Anesthetic & Old Lace by Plausible Deniability

Anesthetic & Old Lace cover


Anesthetic & Old Lace by Plausible Deniability

Anesthetic & Old Lace cover


Title: “Anesthetic and Old Lace” (1/2)

Author: Plausible Deniability


Archive: freely

Category: S, R

Rating: NC-17 (sexual situations; mature language) Spoilers: None.

Keywords: MSR

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the television program “The X

Files” are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have been used without permission. Dialogue from “Brief Encounter” is by Noel Coward, and the film was directed by David Lean. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: A snowstorm, an old movie, and Scully’s girlhood bed.

THANKS to Becky and Bets, outstanding beta readers and terrific friends.


“Just do it,” said Mulder, his eyes squeezed closed, his head dark against the pillow.

“Mulder…” Scully said, her face just inches above his. “Mulder, open your eyes and look at me.”

“Just get it over with,” he insisted, eyes still screwed stubbornly shut. “Do it now, Scully, before I chicken out.”

Scully chuckled.

“Come on, Scully.” He was shivering. “Let’s get this over with.”

She reached back for the blanket and pulled it up higher around him. “Mulder,”

she whispered, “it’s already done.”

He opened his eyes, blinking into the bright overhead lights, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. “It’s done?”

“It’s done. The doctor gave you the anesthetic, and then he popped your shoulder right back into the socket. Your arm might feel a little sore for a while, but essentially you’re as good as new. Just don’t go wrestling with slime-covered suspects any more, Mulder, and you should be fine.”

Mulder looked around the ER bay in confusion. “It’s really done? I don’t remember a thing.”

“That’s the anesthetic the doctor gave you.”

He stared up at the lights in a daze. “I want to go,” he said.

She nodded. Of course he did. Since when had Mulder been a cooperative patient?

“Come on, then,” she said, sighing. “I’ll drive.”


She regretted her offer as soon as they left the hospital. Freezing rain was falling from the sky in sheets, turning the Eastern Shore of Maryland into one of the most inhospitable spots Scully could remember. By the time they circled Elkton and turned south toward D.C., the rain had changed to snow, making it hard to see the road.

Scully shot an apprehensive glance at Mulder. He was leaning against the passenger door, his eyes tired, still fighting off the lingering effects of the anesthetic he had been given. “Miserable night,” she said, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“Mmm-hmm,” he agreed, sounding as if, for once, he lacked the energy even to argue with her.

She wanted to be angry with him. And yet, looking across at his mud-covered clothes, seeing the way he huddled against the door, she was finding it hard to work up the appropriate hostility. He looked so uncomfortable with his long legs cramped at an awkward angle and his sore arm cradled against him, his head slumped wearily against the glass. She was not entirely sure what had attacked them there in the marsh, but whatever it was, it had all but torn Mulder’s arm off.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, sympathy winning out over resentment.

He shifted uneasily. “I think I know now how grasshoppers feel when little kids pull off their legs.”

For miles she had been debating with herself over whether or not to tell him what was on her mind. “Mulder,” she began tentatively, “you’ve got to stop jumping into situations like this.”

He closed his eyes. “Scully, do we have to talk about this now?”

She sighed.

“I know you think I should have waited for you,” he said, “but I had to make a split second decision.” He shifted and winced. “Look, I’m sure you think I don’t listen to you — “

She snorted.

“— but I do listen to you, Scully. It’s just that sometimes a person can be too cautious.”

“Mulder, name me an instance in which you’ve ever been too cautious.”

“But if we did things your way we’d never get anywhere. Admit it, Scully — when we’re following a lead there’s no time to plan our every move down to the last detail.”

“I never said we had to plan our every move.”

“No, but you’d like it if we did, wouldn’t you? You’re not exactly Dr.


She bit her lip, and stared woodenly at the snowy road in front of them. Finally she said, “This isn’t about me, Mulder. This is about you.”

“That I don’t listen…”

“Yes, that you don’t listen. And your reaction is just proving my point. I’ve given this a lot of thought — “

“And your reaction is proving my point, Scully,” he said wearily. “How many times today did you mentally rehearse this little talk? Two times? Five times?


“Mulder, an assertion doesn’t have to be spontaneous to be right. Stop discounting what I’m going to say before I’ve even said it. You think you have me pegged — the cautious, foot-dragging partner. You don’t even bother to consider that what I say might be worth listening to.”

“And you don’t bother to consider that there’s such a thing as going with your instincts. For you it’s all about plans and rules and you never admit — “

Ahead of them, a semi’s warning lights came on as it stopped suddenly. Scully slammed on the brakes. Despite their limited speed, the Taurus went into a skid.

Mulder lunged forward reflexively, bracing his good hand on the dashboard as Scully struggled to regain control of the car.

Finally the anti-lock brakes kicked in, and the Taurus slid to a halt just a foot or two behind the back of the looming semi.

“Damn…” breathed Mulder in a hushed tone, staring up at the black bulk that towered over them. “That was close.”

Scully just nodded, though her heart was pounding.

The semi accelerated away, wet snow flying in its wake. Scully stepped cautiously on the gas. Slush had begun to gather on the windshield, and the wipers pushed it back and forth in gray clumps.

In the aftermath of the near-collision, both of them fell silent. Mulder sighed, and went back to leaning against the car door, looking miserable. Scully went back to scanning the road ahead, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

Above them, a sign for the 395 exit appeared dimly in the murk.

Scully frowned at the sign. They were just outside of Baltimore. It was still nearly fifty miles to Mulder’s apartment in Alexandria. She looked over at Mulder, at his unfocused eyes and his defeated expression, and made an impulsive decision. She slowed, and steered the car off the highway and down the exit ramp.

Mulder looked over at her. “What are you doing?”

“Mulder, at the rate we’re going, we’ll be lucky to make it back to D.C. without killing ourselves. It’s just too dangerous, driving in weather like this. On the other hand, we can be at my mother’s house inside of fifteen minutes.”

“Your mother’s house? To do what?”

“To wait out this storm — to spend the night, if we have to.”

He stared at her. “I can’t spend the night at your mother’s house.”

“Why not?”

He didn’t answer.

“My mother won’t mind, Mulder.”

He frowned. “Scully, just stop at a motel, if you don’t think you should keep driving. Or drop me off so I can get a room, and then go on to your mother’s yourself.”

She glanced over at him. “You were just saying that sometimes the right decision is the spontaneous one. What’s so terrible about spending the night at my mother’s house?”

He shrugged, grimacing at the twinge that the gesture sent through his sore shoulder. “It would just look…I don’t know, strange.”

“Strange? How? We’re stranded in the middle of a snowstorm.”

“It would just look strange,” he insisted, and refused to elaborate.

But Scully had latched onto just one thought: shelter. Mom would be watching television, maybe with a fire going in the fireplace, and she would have cocoa mix in the kitchen cabinets, the good kind with the little marshmallows. The house would be warm and bright and safe from the storm outside.

She didn’t argue with Mulder, but she didn’t drop him off at a motel, either.


Mulder had to give Mrs. Scully credit; she had a great deal of aplomb. When she’d answered the door, you would have thought she’d actually been happy to see him standing behind Scully, weaving slightly on his feet.

“Dana,” was all she’d said, “and…Fox. Is everything all right?”

He’d stood in the entry hall as Scully had explained about the marsh and the snowstorm. And Mrs. Scully had actually looked almost concerned, taking in his ruined clothes and his awkwardly-held right arm. “But you’re okay, aren’t you, Dana?” was all she had said, sparing his dignity with a minimum of attention.

“I’m fine, Mom. But Mulder’s a little…”

“Yes, I see,” she’d said, and Mulder had realized with something between a pang and an hysterical urge to laugh that she probably thought he was drunk.

“I’m fine,” he’d said, and then had wracked his brain for something witty and more original to add. “I’m fine” was, after all, almost the equivalent of saying nothing in a Scully household. No great witticism had occurred to him.

He smelled like a swamp, too, he’d realized as the warmth of Mrs. Scully’s home began to cook the odor out of his clothes. Like a swamp; and like something else as well…

Ah, yes. Vomit.

Perfect. Apparently he’d hit more than just the cattails back in the marsh, when the pain from his shoulder had made him throw up. Just totally perfect.

Mrs. Scully could obviously smell him, too, because her nose wrinkled very slightly as she asked if they’d like to go into the living room. Scully, much more relaxed now that they’d made it safely out of the snowstorm and into the safe harbor of her mother’s home, started off without a backward look. Mulder hesitated, unsure whether it was wiser to make some polite protest or simply to pretend he didn’t know he stank.

Since it was Scully’s mother, honesty won out. Besides, the reek was growing just too awful to deny. “I’m afraid I’m a little muddy, Mrs. Scully…”

“You do look a little worse for wear,” she agreed tactfully. “Do you want to change clothes? I probably have something old of Bill’s or Charlie’s somewhere.

You could even, you know — ” She made a small, vague gesture in his direction.

“Take a shower?” he supplied. God, he must smell even worse than he’d thought, if Scully’s mother wasn’t even bothering to pretend otherwise. Why hadn’t Scully said anything about the smell? Why had she made him come here like this? He was torn between a stab of resentment and a feeling of abject shame.

“Yes,” Mrs. Scully agreed, smiling with relief. “A long, hot shower might be nice after coming in from the cold.”

And that was how he’d found himself in Mrs. Scully’s tiled bathroom, peeling off his foul-smelling clothes, trying not to move his sore right arm any more than necessary. Steam billowed out of the shower, and when he’d stepped under the hot spray, it had felt so good against his aching, tired muscles that he’d let out a near-orgasmic sigh. Maybe if he stayed in here forever, he thought longingly, he would never have to face Scully or her mother again.

Now, there was a thought. Maybe he could just spend the rest of his life naked in Mrs. Scully’s shower. When he got hungry they could just slide some food under the shower curtain. And he would certainly save on dry-cleaning bills…

Speaking of which, he thought on a more realistic note, he could smell his ruined suit from the opposite end of the bathroom.


“He actually asked to take a shower?” Scully said in surprise, stirring her hot chocolate. “Just like that — ‘hello, can I use your shower’?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Scully answered, distracted, and then pressed on to the question that had been central in her thoughts ever since Mulder had appeared with her daughter at the door. “So you’re planning on spending the night, Dana? I mean — both of you?”

“I’ll sleep in my old room, and Mulder can sleep on the couch,” Scully answered, sensing the unspoken concern behind her mother’s question. “It’s what he’s used to anyway.”

Mrs. Scully looked relieved. “He sleeps on the couch a lot?”

“All the time.”

“Do I want to know how you know this, Dana?”

Scully smiled wryly. “Mom…”

“I’m only joking. It’s none of my business anyway.”

“I’m sorry to just drop in unannounced on you like this,” Scully said. “I wouldn’t have done it except that the weather was so bad I didn’t think it was safe to keep driving. And as for bringing Mulder with me…Well, he offered to stay in a motel, but he’s really in no condition — “

Mrs. Scully leaned forward. “Dana, is he…? That is, has he been — “

“Have I been what?” Mulder asked, walking up behind them.

Flustered, Mrs. Scully turned his way with a guilty expression. Scully, on the other hand, took one glance at him and burst into laughter. His hair was toweled into wet spikes, and his feet were bare. He was wearing a set of her brother Bill’s old sweats. Since Bill outweighed Mulder by a good twenty-five pounds, the fit was less than ideal.

Mulder looked down ruefully at himself. “That bad, huh?”

“I think the mud was actually better,” Scully said.

“You look fine, Fox,” said Mrs. Scully. “I’ll get you some socks so your feet don’t get cold.”

She left him alone with Scully, and Mulder leaned against the refrigerator with a sigh. “I told you this was a bad idea.”

Scully frowned faintly. “A bad idea? Why? We’re safe in a warm house.”

“Your mother thinks I’ve been drinking.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Yes, she does. And not to sound ungrateful, but she didn’t just forget the socks. She also forgot to give me underwear. It was either put the muddy ones back on, or go without.”

Scully stared down into the marshmallows floating in her cup, wondering which option he had chosen.

“I just want to lie down,” he said.

“That’s fine. I already told my mother you were going to sleep on the couch.”

He brightened slightly. “Okay. Good. That would be great.”

“Only…” she said.

“Only what?”

“Only my mom and I were going to watch ‘Brief Encounter’ on AMC first. I didn’t think you’d want the couch to yourself so soon.”

“Oh,” he said, slumping in defeat. “That’s okay.”

He looked so tired. She had a feeling “Brief Encounter” wasn’t his sort of movie anyway — a Noel Coward tale of two married strangers drawn into a poignant romance, backed by Rachmaninoff’s Second Piano Concerto. She could just picture watching it with her mother, sinking deeper and deeper into the heartache, only to have Mulder start fidgeting on the couch beside her. There were no space prostitutes in “Brief Encounter.”

“I’ll tell you what,” she said, setting her cup down on the counter. “Why don’t you take my old bedroom?”

He looked up, oddly hopeful. “I couldn’t do that…”

She could sense the token nature of his protest. “Well, not for the whole night, maybe. But you could sleep in there until the movie’s over, and then when I’m ready for bed myself I’ll just wake you up and you can move out to the couch.”

“I don’t know…”

Mrs. Scully came in, then, carrying a pair of athletic socks. “You don’t know what?”

Scully looked to her mother. “Mulder’s really tired. You don’t mind if he takes a nap in my room until we’re done watching the movie, do you, Mom?”

“No,” said Mrs. Scully. If anything, Scully thought, she looked relieved at the prospect of avoiding an evening of enforced hospitality with a man who currently had all the charm of a cranky child. “No, of course he can take a nap while we watch the movie. Would you like some hot chocolate or anything first?”

“No, thank you,” Mulder said, his eyes already beginning to droop. “I really appreciate this, Mrs. Scully.”

She smiled at him. “That’s alright, Fox. You just crawl into bed and sleep it off.”


Scully watched raptly, the television casting flickering light on her face.

“I love you,” the man on the television told the woman as emotion overcame his restraint. “I love your wide eyes, the way you smile, your shyness, and the way you laugh at my jokes.”

The woman whimpered. “Please don’t.”

Scully found herself sharing the quiet desperation of the characters in the movie. What might have seemed like melodrama in another film seemed completely realistic and believable coming from the middle-aged British couple, with their subdued temperaments and sad faces.

“I love you. I love you. You love me too,” the man insisted. “It’s no use pretending it hasn’t happened, because it has.”

“Yes, it has. I don’t want to pretend anything either to you or to anyone else,”

said the woman. She began to weep.

Scully sat with her knees pulled up to her chin, watching in silent sympathy.

Beside her, Mrs. Scully sighed. “I think I’m going to bed, Dana. I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

Scully nodded. “‘Night, Mom.”

Mrs. Scully got up and switched off the lights.

On television, in the dim, shadowy passage under the train station, the man was about to kiss the woman. “Oh Alec, not here, someone will see,” the woman said.

“I love you so.” The man held her in his arms, and they kissed passionately over the roar of the approaching train.

Scully sat in the dark, alone, watching the couple on the screen.


Mulder did not wake up when she opened the bedroom door. He did not wake up when she switched on the lamp, either.

He was sleeping on his side. She went to the bed and shook him by the shoulder.

“Mulder,” she said. “Mulder, wake up.”

He stirred, and opened his eyes. He blinked up at her sleepily.

“Mulder, go on out to the couch.”

“Awwww,” he whined, but he sat up.

“I left a blanket out there for you.”

“Thanks,” he said, sounding only half-awake. She waited but he remained sitting on the bed.

She crossed her arms and looked down at him. “Mulder — you can’t sleep here.”

“I know,” he said. “Just give me a minute.”

“Why?” she asked. “What is it we’re waiting for?”

He looked up her, his expression strangely evasive. “I’ll go in a minute.”

She took him by the hand. “Come on,” she said, tugging. “I know you’re tired, but I’m sleeping here tonight.”

He pulled his hand out of her grasp. “Don’t you need to brush your teeth first or something?”

“I just brushed my teeth.” She stared down at him. “Mulder, what is going on?”

“Nothing.” He sighed, and stood up, dragging the lace-edged comforter off the bed with him.

“Hey, wait a minute — that’s mine.”

It struck her that he was holding it rather strangely, folded over in front of him. Suddenly she realized what all his evasiveness was about. He was hiding something, and she was pretty sure she knew what it was: an erection.

She stepped to the lamp and turned it off, plunging the room into blackness.

“Throw me my comforter on your way out,” she said, trying to sound sleepy and bored.

The balled-up comforter hit her in the chest. An instant later she heard a thud, and a curse.

“What happened?”

“I bumped into the door jamb,” Mulder said, in a nasal tone that told her he was holding his nose.

She sighed, and turned the lamp back on. Mulder was standing by the door with his hand to his face. She’d been right about the erection, too, she noticed.

“Is your nose bleeding?” she asked.

He took his hand away and checked his palm. “Not really.”

“Come over here in the light and let me look at it,” she said.

He shuffled over dutifully, and sat on the edge of the bed. She stood over him, and, clasping his chin in her fingers, turned his face to one side and then the other, surveying the damage. “It looks okay to me…”

“How did you like the movie?” he asked. She had a feeling he was only making conversation to cover his discomfort, either from the closeness or from his awareness that he had a major hard-on tenting his sweats.

She sat down on the bed beside him, considering her answer. “It was…nice,” she said.

“‘It’s awfully easy to lie when you know that you’re trusted implicitly,’”

Mulder quoted. “‘So very easy, and so very degrading.’”

She looked at him in surprise. “You’ve seen ‘Brief Encounter’?”

He smiled. “Yeah. More than once. It’s one of my mother’s favorite movies.”

Scully felt vaguely embarrassed. “I know it’s an awfully sentimental story…”

“I believe the term is ‘chick flick,’” he said. “But it’s not a bad movie, as that kind of thing goes.”

She was relieved that he was not going to make fun of her weakness for something so unabashedly romantic. His lap had begun to assume more normal dimensions, too. “It’s a sad story, but I think the characters in it did the right thing,”

she said, trying to sound logical and matter-of-fact.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “And it had some great lines. The first time I saw it I was fifteen, and I was really taken by the way that Laura said, ‘I want to die,’ and Alec said, ‘If you die, you’d forget me. I want to be remembered.’ That appealed strongly to my adolescent sense of the dramatic.”

Scully smiled. It felt cozy and private, sitting and talking with Mulder in her old room. “Everything seems more dramatic when you’re an adolescent. I used to lie in this very bed and dream some very dramatic and embarrassing dreams.”

“Some of my dreams were embarrassing, too, but I’m pretty certain there was a different reason,” he said. He tilted his head and looked at her. “What did you dream about, Scully?”

Her expression turned wistful. “Oh, you know… Boys… Showing everyone that I was more than just ‘the brainy one’… One of Melissa’s boyfriends, who looked like a junior version of Harrison Ford and talked to me like I wasn’t a little sister… Being tall and long-legged and sexy…”

“You don’t have to be tall and long-legged to be sexy,” Mulder said softly.

She glanced at him quickly, then away again. “What did you dream about?” she asked, determinedly changing the subject.

He thought for a minute. “Girls. Getting away from everything. Killing myself, in that maudlin, self-absorbed way teenagers have. Girls again. Girls were the happy extreme, I guess, and killing myself was the unhappy one. I would never really have done it, but for some reason it was strangely attractive to think about.”

“I had my share of maudlin moments, but I think the happy dreams outweighed the unhappy ones. I used to lie in this bed and wonder what it would be like to be kissed for the first time.”

“My dreams were a little less G-rated than that.”

She smiled. “Well, I used to do this thing” — she made a self-conscious gesture toward the pillow — “this thing where you practice kissing. You hug your pillow and you pretend it’s a boy. I have to admit, though, that when I did finally find out what kissing was really like, I realized that the pillow had been pretty poor preparation.”

Mulder laughed.

“I can’t believe I just told you that,” Scully said, her face growing uncharacteristically rosy.

“Your secrets are safe with me, Scully.”

She looked away. “I know, but now I know that you know.”

“And I know that you know that I know,” he said, laughing. “Would you feel better if I told you something embarrassing?”

Her eyes slid to his lap, and quickly darted away again. “No,” she said. “Don’t tell me anything like that, Mulder.”

She thought she saw a flash of hurt in his expression. “Well, then…” he said quietly. “I guess I’d better go on out to the couch.”

Impulsively — really, she did not know what got into her — she leaned across and kissed him, softly but squarely, on the lips.

When she moved back, he stared at her, eyes questioning.

“I wanted to see how you compared to the pillow,” she said.

“And how did I?” His voice was light but there was something else there, a note of uncertainty.

“It was nice,” she said. And then, hardly knowing what made her say it, she added, “Of course, one of the great shortcomings of the pillow was that it didn’t have a tongue.”

Mulder sat for a minute, digesting this. Then he leaned slowly toward her, his face solemn.

When their lips met, Scully thought it was going to be sweet and tender. And at first it was; his mouth just touched hers, molding to it, caressing. But soon his lips opened over hers, and as she responded, their tongues stroked, twined, tasted. He brought his hands up to cup her face. His tongue slid deep in her mouth and then out again. She felt something raw and electric shoot through her.

“Scully,” he said, not quite taking his mouth from hers, “Scully, tell me to go now, if that’s what you want.”

She put her hands on his shoulders and clung to him. “I don’t think that’s what I want.”

He made a little sound in his throat, something between a whimper and a moan.

She pulled back a little. “Stay, Mulder,” she urged. “But we have to be quiet, or my mother will hear.”

“Oh my God,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers and closing his eyes.

“Oh my God. This is just like one of those non-G-rated teenage dreams I was talking about.”


He had never thought of Scully as especially bold, at least not in a sexual sense, but he decided he was going to have to revise that opinion.

She reached for the hem of his T-shirt. He obligingly pulled the shirt off over his head. He was still tangled in it when he felt her hand slipping inside the waistband of his sweatpants.

He heard her chuckle. “I guessed right,” she whispered.

“What?” he said, shivering at her touch.

“About whether you put the muddy underwear back on, or went without. I guessed without.”

He threw his shirt on the floor. “You still have more clothes on than I do.”

She wiggled out of her pajama pants, as he pulled off his sweats. Then they knelt on the bed together and she held still, chin lifted, as he unbuttoned her pajama top.

He pushed it off her shoulders, then rocked back on his heels and regarded her.

“Oh, Scully.” He reached out and circled her breasts lightly, his fingertips trailing over her pale skin. He brushed her nipples with his thumbs.

“Mmmmm,” she said. She reached out and took him in her hand, wrapping her fingers around him, and for a minute they just explored one another’s bodies, gazing intently, thrilling to the look and feel of the differences between them.

Her hand on his cock felt so different from his own, Mulder thought — lighter, feminine, surprising. It was making him crazy. He pulled her close and kissed her. His arm snaked down between the two of them, and he stroked long fingers through her wetness.

She stifled a whimper, and buried her head against his shoulder.

“Are you cold, Scully?” he whispered, his lips almost touching her ear. “Let’s get under the covers.”

Her bed was still warm. She was warm. He thought he would never be cold again, lying against her, on top of her. She put her arms around him, and he kissed his way down her neck to her breasts.

This was better than — better than — well, there were no words to express it.

Scully’s breasts were soft and her skin smelled like soap. When he took her nipple in his mouth, it grew hard against his tongue. He choked back the giddy laugh that threatened to bubble up inside of him.

He slid his hand down, from the firm curve of her breast to the hollow of her waist. He brought his face to hers again and kissed her deeply, his tongue in her mouth, as his fingers dipped lower, teasing the slipperiest parts of her body.

She broke off the kiss to gasp.

She spread her legs still wider, and he settled between her thighs, positioning himself at her entrance. Instead of pushing into her right away, however, he stroked his hard cock slowly back and forth, rubbing himself wetly over her clit.

“Mulder,” she said through gritted teeth. She wiggled against him in such a way that her meaning was unmistakable.

He closed his eyes, and pushed slowly into her. It was like sinking into a steaming bath while drunk on good wine. She was tight and hot, and she felt even better when he began to move.

It was unbelievably erotic, and unbelievably good. He moved with steady, deep strokes inside her. He could feel himself beginning to forget everything, to forget the aches and pains of the day before, to forget the doubts and frustrations of his life, to forget even his own name.

“God!” he cried. “Scully this is so — “

“Shhh,” she hissed, clapping her hand over his mouth. “My mother will hear.”

Oh, shit, he thought. How was he supposed to be quiet when she was wrapped around him like warm silk, like the snug fit of a wet glove, like the tightest of embraces? Those were her naked breasts under him — her breasts. He moaned.

“Mulder,” she said, giggling, “be quiet.”

“I can’t,” he groaned. “Oh, Scully — “

He was sure that the pulse beating in his temples was going to blow his head apart. Yes, if something didn’t give soon, he was going to die right here in her arms, right here in Mrs. Scully’s spare bedroom. There were worse ways to go, he thought as he stroked into her.

Oh, God, he had wanted her, wanted her for so long. He’d been ashamed of it for a while, how much he’d wanted her. But now they were together and she was under him and that was her skin pressed to his skin, her legs twining around his legs, her hands pulling him close. No wonder he couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, Scully! This is — “


He stopped, and made a conscious effort not to speak with all the excitement that was welling up inside of him. “This is good,” he whispered. His body moving in and out of hers was almost an agony. “This is so good.”

She seemed to agree, or at least he hoped that the way her hips lifted to meet his meant that she did. He didn’t think he could go on like this much longer.

But he did go on — heart soaring, every nerve alive. After a minute or two of strategic friction Scully apparently felt something that approached what he felt, and forgot her own warning. She said loudly, “Oh — keep doing that!”

He nodded, determined to be quiet.

She gasped; she held still. Mulder felt rhythmic contractions breaking around him, the flutter and squeeze of her orgasm. Her hands tightened on his shoulders. He didn’t want to make noise, but he couldn’t help it. The rush of coming wrung the sound right out of him. He groaned, and gushed into her again and again.

A while later — a few seconds? a minute? — he sighed against her face, and became aware of the cool air on his bare skin. He lifted himself away, pulling the covers over them, and settled on his back beside her, with her head in the crook of his arm. He felt satisfied all the way down to his toes.

“I’m woozy,” he mumbled when he remembered again how to talk.

She turned her face and gazed at him. “Maybe you’re still feeling the effects of the anesthetic.”

“I don’t think that’s it.” His eyes were growing heavy. In another minute, he knew, he would be asleep.

“Well, then, I guess woozy is good,” Scully whispered, and reached up to brush the hair off his forehead.

“Yes.” He was too drowsy to come up with a more elaborate answer. “Woozy is good.”

She smiled at him.

He slept.


Scully awoke with a start, and looked at the clock by the bed. It was 6:05. She was alone in the bed. Mulder must have slipped out during the night, she thought, to avoid being caught with her when her mother woke up. She got up, found her pajamas on the floor, and donned them again.

She padded on bare feet to the hall bathroom. The door was slightly ajar. She tapped on it.

“Yeah — come in,” Mulder called.

He was standing in front of the sink, stripped to the waist, wearing only the sweat pants her mother had lent him. He had a disposable razor in his hand and his face was covered in white lather.

“I borrowed a razor from the medicine cabinet, and some shaving cream from the can in the shower,” he said. “I hope that’s okay.”

Scully leaned against the bathroom counter and sniffed the air. “You smell like perfume.”

He made a face. “It’s the shaving cream. Skintimate with Vitamin E.”

She laughed. He grinned at her.

“The roads are plowed,” he said. “We should be able to make it into work with no problem.” He lifted the razor, wincing as he did so.

She did not miss the look of pain. “What’s wrong?”

He rolled his shoulder. “Just my arm. I think I, uh, aggravated it last night, on top of the dislocation.”

The look on his face reminded her of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “C’mere,” she said, hopping up so that she was sitting on the bathroom counter.

Obediently, he came and stood before her. She took the razor from his hand, and began shaving him with careful, practiced strokes.

He closed his eyes. “That’s nice.”

“Last night was nice,” she said.

He broke into a beatific smile.

“Don’t do that,” she scolded. “I can’t shave you if you’re going to move your face around.”

He sobered and stood still, waiting patiently for her to finish. She turned his face to one side, then to the other side, then made him look up at the light overhead.

“Thank you,” he whispered when he thought the danger of injury was safely past.

She turned to rinse the razor in the sink. “Any time.”

“I was talking about last night,” he said, lowering his voice and looking her directly in the eyes.

She smiled at him, feeling happier than she could remember feeling in a long time. “So was I.”


“I don’t see why you have to be in such a hurry to rush back to work,” said Mrs.

Scully, standing at the kitchen counter and pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“After last night’s storm, I’m sure they’ll make allowances.”

“The streets are clear, Mom,” Scully said.

“They’re clear here. But what if you get twenty miles down the road, and run into trouble?”

“They always plow the highways first. Besides, we have a lot of work to do.”

Mrs. Scully sighed in exasperation. “That’s always been your problem, Dana.

You’re just like your father. I can talk until I’m blue in the face, but you don’t listen.”

“I listen,” she said.

“And you, Fox,” Mrs. Scully said, turning to Mulder. “Can’t you try to talk some sense into her?”

“Actually, I was planning on going in this morning even before Scully mentioned it.”

Mrs. Scully shook her head. “And you with a hangover.”

“I don’t have — “

“Is work all the two of you ever think about? There’s a snowstorm out there. You have the perfect excuse to enjoy the morning. Be spontaneous for once.”

“I am spontaneous,” Mulder said.

Mrs. Scully sighed. “How the two of you can get along when you’re both so stubborn is beyond me.”

Scully stared down at the kitchen table, struggling to keep a straight face.

Eventually she lost the battle and began to giggle.

“What’s so funny?” her mother asked.

“I don’t know,” Scully said, laughing. “Nothing, I suppose.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“Stubborn,” Scully gasped. “And listening.” She laughed harder. “And spontaneous.”

“What?” said Mrs. Scully.

Behind her, Mulder began to chuckle, too.

“Fine,” said Mrs. Scully, more amused than offended, “don’t tell me.”

She turned her back, and marched to the sink to do the breakfast dishes. She couldn’t help smiling as she heard them laughing behind her. The joke was on them, she thought to herself, if they really believed she didn’t know what they’d been up to last night.

Fox could be awfully loud when he was drunk.



Note: Story credit goes to Dasha, who asked for a fic in which Mulder and Scully did it in Scully’s girlhood bed. She wanted shaving, too. This was supposed to be finished in time for Christmas, so that explains the snow.


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