Title: "Reality Check"
 Author: Angela W.
 Category: MSR
 Rating: NC-17
 Summary: Mulder wakes up in a hospital bed and can't
remember the last year of his life. Much has stayed
the same, but some things are decidely different.
 Note: This story can be read in one of three ways. If
you've read some of my previous stories, you can
assume this is just another in that series and believe
everything Scully says is true. If you haven't read
any of my other fanfic, you can assume that Mulder is
correct when he comes to the conclusion he's landed in
some sort of alternative dimension. If you're *REALLY*
devious, you could assume that Mulder's initial
assumption is correct: it's all an undercover
operation and Scully is just taking advantage of the
situation.
 Timespan/Spoilers: Takes place sometime after Season
7 ends. Major spoilers for "Arcadia". Minor mention of
events in a number of other episodes through the end
of Season Six and a hint of the way Season 7 ended.
 Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
They are the property of Chris Carter and 1013
Productions.
 Archive: Feel free to archive anywhere!
 Feedback: I belong to the "If you can't say anything
nice, don't say anything at all" school of feedback.
In other words, compliments, questions or
*constructive* criticsm are all welcome. Flames are
not.

 Special Agent Fox Mulder opened his eyes slowly and
looked around warily. He had no idea where he was or
why his head felt as if a heavy metal band was playing
a concert inside it.  But he felt better once he spied
the petite, redheaded woman sitting in a chair next to
his bed.
 "Scully?" he croaked.
 "Mulder!" she replied, then gave him one of those
rare, incadescent smiles of hers. Hell, it was worth
feeling this bad to see a Scully-smile of that
magnitude!
 She left the chair to perch gingerly on the side of
his hospital bed. "How ya feelin'?" she whispered,
running her hands gently through his hair. He was
vaguely surprised at how affectionate she was being.
Dana Scully was his partner and his best friend. He
knew he meant a lot to her, but she was usually quite
reserved and not given to physical displays of her
emotions. He must have *really* scared her to make her
act this way, he thought woozily.
 He answered her question with one of his own. "What
happened?"
 "You got conked on the head trying to subdue a
violent suspect. But it's okay. Chan got the guy."
 Chan? Mulder thought woozily. Obviously either
another agent or a local law enforcement official, but
his usually eidetic memory was failing him on putting
a name to the face.
 "I don't. . .remember. I'm not even sure what case we
were working on."
 "That's perfectly understandable, Mulder. You've got
a concussion. Short term memory loss pertaining to
recent events is a normal result. But just to be sure,
let's call the doctor in to check on you."

 The doctor arrived within the hour. He asked Mulder a
number of questions which seemed to indicate he no
impairment of his cognitive functions and no long-term
or severe memory loss. He was able to give his full
name, his birthdate, his badge number and details
about his childhood and education. He was also able to
describe himself as an F.B.I. agent whose specialty
was criminal profiling. For good measure, he was able
to supply most of the same information about Scully,
as well, faltering only when asked her badge number.
 "He's *never* known my badge number," Scully said.
 "Well, then, he can't be expected to remember it,"
the doctor said good-naturedly. "We'll want to keep
you overnight for observation, Mr. Mulder, but I don't
see any reason why you can't go home first thing
tomorrow morning."
 "I do have some short-term memory loss. I can't
remember the name of the suspect or even the type of
the case I was pursuing when I was injured. And Scully
mentioned somebody named Chan, who was apparently
working with me, but I don't even know if that's a man
or a woman!"
 "A man," Scully said.
 "You have temporary amnesia pertaining to recent
events only," the doctor replied. "That's quite common
for patients suffering head trauma. Your memories will
probably come back in fits and starts over the next
few weeks. The important thing is not to push it! It's
not total amnesia, or even close to it. You remember
who you are. You remember who she is. Tomorrow, when
you're back home in familiar surroundings, your recent
memory will probably begin to return. But it will be a
gradual process. Don't try to *force* yourself to
remember. Just resume your normal daily routine and
let the memories return in their own sweet time."
 At that moment, a familiar, broad-shouldered figure
appeared at the doorway. "Am I interupting?" the man
inquired.
 "You know who he is?" the doctor asked.
 "Skinner," Mulder replied. "Walter Skinner, Assistant
Director at the Federal Bureau of Investigation. My
boss."
 "That right?" the doctor asked, glancing at the man.
 "Got it in one," Skinner agreed.
 "Since you've got another visitor, I'll just let Dr.
Scully step out in the hall with me for a minute or
two," the doctor said, gesturing for Scully to precede
him out of the room.
 "You okay?" Skinner asked.
 "Did I screw up?" Mulder inquired. If he was in
trouble, he might as well know it now.
 "Not at all," Skinner replied. "Unbelievable though
it may sound, you were on a legitimate investigation
and followed procedure the whole time. You just got
bushwacked. But everything's turned out okay."
 "Yeah, Scully told me the suspect is in custody. But
I don't remember the chase or even the case. She also
mentioned an agent named Chan and I don't remember him
either."
 "Mulder," Skinner began, then hesitated. It wasn't
really his place to ask the question that was on the
tip of his tongue, but given Agent Scully's own
medical condition perhaps she'd be better off hearing
it from a third person. "You *do* remember about you
and Agent Scully, don't you?"
 "Well, sure. I mean, I remember who she *is*. Are you
referring to some particular, er, aspect of our
relationship?" Mulder asked. Please don't let him tell
me we're no longer partners, he prayed to a God he
wasn't sure he believed in. The way Scully had been
talking, it had almost sounded like this Chan guy was
his partner now.
 "Do you remember about the, um, marriage?" Skinner
asked.
 "Marriage?" Mulder asked weakly. Then he glanced down
at his left hand. A simple gold band on the ring
finger. That case, he thought, where they sent us out
to San Diego to that weird neighborhood and had us
pretend to be married. Certainly we're not still on
*that* case. I remember wrapping it up, getting out of
there. I remember subsequent cases.  But I don't
remember the most recent case we were working on, so
maybe we've gone undercover as a married couple again.
That might even explain why Scully had been so
uncharacteristically affectionate; maybe she was
trying to keep their cover up in front of the doctor.
Mulder's brain was slightly muddled, but he made an
attempt to think the situation through quickly. If he
admitted that he didn't have the slightest idea what
Skinner was talking about, they might get another male
agent to play the role of Scully's "husband".  And
that was, quite simply, unacceptable. "Yeah, sure, how
could I forget something like that?"
 "Just checking," Skinner said.  "Look, don't even
tell Scully I asked, okay?"
 "Sure," Mulder agreed.
 Scully returned at just that moment and gave him
another one of those smiles of hers. "I'll be going
now," Skinner said. "Chan and I will handle all the
paperwork; you two try to get some rest."
 "Thank you, sir," Scully replied.
 Scully sat back down. She was in the chair, but let
her fingers wander gently up and down his forearms.
 "Hey, Scully, there's is something that I'm afraid I
*have* forgotten."
 "What's that, Mulder?"
 "When's our anniversary?" he asked with a grin. 
  He fully expected her to give him her patented
"Scully-look" or turn the caress on his arm into a
gentle swat, but she did neither. She simply smiled
softly and said quietly, "May 16th."
 "And what date is today?"
 "May 30th."
 "Okay," he murmured. Two weeks. He had apparently
endured two weeks of the blissful torture of
pretending to be married to his pretty partner. He was
surprised she was still speaking to him. He'd nearly
lost it after only six days of make-believe marriage
during the Arcadia case. "Memorial Day, huh? Hope I
didn't mess up the holiday weekend for us."
 "We didn't have any real plans. There was a block
party that we talked about going to, maybe trying to
meet some of the neighbors, but it's no big deal that
we missed it."
 "I've got more questions," he said.
 "I'm sure you do, Mulder. You *always* do. But right
now, you need to rest. I'm leaving now, but I'll be
back first thing in the morning to take you home."
 "Hey, Scully," he said as she got up to leave. 
 "Yeah, Mulder?"
 "I love you."
 Mulder wondered if she'd roll her eyes and say "Oh,
brother" the way she'd done the last time he'd said
the same thing in similar circumstances. Again,
however, she surprised him.
 "I love you, too, Mulder," she replied. Then she
leaned down and kissed him on the lips. It wasn't a
particularly passionate kiss, but there was nothing
tentative about it, either. It was more like she'd
done it so often that kissing him had become a
pleasant but familiar routine.
 "Scully?" he whispered.
 "Shh!  You need to go to sleep now, Mulder. We'll
talk more in the morning."
 Mulder tossed and turned most of the night. In a
brief, ten-second interval two things his partner had
done two things he thought she'd *never* do: told him
she loved him and kissed him on the mouth. Had it all
been part of their cover, just pretend? He couldn't
believe Scully would do that to him! She might have
been cool at times, but she was never cruel. Did she
really mean it? He'd known for years that she cared
deeply for him, even loved him in her own way, but for
her to actually say it, especially when accompanying
the words with a mouth-to-mouth kiss, implied more
than friendship.

 As soon as he'd finished breakfast the next morning,
the doctor came to check on him. After a few more
questions and another warning not to try to force his
memories, Mulder was left alone to dress. He was just
finishing when Scully walked in.
 "You ready to go home?"
 "Yeah, let's get out of here."
 They walked into the parking lot and got into
Scully's car. "Scully, can I ask you a doctor-type
question?"
 "Sure, Mulder. What?"
 "Isn't amnesia almost totally a creation of soap
opera writers? I thought it real life it was as rare
as the bubonic plague!"
 "Depends what you mean by the phrase "amnesia",
Mulder. Total amnesia - the kind where a person wakes
up in a hospital bed and doesn't know his own name,
doesn't know where he grew up, can't recognize his
closest friends or relatives - is extremely rare.
There have only been about a dozen documented cases
worldwide in the past twenty years.  But that's not
what you have. You've got partial amnesia. It's much
more common. Quite often, when a person suffers a blow
to the head or has a stroke, the result is a loss of
recent memory. The person still knows who they are,
what kind of job they have, things like that. They
just can't remember what they were doing right before
they got injured, don't know the names of people
they've only met in the past couple of months or that
sort of stuff. Don't worry about it."
 "The memories *do* come back?"
 "Generally speaking, especially in a case where the
memory loss is due to an external injury and the
victim is an otherwise healthy young adult. Which fits
your situation to "T". In older people, or when the
amnesia is due to something like a stroke, sometimes
the memories are gone for good."
 "Okay," he replied, mollified.

 "Scully, where are we going?" Mulder asked after a
few minutes. She'd said she was taking him "home". He
hadn't known if that meant her place in Georgetown or
his in Alexandria, but they'd just entered suburban
Maryland.
 "Home," she answered, then a flicker of comprehension
floated across her face. "Oh, Mulder, I'll bet you
don't remember, right? We've only lived there a couple
of weeks."
 A couple of weeks, he thought. Since they began the
make-believe marriage.
 "Um, no, I'm afraid I don't, Scully."
 "That's okay. It will be kind of fun to show you
around."
 He nodded. When they pulled up in front of a house in
an older neighhborhood, he was surprised. This was
nice. The type of home he could envision himself
*actually* living in. Scully parked, he grabbed his
overnight bag and they walked into the house. He could
hear a dog barking outside.
 "Come on in, Elvis," Scully said, opening the door to
let a medium-sized mutt bound into the kitchen.
"Daddy's home safe and sound."
 Mulder didn't know which shocked him more. The fact
that the dog obviously knew him or the fact that
Scully would do something so disgustingly cutesy-pie
as refer to him as "Daddy" when talking to the dog.
 "Er, Scully. . .?"
 "You don't remember Elvis?" she asked.
 "No. Although he obviously remembers me." Personally,
Mulder thought it was a bit cruel to bring a dog into
a household simply to give their cover more
authenticity. The poor animal seemed to really like
both of them and would undoubtedly be heartbroken when
he had to be returned to an animal shelter. But maybe
a dog was an absolutely necessary part of their cover.
Maybe this neighborhood was being stalked by a serial
killer whose victims had all been couples with dogs.
 "Come on, I'll show you around the house."
 "Scully, I think I'd really rather rest for a bit
first." He was beginning to suffer from  sensory
overload. 
 "Okay, then. The master bedroom's upstairs."
 As they walked into the hallway and climbed the
stairs, Mulder glanced around. The place really was
nice. Homey. Comfortable. They entered the first
bedroom they came to and Mulder kicked off his shoes
and stretched out on the king-size bed. Almost as a
reflex action, he grinned at Scully and asked, "Want
to join me for a nap?"
 He nearly fainted when she smiled and said, "Sounds
like a good idea. I am sort of sleepy." Then kicked
off her own shoes and climbed up beside him.
 Mulder tried to stifle a groan as Scully snuggled up
close to him. "Um, Scully, when I was injured. . .er,
were you there, too?" He'd reached the point where a
head injury or accidental ingestion of some sort of
behavior-altering drug were about the only things he
could possibly attribute her very unScullylike
behavior to."
 "No, Mulder, I was back at the lab. Why?"
 "Just wondered," he murmured.  
 Within moments, Scully was asleep, a soft smile on
her face. Mulder, on the other hand, had never felt
more awake. One particular part of his body was on
full alert status, as a matter of fact!  As much as he
was enjoying all this cuddling, he needed to figure
out what was going on here.  So he slowly eased her
arm off him and slid off the bed.
 Mulder avoided the dresser and nightstand, which were
both near the bed. Opening the drawers in those would
probably wake Scully up. Instead, he crossed to the
other side of the bedroom and slid open the mirrored
doors to one side of the double closet. This side was
obviously his. It contained several suits, a couple of
pairs of jeans and a dozen or so shirts, along with
both running shoes and dress shoes on the floor. 
 He walked over to the other side of the closet and
hesitated. Opening Scully's side of the closet seemed
almost like a violation of her privacy, but his
curiousity got the better of him. He slid the doors
open and encountered basically the same type of
clothes, although there were more of them. Several
suits he remembered seeing Scully wear to work, jeans,
sundresses, blouses, all that sort of thing, plus half
a dozen pairs of shoes. The shoes were stacked neatly
in boxes on the floor, of course, not simply tossed
into the closet the way his own shoes were. One dress
did seem kind of puzzling though; it was blue, a color
Scully often wore, but its tailoring seemed all wrong
for her. It was a loose fitting almost caftan-type
dress, which didn't seem her style at all. For some
odd reason, the dress brought to mind a thought of
Tara Scully, Bill Junior's wife. Had Tara worn the
dress once, decided she didn't like it, and so given
it to her sister-in-law? No, it was brand new; in fact
it still had a price tag on it, so had obviously never
been worn. Maybe something Scully purchased for the
undercover operation?
 The bathroom door was next to the closet, so Mulder
walked in there next. It was fairly spacious, although
not opulently so. He noticed bubble bath and shampoo
on the shelf in the tub and noted with amusement that
there were two tubes of toothpaste in the medicine
cabinet; one was his usual brand, squeezed in the
middle, while the other, neatly rolled up from the
bottom, was obviously Scully's.
 Walking quietly back through the bedroom to avoid
wakening Scully, Mulder stepped out into the
unfamiliar territory of the hall. The next room he
came to was completely empty, which he thought was
odd. Maybe they were planning on setting up
surveillance equipment in there or something. Then
there was another bathroom, but this one obviously
didn't get much use. Then a third bedroom. This one
seemed to be set up more like a guest room. There was
a bed and a dresser, but all the drawers were empty.
The closet held a few boxes; he opened one and saw
that it contained old yearbooks and photo albums; the
kind of stuff nobody ever wants to get rid off, but
which nobody really needs to have easily accesible,
either.  
 Mulder walked back into the hall and paused in the
doorway of the master bedroom. Scully was still
sleeping, although her dress had shifted position,
exposing her legs almost to the very top of her
thighs. The urge to go back and lay beside her, run
his hand up her thigh, was almost overwhelming, but he
resisted. Instead, he turned and headed downstairs.
 The kitchen he'd already seen, briefly, but now he
opened cupboards and the refrigerator, finding them
surprisingly well-stocked. Of course, he admitted to
himself, the way I live almost any kitchen would would
fit that description. There were both a small
breakfast nook and a larger formal dining room
attached to the kitchen. Next was a large, spacious
living room containing a couch, chairs, coffee table
and an expensive home entertainment system. He flipped
through the videos. Sci-fi and chick flicks, about
what you'd expect in a married couple's home. None of
those videos that weren't his, though. Apparently
Scully thought it wouldn't be in keeping with their
image of suburban domestic bliss, although from what
he'd read in some of his magazines, plenty of couples
liked to watch that stuff together, at least the
soft-focus kind.
 Mulder walked down the hallway and opened two more
doors. One was a compact half-bath, the other was a
closet. Finally, having made a circuit of the lower
floor, he was near the stairs again when he noticed a
final door. He opened it up to find it was . . .home.
The room seemed to be a study or den; it had a
computer, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the back
wall, another small desk and a filing cabinet, It also
had his old black couch, his "I Want to Believe"
poster from the office and a dozen other items that
were instantly familiar. What actually drew his
attention the most, however, was an item that he
couldn't remember seeing before. It was a picture of
himself and Scully. Although they were dressed in
their usual business clothes, they were smiling into
each other's eyes. He stared, almost mesmerized, at
it, realizing he'd never seen a picture of the two of
them together before.
 Curiouser and curiouser, Mulder thought. This was the
most elaborate undercover operation he'd ever seen.
What could possibly be worth going to all this trouble
for? He walked over to the bookshelves and began
scanning them. Books on UFOs and the paranormal,
psychology textbooks, sci-fi novels, medical
textbooks, historical fiction.  . .exactly what a
merger of his books and Scully's would look like. Most
of the titles were familiar to him, either because
they were his or from seeing them over at Scully's
place.
 Mulder crossed to the desk and picked up a checkbook
that was lying on it. He read the names printed at the
top: Fox W. Mulder/Dana K. Scully. He flipped through
the ledger, noting lots of entries for practical items
like utilities, groceries and car insurance in
Scully's neat handwriting, along with occasional
entries for more frivolous items in his own
penmanship. Strangely enough, it was this evidence of
co-mingled finances, rather than Skinner's question,
Scully's attitude or anything else that finally
convinced him. He staggered to the couch and sat down.
  This isn't some sort of elaborate undercover
operation, he thought. I'm having a dream or a
hallucination or I've stumbled into some sort of
alternative dimension where things are amazingly
similar and yet, at the same time, fundamentally
different. He'd experienced this sort of thing before.
That time on the ship, for instance, where it was 1939
and he'd kissed Scully. Or the time they'd been caught
in the hallucinagenic slime of a giant mushroom and
he'd imagined he had an alien hiding in his bedroom.
 The reason Scully had been so affectionate, so
willing to lie down and cuddle up beside him was
because she truly believed he was her husband.
Thinking back to the conversation with the doctor the
previous afternoon, he realized not a word had been
said about the X-Files or about he and Scully having
ever been partners. Their names and educational
backgrounds were still the same, but maybe in this
reality they'd never been any X-Files and he and
Scully had never been partners.
 Mulder wondered, vaguely, if the reason they'd never
been any X-Files was because Samantha had never been
kidnapped. Or, if she had, she'd been returned home
again, the way Cassandra Spender and Scully had been.
Of course he hoped this was true, but, strangely, he
felt no compulsion to find out immediately. His
overwhelming need was to figure out exactly what had
transpired between him and Scully.
 Okay, if we were never partners, but both still
worked for the bureau, that would explain how we met.
If I was at Violent Crimes and she was out at
Quantico, sooner or later a case would have come up
that involved both of us. Free from both the
restrictions against dating an agent in the same
division and his obsession with aliens, Mulder could
have asked Scully a normal question when they first
met, like "Are you free for dinner Saturday night?"
instead of "Do you believe in the existance of
extra-terrestrial life?" 
 It still didn't explain some things though. Like. . .
 "Fox?" Scully's voice called from the hallway.
 "Don't call me that Scully," he said automatically,
as she walked into the room. 
 Scully looked at him with a slightly confused
expression on her face. Damn, she looks scrumptious!
he thought. Her hair was slightly mussed and her face
was still soft with sleep. And, he realized with an
inner sigh, *this* Scully probably calls me 'Fox' all
the time!
 "Uh, I'm just sort of in a Mulder-mood at the moment,
er, Dana," he said, almost stumbling over the use of
her first name.
 "Okay," she said, coming to sit down beside him on
the couch. RIGHT beside him, he noted with both
delight and despair. If she were any closer, she'd be
in his lap!
 "I. . .I've got some questions I want you to answer.
Please!"
 "Sure, Mulder. I know this is a confusing situation
for you. What do you want to know?"
 "How long have we been off the X-Files?" he asked,
fully expecting her to ask what the hell he was
talking about.
 Instead she responded with, "About six weeks. You're
back at Violent Crimes. I'm back out at Quantico." 
 "What did we do that caused them to punish us to that
extent? The last time they tried to separate us was
back after you'd only been my partner for a year. The
most recent time, even when they took the X-Files
away, they let us remain partners. Please don't tell
me I'm working for Kersch again, and all alone this
time!"
 "We didn't mess up, Mulder, and Skinner is still your
boss. Actually things have come full circle. Do you
remember the Thirteen Cult case?"
 "No."
 "I wish I didn't remember it either, Mulder. It was
horrible, like one of those urban legends come to
life. Both of us had nightmares about it. But you
SOARED, Mulder! You did profile after profile to
pinpoint the killers so the bureau could make arrests
and convictions. God only knows how many lives you
saved. I was so proud of you!"
 "Why are you saying "you", Scully? Weren't you on the
case with me?"
 "Technically, yes. You were chivalrous as always, of
course, and tried to make sure I got half the credit.
Just like you've always tried to make sure I got none
of the blame when we screwed up. I did some work in
the labs and it did help with locating some of the
killers, but your profiling was the key, Mulder.
Everybody knew that. You're a hero at the bureau.
Nobody makes Spooky jokes anymore. If Kersch talks
about you at all, it's probably to say how honored he
is to have had you work for him at one time."
 This is definitely either a heavy-duty drug trip or
an extremely alternative dimension, Mulder thought
wryly. "So, as a reward, they took me away from both
the X-Files AND you? I'd hate to see what they would
have done if I'd screwed up."
 "The President called for the F.B.I. to form a task
force on serial killers, Mulder. The Director of the
F.B.I. personally chose you to head it up. There
wasn't anything either of us could do about it."
 "They couldn't at least let you work with me on the
task force?"
 "Nepotism laws, Mulder," Scully pointed out. "You're
in charge of the of the task force. All the other
agents on it are under your direct supervision, as
much as you and I were under Skinner's. Letting us
continue to work as partners after our marriage was
already pushing the boundaries. Putting us in a
position where you'd be my boss was simply impossible.
Even if *they* would have allowed it, I wouldn't have
done it. I'm not about to start saying "yes, sir" to
you when you ask me to do something!"
 Mulder chuckled at that. "No, I don't suppose you
are, Scully."
 "I still do analyses and autopsies and stuff for your
team," she said. "Other women have husbands who send
them flowers and love notes; I've got one who sends me
dead bodies with notes to see if I can find out what
killed them ASAP!"
 "I don't ever send you flowers?"
 "Aw, of course you do, Mulder! I'm just teasing. I
get flowers and corpses," she said with a smile,
leaning in to kiss him lightly.
 This had gone far enough, Mulder realized with
something like panic. Now she really *was* in his lap!
 "Scully, I'm not me. I'm not Mulder."
 "Who are you then? The Alien Bounty Hunter? Eddie Van
Blundht?"
 "No," he said with a sigh, shaking his head. "I'm me,
but I'm just not. . .me. I'm not your husband. This is
a dream or a hallucination or a time warp or an
alternative dimension or something!"
 Mulder didn't know exactly what he expected from
Scully after his announcement. Tears, maybe. Or a
refusal to believe him. What he got, however, was
laughter.
 "Mulder, you are SO you! That statement is
completely, utterly YOU! Your refusal to accept a
scientific, medical reason for what's happening and
attributing it to something looney is what you always
do!  You're saying you don't remember us being
married?"
 "That's *exactly* what I'm saying, Scully!"
 "Mulder, you've got partial amnesia. It's just a
little more far-reaching than I'd first assumed. I
thought you'd lost only lost a couple of months;
apparently you've lost a couple of years."
 "We've been married for two years?"
 "No, only one. I told you in the hospital. Our first
anniversary was a couple of weeks ago."
 "I thought it was an undercover operation. Like that
time in San Diego. When you told me the date we got
married, but it was earlier in the same month, I just
assumed that's when we began the. . .deception ," he
said.
 "So you remember that case, huh? Do you remember what
names we used?"
 
 

 Reality Check, Part 2
Disclaimed, summarized, etc. in Part 1
 
 "Sure," Mulder answered. "Rob and Laura Petrie.
Except we pronounced it PETE-ree."
 "Good," Scully replied.
 "How long ago was that case?"
 "Just a bit more than two years ago. So now we know
you've lost at least one year, but not more than, say,
two-and-a-half. Do your remember anything after that?"
 "That guy who lived next door to me. A writer named
Padgett. He was a killer who developed some sort of
weird obsession with you. But he also said that you
were already in love."
 "I was," Scully murmured, running her fingertips
gently down Mulder's face. "I was just too dumb to
*realize* I was in love!"
 "You're not dumb, Scully! You're the most brilliant
person I've ever met."
 "Any other cases after Padgett?"
 "I remember. . .well, I don't know if you could
really call it a case. But I remember teaching you how
to hit a baseball," Mulder said with a grin.
 "I'm glad you remember that, because it's one of MY
all-time favorite memories," Scully replied with a
smile of her own.
 "A giant mushroom tried to eat us," Mulder offered.
 "Well, I don't know that I'd phrase it *exactly* like
that," Scully said softly. "But, yes, we did fall into
a cavern where we encountered the digestive enzymes of
a large fungal life form."
 "That's what I said: a giant mushroom tried to eat
us.  When we finally got out, we held hands in the
ambulance."
 "I know," Scully said. "I can remember the paramedics
having to pry our hands apart when we got to the
hospital. They kept telling me to let go of your hand,
but I was still disoriented. I was afraid if I let go,
they might separate us. Do you remember anything after
that?"
 Mulder was a quiet for a moment. "Not clearly or in
great detail. If I had to give the exact moment when I
was last able to remember things in lucid,
chronological order, it would probably be when we were
holding hands in the ambulance. I've got some foggy
memories of stuff that happened after that. . .some
sort of Navajo artifact we found and being in a
hospital, but it's all jumbled up."
 "You don't have any memories of us being. .
.intimate?" Scully asked softly.
 "I don't know."
 "What do you mean, Mulder?"
 "I've got mental pictures of us being, um, intimate,
like you said. But I honestly couldn't say if they're
memories of actual events or just of particularly
vivid fantasies. I've had sexual fantasies of you for
years, Scully!"
 "I know."
 "What do you mean you. . .oh. I guess I've, er,
shared some of them, huh?"
 "Yeah. Although I've got the feeling that you've
still got a few you're saving for a rainy day," she
said with a smile.
 "Scully, what you're saying, about us being married.
I want to believe you."
 "You've always wanted to believe, Mulder."
 "Scully, is there anything in particular I say when I
want us to make love? Some special phrase or
something?"
 "Not really. Why?"
 "Because, if there was, I'd want to say right now."
He was, actually, almost in agony. Scully was sitting
on his lap and running her fingers up and down his
upper arms and he was so hard, he hurt.
 "Actually, when I first came downstairs, that's what
I wanted. For you to come back upstairs with me." 
 "Is that why you called me Fox? Is that the only time
you use my first name?"
 "Usually just then or when we're at some sort of
family gathering. But occasionally at other times,
too. You *allow* me to call you Fox now that we're
married, but I usually still call you Mulder. If it's
upsetting or confusing for you, I'll try to just stick
with Mulder for the time being. Did you want to go
upstairs or just stay down here on the couch?"
 Mulder was torn. Part of him just wanted to take her
right there. But he didn't want their first time -
well, their first time as far as HE could remember,
anyway - to be a quickie on the couch. "Let's go
upstairs," he said huskily.
 Scully stood up and tugged on his hand. They walked
quickly upstairs, holding hands. When they got to the
bedroom, she led him to the bed and pulled him him
down beside her, then climbed back into his lap.
Mulder twisted their bodies so they were lying down
and bent his head to kiss her.
 This is heaven, he thought dreamily. This was no time
warp, no sympathetic kiss when one or the other of
them was in a hopsital bed. This was the deep, wet,
passionate kiss of aroused lovers.
 "Mulder," she murmured when they finally came up for
air.
 "What, Scully?" 
 "You said you didn't remember being married to me. Do
you even remember. . .being in love with me?"
 Mulder stared down into her eyes. They were full of
love and yet begging for reassurance.
 "Do you want to know what I don't remember, Scully?"
 "What?" she said her voice barely a whisper.
 "I don't remember ever NOT being in love with you!  I
think it started with something you said a long, long
time ago."
 "What?"
 "Hello."
 "Mul-der!" she said, rolling her eyes but smiling,
too.
 "I really don't know how long Scully. I'm being
serious now. There wasn't ever any one special moment
when I had a blinding revelation of "Hey, I'm in love
with Scully!" The first time I ever remember being
conscious of it was, I guess, back when they'd
separated us that first time. We met on a park bench
and I told you I was having murderous impulses and you
replied that you'd take your chances because you were
armed. And I remember thinking, "Is it any wonder I
love her so much?" But it wasn't like I was surprised
by the thought. I do remember thinking that, since we
weren't in the same division anymore, we could become
lovers and not get in trouble for it. I wanted to ask
you to come home with me that night, but I was afraid
to."
 "Afraid I'd say no?"
 "Nope. Afraid you'd say yes, but for the wrong
reasons. Because you felt sorry for me, wanted to make
me feel less alone. I don't think you were in love
with me then and the last thing I wanted from you was
a pity fuck."
 "So you were in love with me even then?"
 "When you sat on that bench beside me, I loved you,"
he whispered, kissing her gently on the cheek. "When I
nearly lost you and then had you miraculously returned
to me, I loved you." This time the kiss was on her
ear. "When I woke up in an Alaska hospital and found
you sitting beside my bed giving me your thousand-watt
smile, I loved you." A kiss on her neck. "When I
fought my way back to life in New Mexico in order to
return to you, I loved you." By now, he'd worked her
way down to her collarbone. Mulder lifted his head to
gaze into her eyes, "Every damned time you followed me
to some podunk town to chase down some crazy lead, I
loved you. Everytime you laughed and everytime you
cried, I loved you."
 "Mulder, you're going to make me cry!"
 "It's okay, Scully. You can cry with me if you need
to. Or laugh with me. Or fight with me. Did I mention
how much I loved you everytime you fought with me?"
 "No, but fighting isn't what I'm in the mood for
right now!"
 "You don't want to wrestle, Scully?"
 She laughed, but the sound turned into a moan when he
lowered his mouth to her breasts. Even though she was
still clothed, the feeling was incredible.
 "Um, Scully, can I. . .?" Mulder lifted the hem of
her dress in his hand. 
 "Be my guest."
 Mulder removed the dress in one smooth movement,
staring in delight at the amount of Scully's body
revealed to him. She tugged at his T-shirt and he
allowed her to pull it off, then gathered her close to
him. He slid his hand along her back and deftly
unhooked her bra, then tossed it off.
 Mulder lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her once
again, slowly and deeply. Then he began moving his
lips slowly down her body, brushing featherlight
kisses against the skin of her neck, collarbone and
upper chest. When he reached her breasts, he flicked
his tongue against first one nipple, then the other.
Scully moaned and arched against him.
 "Scully?"
 "Mmm?"
 "I, um, I need to take off my jeans." That was the
understatement of the decade as far as Mulder was
concerned. If he didn't get his pants off in the next
few seconds, the damned things might explode from the
pressure inside them! 
 "Go ahead," she said, rolling on her back and folding
her hands under her head to look up at him.
 Mulder stood up and reached for the snap. Scully was
smiling at him and staring directly at the bulge in
his jeans. He felt vaguely embarassed, but tried to
quell it. She's seen it before, he reminded himself.
It truly wasn't his intention to remove his briefs,
but somehow they got snagged, as well, so now he was
standing in front of Scully, totally naked and at full
mast.
 Then she did something that Mulder absolutely could
not believe. Rising to her knees, Scully crawled to
the edge of the bed and leaned over to kiss the tip of
his arousal. It wasn't oral sex, not really. She
didn't lick him or suck him. Just brushed him gently
with her lips. And it was so damned erotic he nearly
came right there.
 With a growl, Mulder pushed her back onto the bed.
Scully spread her legs eagerly so he could kneel
between them. He kissed her again, plunging his tongue
so deeply into her mouth he could practically taste
her tonsils. Then he rolled to one side and slid her
panties off. 
 Mulder rolled again, onto his back this time and
pulled her atop him. "I want you on top."
 "You usually do."
 Scully straddled him and guided him gently so that
the tip of his arousal was right at her entrance. Then
she pushed down and engulfed him in one smooth move.
Mulder gritted his teeth and stilled her hips with his
hands before she could begin to wiggle. This sensation
alone, simply being sheathed inside her body, was
incredible.
 "Scully, do I have any problems with being, er,
trigger happy, so to speak?"
 She smiled. "Not usually. In fact, for the most part,
your stamina is incredible. Every once in awhile,
though, it will be like your trying to set some sort
of speed record. Why?"
 "Because if you don't lie very, very still this is
all going to be over before it's barely begun. You're
so WET, Scully!"
 "Mulder, you just got through telling me how much
you've loved me for years and years! What effect did
you expect it to have?"
 He grinned up at her. "Hey, Scully, I thought you
didn't like activities that were messy," he thrust
gently into her, "and illogical" another thrust, "and
led to people losing control?"
 She smiled down at him. She loved it when he teased
her. Mulder was often playful during lovemaking.
Scully whimpered, once, then attempted to give a
coherent answer. "Making love with you, Mulder, is
worth an exception to the rule!"
 "Be still, Scully," he moaned. She had begun bouncing
on him and every movement was dragging him closer to
the edge.
 "I. . .I can't, Mulder!" she whispered, with
something like panic on her face. Mulder was amused
and awed at the same time. Scully - his always-calm,
ever-rational Scully - was like a wild thing,
desperately seeking release as she writhed on top of
him.
 "Okay, baby," he murmured gently, brushing her hair
back from her forehead. "It's okay."
 Scully abruptly stiffened above him, then let out a
little scream. Mulder wanted to simply savor the
moment -  the sight of Scully's passion-dazed face,
the sounds she was making and the feel of her internal
muscles contracting around him - but it was too late.
Her climax had triggered his own and he could feel
himself gushing into her as he moaned out her name.
 Scully collapsed on top of him and he stroked her
back, bottom and legs gently. Finally, she lifted her
head and smiled into his eyes. "I love you."
 "I love you, too."
 "Want me to move?'
 "No, I like this. Is it okay, if I. . .explore a
little? I meant to spend more time on foreplay, I just
got a bit overly excited."
 "Mmm, it's fine, Mulder. I love it when you touch me.
Your hands are so big and so gentle."
 "You're so beautiful," he whispered.
 "Thank you," she murmured back.
 Mulder let his hands wander up and down her back, her
shoulders, her arms, her bottom, her thighs. Brushing
his fingertips down her ribs elicited a giggle and he
grinned. So Scully was ticklish, huh? Good thing he
hadn't known that years ago, or he would have been in
big trouble. During the rare, playful moments they had
shared - like that night in the Florida woods or the
time he was teaching her to hit a baseball - the
temptation to tickle her probably would have been
overwhelming. Mine, he thought dreamily, and was
immediately astounded. He knew he had his problems,
but possessiveness and chauvinism weren't usually
among them. God, he hoped being married hadn't turned
him into the sort of Neanderthal pig he'd only
pretended to be when they were on the case in San
Diego!
 "What's the matter, Mulder?" 
 "I just, um. . . ."
 "You had that 'cave man' gleam in your eye for a
minute, but now you look sort of upset."
 "Cave man, Scully?"
 "That's what I call it when you do something sort of.
. .well, out-of-character for an upper middle class
Oxford grad kind of guy."
 "Like what?"
 "Usually it involves swooping me up into your arms
and carrying me to the bedroom. Although since we're
already IN the bedroom, who knows what you've got in
mind at the moment."
 "Am I to take it that you don't MIND that sort of
behavior, Scully? You usually fight me off whenever I
try to baby you!"
 "That was. . .before. It's different now. We're
married. You've always treated me as a complete equal
professionally and I appreciate that. I know you
respect me.  But when we're home alone together I like
to be. . . ," she faltered, as if searching for the
right word.
 "Seduced?" he suggested.
 "Mmmhmm."
 Mulder shifted so that she was on her back and he was
on his side. He kissed her long and slow and deep.
Moving his mouth to her ear, he gently outlined it
with his tongue and felt a surge of smug masculine
pride when she shivered and sighed. "I want to tease
you, Scully. And please you. And watch you come.
You're so damned beautiful when you lose control like
that!"
 "Um, okay," she whispered.
 Mulder lifted his face to look down into her eyes.
He'd moved one hand to her breasts and was gently
tweaking a nipple. Her breasts looked bigger now than
they had during the quick glimpses he'd gotten of them
when he'd happened to see her naked a couple of times
before they were married. "Which do you like better,
when I use my mouth or my fingers?"
 "I like both, but for right now I want you to use
your fingers."
 "Why?"
 "Couple of reasons. First, when you use your mouth I
really prefer you do it as an appetizer rather than
dessert. Besides, you said you wanted to watch. You
can't see my face if you're down there!"
 Mulder chuckled. Apparently, Scully's logical streak
occasionally exerted itself even during intimacy.
"Will you show me?"
 "What do you mean?"
 "Take my hand and guide it. Put my fingers where
they'll give you the most pleasure. Help me out here,
Scully."
 Mulder watched as Scully blushed. Did she feel his
request was kinky? He supposed, in a way, it almost
was, but he really wanted her to do it.
 "Okay," she agreed softly. She put her hand to his
face and slowly traced her fingers down his neck, his
shoulder, his arm until her fingers encountered his
own on her breasts. 
 Linking their fingers, she slowly drew his hand down
her stomach until he just grazed the top of her
cluster of red curls. Then she lifted her it slightly
away from her body and settled it back down near her
knees. Slowly - VERY slowly - she drew his fingers up
along her inner thighs. First one leg, then the other.
As he reached the top of her thighs for the second
time, she began flexing their fingers near her
entrance smiling at him as she wiggled. He was still
on his side and she hooked one of her legs over both
of his to give him better access to her body. Finally,
she guided one of his fingers inside her.
 They both moaned simultaneously. Mulder was hard
again and his arousal was poking into Scully's hip.
Scully lifted her hand away from his and placed it on
his shoulder. "I think you can handle things on your
own from this point, Mulder."
 "Yeah," he breathed.
 Mulder slipped a second finger into her, then a
third. He bent his lips to hers, letting his tongue do
to her mouth what his fingers were doing to a bit
lower down. When he lifted his head he gave one last
thrust with his fingers and sent her sailing over the
edge.
 As she drifted back to earth, Scully murmured, "Your
turn, Mulder. I want you on top this time."
 "You sure, Scully? I don't want to hurt you. I mean,
you're so tiny!"
 "I can handle it, Mulder! You've never, ever hurt
me."
 Mulder nodded and positioned himself between her
legs. Ahh! This felt so good! He was able to last
longer this time, although with Scully stroking his
back and biceps and cooing endearments and admiration
in his ear, his climax was just as powerful as the
first one had been.
 "I love you so much, Scully. If this is a dream, I
don't ever want to wake up!"
 "It's no dream, Mulder. We're really here. I'm really
yours. You're really mine."
 "You sound sleepy, Scully."
 "I am. I usually get this way afterwards; you like to
tease me, because it's supposed to be men who conk out
right after."
 "I'm a bit tired myself," he yawned.
 "Stay by me, Mulder. Don't get up and go downstairs."
 "I won't, Dana. I promise I'll be right here when you
wake up." 
 Scully snuggled close to him and, within moments, she
was asleep again. Mulder was drowsy and content, but a
couple of things were still nagging at his brain. He
believed Scully when she told him they were married,
but there were a few items that just didn't fit in
with everything else. For instance, why had they
furnished the entire house except for leaving that one
room completely empty? And what was the purpose of
that weird-looking dress in her closet? And, most
confusing of all, why had she called him "Daddy" when
talking to the dog? That just wasn't like her.  Mulder
felt like he did when he had almost reached a
breakthrough in one of his profiling caes. He knew he
had all the pieces, he just hadn't put them together
in the correct pattern yet. Oh, well, maybe it would
come to him in his dreams.