Disclaimer: X-Files and its characters are owned by 20th Century Fox and Chris Carter. I just borrowed them for a few hours :)

Author's Note: I wrote this story and my other X-Files fanfic a number of years ago and thought it time to upload to this community.

Kiss Goodnight

Chapter 3: Anxiety Attacks

Scully finished blow-drying her hair after a quick shower. It was nearly 8:45 p.m., and Mulder was picking her up for dinner at 9. She normally never ran late, but after work she'd decided to stop at the mall to see if there were any nice dresses she could get for tonight. Her own closet lacked a good supply of 'evening' clothes, and she always felt prettier when she wore something new. After two department stores, three specialty shops, and a boutique, she'd finally found a burgundy velvet dress that even under the fluorescent lighting from hell had flattered her.

"Oh my God, you just have to get that," a woman had said when Scully had come out of the dressing room.

"You think so?" Scully asked craning her neck to see the back of the dress.

"God, yes." The woman eyed her up and down and continued, "Whatever man you intend that for will be lucky to keep his eyesight."

"Oh, he's just a co-worker, a friend really, a close. . ." Scully looked in the mirror and saw the woman smiling. "A very close friend."

"Well, honey, wear that and he'll be a lot more." The woman had then disappeared into a dressing room, her statement left hanging in the air.

Remembering all of that, Scully turned off the hairdryer and gazed at herself in the mirror. In the soft lighting of her bedroom, she noticed the dress clinging to her body more tightly than she'd noticed in the store. Suddenly, the neckline revealed more of her breasts than she'd been aware of. Suddenly, the hem seemed to rest unsafely between her knees and hips. Suddenly, she realized that she hadn't worn a dress like this in more than a year--not since the last time she went on a date. "A date," she whispered. She ran her hand over her hair, amazed at the thought of that word, its dual simplicity and complexity.

But this wasn't a date, she told herself, staring blankly at the mirror. She and Mulder were simply going to have dinner together, to eat together like they had so many times before. So she had no real reason to worry about how she looked. That woman in the store knew nothing of her relationship with Mulder and had no grounds for her belief that she was trying to impress him at all. She merely wanted to look nice for once in her life, and it was by pure coincidence that the occasion she chose was when she was going out with Mulder.

Scully leaned towards the mirror and touched up the dusting of makeup she'd quickly applied before drying her hair. She glided a layer of deep-red lipstick over her mouth then pressed her lips together to smooth out the texture. Staring at her reflection intently for a few moments, she finally decided to fill in the beauty mark she normally kept hidden above her upper lip. She backed away from the mirror and ran her eyes up and down her form, whispering to herself, "Finished."

The clock struck nine, and a thought occurred that she might have overestimated how formal this outing was. After all, Mulder had only said, "How about dinner?"--he could have meant he was bringing something over. But the tenor of his question hadn't been that casual--at least, what Scully had inferred from it. At the time it seemed to her to have the natural formality of a man asking a woman on a date. But this couldn't be a date because this was Mulder. But this had to be a date because of how she was dressed. But it couldn't be a date because a date entailed certain outcomes, certain sexual outcomes.

Mulder turned off the ignition and glanced at himself in the rearview mirror once before getting out of the car. He gathered up the small bouquet of flowers he had gotten for Scully and suddenly began to feel very uneasy. As he walked to the building he could feel his self confidence slowly drifting away. She'd only chastely kissed him goodnight, even thinking he'd been asleep, no matter how good it felt. After all what did he think that made this. . .a date? He stared at the little red, pink, and white buds in his hand and acknowledged that they were certainly date accessories. But, he thought, it could technically be a date--he wore his best suit and least strange tie. But Scully would've never agreed to a real date so it couldn't be. Plus men and women did things on dates that he'd admittedly dreamt of doing with Scully, but dreams and reality were separate existences. He had meant to ask her out for a serious dinner--the best way he could think of fusing at least the most innocent of his dreams with reality--but what if she was just expecting him to bring over a pizza? What was he thinking to show up at her door without a pizza and with flowers instead! She's going to think he's been doped up again. Though after letting her sleep against his chest last night, asking her to stay there in the morning, and winking at her in the office, she probably already thought he was insane. Mulder was losing his nerve, and as he walked into the building presented the flowers to an elderly lady who was walking out. She told him that he looked very handsome and that the nice red-haired lady would think so too. He smoothed the front of his suit jacket.

Oh God, he was too over dressed. . .he checked his watch--8:58pm. . .damn! Not enough time to go home and change. He could just see it now. . .she'd answer the door in an old t-shirt and sweatpants, ask him why he's wearing a suit to eat pizza, then stare at him the rest of the night with that 'I'm-worried-about-you-Mulder' look on her face. Staring at the doorbell, Mulder took a deep breath and pushed it. If he was right about this he was never, ever leaving his apartment again.

At the sound of the doorbell, Scully jumped. "Oh, God," she breathed, a trail of sexual images of Mulder born out of her last thought blazing through her mind, leaving her stomach twisting into knots. She walked out of her bedroom to answer the door, deliberately stalling in an attempt to clear her head of the barrage of memories of the past day--kissing him innocently and sleepily, waking up in his arms comfortably, the brush of his breath across her ear when he'd asked her to dinner. All at once, she remembered every sensation of his touch, of his body pressed against hers, of his smell. These thoughts overwhelmed her, weakening her knees as she dragged her feet closer to the front door. After all that had happened, she wondered why now, at the precise moment Fox Mulder stood outside her door, pressing her doorbell with his long, lean fingers, all her internal organs were erupting in mass explosions. Then, she knew that except for last night when she allowed herself the pleasure of an innocent kiss under the pretext that she was too tired to be sensible, she had always subconsciously and successfully imprisoned any sexual feelings for Mulder in a small cage in the back of her mind. Now that she allowed those feelings a moment of freedom in her conscious mind, without lack of sleep or a nighttime fantasy as an excuse, she couldn't ignore them. Though to save herself the first time embarrassment of looking him in the eye while simultaneously fantasizing about him, she'd have to ignore him.

She grasped the doorknob and opened the door, greeted by Mulder in a charcoal gray suit that made him look like he stepped out of an Armani catalogue. She felt grateful her instincts to dress up had been right, but catching a glimpse of the silver-gray sparkle in his eyes made her wish otherwise.

Ignoring him would be hell, and not ignoring him would be an equal hell.

Mulder smiled. "Hi," he managed, his voice sandpapery. He shoved his hands in his pockets like a teenage boy on his first date. He chewed his lower lip and continued, "You look amazing." He smiled again, a lopsided grin this time.

She licked her lips and swallowed, trying to avoid eye contact. "Thanks." Her eyes darted back and forth and up and down, having difficulty in finding a place on Mulder that she couldn't fantasize about. "I just have to get my purse." She spun around and moved for the coffee table.

"Scully, wait a second."

She felt his hand land on her shoulder.

"Your tag is sticking out here," Mulder breathed. He slid his hand across her shoulder and paused at her neck before gliding his fingertips against her skin along the dress' low-cut collar. His fingers momentarily dipped inside the dress, pushing the tag down. "There," he whispered.

Scully closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing. She felt his fingers linger at her neck and thought she detected a gentle caress. Summoning strength, she resisted the urge to lean into his hand and waited for him to move away. Two days ago, she thought, his fixing her dress tag would have been the simplest and most meaningless of events on earth. Leave it to her own scientific mind to complicate matters by analyzing and thinking about an otherwise mundane task. Plus, she couldn't guarantee that his intentions were anything more than fixing her dress, no matter how much they affected her. And the possibility of his intentions having other meanings was too overwhelming to consider.

Mulder pulled his hand away and said, "Ready?"

Scully pursed her lips together and managed a "Mmm hmm."

Something was changing and changing very fast.