TITLE: Trust In One
AUTHOR: Narida Law
E-MAIL ADDRESS: narida@vanishingscroll.com
RATING: PG-13
CATEGORY: SAR
SPOILERS: Oblique references to FTF, One Breath, 
Quagmire, Never Again, Tempus Fugit, Small Potatoes, 
and various other XF episodes.
KEYWORDS: MSR
CONTENT STATEMENT: some angst, some decision making, a 
little kissing, a little sweetness
DISTRIBUTION: Do not send to Gossamer; I'll send it 
myself.  Otherwise, okay for Spookys and anywhere else 
as long as these headers remain intact.  Telling me is 
sweet and would be much appreciated, but not 
obligatory.
FEEDBACK: If you have something to say, I would love to 
hear from you.

SUMMARY: Some choices are difficult to make; others 
just come naturally.

Trust In One
by Narida Law
~~~~~~~~

The restaurant was crowded, even at close to ten p.m. 
on a weekday - the result of a city as densely packed 
and filled with people who loved to go out to eat as DC 
was.  The remnants of dessert and coffee lay scattered 
on the table, an empty bottle of wine set to the side.  
Their half-filled glasses were close at hand.

They sat across from each other, and Scully was able to 
appreciate once more this night how delicious Mulder 
looked. She remembered she had barely been able to 
restrain herself from grabbing him and dragging him 
into her apartment when he had shown up at her door.  
The meeting time had been prearranged, but even though 
she had been expecting him she had not expected him to 
look so good.

Then again, he always looked good enough to eat.  She 
should have prepared herself for it.  Too late, now.  
She had been sneaking surreptitious glances at him all 
through their meal.

It was curious that he had chosen this upscale 
restaurant, simply because it wasn't really them.  Not 
that she wasn't enjoying herself - she was.  However, 
she had gotten funny vibes from him all night, though 
it came and went.  One moment he would be joking, his 
regular Mulder self, and the next he would lapse into 
silence, a strange quiet when he seemed to be mulling 
something over, shutting her out.

To say she didn't like it was an understatement.

"More coffee?" he suggested.

Something was up.  He was nervous.  She could tell by 
the way that he kept tugging at his lower lip with his 
fingers and playing with his tie that he was agitated 
by something.  She thought about what he could possibly 
have to be nervous about.  They had celebrated her 
birthday before.  He had never been this antsy.

"No, thanks," she answered.  She didn't have the 
patience for beating around the bush; luckily, with 
Mulder, she didn't have to.  "Now, are you going to 
tell me what's been bothering you all night?"

He looked surprised.  "What makes you think anything's 
bothering me?"

She gave an unladylike snort.  "I know you, Mulder."

"Yes."  He was thoughtful.  "You do."

Before she could use that admission to her advantage in 
another verbal spear, he reached into his suit jacket 
and pulled out two items, setting them down onto the 
table.  Each was simply yet elegantly wrapped, telling 
Scully he hadn't done the honors himself.  None of his 
gifts had ever been so meticulously packaged, and it 
told Scully again that there was something amiss.

Immediately, all other thoughts flew out of her head.

"Happy birthday, Scully," he offered huskily.

She felt a warm flush rise to her cheeks.  She could 
kid herself that it was the effects of the wine, but 
she wasn't going to do that.  Not tonight.  "Thank you, 
Mulder," she replied, smiling a bit shyly.

Her smile faltered a bit when he caught her gaze and 
held it.  She tried to stop it from happening but 
couldn't; she raised an eyebrow when he continued to 
look at her without making any move to give her either 
of the packages.

He searched her face for a long moment, studying it as 
though looking for answers.  Not knowing what he wanted 
to find, she could only look steadily back.  Finally, 
he directed his attention away from her and instead 
stared down at the two rectangular-shaped objects on 
the table in front of him.

He was so quiet and the whole situation felt so 
abnormal that Scully felt apprehension steal into her.  
Mulder looked as though he was trying to make a 
decision.  She had no inkling of what such a decision 
entailed, but that fact made her doubly uneasy.  
Reading Mulder was second nature to her now; it made 
her blood run cold when he closed himself off and 
wouldn't let her in.

"Am I supposed to see through the wrapping?  Is this 
some sort of test?"  The joke fell a little flat, but 
she was getting a bit anxious herself.  What was going 
on here?

Then he looked up and smiled, and everything felt all 
right again.  It wasn't a completely normal smile - 
there was still some weird tension about him, and if 
she didn't know better, could have sworn that what she 
saw in his eyes was...fear.  But the smile was the same 
- guileless, boyish, just a hint of teeth.

I know you, Scully told him in her head.  I know you.  
Don't scare me like this.

"You're supposed to guess," he joked.  "Any idea what I 
might have gotten you?"

Her laugh was genuine.  "Mulder...I've gotten 
everything from football's greatest hits to a 
basketball to a book of spells to a keychain.  Trying 
to guess at one of your gifts is like...trying to come 
up with one of your fantastic theories."

"Oh, come on, Scully - you do that all the time now."  
Mulder seemed inordinately pleased by his remark.  He 
sat back in his chair, visibly trying to relax himself.  
"You're getting better at it than me."

She waited for some crack about china patterns, but he 
stayed silent.  All right, she was really worried now.  
She eyed the gifts with alarm.  What could possibly be 
there that was making Mulder so uncomfortable?  Maybe 
she didn't want to know.

Want and need were two separate things.  "It's been a 
while, but I think, at this point, if I remember 
procedure correctly, you hand me those finely wrapped 
items.  Then I take them from you, say thanks, and open 
them.  Any objections to this tried and true protocol?"

He cleared his throat and began to play with the napkin 
he had placed next to his wineglass.  His body began to 
vibrate, and Scully realized that he had started to 
rapidly bounce one leg up and down.  A sure sign of 
nerves.

"There are...contingencies."

"Contingencies?" She raised an eyebrow again.  "Mulder, 
has anyone ever explained to you that gifts are so-
called simply because they don't =have= contingencies?  
Otherwise, they're known as 'bribes.' "

"All right, maybe 'contingencies' wasn't the right 
word..."

"Just cut to the chase, Mulder.  What's in the boxes?"  
She was impatient.  Enough of this; it was her birthday 
and those were her presents.  She reached across the 
table, intending to snatch one up.

His hands came down quickly, blocking access.  She 
glared at him.

"You have to make a choice, Scully," he blurted.

"A choice?"  She stared at him in confusion.  "You mean 
I don't get both?"  She flushed at the way that 
sounded.  "I mean...what the hell do you mean, Mulder?"

"You have to make a decision."  His voice was very 
quiet, so that on the surface he seemed perfectly 
controlled.  Yet, she detected the tremor under the 
words.  There was definitely something peculiar going 
on.

"Okay..." She was willing to play along.  "Give me the 
little one."  At this point, she was less concerned 
about what the gifts were than what was troubling 
Mulder.  She didn't know what he was going to do with 
the gift she didn't choose, and she didn't care.

"No, no," he inserted hastily, "that's not what I 
meant."  He uncovered the gifts again, pushing them in 
her direction.  "You get to open them both.  You decide 
after you've seen them, which one you want to keep."

She eyed him a little warily.  "You do understand that 
if either of them requires batteries I might have to 
walk out on you."

He paused, considering for a moment.  "I think I'm 
safe," he smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.  
In fact, she thought he looked a little sick.

She reached across the table once again and halted him 
in the action of sliding the two packages toward her.  
She took one of his hands in hers, wanting to reassure 
him.  It was cute that he was so nervous, but it wasn't 
such a big deal, for Pete's sake.  It was just another 
birthday.  "Mulder, whatever you got me, I love it 
already," she announced.

If it was possible, he looked even more ill at ease.  
"You haven't seen them yet, Scully."

She let go of his hand.  "You haven't given me the 
opportunity," she teased.

He couldn't argue with that, so he took his hands away 
from the gifts, both of which now presented themselves 
directly in front of her on the table.  She reached for 
the smaller of the two.

"Wait!"

She snatched her hand back as though it had been 
burned.  "What?"

He looked a little sheepish.  "Open the other one 
first."

"Jesus, Mulder, you nearly gave me a heart attack."  
She took a deep breath.  "All right."  Taking the 
larger object in her hands, she looked at him, trying 
to gauge his response.  He looked unwaveringly back at 
her.  It was a little weird, opening a present while 
staring at each other, so she finally directed her 
attention fully toward the task at hand.

Carefully removing the wrapping paper, she uncovered a 
shiny wooden box, smooth to the touch and heavy in her 
hands.  Her initials were carved on top, an intricate 
pattern of leaves and flowers surrounding the letters.  
The craftsmanship was remarkable.

"Mulder," she breathed, running her hands over the 
etchings, "it's absolutely gorgeous."

He had not taken his eyes off of her face.  She glanced 
up and saw the unhidden glee in his eyes.  He was 
clearly excited.  "Look inside."  All trace of 
nervousness appeared to be gone now as he watched her 
open her present.

She was stunned that there was more to it; the box 
itself was indescribably beautiful and a more than 
generous gift.  She felt strangely greedy to even 
consider looking inside.  But one look into his 
determined eyes and she realized that if she didn't 
open it, he was going to do it for her.

Using her thumbs to lift the cover while her fingers 
held onto the sides of the box, she gingerly did as she 
was told.  She found, sitting on a bed of cloth within, 
an old leather-bound book that had obviously seen 
better times.  Yet it was this very fact that made her 
almost fear to touch it.

"It's not a first edition."

Her eyes flew to his, hazel orbs so earnest as he 
explained.  " 'Moby Dick' was first published in 1851; 
this one was printed in 1925."  He grinned.  "So it's 
pretty much worthless."

She smiled, a little wanly.  "It's the thought that 
counts," she murmured, but was not fooled; the novel 
before her may not have been as costly or rare as a 
first edition, but it was hardly "worthless," as Mulder 
put it.  In fact, she was willing to bet that it could 
easily pay for a dozen lunches for the two of them.

She wanted to convey her gratitude, say something that 
wasn't another cliche; unfortunately, her mind was 
blank.  Nothing was forthcoming.  So she finally 
settled on, "It's amazing, Mulder.  Thank you."

There it was again; the slight clouding of his eyes as 
he tried to distance himself from her.  "Don't thank me 
yet," he said lightly.  "You've still got option two."

Her eyes flew to the other package.  She couldn't 
imagine what it contained.  She suspected that this was 
the mystery item that was causing Mulder so much grief; 
she was almost afraid to open it.

Part of her wanted to tell him that the beautiful box 
and the rare copy of 'Moby Dick' was more than enough, 
more than any friend could expect on such an occasion.  
After all, they saw each other nearly everyday, spent 
nearly every waking moment together.  Formal gifts were 
a moot point; the little things that they gave each 
other everyday, all the little things, were what 
mattered.  Every meal, every can of soda to slake the 
other's thirst, every Snickers bar to help ease hunger 
pangs on a stakeout, every drink in a bar after a 
successful case or simply because they felt like it, 
every little task they performed for one another each 
and every day - those were the things that mattered.  
They were small things, to be sure, but on the whole 
meant more than any one gift on a particular day ever 
could.

She wanted him to know that.  She even opened her mouth 
with the intention of telling him so.

But one look into the dark intensity of his eyes, the 
sight of his fist clenching the napkin beside him, the 
tension of his shoulders, the set of his mouth, all 
told her that for some reason, it was very important 
that she open this small box on the table.  However, 
all those things were not what persuaded her to finally 
pick it up with the intention of opening it.  It was 
the hope she could discern in his eyes, the hope that 
was right there beside the fear - and she wanted to 
know what that hope meant.  She wanted to know what he 
hoped for.

The item she picked up in her hand wasn't nearly as 
heavy as its companion; it was long, flat, and fairly 
thin.  With nimble fingers, she pulled and tore at the 
wrapping, not taking the same care that she had before, 
her heart aflutter with anticipation and dread.

It was another box.  A nice pen, perhaps?  A watch?  
Surely not a - 

"Oh my God."  She was scarcely aware that she had even 
said the words.  All she could do was stare down at the 
piece of jewelry she had revealed; hands down, the 
loveliest bracelet she had ever seen.  If she was 
gaping, there was nothing she could do about it - she 
was simply astounded.

A gold bracelet.  The gold, upon closer inspection, had 
been fashioned out of two particular links that 
repeated over and over as the bracelet completed itself 
- the letters "d" and "s" in cursive, linked again and 
again.  But it was not so simple as that; the links 
themselves were painstakingly detailed with delicate 
patterns, designed to create the most pleasing 
aesthetic appearance.  And the whole thing was 
encrusted with small diamonds that followed the length 
of the chain.

It was breathtakingly unique.  He had to have 
commissioned this.  It had to have cost a fortune.  
Holy shit.

She was finally able to lift her gaze to meet his.  
Unlike earlier with the book, his reaction was 
carefully hidden.  He didn't look away, but neither did 
he allow himself to be read.  His delight with the 
novel had been obvious; he had known she would want it, 
would love it.  She realized that he was waiting for 
her to say she couldn't accept his second gift, that it 
was too much.

Looking away from him once more, she lifted the 
bracelet out of its bed, fingers slightly shaking.  
This piece had been specially made for her, designed 
with her in mind.  She felt slightly dizzy from the 
pleasure she derived at the image of Mulder going to a 
jewelry store, telling someone exactly what he wanted 
done.  For her.

She bit her lip.  It would be so easy to give it back, 
tell him that such a costly piece was not an 
appropriate gift for him to give or for her to receive.  
This was not a gift that one friend gave another.

She brought her head up quickly, wanting to catch 
something from him - emotion that he wasn't currently 
hiding from her.  If she could find just one crack in 
his carefully constructed facade, she might be able to 
discern what he meant by this.

Searching his face for any sign of what he wanted her 
to do, she came to two realizations at once.

First, he was quite obviously determined =not= to give 
away any indication of what he wanted her to do.  He 
wanted this to be her decision, as he had said from the 
first.

Second, she realized what decision she was to make.  He 
knew perfectly well that this was not a gift from one 
friend to another.  That was the point.  This was a 
gift a man gave to his beloved.  The gift of a lover.  
And if she gave it back, whatever excuses fell from her 
tongue, she was making more than a decision not to 
accept a gift.  She was making a decision about their 
relationship.

No pressure or anything, she told herself dryly.  It 
was too much; she felt almost angry with him for 
putting her in this position.  Why did such a decision 
have to be reached tonight?  Why something so 
definitive?  Why couldn't they take things slow, let 
things develop naturally?

She took a deep breath.  All right, so they =had= been 
taking things slow - so slow it sometimes seemed as if 
they weren't moving at all.  She herself had wondered a 
thousand times when and if they would ever move beyond 
this standstill.

It was natural that things should progress, wasn't it?  
She had always believed that there was something 
inevitable about such a happenstance; they loved each 
other too much, too uniquely, for it not to happen.  
They had just been waiting for the right time; the 
right moment.

So the question was not whether she wanted it; she did.  
The question was whether she was ready for it.

She had to ask herself what else had to happen in order 
to prepare her for a romantic relationship with Mulder 
- her partner, her best friend, the person she loved 
above all else.  What else did she need?  Was there 
still more convincing to be done?

She had spent many lonely nights wondering what stood 
in their way.  Work - but that was really not an 
obstacle at all.  The FBI had no hard and fast rules 
about partners becoming romantically involved, 
although, of course, it was frowned upon.  Their 
enemies already knew what they meant to each other, so 
it wasn't as though they'd be putting themselves in 
more danger by openly admitting their attachment.  So - 
what else could she possibly need?

Her second instinct, right after the first cautious one 
of telling him she couldn't accept his gift, was the 
one she was more inclined to follow.  This instinct 
told her to take the bracelet and anything else he was 
willing to offer - accept everything he was asking her 
right now with his unreadable eyes.

Each of his gifts had strings attached.  Was she ready 
to accept the responsibility of those strings?

Her eyes dropped to the wooden box and its beautiful 
artwork.  The book inside reminded her of all the 
things she and Mulder were to each other; it was a 
reminder of a specific conversation, yes, but more than 
that, it represented all the conversations they had had 
over the years, all the knowledge they and only they 
had about each other.  It represented all the memories 
they shared.  Memories of an extraordinary friendship. 
They would always have that.

Where they were in their current relationship was a 
comfortable, safe, and a wonderful place for them to 
be.  But it was also not enough.  They were both 
beginning to realize that.

Her glance then strayed to the intricately designed 
bracelet that she still held in her hand.  If the copy 
of 'Moby Dick' represented everything they were, then 
this piece of jewelry symbolized everything they 
=could= be to one another.  If she turned it - him - 
down now, God knew when such an opportunity would ever 
present itself again.  He was surprisingly fragile when 
it came to her.  Though the occasion had never before 
arisen, she was certain that if she turned him down in 
this one moment of anxiety, he could very well take it 
as an eternal 'no.'

She was as certain about that as she was certain he 
would willingly die for her at any given moment.  
Neither result constituted a risk she was prepared to 
take.

Why would she refuse?  Was there anything keeping her 
back but her own cowardice, her own inability to grab 
at happiness when it came along?  If she said no, she 
knew with certainty that she would regret it - that she 
might very well spend the rest of her life regretting 
it.  So the question of whether she was ready could 
only be answered in one way - she was as ready as she 
would ever be.  Wasn't she?

Her trepidation was natural.  She - they - would be 
embarking into unknown, unfamiliar territory.  But it 
wasn't fear that was squeezing her heart, making it 
feel as though it might burst, she realized.  It was 
joy.

Suddenly it hit her.  He was ready.  By asking her to 
make this decision, he was telling her that =he= was 
ready.

Here she was, inwardly agonizing that he had put all 
the pressure on her, when in fact he had borne the 
brunt of it.  By asking her to make this choice, he was 
telling her that he had already considered the options 
and was prepared and willing for anything.  Which meant 
that he was ready - if she was - to take that last 
step.  Which meant that he wanted to.

Obviously, Mulder was tired of the standstill and was 
spurring them to movement.  He wanted something to 
happen, but trusted her to make the final decision for 
them.  Whether they went to the next level or not was 
up to her.  And she had once told him, in not so many 
words, that she never wanted to hold him back.  That 
was still true.

She trusted Mulder completely; implicitly.  It was 
impossible now for her to do otherwise.  He was ready, 
and she believed in his instincts.  In the end, it was 
as simple as that.

Once again, she looked up into his waiting gaze, 
remembering all that she had seen in it tonight.  He 
wasn't letting her in now, but she could recall with 
perfect clarity the fear and the hope, along with a 
thousand other emotions she couldn't name but 
recognized just the same, in his eyes.

The tentative smile he gave when he saw her lips curve 
upward broke her heart and put it back together again, 
filled it up and made it stronger, just like that.

Placing the bracelet carefully back into its snug bed, 
she said, "All right, Mulder, I've made my decision."

He looked fairly alarmed that she was replacing the 
bracelet.  "You know, Scully, you can think about it, 
if you want..."

"I don't need to think about it.  Or, more accurately, 
I =have= thought about it, and I have an answer for 
you."

He stared at her intently, trying to read her.  She 
smiled inwardly and kept her face impassive, giving him 
a taste of his own medicine.

"Maybe I don't want to know the answer," he said 
finally.

"Now you don't want the answer?" she exclaimed, 
exasperated.  "Okay," she conceded.  "I won't give it 
to you, then."  She placed the closed bracelet box on 
top of the carved wooden one.

They looked at each other for several long moments 
before Mulder miserably caved.

"Which one do you want?"

She could have cried at the sound of his voice, so thin 
and unsure, cutting her soul because she knew he was 
bleeding.  She could either suture his wound now or rip 
him wide open - and it frightened her as much as it 
thrilled her to possess that power.

She was silent for long moments, composing herself.  
She knew that in the interim, he was being tortured 
even more, but she was unwilling to risk inarticulation 
at a time when he needed as much clarity as she could 
give.  When she could trust herself to speak, she 
placed a gentle hand on the stacked gifts.  "I've made 
the decision not to make a decision," she informed him.  
"I'm keeping them both."

He didn't react immediately, and for a horrifying 
moment Scully thought that she had just made an 
enormous fool out of herself.  But then he smiled - a 
big toothy Mulder grin that she rarely ever saw, and 
said, "Damn you're greedy, Scully."

She felt the tension she didn't even know she'd been 
holding rush out of her, and she grinned in response.

Almost immediately, he grew pensive again, looking away 
from her.  Her smile dropped.  She wanted to scream 
from the stress.  "What?" she demanded.

"Scully, they...of course.  I...you were always meant 
to keep both gifts, they're for you.  It's just..." he 
stopped, miserable.  She was confused by his revelation 
before it dawned on her.  He was uncertain if what she 
was telling him was what he had asked for.  He thought 
that perhaps she hadn't quite understood what he had 
really been asking, that he might have communicated 
poorly.

"Mulder," she said gently, waiting for him to meet her 
eyes before she went on.  "I know what you were 
asking."

He wanted to believe her.  She could see he wanted 
that.  But he was too emotionally involved to hear her 
meaning objectively - he was afraid that he was only 
seeing what he wanted to see, hearing what he wanted to 
hear.

"Mulder...I know you, remember?"  It was all the 
assurance she could give.

After a moment's pause, his face broke out in a wide 
smile.  He simply answered as he had before.  "Yes.  
You do."

She wasn't sure what she had expected to happen next; 
part of her had believed that once the desire to 
wanting a deeper relationship had been admitted, things 
would become awkward, as if they would suddenly become 
adolescents out on their first date.  Or maybe they 
would revert to something out of some cheesy old movie.  
Were they to immediately throw aside the table?  Would 
Mulder sweep her up into his arms and carry her out?  
Would he jump to his feet and announce to all the other 
patrons that his lady had consented to...to what, 
exactly?

Her fears were unfounded.  The reality was much better.  
Mulder, injecting a little humor.  She, determined not 
to smile but failing.  As always.  Nothing was 
different and yet everything was.  They were the same 
as they had always been - possessing the same feelings, 
engaging in the same interaction.  Only now the last 
wall had been torn down, and they could communicate 
without fear of misunderstanding.

They could finally say what was on their minds and in 
their hearts, and in that new luxury there was both 
comfort and relief.

An accusation.  "You wanted me to be greedy."

A confession.  "I had hoped."

A pause.  "I'm glad."  She hesitated.  "I might not 
have - "

"I trusted you," he interrupted.

Her brow furrowed.  She looked down at her hands.  
"You're putting too much faith in me, Mulder..."

"I hoped that the time was right and I trusted you to 
tell me if it wasn't for you.  I trusted you to be 
honest with me."

She lifted her head quickly as her gaze locked with 
his.  He hadn't been asking her to make a decision for 
them; he had been asking her to make a decision for 
=her=.  For some reason, this knowledge lifted an 
indefinable weight off her shoulders.

Even with so much emotional investment riding on her 
decision, he had not tried to sway her choice with 
emotional or intellectual appeal.  By his actions, he 
told her at the outset that he had made his decision; 
it was her time to make hers.  Then he had trusted her 
to be completely honest with him if the time was not 
right.

Looking at each other now, both remembered another time 
when they had stared at one another across a different 
kind of table - a desk.  That time was filled with 
misery.  This time, there was only understanding.

They smiled brilliantly at each other, as if all their 
questions, all their apprehensions, had been answered 
and laid to rest.

She could kiss him if she wanted to.  Pleasure swept 
through her at the thought.  She could do anything she 
wanted to him, and she was allowed.  What a wonderful 
feeling.  She wanted to use her newfound freedom 
immediately.

Toeing off one of her shoes, she searched for him under 
the table.  She was glad for the long tablecloth that 
made this little indiscretion so easy.  Her stocking-
covered foot made contact with one of his ankles.  He 
stared at her in amazement while she looked at him 
through her eyelashes, a small smile playing at the 
corners of her mouth.

He gave a little yelp when her foot found its way under 
the material of his pants and traveled lightly up his 
bare calf.

"Yes, sir?"  A waiter had been hovering nearby during 
Mulder's unfortunate lack of control of his verbal 
response to her teasing.

Mulder picked up his wineglass and took a large gulp of 
the wine that remained.  "I, uh...check, please," he 
responded hoarsely.

The meal was paid for and their coats were retrieved 
from the cloakroom.  Stepping outdoors, Scully felt 
positively giddy.  The night was cold and windy, and 
soon, fat drops of rain greeted them from the sky.

One of DC's sudden showers let open on the city.  
Mulder stood there watching Scully as she got soaked 
and she did the same for him.  Neither made any move to 
find shelter.

"Um...Scully," he finally said after a bit, "you're 
getting a little wet."

She flashed him a flirtatious smile.  "I'm very wet," 
she answered huskily, reaching up to speak into his 
ear.  She could feel the heat emanating from his cheeks 
as his blood rushed to that area; she was delighted by 
her comment.

Suddenly he laughed, and she did likewise.  Soon they 
were giggling like two kids who had gotten joyously 
soaked by jumping into puddles.  They held each other 
and grinned madly, hair plastered against their skulls 
and their faces.

And just as suddenly they were kissing, mouths meshing, 
tongues dueling, hands groping, pulling, clutching.

She couldn't get enough of him; the taste of Mulder was 
intoxicating, as she had known it would be.  The inside 
of his mouth was amazingly hot, his tongue soft and 
slick, his lips warm and tender.

They kissed as another couple left the restaurant, 
looking away from them quickly.  They kissed as two 
empty cabs drove by, splashing more water onto the 
pavement from their tires.  And they kissed as rain 
fell softly, steadily against their faces.

When they pulled away it was only to gasp for air, and 
at the same time realized they were both utterly 
drenched.

She didn't know if she was crying or if it was the 
rain, but her throat was thick was emotion and her 
heart was overflowing with too much happiness.  You 
make =me= a whole person, she told him with feeling, 
her heart in her eyes.  He looked at her, at the 
message she was conveying with her eyes, and pulled her 
against him, holding her tight.  He kissed her cheek, 
whisper-soft, and she knew he understood.

"Your place or mine?" he asked, half-joking.  A drop of 
rain slid from his upper lip into his mouth, and she 
followed its movement hungrily.

Looking up at him, snuggling against him, she delighted 
in the simple fact that she could.  "It doesn't 
matter," she replied, smiling.  It didn't matter as 
long as he was beside her.  She would never have to 
sleep without Mulder again.

She drank in the sight of him in the moonlight.  A soft 
glow illuminated his beautiful face.  His beautiful, 
familiar face.  Plastered against him as she was, she 
was able to take in the smell of him even over the 
waterlogged clothes - the aftershave, the soap, and 
underlying that, just Mulder - the familiar scent she 
had had to comfort her for six years.

"I love you."

She thought the words had come from her, and she sucked 
in a breath.  She wondered if she had crossed a line.  
But it wasn't she who had spoken - it was Mulder.  He 
told her he loved her quietly, simply, without 
affectation, so that three words, often overused and 
misused by others, were given purity and meaning again.

Scully brought a finger up to trace the outline of his 
lips.  How often she had dreamed about him, dreamed 
about kissing those lips, sucking on them, nibbling, 
biting, chewing, as he was always doing.  *Now those 
are mine.*  She was thrilled by the realization.

Mulder gasped as her mouth found the pulse at his 
throat.  "I love you," she whispered to his heartbeat.

He held her tightly against him, neither speaking for a 
long moment.  As always, their silence was filled with 
words.

It was almost a surprise when the rain let up, going as 
quickly as it had come.  The air was left crisp and 
cool, refreshed and cleansed.

Scully took a deep breath, feeling it fill her lungs, 
then let it out with a gentle sigh.  "Mulder... 
tonight," she began.  "It was very brave of you."  He 
always leapt before he looked, and Scully was gratified 
that this was a facet of his personality that would, in 
all likelihood, never change.  She never wanted it to 
change, because that was who he was.  And she loved 
that person; she loved that man.

He lifted her face so that their gazes could meet.  
Hazel eyes stared into blue...and neither remarked on 
the fact that they were standing on the sidewalk in 
front of a fancy restaurant in Dupont Circle, dressed 
to the nines, soaking wet, and resembling drowned rats.

He was quiet for a moment, then kissed her softly and 
said, "Sometimes when you don't know what to do, you 
just have to place yourself in the hands of the person 
you love."

She thought about how she had made her own decision 
tonight, made in order to gain the world.  She had 
trusted in the one she loved.  

"Yes," she breathed.  "That's it exactly."

=End=

Author's notes: A breather while I'm working on a long 
smut piece - something a little more up my alley. <g>  
This one's a little bit of a departure for me in a 
couple of ways, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway.  
Thanks for reading!

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For the full text and other stories, go to:
http://www.angelfire.com/ms/naridalaw
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