This story is (c) Copyright 2002 by Noelle Leithe. "The X-Files" universe, and all related characters and plot elements, are the property of FOX Broadcasting and 1013 Productions and are borrowed here without profit or intent for profit. ========== 500 Days By Noelle Leithe noelleleithe@comcast.net MSR, Rated NC-17 (Hey, we all need a hobby, right?) Spoilers: Very general for Season 9 Summary: The Big Easy in February, a tiny little cabin on the bayou, and the most pleasurable way to generate some heat. TIMELINE NOTES: In this little universe, Mulder went missing in September of 2000, and Scully gave birth in May of 2001. The rest I think you can figure out from there. ;) AUTHOR'S NOTES: At the end. ===== Saturday, February 2, 2002 6:13 p.m. Whoever decided to schedule the Super Bowl in New Orleans just weeks before Mardi Gras, Scully thought, had probably spent one too many hours in a Bourbon Street bar. "At least it's not hot," came a voice from behind her. "Nothing quite like the kind of heat you get down here." Scully turned away from her survey of the early evening traffic filling the street below her and offered Monica a small smile. "There's a reason why I've stayed in Washington," she said. "I'm not really a hot weather person." Monica grinned and held out a steaming cup of tea. "That's the *only* reason?" she teased as Scully took the mug, and Scully dropped her head, her smile widening. No, not the only one, she thought. She looked back out the window of the apartment. Monica said she was finally going to sublet it, now that her position in Washington seemed to be more of a permanent thing, but once they'd gotten this assignment, she'd put it off and invited Scully to forego the Bureau-financed motel and stay here instead. Scully was glad now she'd accepted, in part because Monica had turned out to be a good hostess, but also because the Warehouse District loft was lovely and the view was incredible. Off to the far left, she could see the spotlights illuminating the edge of the Superdome's curved roof, while to the far right the last of the sun's rays reflected off the masts of shrimp boats on the water. In between most of New Orleans spread before her, full of color and life, but most important, full of people. Another slow smile spread across her face. Perfect, she thought. Just perfect. ===== Sunday, February 3, 2002 5:38 a.m. The fog rolling in off the water was the first thing Scully saw when she stepped back up to the window the next morning. This time, in the last hour before the sun would spill light over the horizon, the city looked peaceful. Almost too peaceful, to Scully's eyes. She preferred it alive and vibrant, like the night before. Always through the changing, she thought. She took another sip of the rich French roast Monica had set up in the coffee maker the night before. Scully usually preferred decaf or half-caf, but as she'd suspected would be the case, she hadn't slept well. Monica's sofabed wasn't the problem; it was amazingly comfortable. No, it was anticipation that had kept Scully's eyes from staying closed. Her gaze moved across the city spread out below her. She watched as pillows of fog settled in the low-lying cemeteries and between buildings, their edges just starting to glow from encroaching sunlight. The sky lightened from black to a rich, dark blue, a few orange-tinged clouds starting to fade into view. Soon the city would wake, and she would report for her job. And when the job was finished, late tonight, she would slip away, unnoticed in the crush of the crowds, and report to her second appointment. Her lips curved into a smile against her coffee cup. Somehow she didn't think the first could even begin to measure up to the second. ===== 8:37 p.m. The game was nearly half over, from the bits Scully could hear of the broadcast coming from a small radio a few yards away. She shifted on her feet, fighting off the boredom of what amounted to sentry duty. She stood outside the Superdome, keeping an eye on the people milling around in the parking lot, a few tailgating, none lucky enough to have tickets but all wanting to somehow be close to the action. Thousands of FBI agents were in town to bolster the local and state forces assigned to protect the millions who'd flooded into town for the biggest sporting event in the country. The game itself would have been more than enough of a draw, but since the NFL season had been pushed back a week, the festivities were blending into the first influx of the Mardi Gras crowds. The result was a city filled to bursting, giving headaches to those responsible for keeping the hordes safe. Scully felt for them, but she couldn't be upset about the necessity for the extra help. Along with Monica's history in the New Orleans bureau, the need had allowed Skinner to insert the two women into the FBI's portion of the security team without raising eyebrows. That was the easy part. The rest involved a trip to Lone Gunman Central and a chain of e-mail redirects and forwards that made even Scully's head spin. They weren't even entirely sure it had worked. She would take the chance anyway. She pushed back the sleeve of her too-big FBI jacket and checked the time again. Three hours. Three hours and she'd be free. Four, and with any luck, she'd be with him. ===== Monday, February 4, 2002 12:18 a.m. Scully slipped into the driver's seat of the unfamiliar car, setting her overnight bag on the empty seat beside her. Monica hadn't said where there car came from, simply handed her a set of keys when she'd emerged from the bathroom after a quick shower and change of clothes. "Slot A-24 in the garage," Monica said. "Just park it back there when you get back. The round one is the apartment key so you can pick up your other bag." The streets were still busy as she pulled out of the garage and headed south toward the river. The small slip of paper holding her directions stayed in her pocket. They were simple, and she'd read them over so many time on the flight down, and while not sleeping the night before, that they were long memorized. Traffic thinned out once she crossed the bridge over the Mississippi. She set the cruise control at 65 and fought the urge to drive faster; she knew she would have to leave again in less than 17 hours, but there was no use risking a ticket and, worse, delay. He was waiting for her. Less than thirty minutes after she left Monica's apartment building, she was pulling through the entrance of Bayou Segnette State Park. Straight along the main road, one left turn, and all the way to the end, the directions said. The last cabin was theirs. Well, the last two, technically; the cabins sat in close pairs, so for security they'd rented both. A light shone from the window at the back side of the cabin as she pulled up. She didn't see another car, but for all she knew, Mulder had come in by rowboat along the canal. She wasn't sure what she was expecting as she stepped onto the wooden walkway leading toward the back entrance of the cabin, carrying her bag. Would he grab her as soon as she was inside and take her against the door? A shiver ran through her at the thought. It wasn't their usual style, but then, they hadn't really had enough time to develop a "style." With Mulder, anything was possible. She pulled open the screen door and stepped onto the small screened porch, feeling as if she'd run a marathon to get here. Her heart was pounding, her breathing was quick, and she could not bring herself to reach out and knock. And then the door swung open, and there he was. He looks tired, was her first thought, and then she realized it was nearly one in the morning and she had no idea what he might have gone through to make it here. "Hey," he said in a sandpaper voice, eyes at half-mast. "Hey," she sent back, aware of the inanity of their exchange but unable to do any better. She could only stare at him, study his quirky face, setting a fresh imprint of him into her mind to carry her through until she saw him again. His low chuckle brought her gaze up to meet his. "Would you like to come in, Dr. Scully?" he asked, and she dropped her head and smiled. "That would be a start, wouldn't it?" she replied, stepping across the threshold as he moved back to give her room. She moved forward and set her bag on the floor at the end of the sofa, hearing him close and lock the door behind her. She turned slowly, surveying the room. The sofa faced a small fireplace on the wall to her right; a wire basket holding firewood sat on the hearth. A small table and chairs was directly in front of her, with a kitchenette behind it. A stairway ran up the left side of the structure, leading to the bedroom and bathroom in the loft, she assumed. She completed her turn and ended up facing Mulder, who still stood by the door, one hand resting on the doorknob and the other on his hip. "Does it pass inspection, Scully?" he asked, eyes twinkling. She arched an eyebrow, fighting to keep a straight face. "It'll do," she said gravely. "Although I do find it lacking in one area." "What would that be?" he asked, right on cue. She ran her gaze down his body and back up to his face. "Too much empty space." Obligingly, he took the three steps necessary to reach her, stopping just inches away. She held his gaze the entire time, watching with fascination as his eyelids grew even heavier, his eyes even darker. He brought a hand up to brush softly over her hair, then slid the other around her waist. "Scully," he rasped, and her knees nearly buckled. He tightened his arm around her, his other hand settling at the back of her neck, and she finally thought to wrap her own arms around him, spreading her palms across his back. She didn't care if they never moved. ===== 1:12 a.m. They moved, of course. Ten minutes later, they sat side-by-side on the sofa, his hands resting on his knees, hers curled together in her lap. She could feel their shoulders brush every time either of them moved, but otherwise they didn't touch. They weren't even looking at each other. It was as if they were on a blind date, and a bad one at that, not like they were both as desperate to touch each other as she knew they were. She laughed softly, and he finally looked at her. "God, Mulder, it's like we've never done this before," she said. "It can't have been *that* long." "Five hundred days," he sent back immediately, grinning as her eyes widened. "How ..." Her voice trailed off as she did quick math. They hadn't had a chance for anything after his return, between her pregnancy and his mental state. That meant it was beer and "Caddyshack," which was nearly a year and a half ago, wasn't it? Then that would mean ... "I'm telling you, Scully, five hundred days," Mulder insisted. "I've had plenty of time to figure this out, believe me." He nudged her with his elbow. "Go with it, Scully." She looked over at him and lifted an eyebrow, watching as his smile widened. "So this is, what, our anniversary?" He laughed outright, shaking his head. "Not exactly the kind of anniversary I like to celebrate, but yeah," he said. His gaze returned to her face and she watched, fascinated, as he sobered. His hands lifted from his knees and came up to cup her jawline. "In fact," he said, his voice now rough, "I say we make sure we never, ever have to celebrate this kind of anniversary again." She could only nod in agreement, slipping her own hands up his chest to wrap around the back of his neck. His breath warmed her skin as he drew her toward him, and she moaned even before their lips touched. At first his kiss was gentle, almost hesitant; but then, they hadn't kissed in months. Like riding a bicycle, Mulder, she thought, and it was as if he heard her, his lips parting and his tongue coming out to explore. They kissed for a long time there on the sofa, long, deep kisses that had them both trembling. But waves of sleepiness started coming over Scully, and finally she had to break free for a deep yawn. She lowered her head, a little embarrassed, and Mulder chuckled. "Boring you, am I?" he teased, and she chuffed out a little laugh. "Long day," she replied, lifting her head and running her fingertips along his jaw. "Long night last night. I couldn't sleep." He nodded. "Anticipation? Yeah, I can identify with that," he said. "I don't think I've slept a full night since I got that first e-mail." Scully smiled, her gaze dropping to follow the movement of her fingers as they drifted over his face. His skin was warm and dry, clean and smooth; it was obvious he'd showered and shaved before she arrived. "Hey," he said, and she looked back up at him, chagrined to realize her attention had drifted again. "Scully, you're exhausted," he said gently. "And to tell the truth, so am I. Why don't we get a little sleep. We've got most of tomorrow still." She blinked and nodded, knowing he was right. No matter how much she wanted him and he wanted her -- and she had no doubts that was the case -- they would be best served by resting first. Besides, she thought, sleeping in Mulder's arms would always be pretty high on her list of favorite things. ===== 1:37 a.m. When she emerged from the bathroom, wearing one of the soft t- shirts she'd skimmed from Mulder's collection, he smiled at her and lifted the comforter invitingly. She paused only to turn off the light on the nightstand before sliding in close to his body. She let him tuck in the covers behind her, then gave him one lingering kiss before rolling over and fitting her back to his front. He chuckled behind her. "Ah yes, I seem to recall this position," he said, slipping his arm around her waist, his palm flat against her stomach. "Although the last time, I think there was a bit of bulk in the way." She smiled into the darkness. "I wish we could have figured out a way bring Will down, too," she said, a sharp pang hitting beneath her breastbone. She missed her son, even knowing he was safe at her mother's, Doggett and Skinner taking turns on watch. Even more, she missed seeing Mulder with Will; they'd had so little time together. Mulder sighed, and Scully felt his chin settle on her shoulder. "Me too," he murmured. "I miss both of you so much, Scully. Every morning I wake up and wonder how I'll make it through the day without seeing either of you. Every night I go to sleep with a picture of you holding Will in my mind. The days I get an e- mail or one of your little care packages feel like they should be ... I don't know. National holidays or something. And the days without are like walks through the desert." His fingers curled against her skin and his voice dropped to a rasp. "I don't want to have to let you go." Scully slid her hand over Mulder's, curving her fingers around his. "I know," she whispered. "I don't want to go." They fell silent; there was nothing else they could say. They both knew she had to go, that even this one night and day were a risk for them all. But despite her fear when Skinner had broached the idea, she could not resist the chance to see him. She came so close the last time. Now here she was, wrapped up in his arms, hearing his breathing and smelling his scent. Remember to trade off the t-shirts with him, she thought, her last before she fell asleep. ===== The smell of him surrounded her when she drifted awake. She had no idea how long she'd slept -- her travel alarm was on the dresser across the room -- but she could see the early glow of sunrise seeping in through the window. Mulder was snoring lightly in her ear, and she closed her eyes again, listening to him, soaking him in, making another deep imprint to hold her for as long as possible. She felt the moment he woke up, his body jerking lightly, from either surprise or just an autonomic reaction. After a moment, the hand on her stomach tightened, pulling her back to press against the hardening in his crotch. Yes, he knew she was awake. She didn't react at first, enjoying their early-morning wakeup call. He ground gently against her lower back, his hand moving down to slip under the t-shirt and traveling back up to cup her breast. She let out a small moan as his fingers brushed her nipple, feeling herself grow soft and wet from just these touches. God, it had been too long. She waited another long moment, memorizing the feel of him, before shifting around to face him. His hand left her breast but stayed under the shirt as she turned, settling on her upper back, fingernails scratching lightly. "Morning," she murmured, dipping her head to plant a soft kiss on his breastbone. "Morning," he sent back, his other hand working its way under her to cup the back of her neck. "Now, where were we?" She smiled against his lips as he kissed her, skipping the gentle, hesitant stage and going right to deep and wet, exactly where they'd left off the night before. Scully wrapped her arms around him as he rolled on top of her, letting her legs fall open to cradle his hips. Now, this, this I remember, she thought, lifting one leg to his waist and pulling him down to her. His weight felt delicious, warm and hard, pressing her into the mattress. She was all for trying new things in bed, but when it had been this long, this was what she wanted first. He knew it, too; it was one of the few confessions she'd been able to make that first night in his bed. Just going to him had used up the rest of her courage. He didn't seem in any hurry now, though, unlike the frenzy that had surprised both of them that first night. This morning he seemed content to kiss her lips for hours, trying out every possible angle, speed, and depth. She felt herself sinking into a haze of pleasure; so long, so long, so good, her mind chanted. She was so attuned to his kisses that when his hand finally returned to her breast, it caught her by surprise and she pulled her mouth from his, a loud groan escaping. She heard him chuckle and had to smile herself; one of the many things *he'd* said that first night -- and most of their handful of nights together after that -- was how much he loved to hear her sounds in bed. Mulder finally left her lips behind, but she didn't have a chance to miss them, because they traveled south quickly, placing more kisses along her jawline and down her neck. He pulled away only long enough to tug at her t-shirt, which they removed in seconds, and he bent his head to wrap his lips around her nipple. He spent an inordinately long time on her breasts, she thought, although she wasn't about to complain. His mouth wandered back and forth between the hardened peaks, detouring down to survey the warm, dark crease underneath and up to nibble at her collarbone. Once he even dipped to suck at her navel, and she gasped at the unfamiliar sensation, bringing forth another small chuckle as he returned his attention to her chest. She was panting and twisting by the time he'd had enough and started moving down her body with purpose. He pulled her panties away without hesitation and lowered his face between her legs, inhaling deeply. The smell of her arousal was another thing he said he'd loved, she remembered; and as his tongue snaked out to touch her, her mind added, and taste; don't forget that. She couldn't keep still, not when he was doing this. He wrapped an arm across her hips so she at least wouldn't buck too hard against his face, but his mouth never let up its sweet torture. Her hands were tangled in his hair, longer than it was before, and she heard herself moaning as if from the far end of a tunnel. God, what he could do to her. She lost time, she was sure of that, and she heard herself chuckle at the thought of how much Mulder would enjoy hearing her say that. She made a mental note to tell him later, the last clear thought she had before her climax overtook her. He stayed with her, his tongue gentling as she rode out the waves, his hands running lightly across her hips and stomach. One of their favorite discoveries had been how much each of them loved oral sex, from both sides; Scully knew from experience that Mulder had gotten nearly as much out of that as she had. But not quite as much, she thought, her hands pulling at his shoulders. He obliged, moving up to cover her again, his cock poised between her legs. She waited for him to slide in, shifting her hips when he didn't, but before she could ask he ground out, "Scully ... God ... protection?" She opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about and then realized what he meant. They'd never used anything before, thinking she couldn't get pregnant, but things were different now, and he'd remembered. She hadn't thought to tell him it would be fine. "It's okay," she whispered. "Will weaned himself two months ago. I went on the Pill." Before he could acknowledge her answer, she tilted her hips up a fraction, shifting until he was at the right angle, and then slid her hands down to his bottom and pulled him in. He groaned, long and deep, as he slid all the way inside, and she held him there, grinding her pelvis against his. God, she loved this, his weight on top of her, his skin against hers, his length buried deep. She felt a pang of regret, as she nearly always did, that they'd put this off for so long. She knew waiting had been the best thing, but the thought that they could have had this for years before they did always left her a little wistful for what might have been. He grunted softly in her ear, and she realized she was still holding him to her, so tightly that he couldn't move, and it was obvious he needed to. She loosened her grip but kept her hands right where they were, caressing his skin and feeling his muscles bunch and relax as he started to move. Just a few minutes in, he started to speed up, and she knew she'd never catch up with him. It didn't matter, of course; she'd had a turn already, and despite Mulder's penchant toward overachieving, she'd managed to convince him that sometimes she just wasn't going to make it a second time. She was still tired, and the mix of emotions rolling through her mind wouldn't slow enough for her to concentrate the way she would need to for another climax. Instead, she tightened her fingers, massaging his cheeks firmly. A gasp escaped his mouth and within seconds he was driving into her, just as she knew he would. She held on for the ride, encouraging him with little whispers he probably couldn't understand, but she wanted him to hear her voice. He thrust one last time and held himself deep inside her, and she look up in time to see his face frozen between agony and ecstasy. She squeezed her muscles around him and he gasped, pushing forward once more, as if trying to climb inside her, and then groaned loudly as he shook all over. She grinned as she watched him. She'd been working on her Kegels faithfully since she'd given birth; it felt wonderful to see all that exercise pay off so well. He collapsed against her, pushing the air out of her lungs, and she coughed lightly before sucking in a breath. God, she'd forgotten how heavy he could be, but she made no move to push him away, instead wrapping her arms and legs around him, holding him while he recovered. He was so warm, soft and hard in all the right places. She didn't want to let him go. ===== 8:49 a.m. He slept a while, as she'd expected; he put so much into sex that he almost always conked out for a while. She slipped out from under him and headed into the bathroom, taking a quick shower, then pulled on her robe and a pair of slipper socks and crept quietly downstairs to start coffee, breakfast, and a fire in the fireplace. The tile floor was cool on her feet, even through the socks, but she didn't turn up the heat, instead letting the fire warm the room. She was pulling the small container of orange juice out of the refrigerator when she heard the water come on upstairs. His shower was brief, and by the time she was finished pouring cereal, she heard his footsteps on the stairs. She didn't look up, her back to him as he approached, and she was rewarded when his arms slid around her and his head settled on top of hers. "Hey," he said, and she smiled. "Hey," she replied, setting down the cereal box and covering his hands with hers. "You're just in time for breakfast." She felt his cheek press against hers as he grinned and knew what was coming. "I already had an appetizer," he teased, and she chuckled, pulling his hands away and turned to face him, running her gaze across his bare chest and down his long legs, encased in loose flannel pajama pants. "Food, Mulder. Real food," she said, moving over to pour coffee. "We do need to keep our strength up, you know." "Oh?" he asked, as if he had no idea what she meant. "Whatever will I need my strength for?" She put his mug in front of him and sat down. "I think you'll figure it out soon enough," she said, lifting her cup to her mouth to take a sip. He nodded gravely. "I'm sure I will," he said, and she smiled. They talked a little as they ate, Scully filling him in on Will's latest milestones. She fetched her latest "care package" from her overnight bag, watching Mulder's eyes light up at the most recent pictures of Will, pulling himself up on furniture and laughing at his mother. The envelope she'd brought also contained a videotape from Christmas, as well as a few snapshots her mother had taken of both her and Will during the holidays. Last but not least was a small journal, tied shut, with a note on the front that said "a little light reading." Mulder quirked an eyebrow at her when he read that aloud, but she only smiled. She'd spent the last few weeks filling the pages with everything she could think of that she wanted to say to him. He'd find that out soon enough. Breakfast finished, she beckoned him to the sofa, motioning for him to settled against one corner so she could lie between his legs, her head on his chest. They wrapped their arms around each other and lay there a while, simply enjoying the feel of each other. It didn't last long, but then, she hadn't really expected it to. After all, Mulder wasn't known for his patience. His hand detoured from where it had been rubbing her upper back and slipped into the front of her robe, where it found nothing but bare skin. He murmured his approval of her attire and she started a little exploration of her own, loosening the drawstring tie at the front of his pants and slipping her hand inside. Touches turned to caresses, caresses to urgency, and before Scully quite realized what was happening they were both naked and she was straddling his lap, his fingers buried inside her. They stroked each other as they kissed, until Scully couldn't stand it any more and pushed his hand out of the way, moving forward and sliding down on him. He called her name, and her gaze snapped up to meet his. She couldn't look away. They moved against each other, eyes locked in place, and when she came, she could see the wonder on his face in the seconds before his own climax washed over him. They rested together briefly before she reached for her robe and pulled a small wad of tissues out of the pocket. She heard him laugh softly as she pulled away, catching their fluids in the tissue to keep from staining the couch, but he didn't say anything. She was mildly surprised; she'd expected at least some predictable crack about being prepared. He sat up as she moved away, reaching to snag his pants off the floor where they'd left them and sliding them back on. "So," he said, drawing the word out. "Six hours left, Scully. Wanna play Parcheesi?" She laughed as she pulled her robe back around her. "I think I'd like to sit out on the porch for a while," she said. "We'll need to bundle up a little, though. It's not too cold, but it'll be chilly on the water." He stepped toward her, all feline grace and feral stealth. "I'll keep you warm," he growled, teasing, and she smiled as him, reaching for his hand. "I'm sure you will," she replied, leading him toward the stairs. ===== 11:55 a.m. The Adirondack lounge chair on the back porch proved just wide enough for two, when one was lying on his back and the other was on her side, curled up against him. They'd brought down the two extra blankets from upstairs, draping one over the cushioned chair and the other over them to keep out the damp chill in the air. Scully could hear people some distance away, probably a few cabins down, but all she could see outside were water, trees, and an occasional bird. She closed her eyes and sighed softly, smiling as Mulder tightened his arms around her. "God, this feels good, Scully," he murmured. He could never keep quiet for long, but then, she never tired of his voice, so she wasn't about to argue. "I can't tell you how many times I've dreamed about just holding you," he said, and she smiled at that. "Just *holding* me, Mulder?" she asked, teasing, and his chest shook as he laughed. "Oh, there's a lot more than holding going on in some of my dreams, Scully, trust me on that," he said. "But this ... I don't know. It just feels like heaven." She nodded in agreement. They fit together so well like this; actually, they fit together well nearly every way they'd tried so far, she thought, smothering a smile. But this was so comforting, just having his warmth next to her, his arms around her. This, just this, might be enough to carry her through until she could be with him again. She sobered at that, her thoughts growing serious. She didn't know where he'd been or what he'd done in the nearly nine months since he'd been forced to leave, and she didn't know how much longer he might need to stay away. They hadn't talked about it at all; hadn't discussed what they were going to do next. He shifted, and she could tell he sensed the turn in her mood. She sighed again, louder this time, and turned her face away from him, gazing out over the water. "What are we going to do, Mulder?" she whispered, afraid of his answer and longing to hear it at the same time. He pressed his lips against the top of her head before he answered. "I don't know, Scully," he answered. "I haven't seen or heard anything in at least four months to give me a clue what's going on. The Gunmen say everything went quiet then, and I don't have anything, not even an instinct, to tell me what that means." He ran a hand up and down her arm, as if to warm her. "I don't have any proof that we're still in the same danger we were when I left, but I don't have any proof that we're not, either." Scully nodded. The Gunmen had been saying as much, but hearing it from him made it clearer, somehow. He'd always had that instinct about things like this; it had kept them both alive many times through the years. Unfortunately, he also had a streak of overprotectiveness a mile wide, and it had only grown since Will was born. She knew it would be a battle to change their situation without some kind of proof that it would be safe. And she didn't have that kind of proof, any more than he did. She let her eyes fall shut, resigned to living without him a little longer, at least. At some point they would have to make a decision; she knew they couldn't live like this forever. She wouldn't allow it, anyway. Will needed his father. *She* needed his father. She opened her eyes and turned back into him, sliding over so that her body stretched full-length atop his. She propped her chin on his chest and looked up at him, smiling at the way his eyes had widened. He grinned back. "You lookin' for something here, lady?" he drawled out in a fairly good approximation of a Cajun accent. She nodded slowly in reply. "Yeah," she said. "Lunch." She slid off him and jumped away before he could grab for her, as he tried to do. In a split second he was up and after her, chasing her inside, blankets flying up in their wake. She thought maybe she loved the sound of his laughter more than anything else. ===== 1:10 p.m. They ate their sandwiches quickly, hot gazes glancing off each other every few seconds. By the time they were finished, Scully felt as if she would explode right where she sat, before he even touched her. He didn't say a word when she pushed her plate away. He just stood up, reached for her hand to draw her up from her seat, and pulled her toward the stairs. He paused next to the bed and pulled her around to face him, her back to the bed. He studied her face for a moment, and then lifted his hand and twirled his finger in the air, indicating she should turn around. She quirked an eyebrow at him but did as he'd requested. His hands started at the small of her back, running over her clothes with a touch just barely firm enough for her to feel. He covered every inch of her from the neck down; he hadn't touched her skin except for her hands, and she was already soaked. Finally his hands settled at her waist and he pulled her sweater up and off without pausing. She hadn't bothered with underwear -- no need, when it was just them and it would be coming right back off anyway -- so when he pulled off her knit pants and socks, she stood bare, her back still facing him. His hands settled on her hips, and she felt his breath warm on her lower back. He placed a soft kiss there, then another further down, at the base of her spine. Her legs trembled, and she leaned forward to plant her hands on the mattress to steady herself. He made a soft sound of approval and slid his knee between hers, pushing gently until she spread her feet, opening her thighs to him. He placed a soft kiss on her core and she sank further down, her weight resting on her forearms. His tongue came out to part her folds, and she moaned from deep in her chest. He chuckled against her, and she felt a flash of indignation at his smugness. She'd have to be sure to pay him back for that. Thought fled as he went to work on her in earnest. His gifted mouth sent her higher and higher, soon joined by his fingers, thrusting gently as he licked her. At some point, she wasn't sure when, he shifted around so his back was to the bed, giving him more room to work. She appreciated his attention to detail, she had to say, especially when he pushed three fingers inside her and sucked her clit into his mouth. She bucked against him, keening as she came, and then flopped forward onto the mattress, drained. He climbed out from under her and moved away for a moment before coming back to half-drag her into the bed. He curled around her, his naked skin like a blanket, and when she recovered enough to open her eyes, he met her with a kiss that tasted of her. She let him kiss her, let him take the lead, but she had other plans. She wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, but the other took a more direct approach, sliding around the base of his cock and drawing up. He pulled away with a gasp, his eyes rolling back, and she grinned as she scooted down the bed. She didn't waste time with preliminaries; he was already too far gone for that. She ran her tongue firmly along the shaft from top to bottom and back again only a few times before sliding her mouth around him and beginning to suck in earnest. She braced one hand against his hip to keep him in place and set the other to work caressing his balls and pressing into his perineum. She didn't try to take him all the way down; after such a long break, she'd be likely to gag herself, and she didn't want anything to draw his attention away from what she was doing to him. He was panting and gasping almost constantly now, and she moved the hand on his hip to grasp the base of his cock and increased the pressure of her mouth. He shouted and bucked almost immediately, and within seconds his warmth filled her mouth. She opened her lips enough to let most of it slide out and then applied suction again, getting one last full-body jerk from him before gentling her touch. To her amazement, he didn't fall asleep. He reached for her and pulled her up next to him, kissing her again. He loved to kiss, another of his secrets she'd learned, almost as much as he loved sex. Kissing was more intimate, he said; you could have sex and never look someone in the eye, but to kiss your faces had to be so close that you couldn't help it. He watching her now as he kissed, she could see through the fluttering of her own eyelids. She didn't know how he could do it, could keep his eyes open for so long; she certainly couldn't. She knew he liked to watch, though, so it didn't surprise her that he liked to watch them kiss, too. They spent a long time kissing and caressing, rolling back and forth, trying out different positions. She didn't know how long it had been, but as she moved again and hitched her leg over his hip, she bumped against something hard. Again? she thought, pulling out of their kiss and arching an eyebrow at him. He chuckled and thrust against her thigh. "What can I say, Scully; I've been deprived." She smiled and kissed him again, sliding over to straddle him. She broke the kiss and sat up on her knees, reaching down to steady him so she could impale herself. His hands settled on her hips and his gaze dropped down to watch himself disappear inside her. She leaned back, bracing one hand behind her on his leg, to give him a better view. She wanted him to remember this. She wanted him to wake up in the middle of the night with these pictures flooding his mind, to think of her and touch himself. Some part of her knew he already did, but she wanted to be sure. She had to know. "Mulder," she panted out. "Tell me. Tell me you think of me like this every night. Tell me you think of me and you can't stand it, you have to touch yourself." "Oh God Scully," he moaned. "God yes I do. I wake up with a hard-on that won't quit and I can't help it. I come so fast, Scully, and it's you, it's always you." She reached out to grab his hand and brought it up to her breast. He immediately grasped her nipple and tugged, and she moaned, lowering her hand to massage her clit. She knew he was watching her, watching them, and she couldn't believe how much she loved the idea. He bucked up into her, nearly throwing her off balance, and then settled into a rhythm of short, hard thrusts. He managed about a dozen before she went over the edge, and as her muscled clenched around him, he followed her. She fell forward onto his chest, the side of her face pressed against his skin. She could hear his rapid-fire heartbeat, feel the sweat coating his skin, and she closed her eyes, once again imprinting him on her memory. His heart and breathing slowed, and soon she heard a soft snore. She smothered a smile. Yes, I suppose I really did wear him out, she thought, sliding over to curl up next to him and drifting off herself. ===== 4:58 p.m. She had to go. She knew she had to go; her flight was at 8:35; she still had to drop the car off before she went to the airport, and security would surely be a nightmare. But more than anything in the world she wanted to stay here, with him. She knew it was impossible. She wiped off the kitchen counter and dropped the paper towel in the trash as she heard him coming downstairs. He carried both their overnight bags, and she shot him a look. "How ... when are you leaving?" He shook his head, giving her a sad smile. "You know I can't tell you," he said, walking toward her. "Just trust me when I say I won't be staying here long." He stopped in front of her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. "I don't think I could stand being here without you anyway." She nodded in agreement. The cabin might be nothing spectacular to look at, but she would always remember it as extraordinary, not because of what it was but because she was here with him. But she could never come back here, because it was also where she left him again. She tilted her head back and looked up at him. "I have to go," she said, hating the sadness that crept into his eyes at her words but helpless to do anything about it. "I know," he said. "I know." And he lowered his head to kiss her one last time. This kiss, though, felt different from the others. It was a goodbye kiss, she realized, and it felt like it. She didn't try to remember it. They parted and he stepped back, picking up her bag and handing it to her. "Drive carefully," he said, and she realized then that neither of them had yet said the words. She opened her mouth, but something in Mulder's eyes stopped her. Save them, Scully, he seemed to be saying. Until we can be together. She closed her mouth and took the bag, then his hand. They walked together to the back door, where she dropped his hand and reached up to cup the back of his neck, brushing a soft final kiss across his cheek. "Soon, Mulder," she said. "It has to be soon." She didn't wait for a reply, pushing her way through the door and outside. She blinked rapidly as she walked to her car, fighting off tears; if they fell, she knew they would overtake her, and she would never leave. She climbed into the car and without looking back, she left. ===== Delta Flight 582 9:24 p.m. In her lap, Scully held the manila envelope she'd found in the outside pocket of her overnight bag when she'd gotten back to Monica's apartment. She was almost afraid to open it, without really knowing why. It was from Mulder. Why should she be scared? Still, her hands shook as she opened the envelope and slipped out the contents. First came a photograph, a candid shot of Mulder in a silly pose, wearing the Yankees jersey she'd sent him for Christmas. The shot was slightly off-center, as if the camera had been unstable, and she guessed he'd set the timer to get the picture for her. Several newspaper clippings were also there, mostly giving the appearance of having come from tabloids. "THE SOMBRERO OF DOOM," read one, and she laughed at Mulder's note on the side: "Must be an X-file, Scully." The one full-sized sheet of paper inside was covered with Mulder's familiar scrawl; the date on it was two weeks earlier. Slipping the other items back into the envelope, she settled back against her seat to read. "Scully," he wrote, followed by "(I never have gotten used to 'Dana.')" She smiled and read on. "I can't say what I'd really like to say here," he wrote. "I made a promise to myself that I'd wait until I could tell you in person. But now that I know that wish will be coming true soon, I realize I want to save it even longer. I want to hoard it, Scully, as strange it as it might sound, until I know I can hear it whenever I want. Hearing it once and then having to wait months, at least, to hear it again -- I don't think I could stand that." She nodded and smiled, her eyes wet. She understood. It was hard enough leaving him as it was. If they'd said the words, it would have been impossible. She returned to the note. "I can't tell you know much I'm looking forward to seeing you. And before your mind takes a turn toward the gutter, I don't mean just because I'm hoping for some action. (Although don't get me wrong; I'm salivating at the very thought.)" Scully's smile widened. Mulder, you are such a nut, she thought fondly. "No, Scully, as much as I relish the thought of touching you again, more than anything I just want to _be_ with you. I spent most of eight years with you by my side, and let me tell you something -- you're a hard habit to break." So are you, Mulder, she thought. "I miss you, Scully, more than I ever thought I would, and considering how much that was, well, let's just say it's a _lot_. Starring roles in most of my dreams just aren't enough for me. I need to see you, to look into your eyes, to know that I'll still see what I saw the day I had to leave. "Whatever happens, Scully, we won't be apart much longer. Trust me on this. I won't allow it." It was signed simply "Mulder." She slipped the page back into the envelope and laid her hands over it on her lap, smiling. She closed her eyes, picturing his face as he'd kissed her with his eyes open earlier that afternoon. No, Mulder, she thought. *We* won't allow it. =====END===== AUTHOR'S NOTES: Things have been so iffy in my writing realm lately that when inspiration hits, I run with it. So what if it's mostly a thin excuse for some PWP? ;) And yes, I know I stretched thing a littl bit there with a 40- year-old man. They just wouldn't quit! (Quit lookin' at me; it's fiction! ) Thanks go out to first-time beta Sybil, especially for wading through my plethora of commas (seems I like them a lot more than she does ). Here, have some pigs in blankets. :) Feedback will be fed piles of leftover snack foods (there are even brownies). Send it here: noelleleithe@comcast.net