Title: The Hundredth Day 3: Flying Fig Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com) Category: M/S UST Rating: PG-13/soft R Spoilers: There is one but I don't want to spoil it. It's a season 6 reference. This story is season 7-ish. Archive: Sure. Summary: Scully is confused (it's hot, expecting me to be clever is too much to ask for). Disclaimer: CC and Co. own everything. Or was that Donald Trump? Quick note: You don't need to read the first two parts of this series for this to make sense--probably (However, if you want to, it's here: http://www.geocities.com/ginarainfic/). Reader's Digest version of the first two parts: Scully hurt her foot on a day when she was feeling very vulnerable in her attraction to Mulder. He was sweet and kind and loving. She was tired of fighting her feelings and some not-so- innocent kissing ensued. They stopped because of foot pain, basically (hey, it's better than a damned bee). Still, everything was hunky-dory when Mulder left that evening until Scully apparently got up in the middle of the night and sent Mulder an email explaining her little hundredth day theory. He is insulted at what he feels is her over- rationalization of their relationship. She is not quite getting why he's so angry and tries to flirt a little (in a very enigmatic way). He seems to be falling for it but ends up leaving her high and dry on the kitchen counter. Go for it. The Hundredth Day 3: Flying Fig Contrary to popular opinion, most doctors are not walking PDRs. We don't automatically recall every side effect a drug may have. Especially those of us with practices consisting of the dead and a single FBI agent who seems to like his pain straight. I do know, however, even without a Physician's Desk Reference at hand, that popping a couple of Advil every few hours would not make me lose my perspective on life. So how, I asked myself, did things get so fucked up within 24 hours, without me seeing so much as a single sign of bad things on the horizon? I carefully hopped off the kitchen counter and made a beeline for my computer. I needed to reread my email to Mulder. The email that seemed to be the source of our problems. I read the nearly two pages of text. There was nothing wrong with anything I said. I closed my eyes. Pictured Mulder leaving my apartment last night. After kissing me. After laying his head next to mine and telling me he loved me. He was pretty happy. So was I. We weren't going to do anything about it but, at least, we both knew we were on the same page in our relationship as far as the level of our emotions and desires. I pictured him waking up this morning to check his mail and finding my note. The return email address flooding his mind, perhaps, with certain expectations of the type of correspondence within. The type of correspondence one might expect after a fairly momentous evening in the history of our partnership. Shit. It did sound as if I was rationalizing what we did. And that wasn't my intention at all. I crossed the room and picked up the phone. A brief glance at my watch confirmed that he would be halfway home if that's where he was heading when he left my apartment. A brief moment of panic overtook me as soon as I hit the speed dial. He picked up on the second ring. "Mulder, it's me." So much for listening to gut reactions. "What's wrong, Scully?" His voice contained a world weariness that was painful to hear. "Everything. Come back. Please." "Scully, we'll see each other at work in a few hours." "This is not a conversation for work, and you know it. If you don't come back here now, I'm coming to your place and sitting in the hallway until you let me in." "You're injured." "There are cabs, Mulder. It would be better for my foot if I didn't have to leave but--it's your choice, really." That should do it. I almost never play the guilt card with Mulder. With him, it really is fighting dirty but there was no way I was going to let this brew one moment longer than it had to. This situation was my fault, in some ways. Or the fault of two people with two entirely different ways of expressing themselves--caught in a moment of classic miscommunication. I liked that second choice better. There was silence on the other line and then I heard the slight squeal of tires. He had turned the car around. Using the Starsky and Hutch method of driving, apparently. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes." Good. Now, how does one right a situation like this? No, that wouldn't work. Nah. I was still considering options as I opened the door. He walked in and I knew he was about to launch into some sort of speech about whatever he had been thinking of during the past quarter hour. I didn't want that. I closed the door and chose the option my heart had been pushing. I simply walked over and put my arms around his waist and held him to me as tightly as possible. "Scul. . ." he stopped mid-Scully. I guess I caught him by surprise. Good. "You think you know me so well, " I said in mock reproach as I leaned my head against his chest. "Scully--your foot." Actually, I had shifted my weight automatically to my other leg. But he didn't have to know that. "My foot is fine." He relaxed then--lightly placing his hands against my upper back. I've known him for a long time and we've been in situations that I feel pretty safe in saying no one has been in. But he rarely smells bad. After a day of work and running back and forth to my apartment he just smells--warm. Like his body heat is activating old aftershave, deodorant, and whatever his clothes were washed in. It's nice. It's Mulder. "I do know you," he said, breaking the silence. "I know you very well." I ran my hands under his jacket and grabbed hold of the back of his shirt. It was something I could use to help pull him closer to me. I felt him move his hips back a little and smiled to myself as I countered his move with one of my own. "Scully. . ." a little note of warning in his voice. "Hips before hands, Mulder. Remember?" I said, letting go of his shirt and running my hands down the slope of his backside. I gently squeezed his behind as I pressed myself more firmly against his impressive--firmness. There was a good possibility I was losing my mind but insanity seemed like a very desirable option at this moment. "Scully." He put his hands on my forearms and I realized he was about to push me away. I hadn't given him any reason not to. I pulled my arms away from his butt and gripped his forearms as he was gripping mine. "I re-read my email and think I understand, Mulder. I never meant it that way. After you left last night, I was so happy. But I thought back and realized that you said some things I didn't say in return. And when I looked back over my actions of the evening--I just thought I needed to explain. On all kinds of levels. Number one--no matter what I felt and how you responded, I didn't want you to think I was disrespecting the work we've devoted our lives to. That I was forcing you--in any way-- to make a choice between it and a more intimate relationship. And yet, since I did initiate our physical contact, I also wanted you to know that even though I do control the emotions and feelings and responses that are there--there are days that it's so difficult, that I no longer feel I can do it alone." He looked down at me. "So, we're back to square one--with me pushing you away when you get too close and you pushing me away when I do the same," he said. Why did that option seem so bleak? "Do we have any other choices?" I asked, a hint of hope in my voice. If anyone could think his way out of an impossible situation, it was Mulder. I looked at him and met his soft smile. "Find a happy medium?" he suggested, as he bent his knees and literally attached his lips to the right side of my neck. My grip on his forearms loosened as his arms went around my waist, which was a fairly good thing considering the fact that my knees were as close to buckling as they had ever been. I closed my eyes and leaned my head further to the left as he sucked a bit more of my flesh into his warm, wet, slippery--fabulous mouth. "Mulder. This is not a medium. This is--me not being able to give a flying fig over anything or anyone but you if you don't stop. And God--I don't want you to stop." And for a glorious minute or two, he didn't. He just shifted his beautiful mouth to mine and lifted me off my feet as I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck and my legs firmly around his hips. Height difference be damned. Our second kiss and we came up with a solution in less than sixty seconds. This had to be a sign of good things to come. This and the wonderful feel of Mulder's erection pressing in the exact place I wanted it. The wet slide of our tongues as we both tried to gain dominance in our mutual exploration. Very good signs. But all good things come to an end. I felt him pulling his face away from mine and I followed in the same direction long enough to tussle with his mouth one last time before letting him disengage. He turned us both around and leaned us against the front door of my apartment. He probably did it to help support the weight of my body but it had certain happy repercussions that made me moan out loud and pull his head back to my throat. He didn't follow my lead. He was choosing to be sensible. He was doing what I had requested. Damn it. He pulled back and looked at me. "Flying fig?" I laughed and buried my head in his neck. "It was the only "f" words allowed in the Scully household. However, they aren't the ones you usually inspire." "No?" I shook my head. "Tell me," he whispered. "Friend," I said, giving him a quick peck on his neck. The flesh under my lips was warm, moist and salty. "Fire," this time, I bit down slightly and ran my tongue along the wound. My reward was my very own Mulder moan. "And?" he prompted, breathily. "Fidelity." "Fidelity? I was hoping for something a little more--carnal." "Um--that, too. But you do inspire fidelity. And I'll wait for the carnal part forever if I have to. Ah. 'Forever.' Another 'f' word." "A nice one." I unwrapped myself from around him and lowered myself gingerly to the floor. Forever. I wait-- hopefully not forever but if that's what it took. . . "Thank you, Scully." "What?" I could hear the words but was not exactly processing them at the moment. "Thank you." "For what?" "For having your little hundredth day crisis. For attempting to get through to me through your email. For failing--miserably. Ouch. Don't pinch me, woman. And for blackmailing me back here to clear the air about what you were feeling." "I managed all that?" He nodded. "Well, that's good but now, we back where we started," I said with a sigh. "No--back, probably, to where we were last night-- but with a bit more certainty. That's progress." It was my turn to nod. "Plus," he continued, "now I know that you think of me in that way. And I know how soft your lips are and what your skin tastes like. That nice little hip motion you've got going when you're grinding against me." He cocked his head to one side with a mischievous grin on his face. "And the exact shade of red you turn when I tease you about something sexual. And--I know you love me?" The damned man still had a question in his voice. "Yes." A simple declaration."You learn a lot." "I had a good instructor." "Glad to be of service." He leaned down and kissed me softly. "Good night?" There we were in our endless ping pong match. It was my turn to make the final shot. My decision if we'd return to normal or move forward ahead of time. Ahead of time. There was my answer. It wasn't our time yet. But I now had something to tide me over. "Good night, Mulder." I would not be kissing him good night again for a very long time and we would keep each other honest. But we both knew the truth--and that was an amazingly huge step for us. As I closed my door behind him, I heard myself whisper the "f" word. "Forever." And it would be worth the wait. I turned to find a Hefty bag for my foot. Injured or not, tonight was a night for a very cold shower. The end. Author's Notes: This is it for this little series, kids. And it's supposed to end this way. No real smut but the promise of something in the future. For this story, it's the right thing to do and Gina always does what's right (well, almost always). Have a great Fourth of July. Consider this my birthday present to you.