Once back in my room I am torn between returning to Mulder's room and locking myself in, pretending nothing ever happened. I opt for the second option, the easy way out. As usual.

I lean against the door and slowly glide down. My heart is still palpitating and I will it to slow down. But my body is giddy all over. Mulder's touch has unleashed something in me. Something I thought I had buried deep down.

I have been attracted to Mulder for a while now. But from the start it was clear to me that I could not pursue this line of thought. That I had to bury any feelings that were not merely comradely so deep down that they had no chance of re-surfacing. This was my job, after all, and I could in no way put it on the line for something as trivial as sexual attraction. (Never mind that it soon became clear that his body was not the only part of him I was attracted to).

Mulder doesn't make it easy, though. And the rare but unambiguous looks he sometimes gives me don't help either. But I always assumed that I received those looks because Mulder has some form of... appreciation for women in general. Sure, we seem to be a good match as partners, and Mulder seems to value my point of view, which more often than not differs from his. But never in a million years had I expected Mulder to be more than physically attracted to me. In fact, his bantering and glancing had started to cool off a little in the past few months, and I had begun to believe that he no longer looked at me the way he used to.

But what I felt tonight promised otherwise. What I felt tonight spoke unmistakeably of suppressed feelings rather than indifference. And I know all there is to know about suppressed feelings. Oh how I do. While I might be good at telling myself that Mulder and I can and never will be an item, when I am alone and lonely, my mind can conjure up a thousand different images of what Mulder could be doing to me right about now. And let it suffice to say that none of them are in any form comradely.

But I have to stop my mind from going there. I don't want this night to turn into another one of those wretched nights, where I masturbate on my side of the connecting door, thinking about Mulder on the other side, wondering if he is thinking about me in that way too.

And so I step into the shower, turn it to ice cold, and let it wash my unchaste thoughts about my partner away. I recount all the reasons why a night of passion shared with Mulder is a bad idea, and after what feels like an eternity am able to convince myself that I have made the right decision. I step out of the shower, rub my hair down, put on fresh underwear, and wrap my body in a towel to regain some of the lost body heat.

Having returned to my room I pull my pyjamas from my suitcase and start to untie the towel. But as soon as the towel starts to slide, I can hear a deep, guttural growl coming from the dark corner. I immediately reach for the towel, trying to re-cover my body, but I can hear a low voice exclaim "Don't!".

I lower the towel again, upon which Mulder sighs "Jesus, Scully!". I am glad it is dark in my room, because I am sure the shade of my blush almost matches my hair.

"Turn around."

My body and my mind start to wager a war. We have still not violated any rules concerning partnerly conduct (besides the alcohol we shared in Mulder's room), but revealing my half-naked body to my partner will be in violation, beyond question. But I long for Mulder to see me. I want to see him see me. I want to observe his reaction to seeing me like this for the first time. I want to see how his body responds to mine, want to know if he finds me as arousing as I find him. I need to know if he finds me as arousing as I find him. And so I turn.