The Unicorn Tamed 8: Incongruence

Mulder had changed.

She reckoned that it had been inevitable, necessary and natural. After all, he'd managed to shed years worth of guilt and pain; it was right that the experience should change him in profound ways.

But she hadn't been prepared. Somehow, she hadn't expected it. And now, she was hard-pressed to deal with the new- and-improved Mulder that had emerged since he'd lost his virginity.

For one thing, she had never seen him smile so much. She'd become accustomed to his deadpan expression, to deciphering the subtle shifts in the mask which indicated changes in mood. Now, though, he nearly always seemed to be smiling -- not just at her: at everyone and everything that crossed his path. Skinner had been overheard to wonder if Mulder had begun taking illicit narcotics, or perhaps Prozac... Scully could have enlightened him, but of course she didn't.

For another thing, Mulder had developed a one-track mind. She'd be questioning a suspect or a witness, and he'd be off in another world; it didn't take a mind-reader to figure out just what world that might be, especially when his eyes happened to be riveted on her chest at the time... It was a good thing, she thought, that Mulder was enough of a genius to be able to track three or four trains of thought simultaneously; otherwise, his job would have been seriously in jeopardy. It was also a good thing that she'd long ago become accustomed to his off-hand use of innuendo as a defense mechanism. Nor could she deny that she enjoyed his obvious appreciation -- but it made her wonder if someday, his new preoccupation with the pleasures of her flesh might endanger them both. It hadn't happened yet; he still had that uncanny talent of catching infinitesimal inconsistencies that other people would miss and piecing them together into a coherent picture of the situation -- but someday, it might.

But most notable was the fact that Mulder, the same man who'd developed an annoying habit of ditching her with regularity, now could not be pried from her side with a crowbar.

In the morning, he was there: if he hadn't stayed over at her place the night before, he'd show up bright and early with coffee and danish and the offer of a ride to work. All day long, he was there: in the office, in the field, even during autopsies -- which was something he'd avoided, in the past, whenever possible. In the evening, he was there -- coming over to watch television and talk, or dragging her out for dinner, or parking himself in her motel room to review case notes. And of course, at night...

There had been a time when it had seemed that she couldn't be with him enough. That time had long since passed; now, she was actually beginning to get sick of him.

And try as she might, she couldn't quite come up with a kind way of telling him to leave her alone.

Oh, not for long. Just for an evening or two, a weekend: just long enough for her to have some time to herself. Just long enough for her to miss him...

There was a knock on her front door, and she sighed, knowing who it would be.

She opened the door to reveal a brightly beaming Mulder, bearing the usual bouquet and bottle of wine. "Hi, Scully," he said expansively, reached out with his free arm and drew her close... she melted into his arms, into the kiss; even though his constant presence was beginning to grate on her nerves, she didn't think she would ever get tired of kissing him. He was just so damned good at it...

"When you said, 'see you tomorrow'," she murmured afterwards, "I thought you meant..."

"Oh, that was just so no one would catch on." A slight trace of worry marred his improbably cheerful face. "You don't mind my coming over, do you?"

"No, no, of course not." Now why did I say that? she wondered, annoyed at herself. That was a perfect opportunity to let him know that I need some space... She found herself hoping that he'd pick up on the ever-so- slight hesitation in her voice, in her manner, and press the point further.

He didn't. "Great," he said, grinning -- and despite the fact that she'd really only wanted to spend a quiet evening alone with a book, she found herself smiling back. His happiness was so infectious, she couldn't help but be swept up in it.

Swept away, the thought occurred to her. What Mulder needs, what Mulder wants; and what I need and want gets swept away...

But he was so happy. So very happy, to be with her, to be loving her, and to be whole.

"I'll get the wineglasses," he said, heading for the kitchen; and she turned away from him, so that he wouldn't hear or see her sigh.

As usual, his presence seemed less obtrusive as the evening progressed. Watching TV, snuggled on the couch together... was a lot warmer than an evening alone, and a whole lot friendlier. And when his hands began to wander, well -- that was a whole different sort of warmth. Even when she least felt like his company, the lovemaking was always incredible...

Later, though, as she struggled to find a comfortable position in the sliver of mattress space not occupied by her sleeping, snoring partner, the annoyance returned full- force.

She snatched up the pillow he hadn't commandeered, rummaged a blanket from the linen closet, and retreated to the living-room couch. "Can't even sleep in my own damn bed," she grumbled under her breath, settled herself into place and closed her eyes. I have to do something about this. I have to. Tomorrow, I'll tell him, and to hell with whether it hurts him... A sigh escaped her lips. No, I'll find a gentle way to tell him. I do love him, after all. I just don't like him too much at the moment... no, that's not true, either, it's just...

I want us to be lovers, she realized, friends, partners, companions. Just... not joined at the hip.

Sleep had just begun to tug at the fringes of her consciousness when she heard the sound of stealthy footsteps in the hall -- she squeezed her eyes shut tight and prayed that he was just on his way to the bathroom -- but no: the footfalls drew closer, until she could feel his presence beside the couch. "Scully?" in a soft, querulous voice emanating from maybe a foot away. "You okay?"

Wearily, she opened her eyes to find him kneeling beside the couch; dim moonlight danced over the contours of his concerned face. "You took over the bed," she said, just tired enough to be overtly grumpy. "There wasn't room for me."

"Oh... I'm sorry." Concern mutated into contrition. "Hey, look, you take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch." His fingertips grazed her cheek in a gentle caress; a moment later, his lips followed his hand's path, in a soft kiss.

She sighed again, longer and louder -- dammit, she thought with tired amusement, he makes it impossible for me to be angry with him. "It's all right," she murmured, "go back to bed, Mulder."

"No..." A moment later, he was picking her up, lifting her in his arms -- she thought about protesting, decided, what's the use? and let him carry her into her room, to her bed. He set her down carefully, pulled the covers over tenderly, stood looking down at her with such devotion in his eyes... I love him so much, she thought. So much.

If only he would go away. Just for a little while.

Again, he knelt beside her, gazing into her eyes. "Get some rest, sweetheart," he whispered, smoothing the sheets over her bare shoulder, and a swift frisson raced through her. Mulder had never been one for pet names; she'd learned to hear affection in the way he said her name, 'Scully' becoming an endearment when it fell from his lips. Now that they were lovers... occasionally, once in a very great while, he'd call her something other than Scully. And it affected her somehow, deeply, whenever he did.

The way he looked at her -- she'd seen that look before. When she'd escaped death, or been rescued, or had rescued him from a similar fate. When they'd been separated, and newly reunited. She knew that look, but only now was coming to know what it meant: he was cherishing her. Savoring her. Delighting in her presence. Marveling at the fact that there was a Scully in his world, and so very thankful that it should be so.

Seeing him looking at her that way pushed the last lingering traces of annoyance from her heart, and reminded her that she felt the same.

She stretched, enjoying the feeling of having her bed to herself. Not having to work around the limitations of another body sharing the mattress. Being able to take over the whole space, if she wished.

It felt... lonely.

Slowly, regretfully it seemed, he rose to his feet and turned away...

"Mulder," she said.

"Mmm?" His face was working hard at being impassive, but she could see the sudden hopeful look even in the near- total darkness.

"Come to bed, sweetheart." It was the first time she'd used the word to him; she liked the way it tasted on her tongue. Such an intimate word. So fitting.

In a heartbeat he was beside her, as if he'd only been waiting for her permission to give in to his own longing. Nestling against her, arms drawing her to him, pulling her close, as if he couldn't get close enough...

She felt a slow surge of warmth within herself, the first stirrings of desire -- she reached for him, sliding her hand between them, encircling his cock, and felt an answering response. Not surprising: he was nearly always ready. She supposed that he had a lot of lost time to make up for...

His lips claimed hers, slowly and thoroughly, and she relaxed into the kiss, grateful for the opportunity to stop resenting him.

For almost an hour, life was heavenly. Mulder had become accomplished at pleasuring her, knew all the things that would make her moan and quiver, knew just how she liked it best, and brought her to a wonderfully intense orgasm with his hands and lips and tongue. Part of their lovemaking ritual -- because during intercourse, once he was inside her, he lost track of everything except his own pleasure. She didn't mind; it was one hell of a turn-on to see that look on his face, to see him so completely engulfed in rapturous ecstasy -- most of the time, that look and the feel of him inside her was enough to bring her off again. It happened that way again; she climaxed with him, sharing the intensity of the moment with him, and snuggled into his arms afterwards, satiated and content.

Half an hour after that, she was once again jockeying for position in the bed, striving to evade his outstretched arms and legs as he snored contentedly.

I love him, she thought, and I will love him for the rest of my life, if I don't strangle him first...

She was in the kitchen, fixing herself coffee and an English muffin, when she heard the first stirrings of life: the inevitable journey of sleepy footsteps to the bathroom... She speared a second muffin with a fork and placed it in the toaster oven, wondering when it had become such a chore. When it became necessary...

"Morning, Scully," he said, upon his arrival in the kitchen: well-rested, bright-eyed and cheerful. "What's for breakfast?"

Her head ached, her vision was blurred from lack of sleep, and it took a severe effort of will not to tell him where he could stick the English muffin.

"Good morning, Mulder," she said, with forced courtesy. "Did you sleep well?"

This time, he caught the edge in her voice. "I did it again, huh?" he murmured, with the sad-eyed puppy-dog face that never failed to garner her sympathy.

Except that this time, she didn't find it nearly as endearing as she once had. "You did," she acknowledged, neutral-voiced, and took her coffee to the table.

"Why didn't you wake me up? Or just shove me over?" he asked.

She'd tried, but he'd been dead to the world, so deeply asleep that not even an elbow in his ribcage had disrupted his slumber... "Never mind," she said, dipping her face to inhale the scent of the coffee, and feel the steam rising against her face.

As long as he was silent, she could convince herself that she was alone, in peace and privacy -- then his hand settled on her shoulder... "Mulder," she said sharply, then caught herself, and finished the sentence more calmly. "I think you should go home."

"What?" Panic in his voice; and when he pulled up a chair to face her, his expression was stricken. "Scully, what'd I do?"

"I just... I could use a day to myself. Some time to relax." There. She'd said it. Now, if he would only listen...

"But... but Scully..." He shook his head as if to clear it. "I'm sorry I took over the bed, I really am."

"That's not it, Mulder." Oh, please, don't...

"Then what did I do? Whatever it is, I'll fix it. I'll make it right, I promise. I just..." His voice dropped, to a near-whisper. "I just want to be with you."

He was trying to meet her eyes, but she steadfastly kept her gaze averted -- she knew that if she looked at him, if she let herself see the look she knew was on his face, she'd be lost. "You haven't done anything, Mulder. Truly."

"But it's Saturday! We always spend weekends together... I thought you liked it..." His voice caught on the last word, just a little, just enough...

She glanced up at him -- and expelled a sigh, knowing in that instant that the battle was lost, for the hurt in his eyes was genuine.

One more try. "Mulder," she said, sincerely, "I love you. I love you so much. But don't you think it would be a good idea to spend a little time apart? If only to keep prying eyes from being suspicious?"

"The hell with prying eyes and suspicious minds." The pain in his eyes faded, surmounted by fierce determination. "I've spent years waiting for the chance to love you, and I don't want to waste a second. We've lost so much, we've nearly lost each other, so many times..." His hands reached across the table, found hers and enfolded them, fingertips massaging her hands in small slow circles. "I live for these weekends with you," and though his voice was nearly calm, his eyes were all but desperate. "I thought you felt the same way."

Perhaps she could have explained it to him -- but she'd barely slept, and she was tired, and that look in his eyes...

"Hey." His thumbs drew lazy ellipses on her palms, a movement both soothing and arousing. "I'll make it up to you. A long, hot bubble bath, and a full-body massage... I really am sorry I kept you awake all night, Scully."

It was a losing battle, and she knew it. "That sounds nice," she relented.

He grinned back at her. "You won't regret it, I promise."

I'll explain it to him later, she decided. Or tomorrow. Sooner or later, he'll get the hint.

Mulder rose from his chair, came to stand behind her and began rubbing her shoulders -- deep, kneading strokes, working out the tension and fatigue. "I love you so much," he murmured, content.

He'll get the hint, Scully told herself. Sooner or later.

Maybe.

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