TITLE:  A Little Comfort
SPOILER STATEMENT:  "Alpha"; small ones for "Fire", "Lazarus", "War of
the Coprophages", "Syzygy", "The Field Where I Died", "Tunguska" and
probably all the episodes with Diana Fowley in them.
RATING:  R
CONTENT STATEMENT:  M/S married; M/S UST.  Sexual content.
CLASSIFICATION:  VRA
SUMMARY:   Post-ep for "Alpha".  A Making It Personal story.  Scully's
finally ready for the next step -- or at least, she thinks she is.
THANKS:  To Brynna, Paulette, Robbie, Shannon, Sharon & Trixie for the
usual fast & efficient curbside service.  ;)
 

A Little Comfort

by Brandon D. Ray
 

I make it as far as the elevator before I realize I'm doing it again. 
I'm walking out on Mulder.

I stop and look back down the hall towards our office door as I consider
the matter.  We just got back from California a couple of hours ago, and
I am really tired.  Jet lag has never been my best friend in the world,
and on top of that this has been an emotionally stressful case, both
professionally and, I admit, personally.

It's the personal angle that's making me want to leave Mulder alone in
the office, I realize.  The rest of it -- the long days and short
nights, the inevitable disagreements over the nature of the case, and on
and on and on -- that part I could handle.  I *have* handled it, many
times.  No, it's the personal side that's threatening to drive me away
-- just as it did when I walked out on him at the mall in Chevy Chase.

It took more than two weeks for us to recover from that little episode,
and we still aren't completely over it.  Inviting him over for breakfast
a week ago last Wednesday helped, and spending most of the following
weekend together just kicking around doing nothing much in particular
helped even more.  But there's still a bit of an edge whenever we're
together, and the events of the past few days while we were in
California investigating the supposed Wangshang Dhole have done nothing
to help matters.

Mulder's relationship with Karin Berquist is at the heart of my
discomfort, of course.  At least I can admit that to myself now, even if
I haven't quite managed to work up the nerve to talk to him about it.

I've always been a jealous person where men are concerned.  This is not
something I'm proud of, but I seem to be unable to change it, so I've
tried to accept it as part of who I am.  From my earliest crushes in
junior high school, right down to my relationship with Jack Willis, I've
been possessive and protective of any man who I perceived to be mine.

That applies to Mulder too, of course, and not just since we've been
married.  As long ago as our first year as partners, I remember doing a
slow burn when I saw him kissing Phoebe Green.  I told myself at the
time that I was just annoyed at his blatant display of
unprofessionalism, to be necking with his old girlfriend when he was
supposed to be working.  But deep inside I knew the truth, even then.

I was jealous.

Through the years there have been other women, of course.  None that he
slept with, so far as I know, but a steady enough parade of women
showing an interest in him -- and him showing an interest back -- to
keep me at a low boil a good deal of the time.  Bambi Berenbaum.  Angela
White.  Melissa Ephesian.  Marita Covarrubias.  And now Karin Berquist.

And then there's Diana Fowley.

She, of course, is the crux of the whole situation.  It's because of
Agent Fowley that Mulder and I had what could have been our final blowup
-- and indirectly, it's because of her that we wound up married.  I
guess I should thank her for that, but quite frankly I'm not feeling
that generous towards the bitch.

Yes, I said bitch.  I do know the word, and I use it from time to time,
when circumstances seem to warrant.  And boy do they ever warrant it in
this case.

Fowley is a special situation, both because she actually has been
Mulder's lover, and because she is now actively engaged in trying to
discredit and destroy him professionally.  The mix of those two factors,
the personal and the professional, has caused more pain and heartache
for Mulder and me than any other issue in our six year partnership.

Damn her.

I push thoughts of Agent Fowley out of my mind.  I'm not ready to deal
with her -- not today.  Mulder and I are going to have to settle that
issue once and for all, but we just aren't strong enough as a couple to
face it yet.

Which leaves Karin Berquist.  I would have to be blind not to see the
parallels between Mulder's relationship with her and his relationship
with Fowley:  In each case, he trusted a woman too easily and allowed
her to take advantage of him -- *and* in each case he chose not just to
ignore my warnings, but to openly dismiss them.

And of course, as he did with Fowley, Mulder kept Berquist a secret from
me.  That's what hurt most of all.  I know I should be used to it by now
-- Mulder has a pattern stretching back to the very beginning of our
partnership in which he dribbles out information about our current case
a little bit at a time.  But in this instance he was over the line.  As
I stand here thinking about it, I'm once again experiencing that sinking
feeling in the pit of my stomach that I get whenever I realize some
other woman is interested in my man.

My man.  My Mulder.  My husband.

My husband, who I have just left sitting by himself in our office when I
knew he was feeling hurt and depressed.  Suddenly I feel a stab of guilt
at my own behavior.  Mulder may have been a little cavalier in not
telling me about Karin Berquist ahead of time, but I'm just as wrong for
having left him to his own devices when what he clearly needs is a
little comfort.  Which, of course, is one of the things that husbands
and wives are supposed to provide each other.  And so I take a deep
breath and try to swallow my own feelings as I head back down the hall
towards our office.

As I step across the threshold I see Mulder sitting in his chair behind
his desk.  On the wall behind him is a new "I Want to Believe" poster --
presumably the one from Berquist's office.  So that's what was in that
mailing tube.  I'd wondered about that, but he didn't offer to open it
while I was still here, and I was too proud to ask.

I can't keep myself from feeling a slight burn of resentment as I see it
hanging there -- I've spent a considerable amount of time trying to find
a replacement for him, and now *she* has stepped in to fill the gap.  I
suppress the emotion, though; even *I* can see that's unreasonable.  I
should be glad that he finally found a new poster, I tell myself
firmly.  I know how much the old one meant to him -- and to be perfectly
honest, I was fond of it as well.

"Hey, Scully," he says.  I look back down from the poster to see a
puzzled expression on Mulder's face.  "What are you doing here?  I
thought you'd gone home."  His lips quirk slightly.  "Did you lock
yourself out of your car again?"

"No," I say, shaking my head and forcing a smile.  You are not going to
distract me today, Agent Mulder, I think.  I came here for a reason. 
"No, I didn't lock myself out."  I take a couple of steps closer to him,
and I see his eyebrows rise slightly.  "I came back because ..." I
hesitate, and the words catch in my throat for an instant. "Because you
looked lonely," I finally manage.  "I thought you might like some company."

His eyebrows rise even farther, and it suddenly strikes me just how
pathetic the two of us are.  Here we've been married nearly a month, and
friends and partners for more than six *years*, and we *still* have
difficulty expressing our feelings for each other.  We haven't even said
"I love you" yet.  I intended to say it last week when we had breakfast
together, but I couldn't quite manage to get the words out.  I don't
know why it's so hard, but it's got to stop.  Now.

"Mulder," I say, my voice sounding far steadier than it has any right to
sound, considering how much unease I'm feeling at the moment.  "Mulder,
I ... I care about you."  I wouldn't have thought his eyebrows could go
any higher, but somehow they do.  "I care about you," I repeat more
firmly.  "And I don't like to see you hurting and unhappy.  So I came
back.  To see if there was anything ... anything I could do."

God, that sounded lame.  I can barely stand to look at Mulder; I'm sure
that at any instant he's going to burst out laughing, or pop out one of
his cute little jokes, or in some other way deflect my statement,
humiliating me and hurting my own feelings in the process.  It's not
that he *wants* to do that; I know him better than *that*.  He just
can't help himself; it's the way he is.

Which of course doesn't make it hurt any less when he does it.  God. 
Why did I decide to come back to the office tonight?  Why didn't I just
go home, like I started to do?  Why --

"Scully," Mulder says very softly, interrupting my rapidly building
panic.  "Scully, come here."  And he pushes his chair back from the desk
and holds out his arms to me.

Somehow, despite my suddenly shaky legs, I manage to cross the
intervening space, and then Mulder is drawing me down into his lap and
wrapping his arms around me.

For a few minutes we just sit there in his chair and cuddle.  A small
part of me, the practical part that runs me most of the time, is
generating a dozen different reasons why this is a bad idea, at least
here and now.  It's unprofessional.  Nobody knows about our relationship
yet.  Physical intimacy, even of the limited variety Mulder and I have
engaged in since our marriage, is no substitute for real communication. 
And on and on and on.

Except to hell with it.  This feels too good to stop, and I suddenly
realize that holding Mulder and being held by him is one of the things I
missed while we were in the field this week.  We never really talked
about it -- we never seem to talk about *any* of these things -- but
somehow we came to the mutual decision not to do this sort of thing
while we were conducting the investigation.  And I hadn't even realized
that I missed it until now, when I finally have it back.

It gradually occurs to me that the reason I came back to Mulder just now
was to comfort him, and that I haven't really been doing that.  I've
just been curled up here in his lap, letting the warmth of his body and
the strength of his arms soak in through my skin.  I inhale deeply, and
immediately add his scent to the equation.  Nothing else in the world
smells quite like Mulder, and this is still another of the many things I
am now allowed to notice and enjoy.

Still .. I *am* supposed to be comforting him.  I give a little sigh and
raise my head off his shoulder and open my eyes.

God, he's beautiful.  He's looking right back at me, and the expression
on his face is so warm and tender it almost makes me cry.  There are
question marks in his eyes -- he's still wondering why I came back, I
suppose.  But even the questions seem open and accepting.

I feel a sudden rush of sexual arousal spreading out from my lower
abdomen.  This man is mine, I realize; mine in a way that no other man
has ever been before, not even Jack.  Mulder and I have been through so
much together; we have done and seen so much, and we've come to depend
on each other so completely that sometimes I almost feel like we aren't
two separate people anymore.  The sensible part of me is trying to tell
me that this is not a healthy adjustment for us to have made, but my
heart just doesn't want to listen --

And before I quite know what I'm doing, I'm kissing him, fiercely and
deeply.  My tongue probes aggressively at his lips, and then his mouth
opens and I plunge inside.  God ... he tastes so good tonight.  Mulder
and I have kissed before, but he's never tasted this good.  I try to
move a little closer on his lap, and I cup the back of his head with one
hand while gripping his upper arm with the other.  One of his hands is
holding the back of my neck, while the other is gently stroking his spot
on my lower back.

I hear somebody moaning, and I realize it must be me.  It has been a
long time since I've been this aroused, and it's come on so very
suddenly.  I feel as if I should be afraid, but there's no room in me
right now for anything but my desire.  My desire for Mulder.

I shift on his lap, trying to get a better angle on his mouth, and now I
can feel his erection pressing up against me.  He's gripping me more
tightly, too, and now his tongue is exploring my mouth the way mine
explored his a moment ago.  His hand caressing my lower back is driving
me wild, and I wonder for the thousandth time since I've known him if he
has any idea what it does to me when he touches me there.

I shift my body again, moving so that I'm straddling his lap, and now I
finally have to break the kiss so I can catch my breath.  I close my
eyes and rest my forehead against his, and for a moment I just breathe. 
There are so many images flitting through my mind, and all of them have
Mulder in them.  Mulder as I've dreamed of him; things I haven't allowed
myself to consciously acknowledge for years, all coming to the surface
in a sudden rush.

I lean forward and press my mouth against Mulder's again, very briefly. 
I then move on to shower fast, tiny kisses across his face, working my
way along his jaw towards his ear as I press my center down against his
erection.  A shiver runs through me as we make contact.  I have waited
for this for so long, and now it finally seems right.  I press a long,
open-mouthed kiss into the hollow beneath his ear, and then proceed to
slide my tongue down towards the base of his neck, reveling in the warm,
salty flavor of his flesh.

And then Mulder pushes me away.  He gently but firmly pushes me away.

I open my eyes and look at him.  I can't be wrong about this.  I simply
can't be.  I know he wants me; I can still feel his erection pressing up
against me, and I can see the desire in his eyes.  But as I try to lean
forward to kiss him again, he grabs onto my shoulders and holds me at
arm's length.

"Mulder?" I say, trying very hard to keep the hurt from my voice. 
"Mulder, what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, Scully," he says, very softly.  "I can't do this.  Not
tonight.  Not ... not like this."

I shake my head in confusion, and I fight to keep the hurt from mutating
into anger.  I thought he wanted this.  I *know* he wanted this.  He
can't be refusing me; not now.  Not when I'm finally ready.

"What do you mean, 'not like this'?  I don't understand."  My voice
sounds bitter and whiny, even to me, and I wince as I hear my own words.

"Scully," he murmurs.  "Oh, Scully."  He pauses a moment, as if he isn't
sure he wants to say what he's thinking.  Then he does speak, but what
he says only confuses me further.  "Why are you doing this, Scully?  Why
now?  Why here?"

"I - I don't understand," I repeat.  "Why now?  Because, because you're
my husband.  And I told you a few minutes ago, I care about you.  Don't
you believe me?"

He releases one of my shoulders and reaches up to gently stroke my
cheek.  "Of course I believe you, Scully," he says, his voice still very
soft.  "I know you would never ... "  He lets his voice trail off,
apparently not wanting to complete that thought.  He looks at me, and
seems to be calculating something.  Finally he says, "Come here," and
tugs gently on my shoulders.  I resist for just a moment, before
allowing myself to be drawn back into his embrace.

We sit cuddled together on the chair for a pair of minutes.  I try to
think, but with my body still buzzing with arousal it's difficult.  I
don't understand why Mulder pushed me away, but it's clear he isn't
completely rejecting me.  He still wants me, I reassure myself; I can
feel the evidence pressed against the side of my thigh.  He still wants
to hold me and touch me; he just doesn't want to make love to me, at
least for tonight.  I may not understand the reasons for it, but I have
to respect it.  No matter how much it hurts.

And then suddenly I have it.  I realize what I've been doing.  It's so
blindingly obvious I want to kick myself, and then run from the room and
hide somewhere.  Two months ago I would have done just that -- I would
have gotten up and left the room, and shut Mulder out.  But I can't do
that anymore.  If I want this relationship -- this *marriage* -- to
work, then I have to learn to open myself to him, even when it's painful
to do so.  And so I take a deep breath and lift my head from his
shoulder again.

Mulder is still looking at me, making and keeping eye contact as soon as
I turn my head towards him, and I am relieved to see nothing but caring
and compassion on his face and in his eyes.  His clear willingness to
accept and try to understand whatever I have to say helps me find the
courage to speak the words.

"I'm sorry, Mulder," I whisper.  "I've treated you very badly tonight." 
I have to stop and swallow down the lump that's forming in my throat
before I can continue.  Now comes the hard part.  "I've been ... using
you," I say.  "I've been treating you like some sort of prize or
trophy.  I'm sorry."  And I close my eyes and press my forehead against
his.

"I was jealous, Mulder," I go on.  "I'm still jealous.  I've always been
that way.  I don't know why, and I can't seem to stop it.  But when I
realized that you knew Karin Berquist, and had been keeping it from me
...."  I let my voice trail off; I can't go on.  It's just too much.

"It's okay, Scully," he replies, his voice very soft and loving.  "I do
understand.  But do you understand why I can't -- do that?  Tonight, I
mean."  I nod silently, and try to keep my chin from quivering.  Mulder
looks at me for another moment, then smiles and leans forward to kiss me
lightly on the cheek.

"I love you, Scully," he whispers in my ear.  I shudder involuntarily as
I realize that this is the first time either of us has said those words
-- at least, it's the first time when I was sure I could believe it.. 
"I love you and I'm committed to you.  We can work this out.  We just
need a little more time."

He pulls back and looks at me again, and waits for me to nod.  "Now why
don't we both pack up and go back to your place," he says.  "I'll fix
some dinner; Frohike gave me a great recipe for huevos rancheros ...." 
His voice trails off, and suddenly *he's* the one looking nervous.  "And
then, if you like, we could ... go to bed.  To sleep."

I study his face for a moment, and I realize that he's trying to offer
me something.  Not a compromise, exactly, and certainly not a
consolation prize.  No, it's much more than that.  Despite what I just
put him through, despite the embarrassment and the frustration and the
risk of further misunderstanding, Mulder is offering me everything he
has to give, at least for tonight.

He's offering *me* a little comfort.  Which is one of the things that
husbands and wives are supposed to provide each other.

No wonder I love this man.

I lean forward and kiss him lightly on the mouth, and then I climb off
his lap.  I wait for him to stand, and watch as he stuffs a few papers
into his briefcase and slips on his coat.  Then I reach out my hand and
he twines his fingers through mine, and for a minute we just stand
there, looking at each other.  At last Mulder pulls me to him and kisses
me, briefly but thoroughly, before we finally turn off the lights and
leave the office.

Together.
 

Fini