too sensitive nerves bundled there. Her eyes, glassy and bright, flew open on a tiny sob. She was with him once more.

Every cell in his body cried out to join her in the abyss but he pushed it back and pulled her up to straddle his thighs.

He was still buried to the hilt within her body as he caressed her cheek and kissed her sweetly. He tried to tell her all the things he couldn't say.

He steadied her with a palm at the small of her back as he finally finished pulling the blouse from her shoulders. She was rocking slightly atop him as he released the clasps of her bra, baring her completely to his gaze. She blushed and glanced away as he cupped her breast. The irony was not lost him that she might blush at the intimate caress of his hand across her breast when just a heartbeat prior he had felt her clench around him as she came. Scully. His Scully.

"Jesus, Scully, I-" but he couldn't finish. All the words he might say couldn't accurately describe all that she was to him. Her finger tips found his face again and she anchored him once more.

"I know, Mulder."

His arms wrapped around her tightly, as he settled back into an easy rhythm. Her face found the hollow of his neck, her lips resting against his pulse. He cradled her body against his own, cherishing her as he hadn't at the start. He rocked her gently and slowly, tiny movements hitting the nerves within and creating friction in the most perfect of places. Her muscles clenched around him, catching them both by surprise when she came once more.

Her arms wound around him like vines as their limbs twisted together. He pressed her back into the carpet, sliding his body along hers. She arched on a breathy sigh, her body still tingling. The wild frenzy between them had waned and abated, until all that existed was this exquisitely perfect moment in time.

He kissed her as his pace quickened and intensified. Breaking the kiss to wrap her limbs around his torso, she held on as he neared the edge. A delicate hand gripped the back of his neck as her lips found his ear.

"Let go," she coaxed.

And he did. He let it all go with a groan. She cradled him as he collapsed on top of her. She stroked his hair with gentle fingers until he calmed and relaxed.

Eventually, they found themselves cocooned beneath a thick down comforter on her bed. Not once, but twice more, he made love to her that night. Slowly, gently. His body telling her the things his mouth couldn't say. She, in turn, opened herself willingly and allowed him in.

She had imagined a hundred times over all the ways this night would come about, but never had she imagined that it would occur mere hours after he nearly killed her.