Disclaimer/AN: This came rather quickly. That's what insomnia does for me. No beta on this. Please tell me what you think, I'd greatly appreciate it. I am actually unsure about writing this in general. Again, I owe nothing, merely borrowing from Chirs Carter and Co.

Scully toweled her hair as she emerged from her shower and pulled on a fluffy robe before going to the window and frowned. It was still raining. She did not remember the weather forecasts calling for rain all weekend but she supposed it suited her mood. Combing her wet hair back, she ventured into the kitchen where she turned the tv on in the living room the Saturday morning news and went to her cabinets to draw down her tea kettle.

Tea. Mulder. Fuck.

She leaned against the counter, wondering how the smallest things were creating memories of him. They left the hospital together and went back to his apartment. She made tea for him with his newly acquired kettle which she had bought for him the night before. But that would not stop her from enjoying her tea. She filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove, and pulled down a box of green tea beside it. She relaxed slightly, rolling her neck, as she ventured back out to the living room and pulled her knees to her chest. She picked up her tv remote and turned up the volume on the news as the weather report finally came on.

"Good morning, metro area," the meteorologist greeted, "as you can see this weekend is the perfect one to take it easy and stay indoors. With last night's surprise showers, expect them to continue onward all week into early Monday morning. If you are planning to go anywhere, make sure you bring that umbrella. Expect temperatures to stay in the mid to upper 40s while this front lingering. So much sure you stay warm too."

Well, Scully thought, at the universe was encouraging her to hide away in her apartment this weekend. Her thoughts were interrupted with the kettle whistling and she got up and trudged back into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of tea. As she fixed herself a cup, she let her mind drift again.

She really disliked the fact she was doing all this thinking and introspection. But ever since that moment in the Buddhist in the temple, all the thoughts and the emotions she had managed to pin away for the past seven years had suddenly come out like a breaking dam, and she hated it. She raised and lowered the tea bag in her mug, frowning even more as she thought how everything was finally coming to a head.

Last night was different from every thing else. Last night had been...

Then there was a quick rasping on her door and she froze, her heart sinking, knowing who damn well who it was. And there was no point in trying to hide the fact she was not hear. Scully had been lucky and parked her car close to her apartment's entrance, but he would have seen it. And heard her tv that was on. She rushed to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her slighly, calling, "It's open!"

She had not unlocked it. And if it was really him, he would use his key. He always did lately, whether she was home or not. Ever since those secret nights started, with the exception of the office and professionalism, he threw complete disregard to her personal boundaries. It started early in their relationship with his random phone calls at three a.m. in the morning about whatever topic had gotten him excited during his insomniac nights. And now, this...

"Scully?" he called, poking his head in the door. Mulder saw her tv was on and smelled tea brewing. He knew she was home. He entered in cautiously and shut the door behind him. He took off his leather jacket and set his umbrella by the door. "Scully?"

She inwardly cursed herself and leaned against the door. "Um," she cleared her throat, raising her voice, "just give me a moment, Mulder. I just got out of the shower."

Mulder closed his eyes and bit his fist at the mere notion Scully was standing naked behind that door. The previous night was fresh on his mind and he wanted to do nothing more than show Dana Scully how much he loved and worshiped her. But no. He had to stay on task. He came here for a reason. Shit. This was going to be hard.

"Do you want me to make you breakfast or something?" he called, venturing into her kitchen. He could smell the green tea. "I can make some mean toast."

Scully inwardly groaned again, rushing about her bedroom to change into a dirty pair of jeans and a extra large, worn sweatshirt. In her haste, she completely forgot to put on a bar. She was already opening the bedroom door and going back into the kitchen before she realized it. Fuck, she thought, fuck, fuck, fuck. But despite her inward panic, she forced a smile. "Would you like some tea?" she offered.

"Oh, no," he awkwardly smiled back. "I'm all teaed out."

"Is that even a word?"

He shrugged and went back to looking through her cabinets. "You left in such a hurry this morning," he ventured causally.

Of course. Cut right to the chase.

"I had to..." she searched for a convincing lie. "I had to make sure my circuit breakers had not tripped."

"Circuit breakers, Scully?" he asked, now moving toward the fridge. God, that was a pathetic excuse and he knew it.

"Yeah," she said, crossing her arms, "they've been doing matience and my landlords have been asking all of the residents to check them. Daily. Twice. Daily."

"Uh huh," he said, looking over his shoulder. She looked so flustered. And well, beautiful. "Why don't you go and sit down. I'll make you breakfast."

"You can't cook," she deadpanned.

"I can cook one or two things. Eggs is one of them." She grumbled something under her breath and began to go back to her living room. "Don't forget your tea!"

She stopped midstride and grabbed her tea before retreating back into the living room. Well, he thought, smiling slightly and rummaging for the eggs and whatever else look appealing, including the bacon buried in the very back of the fridge, this was certainly off to a good start. He could tell she was uncomfortable and this was going exactly how it he wanted it to.

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuckery.

Scully's mind was racing. He had never done this before. He had never come over after one of their nights together and made breakfast for her. Ever. Not that she would let him. He probably would if she did. Apparently, he did not care this morning, no matter how uncomfortable it made her. She brought her knees to her chest, unused to whatever this new thing was. It scared her. She rested her chin on the top of her knees and focused on the tv, doing her best to tune him out.

In the kitchen, he at least had enough culinary skill to whip up scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. He gazed at her in the living room. Her wet red hair a shade darker than usual was slicked back. She shifted uncomfortably, as if sensing he was watching her and drew the hood up to hide her face. "Hey, what do you say to mimosas for breakfast?" he called.

"I don't have champagne," she relied quickly.

"Screwdrivers?" he suggested, eyeing a bottle of vodka on top of the fridge. He remembered seeing orange juice in there too. "Come on. It's the weekend, Scully. We're not going anywhere."

"Quit trying to get me drunk at 9 a.m, Mulder," she groaned, pulling back her hood. Screwdrivers? Really? What was he trying to imply? She turned to face him from the couch and gasped slightly in surprise to see him balancing two plates and two glasses of orange juice skillfully out into the living room. "You didn't set my apartment on fire."

"Well, like I said, I can cook a little," he replied, setting the plates and juice down with ease. "I did spend one summer as a waiter on the Vineyard though so I am better at serving than cooking. I hope you're hungry and no, it's just regular orange juice."

Scully was speechless. She could not remember any man she had dated do this for her. Mulder always surprised her when she least suspected it with the little things. Like breakfast. After she left him. Again. She felt that uncertainty well up in her again, the same she felt from last night, the same she felt before she left from that morning. "Thank you," she managed.

She picked the warm plate up from the coffee table and set it in her lap. She pushed the eggs tentatively with her fork before taking a small bite. He smiled when her blue eyes rose to meet his hazel eyes. "See, you didn't die," he teased.

She smiled, a real smile, and he saw her relax a fraction. She ate in silence with him, making a few happy noises as she ate the rest of her breakfast. He could not help but watch her and smiled. He had always wanted to do this with her ever so those nights started, something as simple as making her breakfast. He did not know why she would run from him. At first, he thought it was merely them relieving seven years of sexual tension the first time it happened. Then it happened again. And again. And again. The more it happened, the more he questioned the ulterior reason why for it. Last night had been the break through he had been waiting for and like hell he was going to throw this chance away.

"Thank you," she finally replied. "Let me clean up. It's the least I can do." To get away from this situation. This entire thing. "After all, you're the guest."

"Scully," he began, holding a hand mockingly over his heart. "You wound me."

"I'm fine, Mulder," she called from the kitchen.

He threw his head back in despair. Jesus, she was good. And annoying. She was avoiding the subject entirely. And pushing all his buttons just right. "Scully, breakfast was not the only reason why I came over here," he called, getting up.

"I'm busy today," she replied quickly. "My...mother is coming over..."

"To check your circuit breakers at five a.m. that your landlord is enforcing?" he finished, leaning against the counter.

Oh, God, she screamed inwardly. She physically tensed. She could smell his aftershave...last night... "I can't right now, Mulder," she murmured, focusing her blue eyes on the dishes in her hands.

"What changed from last night," he asked softly, brushing a straw lock of hair from her face. "Last night we were babbling on about fate and destiny and now you're running from me, from us. Like you've been doing."

She closed her eyes reverently as his fingers graced her temple. She took a deep breath to steady herself. She leaned forward, bracing herself against the sink. "Nothing's...changed...from last night..." she managed.

"Scully."

"Mulder, I can't talk about this right now," she whispered.

"When can we talk about it then," he asked pointedly. "I am getting tired of this, Scully. How long has this been going on between us?"

"This," she emphasized, "is what I can't talk about right now. It's too soon."

"When will it be soon enough," he asked. "You know-" he paused. "You know how I feel. I'll keep waiting for ever if I have to but don't do this to me anymore, Scully."

She looked up, her blue eyes were watery, as tears threatened to spill. Mulder sighed, realizing this was an inward battle between herself. It had nothing to do with him. He cupped her face and kissed her forehead lovingly, pouring all his love for her into that single kiss. "I'm sorry," she hiccupped. "I just need some more time."

"Tonight," he said softly, lowering his eyes. "I'll be by tonight with dinner. We are going to have this conversation whether you like it or not and we need to decide where we go from here. I'll wait forever for you, Scully, but I don't know how much longer I can endure."

"Mulder," she sighed, wiping her eyes.

"Tonight, Scully," he replied, grabbing his jacket and umbrella. "I'm not taking no for an answer."

She watched him leave and felt the tears trickle down her cheeks. Yesterday had been so perfect. Last night had been heaven on Earth. This morning limbo. Today, purgatory. She wiped her remaining tears and went back to the couch, drawing the blanket back up around her knees. She turned the tv up and laid down on the couch. She closed her eyes, her mind, heart and will in an ever constant battle, slowly awaiting for Mulder's return as the rain continued outside.