Summary: Two-parter of the "lonely night" implied by the Shadow Man in Trust No 1. Pretty much fluff, with a twinge of angst in the beginning. Spoilers for Millennium and Trust No 1, and a teensy bit of Fight the Future and bits of seasons 5-6. This is one of several of my versions of headcannon, and I think the episodes following Millennium have a quality to them that makes it hard to dispute it. Especially a few little moments in Rush.

A/N: I'd always meant to write something for this, but never did. I was inspired by Jeff Buckley's "Lover, You Should've Come Over", which I highly recommend, and the cover image of this fic. The long lines denote a change in perspective between Mulder and Scully, or to the omniscient narrator. My goal is for it to be fairly self-explanatory who is narrating, and hopefully I've succeeded.

Please read and review. And enjoy!

(Obvious disclaimer: I don't own them.)

PART 2.

FOX MULDER RESIDENCE

JANUARY 1, 2000

5:17 PM

He had spent the majority of the afternoon watching some of his collection of old movies and ignoring the nagging in the back of his brain to work on the case report. He had begun to feel better about the events of the last couple of days, and had even become hopeful that things could go back to the way they were between he and Scully. While still somewhat pained over the memory, curiosity got the better of him as he thought of her gift to him. Reluctantly, he took the disk from the kitchen table and placed it in the CD player. He pulled a beer from the fridge, popped it open, and sank into the worn leather cushions of the sofa as the sounds of a jangly guitar, jazzy drumming, and the crooning male voice echoed throughout the lonely apartment.

Thirty seconds turned to thirty minutes as the music seeped into his broken and weary spirit. It must have touched Scully in some way, too, for her to have recognized him in it. Then, as the sounds of an accordion flooded the room, and the lyrics began to pour in, he could no longer hold back the surge of his emotions.

When I'm broken down and hungry for your love with no way to feed it
Where are you tonight, child you know how much I need it
Too young to hold on and too old to just break free and run

Sometimes a man gets carried away, when he feels like he should be having his fun
And much too blind to see the damage he's done
Sometimes a man must awake to find that really, he has no-one

As the song continued, he decided that it wasn't too late. He had to call her and confess everything. The weight of his feelings was crushing him, and even if he was rejected, it would be in the open, and they could deal with whatever fallout might happen honestly. He took a deep breath, rubbed his hands over his face, and finally reached for his phone. Before his shaking fingers could dial, the screen came alive with green light illuminating the pattern of her name.

DANA SCULLY RESIDENCE

JANUARY 1, 2000

5:44 PM

She had spent the afternoon buzzing around the apartment, cleaning and doing laundry—she had even prepared a veggie lasagna for the weekend and next week's lunch that was baking in the oven right now—anything to keep her mind off of her hurt feelings. By all accounts, she had no right to be hurt. She was convinced that nothing in his actions had proven that he meant to take things any further than what already was. His friendship was something she cherished, yet she couldn't push the doubt and wonder of the unexplored territory away. There was a time, not so long ago, in his hallway, that she would have thought that they would have been making a huge mistake. She was secretly thankful for that bee, because she knew that circumstances at that time were complicated, and that without some sort of resolution of where she stood with him, where she stood with the X-Files, where she stood next to Agent Fowley, the added complexity of a step neither of them were prepared for could have broken them. But it didn't, and they were fine. Everything was resolved. They had each other, and they had their work. Everything was fine. It was goddamn, fucking wonderful.

She flung her cleaning rag across the room and flopped belly first onto her sofa cushions. Rolling over onto her back, she gripped her hair with her frustrated fingers before getting up to pace the room. Another weekend evening alone. Alone, when what she really wanted was to be curled up with her partner in her bed. She had to stop acting like a schoolgirl, and do something about it. She could live with knowing that he wasn't interested in taking their relationship further. She wouldn't be happy, but she could find a way to deal with it. She could not live with not knowing. It was eating at her, and it was not healthy.

Before she lost her nerve, she dialed his number. Before even the first ring had ended, his anxious voice spoke in her ear, "Scully… we have to talk about this."

"Mulder, I know." She racked her brain for words. Why were they so hard to form? "Um, ,I…" God, words, Scully! "Could you come over? I think we should talk in person." There they were.

"I think that would be best. How long should I give you?"

"Thirty minutes?" Would that give her enough time to clean up? "Well, maybe 45. Oh, hey. I have some lasagna in the oven if you're hungry."

"Sure, Scully."

DANA SCULLY RESIDENCE

JANUARY 1, 2000

6:43 PM

He stood apprehensively at the door of her apartment, exhaling the deep breath he had been holding since turning the corner into her hallway. Rather than using his spare key, he decided to raise his fist and rap his knuckles on the door instead. He listened as the muffled commotion on the other side became the click of a deadbolt unlocking. The door swung open, revealing his partner bathed in the soft glow of lamp light. He noticed right away that she was wearing the sweater he'd bought for her—the open knit revealing the ivory skin of her arms and shoulders, the deep 'v' of the neckline exposing a matching camisole and a hint of cleavage behind it. Trying to avoid staring, he looked up at her face and noticed something different. Perhaps a touch more makeup than she usually wore, and a bit more wave in her fiery copper hair. Suddenly, he was forced to reevaluate the perception he had of how the evening might turn out, after spending the last half-hour preparing himself for rejection.

"So… I didn't run in to any corpses on the way," he finally said, jamming his hands into the pockets of his dark wash jeans, and flashing an awkward smile. She exhaled a small chuckle and threw a toothy grin back at him.

"Sorry—come in. I just took the lasagna out of the oven," she said, pulling him into the room by the arm and closing the door behind him

"It smells great," he said sincerely, as he draped his coat over one of the kitchen chairs and made his way into the kitchen where the hot food was waiting. "You aren't going to trick me into eating vegetables, are you, Scully?"

She raised her eyebrows while her eyes glittered defiantly. "It's no trick if you know they're there." He chewed on his lip for a moment before she clarified. "It's my mom's recipe, and it's got enough fat calories to have me running an extra 5 miles tomorrow."

She shoved him out of the way with her hip and piled a large piece on one plate and a slightly smaller one on the other, pushing the plate with the larger piece toward him. Even though he was sure he spotted a piece of zucchini, it really did look good. "I do love your mother's cooking. Got anything to drink?"

"Well, I have wine—a Pinot Noir and a Sauvignon Blanc." She stood on her tiptoes and reached up to pull the two bottles down, her sweater rising up above the band of her low slung jeans, revealing a glimpse of her slender midriff. This time, he couldn't resist staring for a brief moment.

"Alright, let's class it up! Pinot," he replied enthusiastically before she was able to turn back to him and catch him taking a peek. "It will pair well with the red sauce in this lasagna."

She set both bottles down on the table and raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. "Mulder, since when do you know anything about wine pairings?"

"Scully! You wound me." He made a wide-eyed pouty face that he hoped looked cute to her. "I learned more at Oxford than psychology, you know."

She chuckled outright this time before smiling, shaking her head, and uncorking the bottle. He reached up to the cabinet where she kept her wine glasses, and hoped he surprised her by pulling down two glasses specific to the Pinot they were drinking. That earned him another raised eyebrow and an "I'm impressed" comment. He took the bottle from her hands, brushing his fingertips over hers for a little more time than was necessary, and poured two perfect glasses—drip free—and waggled his eyebrows smugly before taking the two glasses and the bottle back to the table. "See, I can do classy. I just typically choose not to." This earned him a genuine, close-mouthed Scully smile, which made his breath hitch for just a moment. She followed shortly with the two plates and placed them at the table she had already set.

Before he sat, he walked over to her CD collection in the corner of her living room, hoping to spy the item of his choice. He found it quickly—it was at the top of the pile sitting next to the CD player, rather than tucked neatly in the cabinet with the others. This indicated that it had recently been sought out. He put Jeff Buckley's album into the player, pressed play, and adjusted the volume to a comfortable volume.

"I had a feeling you'd do that," she called to him from the table where she sat patiently.

He walked back to the table and sat down, shrugging. "Yeah, I really like it. I only listened through it one time, though, and wanted to hear it again."

"Hey, let's eat up before it gets cold." Polite as ever, she waited on him before she started eating.

She was typically pretty good at masking her emotions, and, despite her nerves, she was managing pretty well tonight. They both quickly devoured the lasagna—she had only eaten a piece of toast and a cup of yogurt this morning, and had been running around the apartment all day, so she was famished. Conversation was infrequent while they ate, mostly just murmurs of approval from Mulder. They both seemed content to enjoy the food, wine, and music without talking—perhaps it was to put off the inevitable awkward conversation a little longer. It was amazing how even as anxious as she felt, how comfortable this all was, how much she enjoyed just sitting here with him in mostly silence. Before she knew it, she had polished off the entire glass of wine, and Mulder wasn't far behind her.

She eyed the empty plates . "Do you want any more?"

"No, thanks Scully—that piece you gave me was massive. It was really good—thanks for feeding me." He smiled at her as she rose from the table with their empty plates to rinse the residue from them before placing them in the dishwasher.

Mulder was on his best behavior tonight, creeping into the kitchen to help her clean up. She knew he had a fantastic memory, but it still surprised her that he knew exactly where she kept the aluminum foil. Before long, the lasagna was put away in the fridge, and the dishes were in their correct places. The sounds of the beginning of one of her favorite songs from the album floated into the kitchen, only barely audible over the noisy purr of the dishwasher.

Looking out the door I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners
Parading in a wake of sad relations as their shoes fill up with water
And maybe I'm too young to keep good love from going wrong
But tonight you're on my mind so you never know

She hadn't realized that her thoughts had meandered far beyond the present, until she felt his hand on hers, pulling her towards the living room. "Care to dance?" he asked sweetly as they reached the open area of the living room. Without speaking, she placed her right hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer to her. "I'll take that as a 'yes'."

So I'll wait for you... and I'll burn
Will I ever see your sweet return
Oh will I ever learn

Oh lover, you should've come over
'Cause it's not too late

They swayed evenly to the rhythm for a few long moments before Scully pressed her head against his strong chest, tucked under his chin, and his arm hooked around her back to her waist, pressing her even closer to him.

Lonely is the room, the bed is made, the open window lets the rain in
Burning in the corner is the only one who dreams he had you with him
My body turns and yearns for a sleep that will never come

Still locked in his embrace, her mind returned to the unspoken conversation that they were supposed to have. "Why'd you do it?" She blurted out the question before she could talk herself out of it, releasing from him just enough to implore him with her eyes.

It's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder

"Why do you think?" he said simply. She honestly didn't know.

It's never over, all my riches for her smiles when I slept so soft against her

"Mulder, I need to know. Why?" Her voice escalated in pitch and volume. She was begging him to tell her now.

It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter

"Why did you let me?" Both of his eyebrows raised. An honest question.

It's never over, she's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever

She was at a loss for words. She wasn't ready to say aloud what she thought she felt. She wasn't even sure if she would allow herself to feel it yet. "I… I don't know," she stammered. She knew one thing, though—she wanted it to happen again.

Well maybe I'm just too young
To keep good love from going wrong

Before she could react, his eyes dropped to his feet and his mouth pursed before pulling away. "I'm sorry, Scully. I didn't mean for this to come between—"

Oh... lover, you should've come over
'Cause it's not too late

Before he could say another word, she reached her fingers up and pulled his face towards hers, crashing her lips onto his with the passion of six years of longing, demanding for him to understand—but his lips and his body did not react. Her acid tears threatened to spill as she pulled herself away from him.

He couldn't react fast enough—his shock at her lips on his momentarily stunned him. As she pulled away, his head tilted to the side, dark eyebrows raised in confusion. "I thought you didn't…" He couldn't finish the sentence. His eyes bored into hers, begging them to study them, rather than the floor. When they finally did, he saw the flood of unshed tears. No Scully—don't cry. We want the same thing.

"Hey," he cooed, pushing back a section of her wavy hair and smoothing it against her head. Keeping his had in place and raking his fingers through the hair it touched, her pulled her to him, pressing his lips against her soft pillows—gently at first, relishing in the powerful sensation of so light a touch.

It was she who deepened the kiss, her need apparent. Rising to her toes, she flung her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, fingers gently tugging at his short hair, nails skimming the back of his skull, sending tingling waves of current down his spine. He moved his free hand from its place on her upper arm to wrap fully around her small waist, pressing her belly into his. Feeling her gasp into his mouth, she broke contact with his mouth momentarily before hungrily resuming her exploration.

With gentle pressure, his tongue pushed hers out of his own mouth and into hers. He wanted to explore everything about this woman that he didn't already know, to learn every secret crevice on, or in, her body that made her writhe, cry out, moan, or twitch; every secret place in her brilliant mind that made her smirk, giggle, raise an eyebrow, or beam. He even wanted to know the secret things that would make her voice crack or raise in anger, her hands fly up in frustration, or her heart break, so he could do his damnedest to keep her from them.

When she pulled away, gasping for breath, he saw something in her eyes. Desire. But there was something else beneath it—was it desperation? Loneliness? He was afraid of that something. After staring for a long moment, she finally whispered. "Stay here tonight." Phrased as a command, but the shaky edge made it sound more like a plea.

"Is this what you want, Dana?" The use of her first name softened her expression. "Are you sure?" His fingers stroked her hair absently, an effect of his worry of her unspoken thoughts.

"Completely. I've wanted it for a while now." She was staring at him with wet, wide eyes, and appeared to swallow a lump in her throat. "Do you?" Her question escaped her lips with a breathy hush, as the inner corners of her eyebrows crept up into the center of her forehead.

"God, yes." His fingers twisted further into her hair. She exhaled sharply, breaking out into a relieved smile, the fear and desperation vanished. He chuckled, his worry gone, too as he took her face in his hands and pressed his lips firmly to hers.

She had said it. There was no taking it back now. No pretending the ache in her heart was real. No way to hide her disappointment if he refused.

"Do you?" She knew her fear of rejection was written all over her face, and she felt as if it were impossible for him not to hear the heavy beating of her heart, even though her science told her it was impossible at this proximity.

"God, yes." The weight of six and a half years of dancing around each other, pretending their desires weren't real, was lifted as his lips descended once more. She chuckled between fervent kisses and pulled their tangled embrace towards the bedroom.

She was unable to quantify, name, or understand her feelings right now—she just knew that she was fascinated by learning to explore this new aspect of their relationship, whatever it was or could become. Tonight, she wanted to forget work, forget conspiracies, forget aliens, forget bureaucracy, forget science, forget religion, forget the paranormal, and just be a woman—to touch and to be touched.

Grand illusions of sweeping, perfectly timed lovemaking would not be theirs this time; the awkwardness of first-time lovers would win out. Clumsy limbs, uncooperative clothing, awkward laughs, would predominate as they undressed each other. Too-long stares and self-conscious smiles would be given as they stood naked before one another. Exploratory touches would enact reactions of pleasure, but not before probing too gently or too harshly first. Gratification would come to one first, then the other, and it would come quicker than either had planned. But it would be theirs. And in its strangeness and inelegance, they found perfection. And in time they would come to know the other's body as they did their own.

A/N: I was thinking about adding a Part 3. Anyone interested? Should I do it?