Title: Walking the Line: Fight the Fantasy
Author: xf-stew
Rating: NC-17
Classification: Story, Romance, Slash, Humor (I hope)
Spoilers: that movie-thing
Summary: Kaz and Scully spend a nice Saturday afternoon discussing stereo manuals, societal labelling, the Indigo Girls, and a really icky dream about something that could just *never* happen.
Archive info: lets put it on the old scullyslash archive, but I'd like others to ask, please. Thanks.
Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Files characters (or Blythe Danner, for that matter).


Fight the Fantasy
by xf-stew
(xf-stew@geocities.com)

Part one: Directions for Dykes

"Read that again, will ya?" I asked as I struggled to steady the large speaker on the shelf above my head, untangle the mass of wires that streamed from every possible orifice in the system, and keep the precarious balance I was maintaining on the stool beneath my feet.

A silken voice began to re-read the incomprehensible instructions from the manual, "Connect the surround sound speaker to the AC jack through main auxiliary terminal A. If auxiliary terminal A is in use with the sub-woofer jack, then connect the surround sound speaker to--"

I stopped listening to the words, but let her sweet voice flow over me as I continued my struggle, sifting through the wires with my good hand while I prayed the other wouldn't slip and let the speaker crack me on the head.

After a full thirty seconds of this, I blew out an exasperated breath. "Remind me again. How did *I* get nominated for this part of the job?"

Behind me I could sense her lifting one corner of her mouth into a tiny smile.

"Because you're about seven inches taller than me. Remember?"

"Oh yeah, there is that..."

"So you got it in terminal A?"

"Okay...there," I said with triumphant finality. "I think I got it. What's next?"

I heard pages flip behind me and disentangled a hand to wipe beads of perspiration from my brow. The sun was beating down hard on the stone patio where we stood installing the new stereo system. It was a warm summer day that instilled in me an irrepressible sense of optimism and hope. Summer in general just made me...well, irrepressible.

Add to that the fact that I was spending the summer with the woman I was madly in love with and I was in absolute heaven.

Except for the fucking speakers that I couldn't seem to comprehend. Neither could she, for that matter. Between us we had a law and a medical degree, formal FBI training (at Quantico, no less), and Commander status in the United States Navy.

And we *still* couldn't figure out a goddamned stereo system.

I glanced back at her, amused all over again by her vast sun-combating arsenal. A black ball cap covered her mane of striking auburn hair and kept the harmful UV rays off her fair Irish face. Loose khaki pants covered her legs. Her only concession to comfort was the light blue t-shirt she wore, though she'd been sure to lube up her arms with and appallingly liberal amount of sunscreen whose SPF factor made my eyes almost pop out of my head.

But I was so lucky to have her. Our ordeal of the past month made me realize it all over again. I'd come so close to losing her...God, I couldn't even contemplate it. I don't know what I would do without her in my life.

She was still thin, almost painfully thin, in my estimation, though I'd never say that to her. She was trying so hard to gain the weight back, and some of it had come. She no longer looked gaunt, and I could no longer count her ribs when she took off her shirt at night when we laid down in our bed. With every pound she gained, I felt that much more confident in her recovery. The relief this gave me almost made me tremble sometimes.

She had come so close to the edge.

I watched her as she studied the manual and read out loud, "Now take male connector C4 and plug it into its female counterpart on the rear left of the speaker console."

"Huh?"

She clicked her tongue, growing tired of repeating every set of directions. Little did she know I did it only half out of necessity. The rest of the time, I simply wanted to look at her, to hear the words roll off her tongue. I loved the sound of her voice. I could listen raptly to it for hours on end. She was simply amazing.

"Connector C4?" she repeated, the question lightly sarcastic. "Insert the male end into the female connection base."

My eyebrows lifted, "Male? Female? INSERT?! What *is* that you're reading over there? A politically correct porno mag, or a stereo guide?"

"No, it's the back of a box of Trojans--of course it's the stereo guide. It says this stuff right here. Now just do it, will you Kaz?"

I turned back and stared dumbly at the wad of connection wires in my hand. I searched through them for a full minute before letting out a frustrated scowl. I had no idea stereos came with reproductive organs, and was becoming more lost by the second.

"Scully?"

"Yes."

"I don't get it."

She regarded me, "What don't you get?"

"This male-part, female-part thing. What're they talking about? It's a stereo, for God's sake."

She snickered a little, "The 'male' part is the connector, the wire, the plug-in. You put it in the so-called 'female' part, the connection base."

"Oh."

She dropped the instructions on the patio table. Her small hands went to her hips as she pursed her lips. I could feel her irritation with me grow.

"We've been going at this for over an hour Kaz, and you're just now asking me that? My God, how confused have you been?"

"Well, uh...to tell you the truth--very. Wait, I've got an idea. I'm not understanding this *blatantly* heterosexual instruction booklet very well. Why don't you run back to the store and ask the guy if he's got some directions for dykes."

The tension went out of her shoulders. Her face softened. I saw the corner of her mouth turn up. The other soon joined it, and a chuckle escaped her throat. It was followed by another and another until she opened her mouth to let out a spray of laughter. The rare sound of it was music to my ears.

When she had a handle on the torrent and slowed it to a mere trickle, she said, "Dykes? Dykes?! Did you just call yourself a dyke?"

I shrugged, "Sure. I am, aren't I?"

The laughter began anew as she shook her head, "You are *so* not a dyke."

That made me smile. "Why thank you. I'm glad you don't see me as a dyke." I turned back to the jumble of wires in my hands.

"Well?" she said expectantly.

"Well, what?" I replied, knowing exactly what she was waiting for.

"Well--aren't you going to make the reciprocative statement?"

"Hang on for just a second, will you? I'm picturing you with a crew cut, no bra, and cut-offs from last century."

She glided over and gave me a playful punch in the leg. "Smartass."

"We both know you're not a 'dyke,' Scully."

She paused for a second, looking up at me. I let my sunglasses slip down my nose so she could see my eyes. I had a feeling this was going to turn into a serious conversation.

I was correct, for in a moment she said, "If we're not 'dykes,' then what are we?"

The heaviness of the statement drew all of my attention. I set the cords on the shelf and stepped off the stool. I removed my glasses and looked down at her. She pulled her own off, and I caught once again the full force of her startling blue eyes, they shined with life once again, just as they had before our recent battle with the darkness that had invaded her body.

I reached out and hooked two of her fingers with my own. "I can't speak for you, I suppose, but I know about myself. I'm gay. I tried really hard to be straight when I was younger. I truly did. But heterosexuality just doesn't work for me. I like girls, and one in particular." I grinned at her. "It's taken me awhile to figure out, to admit to myself, but I am most definitely gay."

My statement was true, though I'd only come to terms with the knowledge of it during the time I'd known her.

"And you know what?" I continued, "I'm completely fine with it. I accept it as a part of who I am. In fact, I'm really glad I'm gay. If I wasn't, I'd have missed out on the love of my life."

She smiled sweetly and nodded at me, confirming her mutual feelings without words. She didn't often need them, for her face was so expressive, and I was so focused on every tiny nuance of it. She spoke more to me with her body than with her golden voice.

But then, she did speak, "I'm not really sure if I'm gay or not. This may sound strange, but I hadn't really thought much about it. Then I met you, and what we had between us just seemed so right. I took that step with you without hesitating, without analyzing it to death like I do most everything else."

I nodded, "I know you do, but I'm glad you followed your heart on that night."

"It always knows best, doesn't it? Those turned out to be the best set of decisions I've ever made. As for my sexual orientation, well--it just doesn't seem to matter. Things like that are just labels, taglines; and I just don't think I need or want a label for myself anymore."

My expression must have been sufficiently inquisitive, for she went on to explain, "It doesn't matter whether I'm gay or bisexual or whatever, because I'm not looking anymore. I've found the person I was meant to be with. I know that in my heart." She came up and wrapped her arms around me. "So--call me gay."

I laughed, "Like, 'Call me Ishmael?'"

"Ha-ha. Very funny."

She leaned up for a quick kiss, then laid her hat-covered head on my shoulder. "I'm in love with you Kaz. This was meant to be."

I held her in my arms and rocked us slowly from side to side, "I love you too, honey."

She gently pulled back, "If you love me, then prove it."

"And just what particular hoop would you like me to jump through, my love?"

She pointed to the stool and gave me an expectant authoritarian look, "Set up the damn stereo already!"

I shook my head and chuckled as I climbed back up on the stool and grabbed the tangle of connection cords once again.

****************
END OF PART ONE
****************

part two: Closer to Fine

To reward me for my exertions, she was making dinner. She stood at the barbecue across the porch, grilling teriyaki chicken and veggies on skewers. I sat watching her in the fading light on the stairs of the back patio, a glass of chardonnay beside me.

The evening air was beginning to cool, a sign that fall was just around the corner. I'd spent all day basking in the warm sun wearing an old Cal tank top and shorts, but now contemplated the long-sleeved t-shirt just inside the sliding glass door.

Not yet. Not until the gorgeous ball of fire above me melted into the horizon. I didn't want this wonderful day to begin its end. Not yet.

It had been a perfect day, made so by Scully's presence in it. There were far too many weekends I had spent alone. Weekends she'd been on assignments, performing autopsies (nasty stuff, in my opinion), questioning witnesses and cornering suspects, or chasing monsters. Sometimes those monsters were ones of the fictional variety, but all too often they were real; human monsters whose twisted minds and misguided imaginings led them to prey upon the innocent.

I worried incessantly whenever she was away. Concentration on my own work was difficult. At home, I tried to paint to distract myself, but she was never far from my thoughts, and everything I saw reminded me of her absence from the place where she was supposed to be, which was by my side.

When she was on assignment, I had to relinquish my sense of control, the feeling that I could keep her somehow safe, that I could protect her. After the recent battle with the cancer, I felt especially protective.

Not that Dana Scully often needed protection. She was *quite* capable in that regard. Still, I worried when she was away. And sometimes, I just worried.

As I sipped from my glass, letting the dry chardonnay roll over my tongue and slip down my throat, I turned to see Brandy standing close beside me, her stub-tail wagging like mad, barely able to contain her excitement.

She'd spent most of the day napping lazily under the blossoming apple tree in the yard. The poor pup did that to herself. She'd be a ball of unending energy for three or four days, then she'd literally exhaust herself and spend an entire day sleeping, replenishing herself like a marathon runner at the end of a competition.

Now, the light brown boxer was ready to start her race all over again.

"Hey there, babe," I said to her, smiling as I reached up to scratch the top of her head. "I see you've risen from the dead. You want a little attention now, don't you?"

As if understanding my words, she moved in, nuzzling my face with her wet nose before attacking me with slobbery kisses that tickled my face and made me laugh out loud. She jumped into my lap as if she were a baby. Yeah, a seventy-pound baby with nails that could slice bread.

"Hey, hey, hey," I warned gently, pushing her aside and grabbing an old, chewed tennis ball lying a few feet away.

At this, she literally jumped for joy. She bounded up at my hand to grab the ball from me. I teased her for a minute until she laid her big paws on my chest and lunged, pushing me down so we could wrestle for it. We played for awhile, her with the ball in her teeth while I tried to pull it out.

Over my shoulder, I heard Scully close the lid to the grill and open the sliding glass door. I paused, though Brandy didn't take the hint and slammed into me with her powerful haunches, knocking me into the grass once again.

I shushed her and stroked her flanks to get her to calm down a little, for my own safety more than hers.

Then I heard a click from the newly-installed stereo speakers I was so proud of myself for installing. Brandy looked quizzically at me, and I put a finger to my lips, telling her to chill for a minute while I listened. The dog was becoming more perceptive by the day, and heeded my subtle command.

Soon we heard the soft, muted sound of a crowd cheering, then the fast-paced strumming of an acoustic guitar. Brandy's ears perked up at the sound. She cocked her head, her big brown eyes on me. I shrugged, but was already bobbing my head to the rhythm of the catchy strains.

Scully stepped back through the door, a covered metal bowl in her hands as a female voice began to sing:

    I'm trying to tell you something about my life
     Maybe give me insight between black and white.
     The best thing you've ever done for me
     Is to help me take my life less seriously...

She looked out at me and flashed her secret little enigmatic smile as she set the bowl on the table.

"Who's this singing?" I called to her, an arm wrapped around Brandy's back.

She approached us, shaking her head in disapproval, "You don't even know?" She clicked her tongue at me, "And you call yourself gay. It's the Indigo Girls."

"Oh."

She arched an eyebrow, "That's all you can say? 'Oh?'"

I put a finger to my lips, "S-h-h. I'm listening."

The driving rhythm of the guitars ignited something within me, filled me with an overwhelming sense of happiness, contentment, and peace. The music was amazing. Two woman now sang the end of a hard, rousing chorus:

    There's more than one answer to these questions
     Pointing me in a crooked line.
     And the less I seek my source for some definitive
     The closer I am to fine...

"Well, what do you think?"

I blinked at her for a moment, then broke out in a huge grin, "This is *so* cool. It's great, actually. I never knew music without horns could be so beautiful."

Her look bordered on smug, "I thought you'd like it."

    I went to see the doctor of philosophy,
     With a poster of Rasputin and a beard down to his knees...

"Did you just get this CD?"

She shook her head as she wandered back to the grill. "I've had this one for a few years now. It's one of my favorites, it has a lot of their best stuff from live shows and private recordings. I have all their otheng for my question.

I crossed my arms in front of myself, "You've had the CDs for years...and you're just sharing them with me NOW?"

She shrugged, "I loved your jazz stuff so much, I hardly gave a thought to any other music. But today, with the weather so nice and the sun shining and the summer air...well, it just screamed for some Indigo Girls."

As I listened once more, letting the smooth voices and the lilting guitar rhythms wash over me, I gave her another smile that told her she was forgiven for her lapse in judgment. I held out my arms, and within a split second she was in them.

"Well thank God the day spoke to you. I love this stuff."

"So everything's okay?"

I ran my hands over her back, holding her close, feeling her breath on my neck and her soft hair against my cheek. "Everything is wonderful."

She looked up at me then, taking my breath away once more with her radiant blue eyes that shone with love; a love she held just for me.

****************
END OF PART TWO
****************

part three: The Frightmare

I made coffee as she cleared the dishes from the table. We listened to the music over and over, each revolution merely heightening my infatuation with it. The two women sang with such intensity, style, and heartfelt grace. Their words were almost poetic. Something about it spoke to me as well, and every word said 'Scully.'

And that, more than anything else, made me fall in love with it.

We took our coffee back out on the patio. The air had a definite chill to it now, forcing us to don sweatshirts to ward it off. I pulled my chair around to sit beside her. The candles between us had burnt to mere stubs. She held out her hand and I took it, rubbing the backs of her fingers with my thumb. There we sat, listening to the music and looking up at the stars in contented stillness, together, she and I. God, I love her.

Brandy came over, panting from whatever particular hell she'd been raising, and sat at my side, leaning her furry body against my leg. With my free hand, I reached down to scratch her head as we sat in our chairs, sipping from our mu.

Out of the blue, a half-remembered thought hit me. It had been with me all that morning, but with the trip to the electronics store and the Great Stereo Installation Debacle of '98, it had faded. Now, I tried to push it back out of my mind once again, for it was so silly and irrational and just plain weird...but I couldn't help it, it was there.

"Hey Sculls, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," she said easily, squeezing my hand a little.

"Well, it's kind of weird but, you see, I had this really strange dream last night. I don't know if you'd even call it a dream, it was more of a nightmare. I guess I'd even call it a frightmare, becuuse it really creeped me out."

She regarded me with sympathetic eyes, "I didn't hear you wake up. I'm sorry. Was it bad?"

Suddenly, I grew nervous, and extricated my hand from hers to rub my palms together under the table. I shouldn't have brought it up. I don't know why I did. It was silly anyway.

"Kaz? Was it bad?" she repeated.

"Well, yeah. Pretty much. At least, it was for me."

"What was it about?"

"It was really long and a whole bunch of weird stuff happened. You don't want to hear it all, but it just made me wonder about this question I was going to ask, and--"

"What question, hon?" she asked, delicately sipping her coffee.

"Well, no...never mind. It's really stupid. Maybe I've just been working too hard and it's making my dreams all weird. Ever since, you know, the cancer and how it was so unexpected and so awful and everything, I've had these really stupid, irrational fears. You know, like 'expect the unexpected?'"

Oh god, I was rambling up a storm now and we both knew it and I just couldn't stop my mouth and these words I barely even recognized as my own kept pouring out: "I know I'm not making much sense right now, and I'm ashamed to admit I was even thinking it but this freaky dream made it jump into my head and it's never been there before and I--"

"Kaz--"

"--just had to ask because it was on my mind all morning and--"

"Kaz--"

"--I know it was just because of the dream, which was so vivid and clear and it kind of clung to me even when it was over, and in the shower all I could--"

"Kaz!" she said, leaning forward to catch my eyes, which had been firmly planted on the coffee cup in her hands. "You're babbling, hon. Just ask me. What do you want to know?"

I winced a little and ground my palms together a even harder. They were sweating now, and if I had one wish in the world it would have been to turn the clock back five minutes so I could run and get some duct tape to put over my mouth. Then I'd never have started the inane conversation.

She frowned, "What is it, Kaz?"

I took a deep breath, "I was just wondering if you've ever wanted to kiss Mulder."

She blinked, "Excuse me?"

I slumped back in the chair, embarrassed as I repeated the question in a dull monotone, "Have you ever been sexually attracted to Fox Mulder?"

The silence between us stretched for a full count of ten before she suddenly burst into a fit of laughter so hysterical it almost made my jaw drop. Her dead was thrown back, exposing the soft, fair skin of her slim neck. Her chest heaved with the force of the fits and snorts of uncontrolled laughter that poured out of her thin, tiny frame.

Finally getting a hold of herself, she wiped tears from her eyes and said, "Oh Kaz, that's a good one. Wherever did you get an idea like *that?*"

I shrugged, still abashed, "Like I said, I had this dream."

"And in your dream I had the hots for Mulder?" she said, the amused astonishment clear in her voice.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call it 'the hots,' but there was this one part...e-w-w-w. God, Sculls, I don't even want to think about it."

She chuckled again and reached under the tablecloth for my hand. She laced my fingers between her own and held our linked hands in her lap. It was a sweet, reassuring gesture, for she knew how much I liked holding hands.

Gazing into my eyes, her expression grew only slightly more serious, "Kaz honey, have you been harboring secret fears about me and my partner?"

"No," I said immediately, and it was true. "Well...not that I knew of. It never really occurred to me, you know? I mean, you and I are in love. I *know* that. I love you so very, very much and I don't doubt for a second that you love me just as much."

"I do. I love you more than anything in this world, Kaz. Please don't doubt that."

"I don't," I told her. "I never should have even asked this silly question, I mean, it's so far-fetched I can't believe I even dreamed about it. But the dream was really realistic, you know? It made me wonder if, at some time, maybe long ago or something...well, it made me wonder if there was some kind of...what do they call it? Unresolved sexual tension? Yeah, I think that's the term. I wondered if there was some sexual tension between you and Mulder. I've never noticed it, myself, but maybe other people think it's there, and...hell, I don't know what I'm saying. Stupid, irrational fears, I guess. I mean, sure, he jokes with you, but that's just Mulder. He says suggestive things to a lot of attractive women."

She smiled, "I'm glad you think I'm attractive."

"Well, maybe just a little. In the right light," I kidded.

For this, I received a punch in the arm.

"Hey, you know I'm just kidding," I told her, rubbing my arm and giving her a quick kiss. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever known, Scully. And inside, you're even more beautiful. You know I think I'm the luckiest woman in the world, don't you?"

She shook her head and smiled, "Nope. *I'm* the luckiest."

"*I* am."

"No, I am."

"Are not."

"Am too."

"Are not."

She nudged me with her shoulder, "Okay, okay, we're equally lucky, all right."

I scrunched my face up, thinking it over, "Well, all right. Maybe it's 60-40, my favor."

"Shut up and tell me about this dream, you big lug."

"Ooh, I love it when you give me pet names."

"The dream," she prompted.

"The dream. Okay, well, first of all, it wasn't a dream, it was a frightmare. Second of all, it was really weird."

"I think you mentioned that in your rambling, non-sensical monologue."

"Oh yeah, I did, didn't I? Well, I guess the first strange thing about it was that it was like a movie. Usually, when you dream, you're doing stuff, or you're somehow a part of it, right? But in this one, I felt kind of left out. It was like a movie playing out in front of me and I was left sitting all by myself in the middle of an empty theater."

"Empty, huh?" she said. "So I take it this movie you were watching was kind of a bomb?"

"Hmm...I wouldn't say that. I suppose it had all the elements of your basic summer blockbuster. There was plenty of running around and lots of things blew up."

"Oh, then it would have surely been a hit," she said dryly.

"Yes indeed. The plot was pretty involved, too. I mean, not to give my subconscious too much credit or anything, but I must admit, it was rather complex, for a dream. Not for a real movie, but for a dream. Actually, it made me wonder if I've been hanging out with you and the Spookster too long. You two were the stars of this dream, and it was all about your life as well-dressed and handsome FBI agents relentlessly searching for the truth amidst a deep, covert conspiratorial organization who is working in cahoots with an alien race in order to save their own skins from world domination."

"Hmm...sounds like a typical day at the office."

I grinned.

"And of course I had a starring role," she continued. "After all, I'm naturally photogenic. Can't you just picture me on the big screen?"

"Quite easily," I said truthfully.

She squeezed my hand and smiled. The sight of it made my heart beat faster and the blood race through my veins. I had to think back to remember where I was.

"You see though," I said, "the plot was good, for fiction, but it scared the pants off of me."

"I thought you said you had this dream last night. You weren't wearing pants then, silly."

I kissed her briefly on the cheek, "Thank god."

She rewarded me with a return kiss before saying, "Go on."

"Okay, so I had this movie-dream, and you and Mulder were in it, but it was totally warped, because in the middle...no, wait. I don't want to jump ahead. I'll start at the beginning."

She sighed, obviously wanting me to get on with it, "Sure, fine, go on."

"Well, I would, but you keep interrupting me."

She arched a sarcastic eyebrow, "I'll try to refrain from interrupting the bard while spinning her craft."

"A-ha!" I said, my eyes widening. "So you *have* picked up something from watching all those episodes of Xena: Warrior Princess with me."

"Thank you for bringing *that* up again. I can't believe you watch that show, Kaz. It's simplistic and medieval."

"It kicks ass, Sculls. I love it. I'm thinking of getting a chakram myself. I can tie it on the beltloops of my uniform pants and be Kaz: Warrior Lawyer. What do you think?"

"Ah yes, I can see it now. You, traveling the countryside in your Mustang, arguing for justice, plea bargaining for the less fortunate, defending the rights of the constitutionally challenged...all for only 300 dollars per billable hour."

"Ha-ha, very funny. And *so* like me, too. But hey, if I ever did do that, you could ride shotgun in the 'Stang and be my little Gabrielle. How about it?"

"Hmm...would I get to wear a deerskin skirt and green halter top?"

Scratching my chin thoughtfully, I said, "Well, I'll think about it. I like the image though..."Ouch! Hey, keep smacking me in the arm like that and you can forget about being my sidekick."

Apparently, that wasn't funny. It only earned me another fist in the bicep.

"The dream," she prompted once again.

"The dream. Yes, where was I?"

"Not far."

"Thank you, my little love-muffin," I said jokingly, for she was anything but a muffin. She was mine though, and I was so very glad of that. The playful banter between us was fun, it reminded me that things were back to normal, that she was no longer on the brink of death, and that we had, once again, averted the disaster of separation.

"Okay," I continued. "So you and Mulder were on this bomb squad in Texas. Dallas, I think. All the bad shit happens in Dallas, so it was probably Dallas."

"Why would Mulder and I be on a bomb squad?"

"It's a dream, Scully. Work with me here."

"Okay, okay. I'll zip it. Please go on."

I cleared my throat, thinking back over the small details, trying to get them all straight. "So you're on the bomb squad, but--of course--Mulder does whatever the hell he wants and you two go to another building and start looking for the bomb there. And see, the bomb really *is* there, and Mulder finds it, and there are some details in there I can't remember, but the building blows up."

"With me and Mulder in it?"

"Of course not. You two got out, but it was damn close. Too close for me. But you were wearing one of those cool windbreakers with the big yellow 'FBI' on the back. You looked really good in it."

"Thank you," she said, rubbing slow circles over the back of my hand.

"Yes, well, you know how windbreakers turn me on. Anyway, back to the frightmare. So the building blows to high heaven, and you and Mulder are called in front of this panel to give your statements. Now, this is where I was kind of thinking it was a dream. You know, when you're dreaming, and all of a sudden you figure out you're dreaming while you're still dreaming?"

"Yes, I know that feeling."

"Good. So I'm at the movies by myself, watching you being debriefed by--and I swear this is who it was--Blythe Danner. Well, Blythe Danner wasn't *really* debriefing you. I mean, she wasn't demanding you remove your underwear or anything, but--"

"I think Blythe Danner is kind of hot, for an older woman, that is. I wouldn't mind her debriefing me."

I stared at her, my jaw hanging open in dumb wonder. "Oh. My. God."

She laughed and leaned over, resting her head on my shoulder, "I thought that would get a rise out of you. Go on with the story."

"Oh, like you can say something like that and just expect me to go on?"

She lifted her head, pulled my face toward hers, and kissed me slowly, softly, gently. Her lips were so very soft, like satin. They nibbled and kneaded and pulled on mine ever so sensuously. She drew my lower lip into her mouth and ran her tongue across it before dipping inside to trace the line of my teeth.

I was wet in two seconds, tops. My insides throbbed with every stroke of her tongue against mine. By mutual assent, the kiss grew deeper, longer, and even more passionate. How did she do this to me? How did she reduce me to a puddle of aching desire so quickly and so thoroughly?

I had no idea how she did it, but she did, and when she broke the kiss and pulled away, I nearly groaned at the loss of such intimate contact.

"There, Ms. Insecurity," she said softly, her face still so very close to mine. "Does that answer all your questions about the one I want to be with?"

I swallowed and blinked, trying to clear the haze that had settled over my eyes. They were no doubt glassy with the head and instant desire she'd infused me with. My ears were warm and my pulse was racing and I could hear my heart beating hard and fast in my chest.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to keep my voice from trembling as I spoke, "I, um...yeah. I guess it does."

She tucked a loose lock of hair behind my ear, "Tell me more about your dream."

My eyes slipped shut as I sought her mouth once again. To my surprise, she pulled back slightly, saying, "Ah, ah, ah...not yet. Tell me your dream first."

"Scul-l-l-e-e-e," I pleaded, resting my hot forehead against hers. "I'll tell you later. Let's go inside now."

"I'm sorry I got you all hot and bothered, but I really think you should tell me about the dream first."

"Why?"

"I want to know why you asked if I'm attracted to Mulder."

"Because in my dream you two were standing in his hallway looking deep into each other's eyes and he was going to kiss you but a bee stung you and fake paramedics came and hauled you away to, like, Antarctica or some damn place. Now, can we go upstairs? Please?"

She frowned, "A bee? I was stung by a bee? What's *that* all about? Your subconscious punishing me for almost kissing Mulder?"

I sighed, "I don't know, Sculls. I'd just really like to go in now."

"Careful Kaz, you're starting to whine."

"I am not, "I whined, trailing one hand up and down her arm. "I just really want to be with you right now. Let's go to bed and not get any sleep the entire night. What do you say?"

*******************
END OF PART THREE
*******************

part four: Fight the Fantasy

"Careful Kaz, you're starting to whine."

"I am not, "I whined, trailing one hand up and down her arm. "I just really want to be with you right now. Let's go to bed and not get any sleep the entire night. What do you say?"

"I say: dream now, sex later."

My shoulders slumped in defeat. I pulled back and sagged into my chair, running a hand through my hair, a gesture that always seemed to soothe me for some reason.

I had to do it four or five times before anything remotely resembling soothing took place.

"Okay, fine. Dream now, upstairs later. I see how you are."

She smiled her enigmatic little smile and my heart skipped another beat.

"So, you're probably wondering why you were stung by a bee. Well, I've always hated bees, they creep me out bigtime. I mean, I don't even eat honey, because it's basically bee spit, right?"

"Not really."

"Yes, really."

She sighed, "I'm not going to argue with your pre-conceived notion of honey production. Pick up where you left off. I think Blythe Danner was debriefing me."

"Yeah, okay. So, you come out of the meeting and Mulder's in the hall, waiting his turn. You guys talk about how the X-Files have been closed and they want to separate you. You told me about how they did that once before; closed the department, and both of you were kind of unhappy about it and you gained all that weight when they transferred you to Quantico, remember?"

"Yes, I remember. And it wasn't *that* much weight. I hid it with a well-placed labcoat."

I raised an eyebrow, "Ah, the perks of working in a morgue."

"One of the only perks," she said sardonically.

"Anyway, I guess my subconscious worked that part in, about the department being closed down. Kind of like how it worked in the bees because I hate bees, so the thought of you stung by a bee was horrible...but then, you were about to kiss Mulder, so..."

"Kaz? The story?"

"Yeah. Well, the people in the meeting, I guess they wanted to blame you two because the building in Dallas blew up, which makes no sense because if you hadn't been playing the hunch and checking out that building in the first place, it would have blown up with all those people inside and everyone in the whole damn Bureau would be looking like clowns."

"Kind of a hole in your story there, hon."

I shrugged, "Yeah, I know, but--as I explained before--it was a dream. Sometimes, when you're dreaming, you have plot devices that aren't very realistic."

She chuckled, "Maybe you should hire some better writers for your dreams."

"Yeah, but then I'd have to pay them union wages, pretty soon they'd want their own trailers...you know how it is."

"You're a nut."

I took her hand again and want on with the tale, "So you're talking with Mulder about how this is going to effect things, and of course Mulder goes into this diatribe and says this is all about *him,* and they're doing it to *him,* and blah, blah, blah."

"Typical," she said, rolling her eyes. "You've got him down pat, Kaz, even in your subconscious."

"Yeah, well, if he were a book, he'd be a comic. It's not difficult reading. Next, in the dream, I see Mulder at a bar, and he's all weepy and drinking shots--which he really shouldn't do since he's a freaking lightweight--and he goes into this alleyway to ahem...drain the lizard, so to speak."

"Drain the lizard?"

"Just be happy he wasn't spanking the monkey. He's draining the lizard, and this weird-looking, crusty old guy comes up to him and becomes his new informant, because, really, can Mulder ever have *too many* informants?"

"Apparently not. Notice *I* never get informants?"

"That's because Mulder would never trust *your* informant. He only trusts crusty guys who take a leak in an alleyway with him. Women just don't meet informants like that."

"You're right. That whole 'separate stall' thing isn't very conducive to meeting informants over mutual urination."

I had to laugh at that before going on. "Mulder then zips up--thankfully. I mean, god, do I really want to see *that* when I go to bed at night?"

"I sure hope not."

Leaning over, I kissed her cheek again, "I'm a dyke, remember? It's the *last* thing I want to see."

"Ah yes, I forgot, you're the great bastion of homosexuality."

"I prefer to call myself heterosexually challenged," I said with a grin. "Now, shall I continue? Okay. Mulder is trashed and decides to take a cab to Georgetown."

"To our place."

"Of course. And why not? He stops by any damn time he feels like it, right? No call, no nothing, he's just there on the doorstep.

"That's our Mulder."

"Yep, that's him all right," I said ruefully, for his timing was horrible. The man's habit of just dropping in, especially on weekends, had often interrupted us at extremely inopportune moments. For example, just when I'd taken off Scully's clothes and was acquainting myself with her glorious body.

But that's another story. For now, I went on with this one. "Then I see you in our bed, and for some reason I'm not there beside you. I'm not with you, and that's when I began to get a little concerned with this dream. I mean, why wasn't I there? I *should* have been there, but you're alone in bed, and you can't sleep. Oh, and you're wearing those sexy silk pajamas you got last spring."

"The white ones?" she interjected.

I nodded.

"The ones I wear for about ten minutes before you can't stand it any longer and rip them off?"

"Those would be the ones," I said, smiling. "What can I say? You're my favorite package to unwrap."

"I've noticed," she said, her voice dipping an octave.

I lowered my own to match it. "You have, have you?"

She ran a hand through my hair, drew my face in close, and kissed me softly before pulling back to look into my eyes. "Why do you think I put them on in the first place?"

"You're so good to me."

"Hmm...I wonder why? Must be love," she told me, smiling into my face once again. "Now go on with your tale, oh great gay storyteller."

"Uh, you don't have to call me that."

"You said it yourself."

"Still, you don't have to."

The enigmatic smile was back, "Go on."

Settling back in my chair, I picked up the narrative again. "You and Mulder sneak into someplace where they're keeping the people who died in the explosion, and you look at one of the bodies and it's really icky."

"A person blown up in a large-scale bombing wouldn't be a likely candidate for the cover of Vogue."

"Yeah, I know, but this was *really* icky. His skin was all puffy and kind of see-through and it was all sticky inside the cover sheet. I mean, this was really gross. Even you made a face. And you said you didn't know what the guy died of. So Mulder, being the sweet thing he is, tells you to autopsy the body, and he leaves."

She snorted in discontent, "Figures."

"He doesn't stick around for autopsies much, does he?"

"Not unless they're 'alien autopsies,'" she said, making little quote signs with her hands. Then she smirked, knowing that was one of my pet peeves. It was my turn to give her a playful punch, though mine carried far less force than hers had.

"Later," I continued, "Mulder wants you two to go back to Dallas, and you show up wearing this *amazing* black suit. Oh god, you looked so hot in it. But anyway, you two figure out there's something nasty going on, and that the person you autopsied didn't die in the explosion, but was carted there from someplace else in Texas. At least, I think that's what you thought. And you looked at these bone fragments, and--being the scientific genius that you are--you knew they matched whatever you found in your autopsy victim."

She cleared her throat, "Excuse me, but he didn't *die* from the autopsy. He wasn't an 'autopsy victim.'"

"Sorry," I said with a wave of the hand. "I'm a layman, or laywoman, or whatever. Anyway, a bunch of plot junk happens and the next exciting thing is that you're following this train with these tanker trucks on it that have viruses in them."

"Um, I apologize for interrupting again, but viruses aren't generally transported in tanker trucks."

"That's exactly what you said in the dream!" I told her, my excitement written all over my face.

"And I'm sure Mulder had some far-fetched reply that contradicted me, it was probably said quietly and haltingly, and probably culminated in his theory that the virus was extra-terrestrial in origin."

"Hey, did you have this dream too?"

She shook her head, "You come to predict these things after five years. That was a gimme."

"Well, you're right. That's just what he said. So you follow the train and it leads you to this cornfield in the middle of scrub brush. There's, like, nothing around for miles but this green cornfield and what looked like a giant, illuminated push-up bra."

"Come again?"

"These two big structures, like big bubbles in the middle of the corn. And you guys are checking them out, when all of a sudden these slats open up and bees just start pouring out. I swear, it creeped me out so bad. There were thousands, probably millions of bees. It was my personal nightmare. I've had bad dreams about bees for years, but this is the first time they were attacking someone else. To think of them attacking you...well, it was even worse then when they attack me."

"Why do you hate bees, Kaz?" she asked softly, curiously; for we'd never discussed it issue before, she had no idea. It had simply never come up.

"I stepped in a beehive when I was a kid. My dad and I were camping in the Sierras and I stumbled into it when I was hiking with my friend, Bailey Parsons. She'd come with us, and my dad let us go up a trail by ourselves. I mean, we were twelve, big girls, right? Ha. So we thought."

She rubbed my arm sympathetically, "What happened?"

"I stepped off the trail to kick a pine cone. I was obsessed with soccer when I was twelve and felt the need to kick every kickable object in sight. I never reached the pine cone, fell into a little niche instead and got my boot caught between two rocks...right along with this bees' nest."

She made sympathetic noises and encouraged me to go on.

"Everything was fine for a second. You know, like the calm before the storm. Then, all of a sudden, I heard this really pissed off buzzing sound, and my stomach just dropped. I knew, in the back of my mind, just what it was. Looking down, I saw them. They moved up my leg as if they were devouring it, a mass of black and gold pouring up my leg as if out of a spigot. It was like gravity had been reversed, and somehow, the impossible had happened. My calf was covered, and slowly, so very slowly, they creeped up and up until my thigh was gone too.

"I tried to stay calm, tried to remain rational and slowly pull my leg out, but it was stuck firm between the rocks. Behind me, I heard Bailey scream and started to panic along with her. I jerked my leg and twisted my foot and yanked with all my twelve-year-old might. That was when they started to sting, and suddenly my leg was on fire. It was like a thousand needles jabbing me all at once."

"Oh my god. Kaz, that's horrible," she said, her voice small and faraway.

"Yeah, it was nasty, all right. After a few more useless struggles to free my foot, I knew the only way I was getting out of there was to reach into the swarm and unlace my boot."

"No," she whispered, her face a tangled mass of empathic pain.

I shivered, even now, at the memory. It was still so clear in my mind, as if it had happened just this afternoon.

"Yes, I had to."

"Did they sting your hands?" she asked.

"They stung me everywhere, Scully. My hands, my legs, under my shirt and shorts, my face, my ears. I hurt so bad, and I was already swelling. I could feel it. We spent over an hour trying to get back to camp, with me only semi-conscious. Finally, I got Bailey to leave me and go get my dad. I was almost crying, I wanted him so bad. I knew everything would be okay if he were with me, you know?"

"I know," she said, once again resting her head against my shoulder. "Dad's made everything okay back then, didn't they?"

"They sure helped. I had no idea what to do, and I was so hot, I think I had a fever, maybe from the stings or the trauma or something."

"You almost certainly had a very high fever," she told me in her medical voice. "Were you physically ill?"

"Yes, I threw up a couple of times before my dad got there. I remember him picking me up and running with me over his shoulder. But, more or less, I was unconscious. Everything after that is pretty foggy. The next thing I remember is the hospital room, and my mother bitching my dad out bigtime for letting this happen, as if he should've had a map of all the underground bees' nests or something." I rolled my eyes, "God, that woman drives me crazy. Always has."

"Are you okay now? I mean, have you developed an allergy to bee stings?"

"No. Physically, I'm fine. But I had very vivid nightmares about bees for years. Apparently, I still do."

"This is all so terrible. I'm so sorry that happened to you, Kaz. I had no idea. I wish I could have known you then, to be there with you."

"I'm not so sure," I said, trying to hide my unease. "I looked pretty bad for a while after that. I'm not sure I would have wanted you to see me like that."

I thought of our last few months together. The cancer, the chemotherapy, and everything else. It had been hard to see her go through that. I'd felt so helpless, so useless, so frustrated. I would have given anything to take some of that pain and suffering from her and carry it myself. Truth be told, I would have traded places with her in a second. She meant that much to me.

And now, I knew that I didn't ever want her to see me in pain. I didn't want her to have to go through the agony and impotence of watching me suffer.

Her words brought me out of these thoughts and back to the present. "In your dream," she asked, "we made it past the swarm of bees, I take it?"

I nodded, glad to move on. "Yep, but then these helicopters chased you through the corn. Now, when I first saw the corn, I was thinking 'Field of Dreams,' right? Because I read that book about ten times in high school and university, and I thought maybe some nice little harmless baseball legends were hanging out and maybe you'd even run into James Earl Jones."

"No James Earl Jones, huh?" she asked with a little smile.

"Nope. Nothing but a couple of black choppers. But really, how effective are helicopters at pursuit anyway? Especially in corn."

"So we got away."

"Of course."

"Naturally," she grinned, and my heart melted.

"Naturally," I repeated, smiling brightly into her eyes. "You go back to DC and have another meeting and they transfer you somewhere. Salt Lake, I think. Which is just one more tragedy in this damn frightmare. In it, not only are you chased by bees and attracted to Mulder, you're supposed to move to Salt-Fucking-Lake."

"Though I'm sure they don't call it that there."

I had to laugh at that. "No, I'm sure they don't. And in the dream, you don't want to go to Utah, so you decide to quit the Bureau and live in sin with me."

"Really?"

"No, not really," I said sadly. "In fact, I was a little bummed out because you didn't even mention me."

"I'm sorry," she said apologetically.

"It's okay," I replied, sniffing a little as if I were going to cry. "I'm over it now...I guess."

"Honey..." she pleaded, a soft look in her eyes.

"I'm just giving you a hard time. Anyway, you went to Mulder's to tell him the news and he gets all weepy and maudlin and says how you're so wonderful to support him and please don't quit and I don't deserve you and blah, blah, blah..."

"So, in your dream, he *actually* admits it's not all about him?" she said, her eyes wide with astonishment.

I thought about that. "Well, it's still about him. I mean, the conspiracy and his sister and everyone is out to get *him* and all, but he says you're the best and please don't leave him and that he owes you everything."

"Hmph," she snorted with a little shake of her shoulders. "I should have known it would only happen in a dream."

"But then," I said, swallowing as I felt the color drain from my face, "you look deep into each other's eyes, and I knew what was coming. I wanted to scream, to yell, to break out of the nightmare and come back to reality, but I couldn't. All I could do was sit in the damned movie theater and watch in horror as he leans in to ki--"

"Kaz--"

I swallowed again, turning to meet her eyes. "Yes?"

She looked at me, her azure eyes piercing mine with an intensity that spoke volumes. They told me that she loved me, that she wanted me, that nothing could stand in the way of what we had. They reassured me and soothed me and settled my soul.

She rubbed slow circles over the back of my hand with her thumb as she gazed into my eyes. "Kaz, I don't want to hear the rest of your dream."

I took a deep, cleansing breath, shaking off the image in my head forever. Now, all I saw was her perfect face; her stunning cheeks; her lovely, heart-shaped mouth coming closer and closer to mine.

She paused, a mere inch from my lips. "It was a nightmare, Kaz, nothing but a fantasy. You've got to fight the fantasy, and put your faith in what is real. This is what's real," she said, and closed the distance between us.

Her soft, full lips touched mine. They infused me with heat and radiance and comfort and love. My eyes closed of their own accord, and her tongue darted out to run over my lower lip. Ever so gently, she delved deeper until she found my own tongue and stroked it slowly, sensuously.

I could remain still no longer, and reached up, cupping her face in my palm, feeling the movement of her jaw as she made love to my mouth with her own. It was a sweet, gentle love, a reassuring love, a love she gave only to me.

She explored me with an expertise gained from long acquaintance, touching me in all the hidden, secret places that made me shiver and melt. She ran her tongue over my teeth, teasing the roof of my mouth before stroking my own tongue again and again.

I was immersed in a fire so hot it scorched every inch of my body. All other thoughts flew from my head, leaving me with only the sensation of this exquisite woman who sat at my side.

A moment later, she broke the contact, making me gasp a little. I ached for her already. Forcing my eyes to open, I saw her rise from her seat, take my hand, and lead me to my feet. I followed her inside, through the sliding glass door, past the tiled floor of the kitchen, and up the stairs to our bedroom.

*****************
END OF PART FOUR
*****************

part five: power of two

A moment later, she broke the contact, making me gasp a little. I ached for her already. Forcing my eyes to open, I saw her rise from her seat, take my hand, and lead me to my feet. I followed her inside, through the sliding glass door, past the tiled floor of the kitchen, and up the stairs to our bedroom.

I knew that for both of us, it had been a long journey. With every step, our hunger for the other grew by leaps and bounds, and the moment we reached the room that we shared, I turned in her arms and her mouth instantly found mine. We lingered there, lips melting together, gently nibbling and tasting until it once again grew deep.

My hands came up under her sweatshirt, running across the soft yet firm angles of her back, reaching down into her pants to cup her squeezable bottom. Her moan was instantaneous. It resonated between us, becoming not hers--but ours.

Trembling, tender fingers found their way around my back, coming up to unfasten the clasp of my bra. The moment it was loosened those exploratory hands held my breasts. It was like coming home. Her touch left trails of hot fire in its wake. Ever so gently, she rolled my taut nipples between her fingers, and our all remnants of the dream completely left my mind. The only thing I knew was the incredible woman standing before me.

I had to make love to her. It was a desperate need, the only thought in my head as I began to lead us back to the bed.

In one swift motion, she tore back the covers and lay back, waiting arms stretched out to me. I quickly rid myself of every stitch of clothing, then leaned over her, pulling the sweatshirt and over her head. In moments, the pants were gone as well, piled in some unknown corner of the room.

The moonlight drifting in sent sensuous shadows cascading over her shapely, beautiful body. I lay beside her, pulling her to me and wrapping her smaller form inside my own. The delicious sensation of her skin against my own sent rockets of sweet desire through me. I ran my hands all over her as she kissed my mouth, my neck, my face, my ears...me.

Above me now, I felt her need as she straddled my stomach. She paused for a moment, looking into my eyes. I tucked the tendrils of fiery hair behind her ears and looked deep into the dark, moonlit pools of her eyes. In them, I saw tenderness, desire, love, and a thousand other things.

In them, I saw *us.*

My fingers found her small, pink nipples and teased them into hard nubs. As I did so, I watched her eyes slip shut and her face ebb into the expression of pleasure I knew so well. Still, it fascinated me. It always did and always would. She settled down, relaxing on top of me, and I felt her hips begin to rock with the motion of my hands upon her breasts.

In a maneuver we both knew well, I sat up, sliding her down just a bit so that she sat upon my hips. She wrapped her legs around my back and I felt her warm wetness against my sensitive belly as I lowered my mouth to her breast.

She stifled a gasp against my forehead and clung even more tightly to me. I held her close, my arms beneath her own, softly clutching her shoulders as I kissed her nipple, running my tongue over and over it before nibbling it with gentle lips, making it hard and firm once again.

"Oh Kaz," she whispered huskily, "that feels so good. Oh-h-h-h."

It did. It felt good to me as well. I loved it when she talked to me during such intimate moments. I loved to hear the desire in her voice, the way it changed, dropping an octave. It was a voice she spoke in only to me.

Moving on, I gave her other nipple even more attention than the first, eliciting more sounds from her golden throat. My own body hummed in tune to hers, for loving her always sparked the need in me as well. For an instant, I remembered the time when I had climaxed simply by putting my mouth on her. It was something I'd experienced with no other. Nor would I. She was the only one for me.

Unable to resist any longer, I leaned her back and kneeled between her legs, running my hands under her bottom as I kissed the smooth skin on her inner thighs. The muscles beneath my mouth quivered in anticipation. All I heard was the mingled sound of our mutual breath mixed with the slow, lilting music from the stereo system outside:

.....chase all the ghosts from your head I'm stronger than the monster beneath your bed...

She hooked her legs over my shoulders and I knew what she wanted, what she needed. My tongue made a slow descent between her moist lips and gently explored her. She sucked in a breath and bit her lip, then gave it up and cried out loudly, a sound somewhere between pleasure and painful release.

I worked my way inside her, tasting her, caressing all I could of her soft insides before running my tongue up to her sensitive clitoris. I stroked the small nub, then pulled her between my lips, rolling her soft folds and tender clitoris there as I had her nipples. Her small gasps of pleasure guided me on this journey to our fulfillment.

Alternating between her enticing entrance and the small bundle of nerves, I soon felt her fingers in my hair, pulling it back off my face so that she could lift her head and see me. Never slowing, I lifted my gaze, meeting her hooded eyes for only a moment before they slipped shut and she fell back, her climax imminent.

For a moment there was silence between us, and I knew by this that she was close. So very close. Outside, the music played on, lazily drifting up the stairs and to our ears:

...adding up the total of a love that's true multiply life by the power of two...

My own eyes closed as well as I found her opening with my hand, and slipped two fingers inside. My lips and tongue flew over her now as I stroked her insides, reveling in the silky-smooth walls that surrounded me. I was deep inside of her, just as she liked it.

Her hips bucked up now as she clutched at the sheets. She hooked her ankles around my back, allowing me the deepest access possible.

"I--oh God!" she said, a tortured whisper, "Oh--oh...A-h-h-h-h. Oh Kaz, yes."

Gently curling my fingers inside her, I rubbed against her front wall, pressing down with the tip of my tongue as I did so. The combination sent her over the edge and into a long, beautiful orgasm.

She cried out again, a powerful sound that was the sweetest music to my ears. I wanted her to scream her pleasure out long and loud. I loved making her come, and she was coming so very hard tonight.

I held on as best I could, my tongue still working as she contracted endlessly around my fingers. I never wanted it to end, but eventually, it began to subside. I slowed my mouth, still occasionally flicking my tongue across her over-sensitive clitoris.

She clutched at my head, "Stop," she panted. "Stop, or I'll die. Sweet Jesus..."

At her command, I immediately ceased, laying my head upon her heaving abdomen. Slowly, I withdrew my fingers, both of us groaning at the loss of such intimate contact.

Still trying to quell her racing heart and gasping breath, she felt for my face and pulled damp hair back from my brow. I always felt the exertion as much as she did, and this time was no different. Pulling myself up, I collapsed on the pillow beside her and held her close, her head resting under my chin as we both caught our breath.

The weariness was returning, and I felt myself beginning to drift when I heard her say, "My God, Kaz. That was intense."

"Mmm...I thought so."

"Did you feel it, too?"

I pulled her a little closer, throwing my leg over the top of her hip until we meshed like two matching pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. "Yes, I did. It was amazing."

I felt a small kiss on the hollow of my neck, "That's what you do to me, Kaz. No one else can do that. No one ever did before, and no one else ever will. Only you."

I smiled into the darkness of the room, happier than I'd ever been in my life. "Oh Scully. How did I ever get so lucky?"

"I don't know if I'd call it lucky, but you've got me."

I kissed the top of her head, "Then I'm the luckiest woman in the world."

We lay there for a long while, recovering from the intensity of her pleasure. Though my own need had been building as I made love to her, I reveled in the feel of her body against mine, of the light sheen of perspiration that had built up between us, of the sweet friction of her skin gliding easily across my own. That alone sated me, and I let my eyes close as I ran my hands over her back, soothing her to sleep in my arms.

Just when I thought she had drifted off, a small voice whispered into my ear. "I can make you luckier, I think." she said, her hand drifting across my hip and down between us.

"You don't have to, Scully. We can just sleep."

"I want to, Kaz. That had been my plan." She lifted her head and smiled into my eyes. "You stole my seduction, you big lug."

I couldn't help but grin, the heat in my belly and groin firing up once more. "My favorite pet name. You must know how much it turns me on."

Her hand drifted lower, caressing my thigh with the backs of her fingers. It was no more than a gentle brush of skin against skin, but it was enough to send my heart racing once again, reducing me to a puddle of desire in her strong, loving arms.

We were still interlocked, my leg over her hip, our breasts pressed tightly together. She moved against me, making my nipples ache with the delicious friction. Reaching out with her mouth, she met mine again and delved deep inside. Then, without warning, her hot comfort was gone and her tongue traced a line of cool wetness up to my ear. She darted in and out, and something seemed to short-circuit in my brain. I cried out at the sensation, a long, howling moan that I couldn't believe had even come from my own chest.

I hadn't known I could get any wetter until she took my earlobe between her teeth, nibbling gently before sending her tongue back into my ear again and again. My body arched toward hers, needing as much contact as possible. The ache inside me grew, my clit was on fire, needing her touch. Only hers.

She pulled back a little, breaking the contact of our hips, bellies, and breasts just enough to slip a hand between them. I turned my head to her hers, wanting to feel her breath against my face. Yes, there it was. I opened my eyes and she was watching me, gauging my reactions as she teased my stomach and inner thighs with feather-light strokes that made the blood pound in my head.

"Scully," I whispered, so close to her face. "That feels so good."

"I know, honey. I know," she said softly. "You're wet, aren't you?"

My eyes slipped shut momentarily. I had to force them open to meet hers. "So wet."

My hips rocked, seeking hers, needing the contact, wanting to feel her against me. My breath was ragged and the arm around my shoulders pulled my head in closer to her until my face was so very close to hers. She looked into my eyes as her hand drifted between my legs. I groaned a little but forced myself to stay trained on her eyes as she ran a single finger through the wetness between my legs, a long trail from back to front, ending at my aching clitoris and rubbing it just a little before starting over again.

"Oh Kaz, you *are* wet," she told me, her blue eyes rich and deep and soft and trained on my own.

"Yes, Scully," I said between tortured, gasping breaths. "You do that to me. You make me so wet."

She reached out again, kissed my upper lip for the briefest of moments, then dove into my mouth as she entered me with two fingers.

I moaned into her mouth as she sucked on my tongue, nibbled it with tender, loving teeth and stroked my insides. It was like a lightening bolt of pleasure that rippled through my body, and my hips couldn't help but drive forward, meeting her hand, pushing her deeper and deeper inside. I wanted to feel her all the way to my very core, wanted her to stretch me and fill me and I wanted us to be as close to one as we could ever be.

She broke the contact of our mouths out of the need for air, and I couldn't help but close my eyes and ride the sensational waves that cascaded through me. She pulled me even closer until I could bury my face in her neck. It was so soft and so silky and so warm and comforting and I never wanted to leave the safety and security of it. My cries were stifled by it, and it tickled my eyelashes as I squeezed my eyes shut and let my body completely relax in her arms. I surrendered to her, as I always did, as I always wanted to do.

In and not quite out, over and over, she stroked me until I was close, so very close. My tortured throat and my body told her this, just as hers had told me, and with one, final, deep stroke, she withdrew from inside me and slid her slippery hand up to my swollen, aching clit.

My body went rigid in her arms and I held my breath as every ounce of nerve in my body prepared to fire. All it needed was one more little push, just one more.

And then it happened and she held me and she touched me and she moved with me as my body writhed and jerked and I cried out into her soft neck and I bucked against her and my eyes were shut tight and the waves washed over me and my mind was absolutely gone. All I knew was the intensity, the power of the orgasm as it rushed through me.

It seemed to go on forever, and just when I thought it was ending, it built up again and I all I could do was quake in her arms as she continued to touch me, a steady pressure in that one, small spot only she knew.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity of exquisite pleasure, it ended, and I slowly drifted back down to earth. I clung tightly to her, my face still pressed into her neck, my body still wrapped around her own, her hand still on my thigh.

Abruptly, before I even knew it was there, a deep, shuddering sob broke out of my throat and made me quake in her arms once again. It was followed by another and another.

She was startled by it, and I felt her tense around me. Still, she held me tight, reached up to stroke the back of my head and whisper reassurances into my ear, "Kaz...Kaz, honey...it's okay. It's all right. S-h-h-h....s-h-h-h, now."

Realizing I had frightened her, I ran a trembling hand down her arm and pulled my face reluctantly out of the soft comfort of her neck. Tears were building in my eyes, and one ran down my cheek. With a worried face, she reached out and wiped it away.

"What's wrong, Kaz?"

I shook my head against the pillow and smiled into her eyes. Tears clouded my vision, made her face shimmer and distort, but it was still her. It was still my Scully.

"I love you," I whispered, wiping another of the tears. "I love you, Scully."

She reached out a tender hand, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. "Are you upset?"

I smiled and shook my head, capturing her hand and kissing her palm. I laid her hand against my cheek and held it here. "I'm not upset, just happy. I'm so happy to have you, Scully. Sometimes, the very fact that you exist...it just blows me away."

My words must have reassured her, for she gave me a soft smile and caressed my cheek. "I love you too, Kaz. And I'm so very happy to have you. You're the one I've been looking for all my life."

"You've been looking for someone who cries after having mind-blowing sex?"

The bed beneath us shook from the force of her laughter, and she patted my cheek as she said, "I've been looking for my other half. The person I belong with. And guess what?"

"What?" I said, gazing into her glittering eyes.

"You're it."

Leaning forward, I found her lips once again, and pressed my own to them. It was like coming home.

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THE END
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