DISCLAIMER: All characters in this story belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and The Fox Network. I mean no infringement. As most of us know, there was a scene between Scully and her older brother Bill that was cut for time. Reportedly, the scene revealed a rather painful side of Scully family relations, as Bill Jr. apparently confronted Scully about her choice of the FBI as a career, blaming her decision for Melissa's death and offering Scully little comfort in her time of fear and pain. Personally, I'm glad this scene was cut, not so much because I don't want to see a flaw in the perfect Scully family core, but because Mulder wouldn't there to see it and react to it. It would have been a waste. So I decided to incorporate it into my "Hearts" universe, since the emotional upheaval caused by such a confrontation would require the additional intimacy the partners achieved in my earlier story, "Be Still My Heart." This section rated R for very strong language "Time like a Heartbeat" by Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com Part I: "Love More Strong" "This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long." - William Shakespeare Dana Scully's apartment February 14, 1997 6:32 p.m. The voice was male, tense. Fox Mulder paused in mid-knock. He bent his head toward the door. "These things have to be taken care of, Dana." "I know that." Her voice was low and tired. The first chemotherapy treatment she'd taken from Dr. Scanlon had been rough on her--intentionally rough, Mulder suspected. He could barely make out her next words. "I can handle it, Bill." Her brother, Mulder realized. Curiosity and dread mingled in his gut. She hadn't mentioned that Bill Jr. was in town. Part of him wanted to turn tail and run. It had been one thing to tell Scully's mother about their new relationship-- Maggie Scully liked him, and he and Scully hadn't gone into any gory details about the nature of their relationship. But he didn't think Scully's brothers would react with similar equanimity. "Handle it?" Bill's voice was gruff and oddly musical. Mulder had heard the voice of Scully's father only once, when the captain had called the office to speak to his daughter not too long before his death. Bill Jr. sounded a bit like his father. "How do you handle something like this, Dana? There's no handling it." "Bill, I have things under control." "Like you had things under control when you disappeared for three months? Like things were under control when those bastards killed Missy?" His voice rose. Resonated. "Was it worth it, Dana? Was defying Dad worth all of this?" Stony silence followed Bill's words. Mulder felt a surge of sheer, black rage as he felt Scully's pain even through the thick door. He rapped his knuckles hard against the wood, welcoming the stinging pain to his fingers. He heard a soft rustling sound and the scrape of the deadbolt disengaging. The door opened. Scully's pale face lifted to his. Regret and relief sparred behind her blue eyes. He wanted to drop his packages and scoop her into his arms. But she wouldn't want him to do that--not in front of her brother. So he restrained himself, holding out a large brown bag and a small red box. "Happy Valentine's Day." Her eyebrows arched. She had forgotten, he realized. She looked over her shoulder, a little frown creasing her forehead. A broad-shouldered man stood in the middle of the living room, dressed in a crisp blue uniform. He had sandy brown hair and wide, full mouth. He was a couple of inches taller than Mulder and probably outweighed the FBI agent by twenty pounds. Mulder released an imperceptible sigh. He walked toward Scully's brother, hand extended. "You must be Bill. I'm Fox Mulder, Dana's partner." Bill Jr. stared at Mulder's hand, his expression shuttered and distant. He didn't move his hands from his side. Tight-ass. Mulder dropped his hand. "I..uh..." He expelled a bigger sigh and turned to Scully. "I know we didn't make set plans--I can go...." "No, Mulder." She set the bag and the box on her kitchen table and turned to look at him. He was surprised by the look of desperation on her face. "You know you're welcome any time." The statement was firm, challenging, and definitely directed toward her brother. Bill's expression shifted just a bit. "So this is Fox." Mulder cut his eyes in the direction of Scully's brother. Bill's eyes glinted with barely veiled contempt. "Mulder," Scully corrected with a soft sigh. Bill slowly circled them, his blue eyes slightly narrowed. "So, Fox--" he exaggerated the word, "seventy hours a week isn't enough time for you to screw up my sister's life? You're going for twenty-four hours a day now?" Scully tensed beside Mulder. "Bill--" "This is between me and Fox." Bill ignored his sister's warning glare. "Grow up, Bill." "It's okay, Scully. Let him get it out of his system." Mulder stepped forward, subtly inserted himself between the angry siblings. "You were saying, Bill?" Bill's face reddened and his eyes flashed. For a second, he looked amazingly like Mulder's most vivid memory of Melissa Scully--anger and pain suffusing her pretty face as she made him face up to his fear about losing Scully. Mulder blinked away the image, fought the sudden onslaught of guilt. Melissa--another sacrifice. Like his childhood. Like Scully's innocence. Her life.... Behind him, Scully made a small gasping sound. Mulder turned. His heart clenched. Blood dripped from her left nostril, spotting her fingertips as she tried to stanch the flow. He fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief before he realized he'd left it in his suit pants. Bill hurried to his sister's side, quickly supplying a snowy handkerchief. Bright red blood marred the white cotton surface, each drop like a knife twisting in Mulder's heart. "God, Dana," Bill muttered, his face darkening. "I'm fine." She pulled away from his hovering presence and went into the bathroom. Bill's spine went rigid. He executed a flawless about-face. "This is your fault, you son of a bitch." Mulder met his gaze without flinching, even as he silently acknowledged his guilt. "You knew what kind of danger you were leading her into, but you let her tag along after you anyway." Bill took a step forward. His ruddy complexion had taken on a cherry-red brightness. A thick vein stood out in his neck. He closed to within inches, drawing himself up to his full height. "Self-absorbed little FUCK!" Mulder's jaws felt tight enough to pop. "Takes a fuck to know one." "You're certifiable, Mulder. I know about you. I know what you do in your basement dump, the kind of people you hang around with." Mulder grinned. "Yeah, well, I could say the same about you, Billy boy. Tailhook wasn't that long ago." Wrong thing to say. VERY wrong. Bill Scully closed the distance between them until he was in Mulder's face. It wouldn't take much to make the man snap, and Mulder knew it. But he didn't give a shit. Because it felt good to vent some of his own bottled up rage. Really, really good. "When Dana comes back in here," Mulder said, "I want you to apologize to her." "Fuck you." Mulder grinned. "No, but thanks for the offer." Bill Scully's hands formed fists. Come on, tight ass, hit me, Mulder thought. I dare you. "You don't tell me how to treat my sister." "Someone should." Mulder bent slightly, invading what was left of the space between them. He could almost smell testosterone clouding around them. "You're an uptight, ass- kissing prick in a fancy uniform who thinks he's got the world all figured out, but know what, Billy boy? You ain't seen NOTHIN' like what your sister deals with every fucking day of her life. She's tougher and stronger and smarter than you or I can ever dream of being, so don't you DARE come in here and throw your weight around, trying to tell her how to handle her life. Where the hell were you when she was missing for three months? When your mother could hardly put one foot in front of the other after Melissa's death? You were out on your big, long phallic symbol of a submarine, fucking your precious sea, while she was here, holding everything together. So don't you DARE try to make her feel bad about the choices she's made!" Bill Scully's fist felt like a baseball bat upside Mulder's jaw. He sprawled backwards, slamming into the wall. His head connected with plaster in a bone-jarring thwack. He blinked to clear his vision. Blood trickled down his chin from his split lip. Bill followed his backward movement, pinning him against the wall with one sinewy forearm. "Listen and listen good, you worthless piece of shit. Don't you EVER tell me what to do. Dana is MY business, not yours." His eyes glinted, and he leaned in, his nose almost touching Mulder's. "Besides, considering your lousy track record with sisters, I don't think you have room to give advice." Every muscle in Mulder's body coiled. But before he could unleash the pent up fury, Scully's voice sliced through the tension, low but distinct. "Get out." Bill released Mulder and turned to look at his sister. Mulder looked at her as well. She stood in the middle of the living room, her posture ramrod straight and anger crackling from every pore. Her gaze locked with her brother's. "Dana--" "Get the hell out of my apartment, Bill." Bill stiffened. He slowly straightened his uniform, brushing a piece of non-existant lint from the sleeve, and walked to the door. He closed it behind him without saying another word. Silence echoed through the apartment, broken only by the soft sussuration of their breathing. Scully didn't move for along time, still staring at the door. Mulder finally broke the silence. "I'm sorry." She turned her head slowly. "For what?" "I pushed his buttons." "That's no excuse for what he said to you." Now that the adrenaline high was beginning to wear off, Mulder felt regrets creeping up on him. "I said some rough things to him, too." "Why are you trying to defend him?" She pinned him with an angry glare. "Because he's your brother." She opened her mouth as if to argue, then snapped it shut. She took a couple of steps back and sank onto the couch, resting her head in her hands. "Nosebleed stop?" he asked. She looked up. "Yeah. But your lip is a mess." He touched his wounded mouth. It hurt like a son of a bitch. "Got an extra washcloth?" Her lips curved slightly. "We'll have a matching his and hers set, complete with blood stains." He tried to smile, but it hurt. "Why don't you see if dinner's gotten cold? I'll be just a minute." He went into her bathroom and got a washcloth from the shelf above the tub, wet it, and blotted his mouth. The cold water soothed away a lot of the pain, he was glad to note. After all, he had plans for that lip tonight. He found Scully in the kitchen, arranging the pita sandwiches from Naji's on a couple of plates. He fell in step with her work rhythm, pouring tea and gathering silverware and napkins. He helped her carry their dinner to the table. She poked at the falafel on her plate absentmindedly but didn't take a bite. He looked up at her in alarm. His stomach coiled, and the bite of grilled pepper steak stuck in his throat. He swallowed with difficulty and reached his hand across the table. "Are you okay? You're not feeling sick--" She arched her eyebrows in surprise. "No, I'm fine." She put her hand over his. "Really, Mulder--I'm okay. The nosebleeds don't necessarily mean I'm getting worse." She withdrew her hand and picked up the falafel. He watched her take a decent bite, forcing down his rising panic. But he'd lost his appetite. He pushed his own steak pita around his plate and hoped she wouldn't notice. But she noticed. She looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and irritation. "We talked about this, Mulder. We agreed that you wouldn't bury me before I'm dead." He flinched at her words. "God, Scully." "You've been treating me like I'm fragile, Mulder, and I can't live this way anymore." She pushed away from the table and stood. "I have cancer. We don't yet know how to treat it, but I haven't given up hope yet, and damn it, Mulder, you promised me you wouldn't either." He stood, too. "What the hell do you want from me, Scully? You don't want me to lie to you, you don't want me to hide things from you, and now you don't want me to fucking feel what I feel?" Her face darkened with anger. "Is that how you feel, Mulder? You look at me and all you see is the cancer? Is that what you feel?" He stared at her for a moment, then slumped in his chair. He shook his head slowly. A long, heavy silence swallowed his wordless reply. He stared at his hands, his feet, the table--anywhere but at her. "We haven't made love since I got home from Allentown." Scully sat down again, her movements slow and deliberate. "Is that why? You can't bear to make love to a dying woman?" Tears stung his eyes, burned his throat. "Stop it, Scully." "I can't." Her voice was faint. Tight. "If you don't want to be with me because of this, if you need to step back and put some distance between us for your own sanity, it's all right, Mulder. I understand. But I need to know that now." He felt a surge of raw pain--anger or hurt or fear, he couldn't really say. But it propelled him forward, pushed him to her. He reached down and caught her arms, lifting her to her feet. Her eyes widened in surprise, her lips parting in a soft gasp. He slanted his mouth over hers, breathing her breath, his tongue pushing past the brief resistance to tangle with hers. She clutched at his arms, her small fingers digging into his flesh, and for a moment he thought she was pushing him away until she shifted in his arms, trapping his left thigh between hers, her hips pressing hard against him, thrusting against him. He reached between their bodies and found her hot center through the soft cotton leggings she wore. He cupped her, his fingers parting her through the fabric, shifting the material to create friction. She groaned into his mouth in response and slipped her own hand between his legs. Found him through the denim, traced the shape of him. He was instantly hard. Achingly hard. His jeans felt like a second skin he was about to burst through any second. And then she stopped. Pushed away from him. Left him pulsing and gasping. He stared at her as she backed away, put distance--the table, the chair--between them. "No," she said. End of Part 1 DISCLAIMER IN PART ONE Rated NC-17 for language and sexual situations "Time like a Heartbeat" by Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com "And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, Compared with loss of thee will not seem so." - William Shakespeare Part II: "Compared with Loss" Dana Scully braced her hands on the chair in front of her, needing the distance and the barriers to regain control of her body and her mind. On the other side of the table, Mulder looked shell-shocked, his breath coming in hard, ragged gasps. His body was tense, hard, flushed with desire. A thin sheen of perpiration made him glow, and she felt her own body surging in response, reaching across the distance that separated them. "I need you," he said, his voice raw and low. It was a plea. She closed her eyes. "We've never made love for the wrong reasons, Mulder. I don't want to start now." He was silent. Too silent. She opened her eyes to look at him. The pain she saw in his eyes felt like a physical blow. She formed words on her tongue, tried to say them. But they caught in her throat. Mulder took a couple of tentative steps toward her, his hands slightly outstretched as if to reassure her of his good intentions. He approached her as if she were a wild animal who could bolt at any moment. Maybe she was. She felt wild and scared and panicked. "I love you, Scully." She stared at him, a lump rising in her throat, forcing tears to her eyes. He'd never said the words before, neither in the blistering heat of passion nor the languid warmth of afterglow. Oh, God, why did he say them now? Now when.... When what? She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. When I'm dying. When my life is ending. When there's no time left. She shook her head, denying her thoughts, denying his words, denying a reality that sat on her shoulders like an anvil, crushing her. She had told Mulder, in the still quiet of a hospital corridor, that she had decided to fight for her life. Yet here she was, thinking in terms of what would never be. No, damn it. That wasn't how she was going to live her life. Life came with no guarantees--Melissa's death should have proven that. Tomorrow or the next day or the day after that, she could catch a bullet or be sideswiped by a drunk driver, and then what would it matter that there was a tumor growing in her head? "Tell me what you want, Scully." She looked up at him, meeting his dark, desperate gaze. In his eyes, she saw her future. Her hope. "I want right now, Mulder." She swallowed hard, fighting off the last of the tears that left her feeling weak and scared. "I don't want yesterday or tomorrow. I just want right now. This night. You. I want you." His eyes fluttered closed for a second, shuttering his heart from her. When he opened his eyes again, the blazing love she saw there stole her breath. He opened his arms and she flew to them, pressing her ear to his chest to listen to the rapid thudding of his heart. He stroked her hair, his touch like a whisper. Gently, reverently, he threaded his fingers through the hair at her temples and lowered his lips to her forehead, just as he had done in the corridor of the Allentown-Bethlehem Medical Center after Penny Northern's death, to kiss the heart of her fear. Kiss it and make it better.... He eased away from her, just enough to cradle her face and gaze down at her, reading her soul in her eyes. She felt naked, vulnerable and alive. Cherished. Beloved. He kissed the tip of her nose. "You haven't opened your surprise." She arched one eyebrow. "Surprise?" "Just because you forgot Valentine's Day doesn't mean that I did." He twined his fingers through hers and led her back to the table. Next to the crumpled take-out bag from Naji's sat a flat box, wrapped in shiny red foil. Chocolates, she thought. Mulder knew her secret passions. She glanced up at him. "May I?" He nodded. His expression was more tense than she expected--did he think he could go wrong with chocolate? She tore the foil wrapping paper open with her fingernail and ripped it off the box. As expected, inside the foil was a box of imported Swiss chocolates. "Mmm, Mulder, you KNOW what I like." She pulled the top off the box. Inside, lying across the chocolates, were two tickets. She glanced up at Mulder. His expression was both wary and hopeful. She looked back at the tickets. They were small and hand-printed, lavender cover stock paper embossed with a looping script font. "The Vineyard Room Millennium Celebration?" she read aloud. Mulder shifted from one foot to the other. Scully found the small sign of nervousness oddly endearing. "The Vineyard Room is a hotel in Edgartown. They've already started selling tickets to their New Year's Eve party for the year 2001. That's the REAL start of the millennium, you know." She nodded. "I know." She ran her fingers over the embossed tickets, fighting back tears. New Year's Eve, 2001. Almost four years from now. Three years more than the doctor had told her to expect. She lifted tear-sparkled eyes to Mulder. "This is a wonderful gift, Mulder. Thank you." He smiled, relief transforming his expression. "I was hoping you'd like them. I bought them a few months ago--as a sort of promise." That we'd still be together on New Year's Eve, 2001, Scully thought, smiling through a veil of tears. That he'd still love me. "Now, it's also a sign of faith." He bent and brushed his lips to hers, the touch gentle and almost reverent. "The hotel ballroom at The Vineyard Place is beautiful, Scully. I can't wait to dance all night with you." She laid the tickets atop the chocolates and wrapped her arms around his lean waist, holding on for dear life. "It's a date." He held her tightly, his breath warm against her forehead. "So, you wanna binge on chocolate, or shall we see if we can remember where we were a few minutes ago?" She pretended to consider the question. Imported Swiss truffles or mind-bending sex with Mulder? Hell, why limit yourself? She picked up the box of chocolates and took Mulder's hand. "Let's answer the burning question once and for all, Mulder." He drifted along behind her as she led him toward her bedroom. "The burning question?" She paused in the bedroom doorway and looked at him over her shoulder. "Which is better, sex or chocolate?" He grinned and swept her up in his arms, box of chocolates and all. "Sex AND chocolate!" He lowered her to the bed and stepped back, untucking his shirt from the waistband of his jeans. She watched as he unbuttoned the shirt, baring his lean, powerful chest. He was beautiful, she thought, strong and toned. She moved the box of chocolates aside and sat up, reaching for his zipper. He shrugged off his shirt and moved closer to the bed, giving her easier access to his jeans. She unbuttoned the top button and unzipped the tight denim, revealing the soft cotton of his heather gray boxer-briefs. She stifled a smile. The Calvins. Happy Valentine's Day, indeed. She slipped her hand inside his jeans and stroked him. The response was immediate, and she glanced up at him. He shrugged and smiled, reaching out to brush her hair back from her forehead. She freed him from his jeans and underwear, ran her fingers lightly over the length of him. Closed her fist around him and gently squeezed. He released a soft, explosive hiss. She glanced up at him, savoring the look of pleasure-pain suffusing his face. She hadn't realized just how much she had needed this, needed him, needed what they did with each other and to each other. She felt alive and strong and healthy. She felt she could live forever. She loosened her grip on him, returning her fingers to their playful exploration of his growing erection. She let her fingernails scrape lightly, teasingly, up and down and around. She was rewarded by his quickened breath, his fingers threading through her hair, caressing her. He was happy to let her take the lead, happy to follow her wherever she took him. She loved him madly for it. She released him, moving her hands to his hips. She slid his jeans down his legs to puddle in the floor at his feet. She quickly dispatched the gray boxer-briefs the same way, until he stood naked and beautiful in front of her. His eyes were large and dark, the irises small green rings around his dilated pupils. Keeping her eyes on his face, she scooted forward on the bed, stroking his hips with her palms. Lightly. Slowly. Wickedly. He bit his lip and expelled a little gasp as his teeth caught the swollen flesh where Bill had slugged him. She made a little moue of sympathy, even though the practical side of her knew that in a few minutes, he would be biting the hell out of his lip and not even feeling it. She slid her hands around to cup his buttocks and draw him closer to her. He stumbled a little as he moved forward, grabbing her shoulders to steady himself. He left his hands there, curling his fingers in the soft fabric of her cotton t-shirt. She leaned forward and brushed her lips against the thin line of hair that bisected his flat abdomen. His muscles bunched at her touch. His thumbs found the ridge of her clavicles through her shirt and stroked, sending little flashes of heat through her breasts and belly. She rewarded him with a flick of her tongue, circling the indentation of his navel. His whispery intake of breath spurred her on. She kissed the hot, silky flesh below his navel, nipped at the point of his hip bone. She pulled him closer, her hands squeezing his buttocks, sliding over his hips. She rubbed her nose against the crisp hair on his belly and moved her hands slowly across the planes of his hip bones, tracing the lean contours. His stomach trembled beneath her lips and his hands tightened around her shoulders. She sat back for a moment and reached out for the bedside table, opening the drawer. She withdrew a small square foil packet and ripped it open with her teeth, lifting her eyes to Mulder's face. His gaze was on her mouth, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. She brought her hands together in front of him and gently cupped his sex, her fingers fluttering lightly against his hot flesh. His fingers dug into her shoulders, and she smiled. God, she loved this. She loved feeling his powerful body soar to a symphony of pleasure beneath her virtuoso touch. She played him with her hands and mouth, coaxing him to new heights, finding melodies and harmonies that belonged to them alone. His fingers slid up her neck and tangled in her hair--not pulling, not holding, just stroking, soothing, loving. She sat back finally, dropping one last affectionate kiss on the tip of his sex, and slipped the condom over his erection. He gently urged her back from him and knelt before her, his eyes murky with need. Drawing her forward for a kiss, he drank from her mouth like a dying man, his hands roaming her body, seeking and finding the soft and hard of her. He tugged at the waistband of her leggings, and she shifted to help him slide them down her legs. He tossed them away to join his jeans on the floor by the bed. Her panties quickly followed. For a moment he paused, looking up into her face, studying her as if he'd never seen her before. He cradled her face, his thumbs gently stroking her cheekbones, and drew her down for another kiss. Then he dropped his hands to her hips and drew her forward to the edge of the bed. Scully lay back, bracing herself on her elbows, and watched him part her thighs and lower his mouth to her. His touch was electric and she shuddered at the sensation. Her breathing quickened. Her hips began a slow, helpless dance in rhythm with his mouth. She released a low groan of pleasure, then another. Another. Her body felt like liquid fire, alternately spreading and gathering, bunching and stretching. She threw her head back, clutched desperately at the bedsheets. His hands found hers, fingers twining through her own. She gripped his hands and lifted her hips, eager and frantic. She gasped his name. Moaned it. He shifted, removed his mouth from her. She groaned at the sense of deprivation, opened her mouth to plead for his mercy. But his mouth met hers, fiery hot and hungry, and he gathered her into his arms. She clung to him, grinding the heat of her sex against his hardness. His breath exploded into her mouth, and he laid her back on the bed, curling his hands around her thighs and opening her to him. He rose over her, strong and large and all-encompassing, his gaze so intense she thought she'd burst into flame. Her lips parted and his name escaped her throat in entreaty. She saw a kaleidescope of emotions flash across his face in that one trembling moment--need, love, gratitude, sorrow, joy, fear, peace. Then, slowly, he entered her. Stretched her. Filled her. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed. Overmatched. She lifted her hands to his sides, stroked the silky flesh over his hip bones. Cupping his buttocks, she held him firmly against her for a moment, concentrating on the feel of his body filling her own. Tight. Thick. Perfect. She shifted her hips, took him deeper, and heard his soft, guttural sigh. She released his hips, sliding her hands up his chest to circle his nipples with her fingertips. She pinched lightly and heard him gasp again. He rocked his hips against hers in response, his pelvic bone pressing against the tiny bundle of nerves at her core, sparking a thousand wildfires along her nerve endings. She bit her lip and arched beneath him. He set a slow, steady rhythm, dropping kisses along her jawline, her chin, her throat. She pulled her t-shirt up over her head and tossed it somewhere behind her, allowing him access to the soft swell of her breasts peeking above the cotton lace cups of her bra. He bent and nipped at the front hook of the bra, opening it with his teeth and tongue. She chuckled at his talent, until his mouth closed around the hardened peak of her breast. Laughter died away, replaced by a soft, keening gasp of pleasure. He lavished attention on her breasts, her throat, her mouth. Control slipped away, and she relinquished it with a perverse sense of accomplishment. She reveled in the wild abandon of their lovemaking, in the mindless, thoughtless sensation of sheer physical ecstasy. She gave herself to him utterly, completely, matching his gathering intensity, pushing him as he pushed her, thrusting, clasping, panting. Release began as a pinpoint of shimmering light in her core, then grew, bloomed, spread, scattered. She unfurled like a ribbon of light, a moan unspooling from her throat. Her inner muscles clenched around him, grasped at him. With a low cry, he arched his back and buried himself in her again and again until he finally collapsed against her, pressing soft, hot kisses to her throat and shoulder. She held him, stroked the trembling muscles of his back, traced the ridges of his spine, murmured wordless sounds of love into his ear. This was her favorite part of making love with Mulder, this sweet, languid time after, when he melted in her embrace, defenseless and utterly trusting. There were no walls in this place, no barriers between them. She closed her eyes and bathed in the warmth of their love for each other. Finally, much later, he stirred, lifting his head away from her shoulder. She heard him utter a small gasp, opened her eyes and saw him staring at her, his expression somewhere between sorrow and panic. "What?" He reached down and touched the skin above her lip. When he drew his finger away, there was blood on the tip. She lifted her fingers to her nose. But her fingers came away clean. She looked back up at him and noticed, for the first time, that his split lip had begun to bleed again. "Yours," she murmured, reaching up and gently wiping away a droplet of blood with her fingertip. He rolled away from her, an apologetic grin curving his lips, and reached for the box of tissues on the table by the bed. He sat up and blotted his cracked lip. She sat up as well and ran her hand gently down his spine. She pressed her lips to his shoulderblade and murmured, "I love you," against his skin. He turned and drew her into the warm circle of his arms, rested his chin on her head. They sat there, in comfortable silence, as the night deepened around them. And Scully felt, with a certainty as powerful as any she'd ever known, that there would be many more nights like this for them, many more years of finding peace in the midst of chaos in this quiet place they alone created. When the phone rang a few moments later, she was so relaxed the sound jarred her nerves. She grumbled against his shoulder and extricated herself from his arms. "Hello?" "Dana, it's Mom." With a self-conscious grin, Scully dove for the covers. Mulder scooted over to make room for her, his eyebrow quirking. "Your mom?" he mouthed. She nodded, making a face at him. She pulled the sheet up to cover her nakedness. "Hi, Mom. What's up?" "Is Bill still there? He was supposed to be back here over an hour ago." Her mother's voice was tense, worried. "Dana, I have a terrible feeling that something's wrong." End of Part 2 DISCLAIMER in part 1 Rated R for very strong language "Time Like a Heartbeat" by Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com "You still shall live--such virtue hath my pen-- Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men" - William Shakespeare Part III: "Mouths of Men" Fox Mulder saw his partner frown into the phone. He cocked his head slightly, trying to read in her expression and her voice the conversation going on between her and her mother. "He left here a couple of hours ago, Mom--but he was okay." Scully shrugged at Mulder. He shrugged back and scooted off the bed to retrieve his gray boxer-briefs. Somehow, sitting naked next to Dana Scully while she was talking to her mother offended his sense of decency. He donned the shorts and turned back to the bed to find Scully staring at him, one dark red eyebrow arched and amusement crinkling her eyes. "Well, it wasn't really an argument--" She paused and released a little sigh. Mulder sat next to her, finding her leg underneath the sheet and gently running his fingers up her inner thigh. She swatted at his hand, fixing him with a stern frown. He grinned at her and inched his fingers higher. She squirmed a little. Scully shifted her legs under the sheet, trying to shake off his hand. *Stop it!* she mouthed. "Yes, Mulder was here, and no, they didn't have a fight." He arched an eyebrow at her and poked out his split lip. Not a fight? Bill had knocked him into the wall. What was that in Scully-terms--a little disagreement? "I'm sure he's just out cooling off, Mom. You know Bill. He has to find his own way to sort things out." Mulder bent and nuzzled her thigh through the sheet. She grabbed his hair and yanked hard, making him grunt in pain. "Yeah, Mom, he's still here." Scully chuckled, tightening her fingers in his hair as he started nipping her through the cotton. "Mom, Bill's a big boy--" She stopped short and sighed. "Okay--I'll call some of the local places around here, see if anyone matching his description has been there tonight. Talk to you soon." Mulder lifted his head, wincing as her still-clenched fingers tugged at his hair. "Billy boy hasn't showed up at the homestead?" She released his hair. "He and Tara were supposed to catch a late movie, but Bill hasn't shown." She frowned slightly. "You don't think there's any reason to worry, do you?" He sat up. "I don't know your brother well enough to judge. What do you think he would do?" "He's not a big drinker, but he was pretty ticked off when he left here, and maybe he thought a beer might calm him down. He came by cab, so it's not like he'd have to worry about drinking and driving." Scully tucked her knees up to her chest. "I could call a few of the bars around here, I suppose." "I'll help." Mulder rolled off the bed and went into the living room, where he'd left his coat. He pulled the cellphone from the inside pocket and went back to the bedroom. Scully had donned her panties and his shirt and now sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping through the Yellow Pages. They took alternate listings and went through seven bars in the area. None of the bartenders claimed to have seen anyone fitting Bill's description, and as Mulder pointed out halfway through, he was a hard man to miss, what with the uniform and the semi-buzzcut. Scully put down the phone after the seventh call and sighed. "I really thought we'd find him at one of these places." Mulder shut off his cell phone and caught his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, absently probing at the soreness where Bill Scully's fist had connected with his mouth. If I were Bill Scully, where would I go? One sister dying. One sister dead and buried. Angry. Hurt. Blinded by grief I don't know how to express. Where would I go? The answer came in a flash. He sat upright. "Scully, I think I know where your brother is." She arched her eyebrow. "I think you should go to your mom's house, calm things down. I'll go look for Bill." "Mulder, I'm not sure--" He touched his fingers to her lips. "If he's where I think he is, he's not going to want to see you there. And I don't want things to be said between the two of you in the heat of the moment that you can't take back, okay? If he's going to go off on somebody, let it be me." She sighed but nodded. "I'll go start the shower." Mulder grabbed a clean pair of underwear from the drawer Scully had set aside for him in the bottom of her chest of drawers and followed her into the bathroom. To save time, they showered together, enveloped in a delicate cloud of freesia-scented steam. In tacit agreement, they avoided touching each other as much as possible, although the mere sight of her slick, naked body was enough to give Mulder a nice little buzz. He distracted himself with the thought of Bill Scully, sitting beneath a cold, dark sky, trying to figure out how to say goodbye to the people he loved. "I'll call as soon as I find him," he promised Scully a few minutes later as they walked down the sidewalk toward their cars. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to face her. "Tell your mom I'll be sure to bring him home intact." She flashed him a crooked half-smile. "It's not Bill I'm worried about." He bent and kissed her, ignoring the flash of pain in his injured lip. "Talk to you soon." He watched her safely to her car, then turned and went to his own car. He pulled the collar of his jacket higher around his neck and cranked the engine. He couldn't say he was looking forward to another heart to heart talk with Bill Scully, he thought as he pulled out of the parking space. Especially if he found the man where he thought he would. * * * * * "Fox is looking for him?" Margaret Scully's forehead wrinkled slightly. Scully squeezed her mother's arm reassuringly. "Don't worry, Mom, he's armed," she joked. Margaret flashed her daughter a smile. "That's what I'm afraid of." Across the room, Bill's wife Tara smiled a greeting at Scully. She sat in the rocker by the fireplace, rocking Scully's sleepy three-year-old nephew David, Charlie's youngest, who was visiting his grandmother for the week. She looked worried but somehow at peace, holding the drowsy baby. Seven-year-old Daniel, Charlie's other son, was on his knees in front of the coffee table by the sofa, busily driving a small Matchbox racer across the flat wood surface, accompanying his play with the proper "vroom-vroom" noises. Scully slipped her arm around her mother's shoulders and drew her into the kitchen. "I'm sorry--Bill hardly ever gets home for a visit, and now this...." "It's been a rough few years for the whole family, Dana." Margaret went on auto-pilot, reaching into the cabinet for the tea pot. She filled it with water from the tap and put the kettle on the stove. The tea kettle had just begun to whistle when Scully's cell phone rang. She grabbed it. "Mulder, have you found him?" Mulder's voice was low, guarded. "Yeah. I haven't talked to him yet, but he seems to be okay." "Where are you?" "I'll explain everything when I get him home. Just wanted to let you know I found him." Mulder disconnected. "He found Bill?" Margaret asked hopefully. Scully nodded. "Mulder says he's fine. He'll probably be bringing him home any time." She smiled to reassure her mother, but her own insides were quailing. For she knew Mulder well enough now to be able to read every nuance and inflection of his voice. And his voice had told her that he was in a very dark place. * * * * * The night was cold and dark, lit by the pale blue light of a crescent moon. Mulder snapped his leather jacket closed and crossed through the neatly-trimmed grass of the cemetery, his gaze locked on the dark figure crouched by a simple granite stone about thirty yards away. Bill Scully didn't even lift his head at Mulder's approach. He sat, legs crossed, elbows resting on his knees, facing the gravestone of his sister. A six pack of beer sat on the ground next to him. He'd opened only one can, and it sat, unnoticed, in front of his left knee. Mulder stopped by the grave stone and looked down at Bill's dark head. He thought he should probably say something, but he didn't know what. "Go away, Mulder." Mulder sighed and hunkered down by the grave. He had stopped by a grocery store on the way to buy flowers; he placed them gently next to the gravestone. He settled himself on the ground, crossing his legs like Bill. "Your mom is worried about you." "Go to hell." Mulder didn't bother to reply. Bill reached out and brushed a dead leaf away from Melissa's grave. "She shouldn't be here. It wasn't her time." "No, it wasn't." Mulder swallowed a surge of guilt. He could wallow in self-hatred later; right now he had to get Bill Scully home to his family. "Was it worth it?" Bill echoed the earlier words he'd asked Scully. "Is your little alien hunt worth what happened to Melissa? What's happening to Dana?" Mulder shook his head. Nothing he could say would make Bill Scully feel any better, so he didn't try. Bill picked up the can of beer by his knee and took a drink. Mulder could tell by sight that the can was still mostly full. Bill caught his gaze and made a little face. "I'm not much of a drinker. Never thought you'd hear a Navy man admit that, did you?" Mulder didn't answer. He sensed he wasn't supposed to. "I idolized my dad, just like Dana did. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up." Bill chuckled, but there was no mirth in the sound. "And here I am, all grown up, following my father's wake. Months at sea, watching my life go by in the waves on the ocean. My wife looks different every time I see her because so much time passes between shore leaves. We're trying to start a family and sometime I wonder what the hell for. So I can watch them grow up in pictures like my dad did?" He shook his head. "When you're a kid, everything seems so simple. You think everyone will live forever, that someday down the line you'll get a chance to make up for all the things you let slide along the way." Mulder could barely remember feeling that way. Way back when, in the Time Before. He had idolized his father back then, too, maybe for the same reason Bill had worshipped his own father. Because of distance. Unfamiliarity. Like Bill Scully, Bill Mulder had spent more time away than at home. His work at the State Department had been the focus of his life, and his family had been a calculated sacrifice he'd made. It had been easy, then, to love his father, because he hardly knew him. Then Samantha had disappeared, and it all crumbled down around him. The illusions, the lies. He'd found out then about his father's drinking problem. About the cold anger that erupted in brief, vicious bursts of mental cruelty. About the icy state of his parents' marriage. "I don't know if you know this, Mulder, but Melissa and I were what you call Irish twins. She was born just eleven months after I was." Bill's face cracked with a humorless grin. "Guess the rhythm method wasn't working that year." He took another drink of beer. "It's a funny thing. Missy and I hardly shared anything in common. She was as girly as they come, and I was pretty much your typical boy--grimy, loud and obnoxious. Dana and I were a lot more alike--she was always such a tomboy. I don't know, maybe that's why I was closer to Missy, come to think of it. Because she wasn't always trying to out-do me the way Dana was." Mulder smiled. Scully was a fierce competitor. He had a few battle scars of his own. "Whatever the reason, by the time we were teenagers, I was about the only person Melissa seemed able to communicate with. Nobody else seemed to understand her, not even Mom, although, bless her heart, she tried. Melissa was just...different from the rest of us. We were all doers. Achievers. We thrived on the hunt, the chase. Melissa was introspective. Sensitive. Her feelings ran deep--and yet she never hid them. I'm sure by now you've figured out that the Scullys are great at denial." Mulder inclined his head in agreement. "But not Melissa. She never lied about how she was feeling. She didn't pull punches. And she demanded the same of you." Mulder knew. He remembered. "God, I miss her." Bill touched the gravestone, traced his sister's name. "It wasn't even like we talked all that much--a phone call here, a letter there. And that was only recently." He sat back, sighing. Mulder could hear the soft hitch in his breathing that betrayed his sorrow. He looked up and saw the faint sparkle of moisture on Bill's cheeks. "Melissa and I had a falling out when I joined the Navy. She hated the military, hated the lifestyle and the whole idea of war. She hated how it kept families separated and how it fostered what she called 'a culture of violence.' And she was furious when I chose to attend the Naval Academy and join the service. Not long after that, she left home and we didn't hear from her for a long, long time." Mulder nodded. Scully had told him much the same story about her sister. "When Dana was in the coma, and Melissa came home--" Bill passed his hand over his face. "That was the first time I spoke to her in almost ten years. My sub was cruising the Bering Strait when I got a message through channels. My baby sister was near death, and my other sister was trying to reach me. As soon as I could get to a phone, I called Melissa. By then, Dana was awake. The crisis averted. But I cried like a baby when I hung up the phone because I hadn't realized how desperately I'd missed Melissa's presence in my life." Mulder closed his eyes, nodding slightly. "She had a way of getting to you. She got to me when nobody else could." Bill looked up at him, his expression inviting Mulder to continue. "Dana was dying." Mulder shuddered at the memory of that night, in his darkened apartment, when he'd reached the end of his tether. Hope had evaporated, leaving only hate and the ravenings of vengeance. "I was on the verge of selling my soul to the devil when Melissa yanked me up by the ears and kicked my ass into gear. She made me do the right thing. She made me go to Dana and be there for her one last time. She saved my life, and I think maybe she saved Dana's, too." Bill nodded. "That was Missy. You wanted to kill her half the time, but she always seemed to turn out right in the end." He sighed and looked back at the grave stone. "I never got to say goodbye, you know. When Mom called to tell me that Melissa had been shot, the doctors were saying that she was showing improvement, so I booked the later flight. Tara and I were heading out the door when we got the phone call from Dana, telling us that Melissa was gone." "I'm sorry." Bill closed his eyes, lifting his face to the pale wash of blue moonlight. He looked like a marble monolith, splendid in his isolation. "I'm so goddamn angry I don't know what to do," he groaned. "Missy shouldn't be dead! And I didn't even get the satisfaction of finding her killer and ripping his fucking head off! Oh GOD!" His voice rose, his fists clenched and unclenched. "And now Dana, too." He shook his head violently, side to side. "Goddamn fucking CANCER! How do you seek vengeance against a something like that?" "You don't," Mulder answered quietly. "You find a cure." Bill subsided, his rage dissipating, leaving him limp and drained. He slumped forward, holding his head in his hands. "There's no cure." "Yes, there is." Mulder leaned forward. "Someone did that to her, Bill. It didn't just happen. And if someone gave her that cancer, it's pretty damned likely that they know how to cure it, too. That's where Dana and I look. Not for revenge but for the truth. For the answer." Bill met his gaze. "I can't lose her, too." Mulder nodded. "Neither can I." Silence spooled out between them like a ribbon. Bill finally broke the silence. "Mulder, did you know you smell like freesias?" Mulder looked away, remembering the shower he'd shared with Scully. "Bill, I find the fact that you know what freesias smell like kinda...girly." Bill bent forward. His voice was low and just a bit tight. "I gave her that shower gel for Christmas." Mulder looked up, feeling ridiculously guilty. "I oughta beat the shit out of you," Bill muttered. "Again?" Once again, their gazes locked for a long, tense moment. Then Bill started to chuckle. The sound was oddly contagious. Mulder found himself laughing as well, venting a plethora of bottled up emotions in that one act of release. Their laughter rang through the cold, dark graveyard, defying death and its harbingers. When their laughter finally subsided, Bill stretched his legs out in front of him, loosening the kinks from his prolongued bout of stillness. "You don't deserve her." Mulder shook his head. "No, I don't." "But you love her." It wasn't a question. Mulder smiled, picturing Scully's small, neat form and intelligent blue eyes. "Doesn't everybody?" Bill glanced at him. "You know if you do her wrong, you're a dead man." "I know. She's already shot me once, and she was in a good mood that time." Bill arched his eyebrow, and Mulder smiled. Bill sighed. "She'll probably shoot me the second she sees me. I was such a shit to her tonight." Mulder nodded. "Yeah. But she's used to shits. She works with me." "I guess maybe we're both a couple of worthless little fucks, huh?" Mulder feigned insult. "Hey, I've been told I'm a very good fuck, thank you." Bill cut his eyes at Mulder. "That is way too much information, Mulder. Mulder chuckled, pushing himself up to his feet. He held out a hand to Bill. Bill looked at his hand for a long, thick moment. Then he grasped it and let Mulder pull him to his feet. He released Mulder's hand and reached down to pick up the six pack of beer. "I don't even like beer," he commented. "Come on." Mulder nodded toward his car. "We've got people looking for us." They walked slowly across the graveyard to Mulder's car, two dark silhouettes in a shower of moonlight. End of Part III DISCLAIMER IN PART 1 Rated NC-17 for language and sexual situations "Time Like a Heartbeat" by Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com "In all external grace you have some part, But you like none, none you, for constant heart." - William Shakespeare" Part IV: "Constant Heart" Scully handed off her cell phone to her sister-in-law. "Bill wants to talk to you." Tara took the phone, and Scully crossed to her mother's side by the mantle. She slipped her arm around her mother's shoulders. "They'll be here soon." Margaret smiled. "Good." She kissed Scully's cheek. "You're looking so well, honey! Better than you've looked in a while. Something must be agreeing with you." Her eyes took on a teasing light. "Or someone." Scully felt a warm rush of heat in her cheeks and neck, remembering the feel of Mulder's mouth on her, the touch of his hands, the exquisite fullness of their joined bodies. "I have so much to live for, Mom. And I'm not letting go. We're going to find a way to treat this tumor. The answers are out there. We just have to find out where to look." Maggie reached up and pushed back a lock of hair spilling onto Scully's cheek, the gesture bringing back a thousand happy childhood memories for Scully. "He makes you happy, doesn't he?" Scully nodded, greeting her mother's words with a bemused half-smile. "Yeah. He does. I'm glad you like him. Do you think Dad would've...?" She trailed off, trying to picture her father meeting Mulder on the front porch, checking out his daughter's newest beau. The image brought a chuckle to her throat. "Approved of Fox?" Maggie finished for her, her eyes crinkling slightly with humor. "Not on your life." Scully chuckled again. "Some things are just a given, aren't they?" Maggie nodded, a smile lingering on her lips. "But he would have come around, eventually. All your father ever wanted was for you to be happy and loved." The sound of the front door opening interrupted their soft conversation. Scully turned to see her brother walk through the door, Mulder following on his heels. Bill paused long enough to give his wife a reassuring touch to her cheek, then he crossed the room to where Scully stood. She looked up at him warily, trying to read his expression. She saw his reddened eyes, the still-damp tracks on his cheeks. The sadness of his expression. Then he opened his arms, catching her completely by surprise. Bill Scully Jr. was not a hugger, and to tell the truth, she'd never been much of one, either. But she made an exception this time, walking into her brother's strong bear hug. "I'm a fuckup and a total prick," he murmured in her ear, keeping his voice soft, she suspected, so that her mother wouldn't hear the kind of language he was using. "Say you'll forgive me." "A guy can't help what he is," she said softly, cutting her eyes up at him with a devilish glint. He laughed. "I'm glad you're going to be around for a long, long time, Dana Katherine." She looked up at him, surprised by the confidence she heard in his voice. He gave her a little squeeze. "Your...partner...is very persuasive." Scully glanced over at Mulder. He made a little shrugging motion. Scully eased away from her brother's embrace. "Daniel wouldn't go to sleep unless his Uncle Bill tucked him in, and he's getting pretty cranky, so why don't you and Tara go read him a bedtime story and I'll help mom pour that peppermint tea she's got warming on the stove." She squeezed his hand and gave him a push in the direction of the guest bedrooms. Mulder crossed to her side, searching her expression with a bemused half-smile. "Damn, Scully, weren't you a little easy on him? Didn't even pull your gun and scare him a little." She waved her hand dismissively. "He's just family. I save my bullets for the love of my life." A ridiculously happy grin exploded across his face. "God, I love it when you talk tough." He glanced around them. The living room had emptied, Margaret having followed Bill and Tara going back to the guest bedroom to say goodnight to the children. He took another step closer, his knees brushing against her lower thighs. "How long do you think they'll be back there?" "Depends on what you have in mind." He bent his head and brushed his lips against her temple. "I have a lot in mind. I'm just not sure I want to do it in your mother's living room with your big, burly brother within earshot." "Wimp," she murmured, darting her tongue against his throat. He pulled her against him, pressing his hips against hers. She felt the growing evidence of her effect on him. "Are you taunting me, Scully?" She nipped at the thick tendon at the side of his neck. He tasted clean and male. "I'm seducing you." "Shameless." He dipped his head and found her lips with his own. His tongue slid across hers, hot and sweet. She opened her mouth and took him in. A thrill rippled through her at the thought of how reckless they were being, playing this game with her mother and brother just down the hall. They could come back at any minute.... He curled his fingers in her hair, moving his hips restlessly against hers. She suckled his tongue lightly and reached between their bodies to curve her palm over his growing arousal. She broke the kiss and stroked him through his jeans. "Have I told you lately how impressed I am by your unflagging enthusiasm for your work?" He thrust against her hand, once, twice. "Get me out of here now, Scully, before your mother walks in on this." She chuckled and closed her hand over him more tightly. "And here I thought you were a danger junkie, Mulder." "Scullyyy." Her name ended on a hissing moan. She released him and stepped back, gracing him with her favorite enigmatic smile, knowing that there was nothing Mulder loved more than a mystery. "I'll go tell Mom we're leaving. You go get a head start getting your apartment in some kind of order." "My apartment?" He quirked his eyebrow. "It's ten minutes closer." She left him in the living room and went to say their goodbyes. "Already?" her mother asked, turning to give her a hug. She nodded. "I'm ready for bed." Bill made a strangled noise in the corner. She glanced at him, trying not to break into a childish fit of the giggles. Funny how being around family could make her feel like she was ten years old again. Mulder was already gone by the time she got back to the living room. She chuckled to herself. Eager beaver. * * * * * His place was a mess, more from lack of attention than any sort of proactive mess-making. And there was the problem of the bed. Or the lack thereof. For that reason alone, they always spent their time together at Scully's place, in her firm yet soft double bed, never more than a few seconds away from edible food. He wasn't even sure he had any food in his place. Not that he was really thinking much about food right now. Okay, Mulder, focus. Move the papers off the sofa. Dust the leather cushions-- should he put a blanket over the sofa? Would that be more comfortable? The fish were giving him accusatory looks, reminding him that he hadn't fed them yesterday or today. He poured fish flakes into the aquarium and watched as the fish attacked the floating meal like a school of piranhas. His heart was pounding. He was sweating. He was like a kid on his first date--which was just plain ridiculous, considering the fact that he'd made wild, passionate love with Dana Scully less than two hours earlier. God, he loved her. Keys rattled in his door. His whole body hummed in response to the soft, jingling sound. He forgot to breathe. Scully burst through the door and slammed it shut behind her. She was breathing hard as if she had run all the way from her car, and her hair was wild and windblown. She turned the deadbolt behind her and strode through the small foyer into the living room, shedding her jacket on the way. It fell to the floor behind her. Her gray sweat pants followed with almost mind-bending speed. She tossed her purse on the coffee table. "I hope you're not in the mood for much foreplay," she declared, pulling her Terrapins sweatshirt over her head and flinging it toward the corner. Yep, he loved her. "Do you know how many men pay good money to hear a woman say that?" She chuckled and pushed him down onto the couch. She unsnapped her bra, tossed it in the general direction of her sweat shirt, and straddled his lap. "Mulder, you are way over-dressed. Didn't I send you ahead to get ready?" "I was dusting--" She silenced him with a kiss, pulling the tails of his shirt out of his jeans. Her small, talented tongue darted and danced against his, setting off little explosions of light behind his eyes. She had great hands. Small, strong, deft. She made quick work of the buttons of his shirt, divesting him of the garment without once removing her mouth from his. She unzipped his jeans and tugged insistently until he lifted his hips to allow her to remove them as well. Now they were skin to skin, only the thin fabric of their underwear separating them. She let him up for air, and he gasped. "God!" There went her hand, diving for his lap. Small, expert fingers closing around him. His head felt like it was about to explode. Both of them. He clutched at her hips, trying to still their frantic dance across his lap, afraid he was about to pass the point of no return way too soon for her tastes and just a bit afraid of what she'd do to him if that happened. She tightened her grip on him, and he saw stars. Big, bright, multicolored stars. She said his name. Low. Needy. Silk over sandpaper. How many nights had he spent here in this apartment, sprawled out on this black leather sofa, relieving his need for her with his own hand while he listened to her voice in his head? That voice, sometimes raised in anger, sometimes soft with compassion, always the one memory of her guaranteed to send him over the edge. Her voice had always been his touchstone, almost from the first. The mere sound of it over the phone grounded him, calmed him. And now that they were lovers, it was her voice, guttural and wordless in the throes of release, that gave him the most pleasure. He tugged at her panties. A bit too hard. They tore at the seam. She chuckled in his ear. "Rip 'em off, Mulder, you big strong hunk of man!" He laughed and obeyed. Suddenly her sex lay across his thigh, hot and humid and soft. He drew a sharp, swift breath at the feel of her. She rocked against him, made a quiet, hissing sound in his ear. He still wore the black silk boxers he'd changed into at Scully's. That had to be remedied. Immediately. He shifted, unbalancing Scully in the process. She slid up his lap and settled firmly against his erection. She groaned softly and pressed down hard against him. "Scully--shorts--" He was subverbal now. His hips had begun to thrust against her of their own accord. Swift and hungry. She clutched at his shoulders and rocked against him. The friction of silk against his throbbing erection was amazing; Mulder stopped thinking and just rode the sensations, closing his mouth over the pulsing vein in her throat, sliding his hands over her hips and buttocks. "Talk to me, Scully," he murmured against her neck. "What do you want me to say?" She was breathless, hoarse. "What you always say to me. Tell me I'm crazy." "Mulder you're crazy." She nipped at his ear lobe. "Scully, the government is hiding the truth about the existence of extraterrestrial life on earth." He cupped her breasts, stroked the hardened nipples with his thumbs. She arched her back and ground her hips to his. "There's no evidence to support that theory, Mulder." Her voice shook with laughter. "And you're one sick puppy, Mulder!" He twisted and rolled, pinning her beneath him on the sofa. "You love that about me." She grabbed the waistband of his shorts and tugged. Hard. "Yes. Yes I do." He wriggled free of the last barrier between their bodies and sank down against her. She was so hot. So ready. He ached at the feel of her. Shit. His condoms were in the bathroom. He sighed and started to get up. "My purse," she murmured, groping toward the coffee table. He grabbed the small black bag and thrust it in her hands. "Hurry, for God's sake." She laughed and scrabbled through her purse. He tried to still the involuntary rocking of his hips against hers, cursing the whole concept of seemingly bottomless hand bags. When she made a little sound of triumph and produced the foil packet, he almost wept with relief. He took it from her, ripped it open and handed her the condom. He had once rather rudely teased her about her predilection for snapping on the latex. Who would've guessed he'd turn out to be right? "Don't dawdle," he warned. She didn't. Her nimble fingers made quick work of the task, then guided him into her. He groaned as she enveloped him. Pure heat. Tight as a second skin. He didn't move for a long moment for fear that the first stroke would be his last. When he felt sure he wouldn't end things prematurely, he began to move, trying not to hurry. But Scully was having none of it. "This is no time for finesse," she growled, squeezing his buttocks. She set a faster pace, arching her back, flexing her inner muscles. And his control slipped away like sand in the surf. His heart hammered in his chest, his breathing quickened to hard, keening gasps. His whole consciousness became a narrow pinpoint of heat between his legs where their bodies joined. He closed his eyes and watched a brilliant display of colors bursting behind his eyes. Suddenly, Scully let out a long, gravelly moan, and her body clenched around him like a fist, trembling and spasming. And as quickly, he shattered. Splintered. Flew apart. Unraveled. The sensations built, soared, spun, unwound. It seemed to last forever. It ended too soon. Finally, he lay, spent and limp, across her body. He shifted so that he wouldn't crush her, dropping weak kisses along her throat and jawline. She lifted her hand to his head and stroked the hair at his temple. "You okay?" she asked. He nodded, rubbing his stubbly chin against her breast. "You?" "Never better." He turned so that they lay spoon-style. He dragged the Navajo print blanket over them to shield them from the cool night air seeping through the casements of the apartment's old windows. They lay there for a long time, just breathing in unison, their hands twined, his lips in her hair. "Some night, huh?" she asked some time later. "Finally met your brother." He rubbed his sore lip thoughtfully. "I think I liked him better when I didn't think he really existed." She chuckled. "You never did tell me where you found him." Mulder sighed. She turned in his arms so she could look at him. "What is it?" "He was at the cemetery. Visiting Melissa's grave." She sighed. "Oh." "He doesn't blame you, Scully. That was just bullshit talking." She nodded. "I know. Remember, Mulder, I've known Bill my whole life. I know he can be a jerk sometimes." "But he's still your brother." He nodded, understanding. "Looked like you two formed a truce, huh?" He shrugged. "He's never going to be my biggest fan." "Mulder, he's my big brother. You could be perfect and Bill wouldn't like you." He turned and gave her a pout. "You mean I'm not perfect? You WOUND me, Scully." She smiled slightly, tracing the puckered scar tissue on the old bullet wound in his shoulder. "But always for your own good." Chuckling, he wrapped his arms around her, tucking her firmly against him. "You are good for me." "We're good for each other." She nuzzled her nose against his throat, dropped a light kiss against his collarbone. Her hair drifted across his face, smelling like freesias and some secret, vital essence that was Scully. He breathed deeply, taking her into him just as she had taken him into her earlier. He could feel her heart beating against his chest. Steady. Strong. Like a metronome, counting out the seconds of his life. Unbidden, his own words whispered through his mind. Words he'd spoken to Scully one early morning in the corridor of the Allentown-Bethlehem Medical Center. "The truth will save you, Scully. I think it'll save both of us." I want to believe.... He kissed the top of her head and curled himself more tightly around her, as if forming a fortress that no one and nothing could ever breach to take her from him. The End.