Title: Truly Madly Deeply 4/5
Author: Somogyi
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com
Category: SRA
Rating: R for language, adult situations
Spoilers: Through Season Six
Keywords: MSR, MS Married
Summary: A day in the life of Dana Scully. She and Mulder are happily married and still working for the FBI. Now that they're finally together, how do they keep the magic alive?
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no profit is being made.
*****
Truly Madly Deeply
by Somogyi
somogyi02@yahoo.com
Part 4
After my bath, I dress in a v-necked sweater, fitted skirt, and heels. For some reason, I spend a little more time on my hair, put on a little extra make-up, an additional dab of perfume. I'm not sure why. I guess I figure that if I'm going out, I might as well make the most of it.
Before I leave, I try Mulder again. His cell's still out of service. Voice mail at the office number, answering machine at home.
Where the hell could he be? An emergency meeting perhaps? Summoned suddenly into the field? I debate about calling Skinner.
*Oh, for God's sake, Dana, stop jumping to conclusions! Ever since you've been married, he's gotten better about this. If something serious comes up, he'll call you.* Heck, when he learned I wasn't going to make it home tonight he could've just decided to go hang out with the Gunmen for the evening.
No matter how much I try to assure myself that everything's fine, I can't completely ignore a tiny nagging sensation in the back of my mind. My Mulder Alert. Something's up, I'm almost sure of it. I'll find out soon enough, I suppose.
I stop by the front desk on my way out. I ask the manager if he can recommend a good restaurant.
"What are you in the mood for?" he asks.
I consider. "Italian."
His nods his head knowingly. "I know just the place. . . ."
Twenty minutes later, I'm seated at the bar, waiting for a table.
"What can I get you?" the bartender asks me.
"Red wine," I reply, reaching for my wallet to pay for the drink.
"No need," the bartender replies, waving his hand as he places the long-stemmed glass in front of me.
"I don't understand. . . ."
"Compliments of the gentleman at the corner table," he explains.
"What gentleman?"
He points across the room.
I turn around, trying to locate the person to whom he's referring. I can barely make out what appears to be a man in a suit; his head is largely obscured by a pillar and potted fern that are situated directly in my line of view.
"He also requested that you join him for dinner."
"Really?" I must admit, I'm a bit intrigued. Flattered even. I actually consider the invitation. Common sense, however, tells me I should go express my gratitude to this stranger for his generous offer, but politely decline.
I thank the bartender before picking up my drink and making my way over to the corner table. As I approach, I try to get a better look at the man, but the servers scurrying about to and fro continuously block my view. By the time I arrive at the table, I find it empty. I look around me, but there's no trace of him.
It's then that I see it: a folded note on one of the place settings.
I carefully put down my wine, and pick up the paper. I'm surprised to see that my hands are trembling ever so slightly, nervousness mixed with anticipation.
Two words, in that familiar block lettering I'd recognize anywhere:
"JUST BECAUSE"
"Oh, Mulder," I murmur, bringing the note to my heart. I cherish these love letters of his, these little glimpses into his soul. But they in no way compare to the real McCoy. "I wish you were here."
I sense someone approach me from behind. I look down just as an arm snakes around my shoulders and a man's hand presents me with a long-stemmed red rose.
"Ask and ye shall receive, m'lady," says a voice in my ear. His voice.
But how can that be?
If this is a dream, I don't think I want to wake up.
I turn around, and gaze up into the loving face of my husband.
My husband. No matter how many times I say or think it, it still sounds so strange. He has been so many things to me: Partner. Friend. Confidant. Lover. Husband. Soulmate. But today, like tomorrow, like yesterday, he'll be Mulder. My Mulder. Just like I'll forever be his Scully.
"Mulder, what are you doing here?"
"Giving you a small token of my affection," he replies, placing the rose in my hand.
"I can see that. But aren't you supposed to be in D.C.? How did you manage to clear this trip with Skinner?"
"Well, with the additional victim and Laster still at large, I managed to convince him that my supervision and special expertise were needed for the investigation."
"And that worked?"
"Well, then I told him I didn't want to sleep alone another night."
"Mulder! You didn't!"
"Skinner generously offered to come by and spend the night, but I told him he wasn't my type. Besides, he probably snores."
"You're incorrigible, you know that! Abusing your position of power for personal gain."
"I had a legitimate reason, Scully."
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
"Well, you see, when you called to say you weren't going to be making it home tonight after all, I was terribly disappointed." His voice lowers and he bends toward me, his intent obvious. "Because I missed you."
"Terribly?" My question goes unanswered as he claims my mouth with his own. My arms go 'round his neck and he pulls me close, as though trying to draw my body into his.
When we finally pull apart, we're both gasping for breath. I lick my lips, savoring the flavor of him that remains on my mouth. He tastes salty.
It used to annoy me, Mulder's sunflower seed habit. Throughout our partnership, wherever we went, whatever we were doing, he always seemed to be munching on those damned seeds. Incessant cracking, crunching, shells everywhere--in his pockets, on the car seats, in the files. But I've since come to appreciate his addiction. It seems there are many benefits to his oral fixation. For one, it keeps his tongue in shape. Which makes him an incredible kisser. Not to mention several other talents.
"Terribly," he murmurs, reaching to caress my cheek.
I look up at him, and he smiles that big, beautiful smile that lights his entire face. It fills me with a delicious warmth that starts deep in my core and spreads, all the way from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
His golden-green eyes, soft and luminous, take me in, devour me whole. They penetrate me deeply, as though they can see all the way into my heart, my very soul.
This man has such power over me. He can deconstruct me with a single glance. I feel the desire growing inside of me, a yearning to join our bodies just as our souls have been bound. Thoughts of an Italian meal fall to the wayside, one hunger being replaced by another, more primal appetite.
"Mulder--"
"Wanna blow this joint? Skip dinner and go right to dessert?"
"You read my mind."
He holds out his hand. I place my hand in his, and our fingers intertwine.
"How far is your hotel?" he asks as he leads us toward the door.
"With or without speeding?"
End Part 4
****
Author: Somogyi
Email: somogyi02@yahoo.com
Category: SRA
Rating: R for language, adult situations
Spoilers: Through Season Six
Keywords: MSR, MS Married
Summary: A day in the life of Dana Scully. She and Mulder are happily married and still working for the FBI. Now that they're finally together, how do they keep the magic alive?
Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and all other characters associated with the series are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and the Fox Network. Characters are used without permission and no profit is being made.
*****
Truly Madly Deeply
by Somogyi
somogyi02@yahoo.com
Part 4
After my bath, I dress in a v-necked sweater, fitted skirt, and heels. For some reason, I spend a little more time on my hair, put on a little extra make-up, an additional dab of perfume. I'm not sure why. I guess I figure that if I'm going out, I might as well make the most of it.
Before I leave, I try Mulder again. His cell's still out of service. Voice mail at the office number, answering machine at home.
Where the hell could he be? An emergency meeting perhaps? Summoned suddenly into the field? I debate about calling Skinner.
*Oh, for God's sake, Dana, stop jumping to conclusions! Ever since you've been married, he's gotten better about this. If something serious comes up, he'll call you.* Heck, when he learned I wasn't going to make it home tonight he could've just decided to go hang out with the Gunmen for the evening.
No matter how much I try to assure myself that everything's fine, I can't completely ignore a tiny nagging sensation in the back of my mind. My Mulder Alert. Something's up, I'm almost sure of it. I'll find out soon enough, I suppose.
I stop by the front desk on my way out. I ask the manager if he can recommend a good restaurant.
"What are you in the mood for?" he asks.
I consider. "Italian."
His nods his head knowingly. "I know just the place. . . ."
Twenty minutes later, I'm seated at the bar, waiting for a table.
"What can I get you?" the bartender asks me.
"Red wine," I reply, reaching for my wallet to pay for the drink.
"No need," the bartender replies, waving his hand as he places the long-stemmed glass in front of me.
"I don't understand. . . ."
"Compliments of the gentleman at the corner table," he explains.
"What gentleman?"
He points across the room.
I turn around, trying to locate the person to whom he's referring. I can barely make out what appears to be a man in a suit; his head is largely obscured by a pillar and potted fern that are situated directly in my line of view.
"He also requested that you join him for dinner."
"Really?" I must admit, I'm a bit intrigued. Flattered even. I actually consider the invitation. Common sense, however, tells me I should go express my gratitude to this stranger for his generous offer, but politely decline.
I thank the bartender before picking up my drink and making my way over to the corner table. As I approach, I try to get a better look at the man, but the servers scurrying about to and fro continuously block my view. By the time I arrive at the table, I find it empty. I look around me, but there's no trace of him.
It's then that I see it: a folded note on one of the place settings.
I carefully put down my wine, and pick up the paper. I'm surprised to see that my hands are trembling ever so slightly, nervousness mixed with anticipation.
Two words, in that familiar block lettering I'd recognize anywhere:
"JUST BECAUSE"
"Oh, Mulder," I murmur, bringing the note to my heart. I cherish these love letters of his, these little glimpses into his soul. But they in no way compare to the real McCoy. "I wish you were here."
I sense someone approach me from behind. I look down just as an arm snakes around my shoulders and a man's hand presents me with a long-stemmed red rose.
"Ask and ye shall receive, m'lady," says a voice in my ear. His voice.
But how can that be?
If this is a dream, I don't think I want to wake up.
I turn around, and gaze up into the loving face of my husband.
My husband. No matter how many times I say or think it, it still sounds so strange. He has been so many things to me: Partner. Friend. Confidant. Lover. Husband. Soulmate. But today, like tomorrow, like yesterday, he'll be Mulder. My Mulder. Just like I'll forever be his Scully.
"Mulder, what are you doing here?"
"Giving you a small token of my affection," he replies, placing the rose in my hand.
"I can see that. But aren't you supposed to be in D.C.? How did you manage to clear this trip with Skinner?"
"Well, with the additional victim and Laster still at large, I managed to convince him that my supervision and special expertise were needed for the investigation."
"And that worked?"
"Well, then I told him I didn't want to sleep alone another night."
"Mulder! You didn't!"
"Skinner generously offered to come by and spend the night, but I told him he wasn't my type. Besides, he probably snores."
"You're incorrigible, you know that! Abusing your position of power for personal gain."
"I had a legitimate reason, Scully."
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
"Well, you see, when you called to say you weren't going to be making it home tonight after all, I was terribly disappointed." His voice lowers and he bends toward me, his intent obvious. "Because I missed you."
"Terribly?" My question goes unanswered as he claims my mouth with his own. My arms go 'round his neck and he pulls me close, as though trying to draw my body into his.
When we finally pull apart, we're both gasping for breath. I lick my lips, savoring the flavor of him that remains on my mouth. He tastes salty.
It used to annoy me, Mulder's sunflower seed habit. Throughout our partnership, wherever we went, whatever we were doing, he always seemed to be munching on those damned seeds. Incessant cracking, crunching, shells everywhere--in his pockets, on the car seats, in the files. But I've since come to appreciate his addiction. It seems there are many benefits to his oral fixation. For one, it keeps his tongue in shape. Which makes him an incredible kisser. Not to mention several other talents.
"Terribly," he murmurs, reaching to caress my cheek.
I look up at him, and he smiles that big, beautiful smile that lights his entire face. It fills me with a delicious warmth that starts deep in my core and spreads, all the way from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
His golden-green eyes, soft and luminous, take me in, devour me whole. They penetrate me deeply, as though they can see all the way into my heart, my very soul.
This man has such power over me. He can deconstruct me with a single glance. I feel the desire growing inside of me, a yearning to join our bodies just as our souls have been bound. Thoughts of an Italian meal fall to the wayside, one hunger being replaced by another, more primal appetite.
"Mulder--"
"Wanna blow this joint? Skip dinner and go right to dessert?"
"You read my mind."
He holds out his hand. I place my hand in his, and our fingers intertwine.
"How far is your hotel?" he asks as he leads us toward the door.
"With or without speeding?"
End Part 4
****