Oooh, Baby
A birthday fic for Jacquie
By ga, Wylfcynne, FoxfireX, Shelba, Logan and Shelba, Gina Rain, 
ML, Artemis, Foxsong, Lola Ravenhill, Tess, Marlen,
Donna, Pacquin, Lara Means, Sallie, Gwen, frogdoggie,
MeridyM, SLS, Avalon
Rating: Ranges all over
Spoilers: You've seen all the eps, right?
Category: De Love, all de way
Disclaimer: We did this for De Love, not De Money

Note: To everyone who was involved, thank you for making this
about the easiest organizational project ever. I ran away from 
work and went freelance just to avoid this kind of thing, but 
with you all, I'd do it again in a minute. Babies, you rock!


Oooh, Baby  (Part 1)
By ga (garrull@yahoo.com)
Rating: R
Spoilers: Pilot


If she were psychic I'd be getting my ass kicked. But, oooh, Baby.

What I knew about Dana Scully before I met her: the info in
her file. Physics, medicine, forensic pathology, damn good
numbers on the firing range. No field experience to speak of.
Good evaluations from her Quantico students, especially the
male ones. Perfect attendance record. 

And some info not in her file but available even to someone
as far out of the Old Boys' Network as I am: Slept with her
Academy instructor, though not til after she'd finished her
course, of course. Guessing it was mostly Willis's doing that
she stayed on teaching; he probably wanted to keep her
nearby. They're not still together and assignment to the
X-Files may have been her punishment for dumping his sorry
ass. Not exactly a prestige gig, to be paired with Spooky
Mulder, prodigal son of the VCS.

What I didn't know until I met her: She's got this "I've got
a secret" smile that, just looking at it, wraps around my cock 
tighter than the best blow job I ever got. And I'm most likely 
to see it if I'm giving her crap, as she dishes it right back. 

What I learned only tonight: The sight of her on my doorstep,
wild-eyed in a robe, was enough to have me start pitching a
pup tent in my chinos, and, well, it's a good thing she was
facing away from me when she dropped the robe. 

I learned that the skin at the small of her back...I just
barely dared to let a fingertip or two touch her bare skin,
keeping the others safely on her undies--though I couldn't
resist sliding them down a millimeter or two...that skin is
just about the softest thing I've ever touched in my life. 

I learned that she smells like caramel and wood and an
expensive white burgundy, and I inhaled--yes, Bill Clinton, I
most definitely inhaled--for as long as I could get away with
before the panic in her voice reminded me why I was there on
my knees, so close to heaven. And then, that in that moment I
could take away her fears; that, too, was sheer heaven.

I learned that even though she barely reaches my shoulder and
weighs next to nothing, that an embrace from her is enough to
send me reeling. That my nose wants to bury itself in her
hair which, I learned, turns wavy when left to its own
devices. That my lips want to whisper in her ear, "That's it,
Baby, I've got you; you're safe."

Would have been no surprise to learn that I want to take that
robe right back off her again, and those utilitarian little
white underthings as well, and sniff and lick and pound into
her until she turns to jelly beneath me--what red-blooded
heterosexual male with an iota of testosterone in his body
wouldn't? And I do want that, of course--God, right now would
be good. But, I found out that I also want to care for her,
protect her, even if I think she'd either deck me or slap me
with a lawsuit if I told her so, any of it.

And I learned that I want her to know me. I find myself
spilling my guts, telling her things I hadn't told anybody in
years or ever. About Samantha, my regression therapy, what I
believe and why this case is so important to me. Some of it
may seem as though I'm talking about work, filling my partner
in. But it's more intimate than that--it's what drives me,
what's made me who I am. And it suddenly seems very important
to me, that she know who I am. I hear myself talking and I
sound so damned earnest I can hardly stand it. But it's not
just that I want her to know; I want her to believe. Please,
Baby, please.


Oooh, Baby!  (Part 2)
By Wylfcynne 
Rating: PG-13-R
Spoilers: the pilot, the series, Life the Universe and
Everything in Apt 42... 


When I first walked into that office I thought I knew what I
was expecting. I'd seen Fox Mulder a few times at Quantico.
He was altogether too good looking to be real, so I had
always assumed that he was one of those guys who was
altogether too aware of how good looking he was. I've had my
fill of arrogant puppies and game-players. Even Ethan is
beginning to annoy me; he keeps thinking that he's doing me a
favor by dating me. 

So when Chief Blevins told me I was going to be assigned to a
tiny little department in the basement of JEH, partnered with
a GQ model who was too weird for the Old Boys' Club, I
figured that at least the scenery would be good. 

I had no idea what I was talking about. 

I knocked on the door right under his name, idly thinking
that his parents must've had a crystal ball to name him Fox,
'cause he certainly is one! 

"Nobody down here but the FBI's most unwanted!" came the
lilting wisecrack from the other side of the door. 

I opened the door and approached in an appropriately
businesslike manner, mouthing the words I'd rehearsed all the
way down from Blevins's office... and I almost froze when he
turned to look at me. 

Slim, powerful, confident, hazel eyes behind prescription
lenses that somehow enhanced that odd face... the impact of
the male animal that is Fox Mulder nearly put me on the floor
in a heartbeat. When he stood up to greet me it was all I
could do not to stammer, while I was creaming my panties and
fighting to keep my knees from buckling. I wanted to grab him
and kiss him stupid, and tear off that tie, spangle the room
with the flying buttons from that shirt as I ripped it off
him to get at hot skin... 

Oh, Baby, Baby... Call me Baby and I'm yours, Fox. Clear off
that desk and let's get it on...!


Oooh, Baby  (Part 3) 
By FoxfireX 
Rating: R-NC-17

She stands before me in the pouring rain, her ponytail
dripping down her neck, laughing at my theory that Billy
Miles is the culprit. All I can think of at this moment is
grabbing her by the shoulders and kissing the hell out of her.

Wonder what she'd do.

She has no idea how turned on I am, watching her argue with
me. Her small frame shaking from the wet and the cold, her
clothing plastered to her body, the wisps of hair that have
escaped her rubber band framing her face.

My jeans suddenly become uncomfortably tight, pressing my
growing erection. Yeah, I'm hard for her. Right here, in the
dark cemetery with a storm raging around us. Oh, Baby, do you
have any idea of the storm raging in me? I shouldn't feel
this strongly this quickly. We've barely met and yet...and
yet I feel like we've been together forever.

Like souls forever linked.

How's that for waxing poetic about your partner under
horrible circumstances in the middle of an investigation? I
know one thing; if I don't learn to control this reaction she
sparks in me, I'll never get any real work done.

Maybe when we get back to the motel, I'll offer to dry her.
I'll offer to strip the wet clothing from her tiny body, and
lap the drops of water off with my tongue. I'll start with
her neck, move down her collarbone, tracing an arc that
circles back to the swell of her breast. I'll cover her
nipple with my mouth, sinking my teeth into her skin,
flicking the very tip with my tongue. 

My hands will follow the curve of her waist, down, down, over
her hips where I'll rest my palm on her pubic ridge and sink
my fingers into her folds. Stroking, sliding in and out and
in again, the rhythm rocking both of us with its sensual appeal.

Then, unable to take it any longer, I'll lift her into my
arms, tumbling us both onto the bed. I'll take a few
nanoseconds to strip my clothes, then press her back into the
mattress. I'll pull her legs up, around my waist, and take
myself in hand, nudging her wet opening, until finally,
finally, I sink into her. I'll let my eyes slip closed with
the intensity of the feeling of being inside her, before I
gather my wits and begin stroking...

Uh, oh.

She's looking at me now, waiting for an answer. When did she
quit talking? Oh, shit.

"C'mon, lets get outta here." Brilliant, Mulder, my boy. 


Oooh, Baby  (Part 4)
By Shelba 
Rating: PG


So, this is Spooky Fox Mulder. This earnest-faced, elfin-eyed
dream is the Bureau nut case?

I look at his face, illuminated by the candle that he held to
examine my back. His eyes are dark pools in the golden skin
of his cheek. My hands itch to reach out and stroke the faint
trace of beard roughening his oh-so-young looking face. 

He has been spilling his heart's-blood like a ruptured
spleen. And, I know that such revelations have power to maim
or to kill, just like any visceral injury. His eyes are so
uncertain. Why is he trusting me, an assigned spy, with this?
I wonder if he is throwing himself on the uncertain hope that
I won't betray his confidences. 

The story about his sister is probably simply a delusion. I
am a Medical Doctor, but just because I specialized in
Pathology doesn't mean that I didn't take the Psych courses.
I can recognize denial and arrested grief as well as any
psychobabble talk-show host and even, it would seem, as well
as the occasional Oxford grad.

But why? Why trust me? Because I bared myself to him? Is this
a play to get me completely naked? 

My breath catches as it occurs to me: did he think it was a
play on *my* part!?

I know that Mulder has to have heard about Jack Willis. The
Poster Boy for Paranoia was not likely to let an unknown
entity into his inner sanctum, even if said entry was beyond
his initial control. 

My jaw clenches as I remember something I overheard right
before I left Quantico. The guys at the water cooler didn't
realize they were so close to the hallway from my office in
the morgue. At least, I hope they were being insensitive, and
not intentionally cruel. "Hey, Tom, tell Jim here. Don't you
think, if a chick spreads 'em for an ugly guy like Willis,
don't you think she'd spread 'em for me?" Thank heaven, I
didn't have to hear any more, for they moved on.

Was Willis a bigger mistake than I realized? How long will
that follow me? Does Mulder think the way those guys did? Was
the relationship I shared with Jack an "excuse" for him to
make a move?

But then, I look at him and remember how gentle he was when
he checked my back. He didn't make a move to pull my bikinis
away from my skin, nor did he paw me. He certainly could
have, and would have had a legitimate excuse. The poor
lighting and my fear were the perfect combination of excuses
to allow him to get a really good look. 

I think about the things he told me. I consider, for a
moment. He knows I was upset. He seemed concerned. And I
decide--no, he seemed sincere then, and I have no reason to
think he isn't sincere now. 

He sounded lucid, reasonable. When he interviewed the kids at
the mental hospital, he was certainly compassionate, and he
did know that something peculiar was going on. That's farther
than any of the other agents had gotten. Damn. What am I
going to put in my report?

Then, I wonder: what is he going to put in his? I shift
uncomfortably on the too-firm mattress: he was trying to
drive me away. I pull my robe tighter around myself. It he
truly wants to get rid of me, he has the perfect excuse.
After all, I *am* in his room. I *did* throw my robe off in
front of him. 

What if he does want me to go? What if he uses this to make
sure I have no choice?

Suddenly, I realize that he has moved. He is resting on one
knee in front of me, his mercurial eyes even with mine where
I'm curled on his bed. He moves his hand from where it rested
on his knee and, fascinated as by a charmed snake, I watch as
he reaches for me. He strokes my hair and leans forward to
cup my cheek in his warm palm. 

"You look tired, Scully." Smoky green eyes search mine. "It's
been a long day. Why don't you just stay there and try to
sleep." His dark head bobs toward the chair and desk on the
far wall. "I'll be right over there if you need me."

I blush from my toes right up to my dark red roots. His voice
is laden with concern for me. It's evident in every line and
curve of his being. I'm humbled at his generosity. 

Mulder is a kind man. An honest one. How could I think that
this gentleman, this *gentle* man, would do anything to harm
me? I don't know him well, but I have seen enough to know. He
values the truth. He would no sooner misrepresent the events
of tonight than stand on the White House lawn and declare ETs
aren't real.

"Mulder, I'm sorry about this." I start to rise, pulling my
robe more tightly around me. "I'll go on back to my room. You
need to sleep." 

The sky is split by another spear of lightning, and we flinch
simultaneously. 

Mulder's warm chuckle breaks the startled silence. "Ooh,
synchronized ducking." He walks to the window, and pulls the
curtain more tightly closed. "Scully, you stay put. I can't
go back to DC and say I lost my new partner in a
thunderstorm. My reputation couldn't take the heat."

I roll my eyes. "I am *so* glad you're concerned about me,
Mulder. I am truly touched."

His eyes crinkle. Light from the single candle flickers in
the center of his obsidian pupils, but he says nothing. I
find myself wondering what he's holding back. Where is a nice
paranormal ability like mind-reading when you need one?

I cover my mouth in a yawn, and when I look over at Mulder,he
is bringing his own hand down from his mouth, too. He smiles
at me, then pulls a second desk chair over to where he is
perched. "Sweet dreams, Scully." The way he says my name,
soft and all breathy with sleep, sends a shiver down my back.


"Good night, Mulder," I whisper, and before long, he is
curled up and, to all appearances, fast asleep.

I snuggle into the covers and murmur, "I owe you one, Mulder."

I drift off to sleep, dreaming of fey eyes and full-pout lips
crooking a smile at me. 

Sometime later, I find myself stumbling after Mulder in the
dark.The trees shift and sigh in the early spring storm. The
lights swirl around us. Mulder plows on, oblivious to the
wind stretching his jacket back from his body, reaching,
straining to catch hold of something. I squint my eyes
against storm-tossed debris, but whatever he's seeking is
still out of my line of sight. I shiver, and curl my arms
over myself in a vain effort to hold the chill wind at bay.
Suddenly, the wind stops, and I can finally relax and look to
see what Mulder is doing. 

The sudden cessation of wind allows my eyes to open. I blink
up at him. He is raising the blanket from where it had
puddled onto the floor, and he tucks it around my shoulders.
The electrical service has been at least partially restored,
and soft golden light filters into the room from the motel's
dusk-to-dawn lamp. The heater grumbles to life, and starts to
dispel the chill air.

My partner is smiling down at me, and his lips are moving. I
curse the sleepiness that prevented me from being sure of what 
he said. I want to bring him back to make him tells me again. 

I hope, in the morning, that this won't have been part of a
dream. If so, I hope that dreams can come true, and that all
my dreams are filled with a sandpapered silk voice saying,
"Go back to sleep, Baby; I'll be right here."




Oooh, Baby  (Part 5)
By Logan and Shelba 
Rating: PG
Spoilers: One Breath


He sat at her bedside, willing her to breathe. She was an
endless cycle of sharp contrasts. Her milky white skin
intensified the redness of her hair, which in turn made her
skin seem that much paler. Her arms and legs were thin, her
collarbones stark planes under the thin hospital gown, but
her face was round and full. The nurses said it was from the
steroids they were giving her, to try to stave off more
tissue damage. *More damage.* His eyes stung.

She was trapped in a coma that was a horrible parody of
peaceful slumber. She was a fairy tale--Snow White and Briar
Rose, suspended between death and life, claiming neither.

It would soon be over. The tombstone had been selected, and
Maggie Scully had asked that conditions of Dana's living will be 
honored. Mulder's own signature guaranteed that it would be so.

Devastated, Fox Mulder left to avenge her. He huddled in his
misery in his dark apartment, waiting for the men that X
promised would come.

Revenge and death lay ahead. Those men's, his. It didn't
matter to him. Scully would never open her eyes again. He
wondered if he would see her again after this was over. 

Instead, a tall, willowy woman had followed him to his
apartment, calling him out of the dark. Melissa Scully, for all 
her crystal-toting, new agey psychobabble, had made sense.

Could he honor Dana by becoming a vigilante instead of
upholding the law? Being judge and executioner, and then
dying himself? 

Would Scully have wanted that? The answer was no, no, and no.

He carried his trembling body and bleeding soul back to 
the hospital. 

He took her hand, mindful of the IV line. He could feel the
delicate bones of her fingers as he cradled her hand in his.
She was so cold. If only he could get her warm, she would
wake up and smile at him and everything would be fine. He
gently chafed her hand between his own.

~~~~~~~ 

Blue white lights were flickering out there...somewhere, but
she was not entirely sure where "somewhere" was. Her world
had not had any colors for a very long time. The light of
There had been white-white.

Occasionally, the white light would be interrupted by darker
shades of white, and the pain would start. Diffuse pain--pain
and paralysis. The pain would make her want to curl up, to
crawl so deep inside her skin, that no one could find her.
But They always did. 

She didn't even know how she knew, or for how long it had
been so, but this light was different from There. This light
had texture. Warmth.

She had been so cold There. So cold. She had felt the
chill--of indifference mixed with an analytical interest--to
her very core.

The air was still cool in this place, but it wasn't like before. 
The other place had been sterile. Soulless. Here, the
air was full of life, of hopeful thoughts directed at her. She 
could hear sounds. Things she should recognize. There were 
odors that she thought she might have known in anotherlife. 

Something warm was touching her...hand? She wondered. Was
that the word? She pondered for a moment. Yes. Hand. Her hand
was warm. Something. No. Someone. Someone was touching her
hand and the warmth leached up along the cold fibers of her
body toward her heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"Too bad this isn't a fairy tale, and I can't wake you with a
kiss," Mulder said ruefully, "even if you only woke up to
knock the crap outta me."

He brought her slender hand to his cheek and pressed it
lightly to his skin, wishing he had thought to shave. He
sighed and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. 

"That's not going to cut it, huh? Prince Charming is supposed to 
be handsome and, well, charming. Not your toad of a partner."

He cleared his throat, but the painful lump wouldn't dissipate. 

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A pleasant sound caressed her ears. Something about the
timbre and cadence was familiar, soothing. She wanted it to
continue. She felt her hand being lifted. When she was in the
other place, any movement meant the pain was about to start
again. But, for some reason, she felt that wasn't the case now. 

Her hand was warmer for a moment. Something rough brushed it,
then velvet warmth soothed the prickly sensation, then left.
She wanted the velvet back, but it was gone. The warmth
hadn't left completely though. Her hand was still cradled in
it. She began to drift. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"Scully, you have to wake up. You are a fighter, and you have
so much to fight for. So many things to live for. You have
your mom, your family, your career. We have to find the truth
together.

"You have me. I need you, Scully. I need you to give me that
look when I've crossed the line, and reel me back in. I need
your compassion, and your honesty. I need your integrity and
your candor. I need that damned smile of yours, the one that
looks like you know the punch line before I even tell the
joke. I need you to remember to pack Band-Aids and peroxide
when we go out of town."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She drifted. Lights flashed. Someone yelled "Agent down!"
Magic fingers rumbled under a lumpy mattress. Nine minutes
gone. Three months gone. A voice grumbled, "Even sadists in
the Spanish Inquisition wouldn't pour that crap on a cut.
Hydrogen and water, my ass." Windshield wipers polished the
glassine top of her flower-adorned casket, and Three Gunmen
brushed lint off of a tall suit-clad man, and told him to get
his chickenshit ass over there and kiss her already, dammit.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

"I'm sure this all sounds really one-sided: 'I need, I need.'
But there are so many things I want to show you, Scully. So
many things we still have to do together. I want to teach you
to play baseball, and take you for a walk on the beach
sometime. I want to watch Gone With the Wind with you--I
promise I won't bail out at the last minute this time. I want
to let you pick out the hotel once, just to see what kind of
place you'll choose...." He trailed off, and gently placed
her hand back on the bed so he could swipe at the tears on
his face. 

"I want to take you on a date, Scully. When we went to
Pittsburgh on that case a few months ago, do you remember
when you asked me to get your jacket out of your closet? I
saw that blue velvet dress hanging there, the one with the
tag still on it. I want to take you somewhere that you can
wear that beautiful dress and dance until the sun rises. I
want to drop you off after a night on the town and kiss you
at your front door; leaving you wanting more. Wanting me." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A hospital, she realized. This Place is a hospital. She must
have fallen asleep while waiting for Mulder to wake up again.
She wondered how he had gotten hurt on the job this time,
because she didn't remember that happening on a case. 

Maybe he got hit by the baseball they were playing with. No,
that wasn't right. They didn't play ball. Not together. Maybe
someday. She stroked against the nap, watching patterns form
in the soft velvet of her blue dress. Bobby Vinton crooned,
stars swirled, and she wondered if Mulder was ever going to
get around to kissing her. Did he really say he wanted to?
Was that part of her dream? She wondered if he would laugh if
she woke him to ask him.

She hoped he wouldn't laugh. She hoped he would hold her 
Face in his warm palms. She wanted to fall into his chameleon
eyes. She wanted to feel the velvet of his lips on hers, to
feel his tongue stroking hers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

He toyed with the burnished strands of her hair, watching the
harsh shadows cast on her face by the fluorescent light overhead. 

"I want us to have a lot of nights like that. And then one
night, instead of me dropping you off you'll invite me
upstairs and.... Scully, Baby, please wake up. The future is
waiting for us. There's a whole world out there that didn't
exist for me until you came into my life. All I want is to
share it with you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She wrapped her black coat around her. Mists softened the
edges of the lake where her boat rocked. The ropes that
hooked her to shore morphed from rough hemp to clear IV
lines, and back again. Under her coat, she felt the prickly
healing itch from where a Swan-Ganz catheter had been pulled
earlier. She was glad she didn't have the tube into her lungs
anymore. She wondered why the vent tube being gone had made
Mulder cry. A dark cloud obscured Mulder when he stepped back
from the edge of the dock. She wanted to call him back, but
her cries only echoed in her mind. Then, she smiled. He was
back. He had wanted to go look for a boat; he said he wanted
to come join her, but Missy was there, and she had told him
to wait, that he had to stay in the light if he wanted to see
her again. He was back with his gentle expression, soft eyes,
and warm hands. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder stood and smoothed the light blanket covering her,
then leaned down to brush a feathery light kiss on her soft
pink lips. "Wake up, Baby, and I'll be your Prince Charming.
I'll be anything you want me to be, if you'll just open your
eyes and come back to me."

~~~~~~~~~~ 

She felt the brush of his lips, the warmth of his hands. She
wanted to laugh and cry, now that he was here. She wanted to
kiss him senseless. More than anything, she wanted him to
know, he already was everything she wanted. Some sappy, silly
part of her wanted to be his Baby. 


Oooh, Baby  (Part 6) 
By Gina Rain 
Rating: PG


"Mulder," she said, snapping me out of my fugue state. I had
been more concerned with the Dana of my dreams than the
living woman in front of me. Apparently, the live one had
been trying to get my attention.

I looked up and noticed, for the first time, her slightly
disheveled appearance and demeanor. And when I say slightly,
I mean slightly. It gave me a little thrill to know that I
was probably the only one in the world who would actually
notice that errant lock of hair that was brushing her cheek
and that right hand sort of tapping against her hip. 

Then again, everything seemed to give me a little thrill
lately.

"You're late," I said. Nice greeting.

"It's about time you noticed. What the hell were you working
on anyway? You were a million miles away."

"Uh...background."

"Well, you can fill me in a little later. Yes, Mulder. I am
late. Or at least as late as I ever am. My damned car
wouldn't start but I was up so early, I thought I had plenty
of time to grab the bus instead of a cab. That was a huge
mistake because it sort of got wedged in the middle of a
gigantic traffic jam and it was hot and smelly and apparently
caused this guy to have delusions about himself being a cat
and my backside his scratching post. You'll be happy to know
I saved him thousands of dollars in therapy by snapping him
back to reality with a well-placed heel to his heel. Are you
listening to me? "

Scully was never chatty in the morning unless she was riled
up. Another fun fact to tick off the list. I was actually
listening very carefully and it wasn't hard to conjure up a
mental picture of the poor schmuck who tried to grope
Scully's butt before her first cup of coffee. Not that the
caffeine would have lessened the severity of the punishment
she doled out.

"I'm listening, Scully. Sorry you had so much trouble."

"Well, it wasn't all bad. I got off at the next stop and
decided to walk and after about a half-mile," she pulled a
small brown-and-white-striped box out of a larger plastic
shopping bag she had dropped by her desk, "this called to
me."

She went around to the side of my desk and seated herself
primly just over the the edge. She then placed the box in
front of me, and opened it to reveal those baby donut things
they sell in most coffee shops. 

"Traffic jams are an automatic pass," she explained. "All
calories consumed within two hours of mass congestion are
automatically discounted."

"Has that been scientifically proven?" I ask, highly amused
at this unexpected bit of Scully-logic.

"It will be the subject of my next paper." She pushed herself
up further on my desk and popped a donut-bite in her mouth.
"But, there is a catch. It takes two. You always need someone
to be bad with... so, come on, Mulder. Let's be bad."

<Let's be bad, Mulder. Very bad.>

That invitation was in fantasy number 876. Or was that 877?

We were at work. And she was being way too charming for my
own good. Before long, if she continued, I'd find her nice
3-inch heel in a place much further north than my heel.

"Thanks, but no thanks, Scully."

"What?"

"I don't eat those things."

"Donut holes?"

Oy.

"Yes, those ridiculous things they refer to as 'donut holes.'
In high school, I worked in a donut place. There is no such
thing as a donut hole. Not with the machines they use to
mass-produce donuts."

"Don't be such a stickler for detail, Mulder. Who cares if
it's an actual cut-from-the-donut hole? They taste good and
you can pretend they have fewer calories because they aren't
the actual whole donut. So, eat."

I just shook my head.

She took one and placed it to my lips.

"Come on, open up."

I shook my head again, although I was internally melting at
the woman of my dreams feeding me anything.

"I have ways of making you talk," she said, in a mock German
accent. Geez. What the hell got into her this morning? Must
be the sugar. I took the chickenshit way out and opened my
mouth. Resist or serve, or something like that.

"Here you go, Baby. Don't forget to chew."

Chew? Chewing wasn't a problem. Breathing was a problem. She
called <me> 'Baby.' Oh, I know it's not in quite the context
I call her Baby, but still. . .

I looked up at her--the woman who looked slightly frazzled
but was actually more relaxed and playful than I've seen her
in a long while. The woman who, for some reason, has had me
lovesick for the last couple of days--thinking of both the
past and the present, and hopefully, the future.

She let out a small laugh.

"Chew, Mulder. What--do I have to chew it for you and feed
you like a baby bird?"

<No. That won't be necessary, Scully. But, if you wouldn't
mind, could you just scoop up my gooey remains when you're
through with me today?>

I chewed my donut hole and swallowed. She already had another
in her hand and was aiming toward my lips.

"This time, just bite it in half, Mulder. I think it will be
easier that way. We'll get you over this strange donut hole
problem you have in no time at all. Dr. Dana's in the house."

"Uh..."

I leaned forward. 

Heels be damned. 


Title: Oooh, Baby: Out of Body, Out of Mind  (Part 7)
Author: ML 
Rating: PG-13 (language!)
Spoilers: Pusher


I damn near killed Scully today.

I don't mean that I could have killed her, like I was pissed
at her or something. I sat with a gun trained on her, and I
almost pulled the trigger.

One lucky thing happened. One: the gun was pointed at Modell
when I pulled the trigger, not at her.

Not at her, thank God.

I'm sitting in the dark in my apartment, reliving the events
of the day in glorious Technicolor inside my head.

Scene One: the look on Scully's face as I suit up. She's
twisting her hands together, looking anywhere but at me. I
can't look at anything *but* her, even as I listen to the
instructions from Lieutenant Brophy. 

I make a feeble joke. We all recognize it for the lame thing
it is, and that it's failing its purpose miserably.

I kneel in front of Scully and take her hands. I place my gun
in them, and look at her, trying to tell her with my eyes the
things that I haven't ever been able to express out loud. I
trust you. I'll come back to you. I love you.

It's funny how often I imagine saying those words under the
most adverse circumstances, but when it comes right down to
it, I can't do it. I tell myself, wait until later, tell her
afterward, not in extremis like this. And then I never do. 

Here's what I wanted to do: Lay my head in her hands, there
in her lap. I wanted her to stroke my hair. I wanted to say,
"Baby, everything's going to be okay."

I call her Baby in my head. Never out loud, though. It's
another one of those things I tell myself I'll have the right
to do one day.

I wanted to kiss her. I admit it. It's not the first time
I've felt that way, and the feeling gets stronger all the
time. But I'm not so inclined to fight it off the way I
fought Modell. No, I think being under Scully's thrall is
something I could live with.

Next scene: the walk through the hospital, with Scully's
voice in my ear. It's comforting; almost like having her with
me. I feel like I'm in two places at once: watching on the
monitor in the van, and walking through the halls in the
hospital.

Then, last act. There's Modell, there's me... and there's
Scully. Why did she come? Suddenly I'm very, very scared.

I'm feel like I'm trapped in tar. I will myself to move, but
I can't. I see the scene through my own eyes and from
somewhere outside my body: three puppet figures in a hospital
diorama, frozen in place. I can hear Scully's voice, pleading
with me, but as much as I want to obey her, Modell has a hold
on me. He's inside my head, and he's strong. Part of me notes
how different it is from having Scully in my head. Her voice
grounded me, guided me. Modell's is pushing and pulling me,
trying to make me bend to his will. While I would willingly
follow Scully's voice anywhere, I'm fighting Modell with
everything I've got. And I'm afraid he's winning.

But he can't fight two of us at once. I might not be able to
do as Scully asks me, but I can refuse to do what Modell asks
me. Instead, as I see the tear trickle down Scully's face, I
struggle to turn the gun away from her. I tell her to run. I
hear her anguished cry as I pull the trigger.

The images shatter; with the sound of the alarm, Modell's
hold is broken, and for the next several seconds I don't know
what I'm doing. When I do, I can't face Scully. I hand her
the gun, but turn away from her. 

I know we both went through debriefing but I either don't
remember it or I blocked it. I think I answered "I don't
know" to a lot of it. Finally, they let us go. Before I leave
the hospital, I pay a visit to Modell.

Scully's touch saves me as I stand there, contemplating the
man who nearly cost me Scully's life. She tried to get me to
leave with her.

I couldn't get away from her fast enough, as though my mere
presence was a danger to her. I'm not sure she understood,
and I sure couldn't tell her.

Now, I lean back and contemplate my sorry existence. What
does it say about me that I found it easier to face Modell
than to face her? 

I wonder what Scully's doing right now? Part of me hopes
she's writing her request for transfer. Most of me wishes she
were here.

There are so many reasons why I shouldn't feel this way, and
why I should never even contemplate anything other than a
professional relationship with Scully. I just keep telling
myself that; maybe I'll convince myself one of these days. 

I've got to get Modell and the day out of my head. I turn on
the TV and start clicking the remote, looking for any
distraction at all. 

x-x-x-x

I almost lost Mulder today. It's not the first time I've been
faced with that possibility, but usually I'm facing it after
the fact. Usually when the danger is passed and I'm hovering
over his hospital bed, torn between anger at him and relief
that once again he's cheated death.

But this time, I had to let him walk right into it, and there
was nothing I could do about it.

I shouldn't be leaving Mulder alone right now. I probably
shouldn't have let him drive home, but he insisted he was fine. 

I'm not fine, though I certainly can't admit that to Mulder.
He already feels bad enough without me adding to his burden.
I still don't know how Modell did it, but he managed to get
to Mulder. But Mulder was too strong for Modell to control
him for long; he saved himself, and me. 

I wonder if I could have prevented it, if I'd only spoken up.
If I'd had the courage to speak what was on my mind, Mulder
might have decided not to go in on his own. I couldn't do it,
though. Risks are part of the job. It's what we do.

It's why I'm alone right now. I'm having inappropriate
thoughts about my partner, and if I allow them free rein, it
could make working with him impossible.

Not because Mulder would be awkward or uncomfortable with it,
but because showing my feelings could endanger him. I saw
what it did today. The way Modell was able to use me to get
to him.

"You seem awfully close to your pretty partner," he'd
insinuated over the phone. You'd think I'd be used to hearing
stuff like that by now, but hearing it from him was chilling.
"Do you play well together?"

We *work* very well together, not that it's any of your
business. We certainly brought *you* down, Modell, though I'm
not finding that very comforting right now.

It was nearly impossible to let Mulder enter the hospital on
his own. I could barely look at him while he suited up. I was
having too hard a time struggling with myself, with the
feelings that were threatening to swamp me.

I've known for a while how strong my feelings are for Mulder,
and how easy it would be to let them turn into something more
than the deep respect and friendship I have for him. But this
was the first time I've had to face the helplessness of
watching him leave me, knowing he was putting himself in
harm's way.

All I could do was look at him, and place my hand over his.
He didn't say a word, but his eyes spoke to me. I could see
his own determination, and something more. What I think I saw
was my own feelings reflected back. In the space of mere
seconds, something profound was admitted and acknowledged on
both our parts.

I'm not sure we will ever be able to speak it out loud. 

It was an unreal experience, getting a Mulder's-eye view of
the hospital corridors as he searched for Modell. I was with
Mulder, but not; it was intimate, though separated by several
hundred yards of space and concrete and brick.

I don't want to think about what happened next. As soon as
the shots were fired, I was out of my seat in the van. And
when the screen went blank, I knew I had to go in after
Mulder, no matter what.

Lieutenant Brophy was all for storming in there with his SWAT
team, but I made him see, reluctantly, that the only chance I
had to save Mulder was to go in there alone.

I'll never forget the way Mulder looked, rigid with the
effort of trying to fight off Modell.

I'll never forget the shock I felt, the instant of hurt, when
he turned the gun on me, until I saw the pain in his own
eyes. The fear that he was losing the battle with Modell. I
couldn't let him. I couldn't let Modell victimize either of us.

Everything happened so fast, I'm still not sure if I reached
for the alarm first, or if Mulder turned the gun on Modell
first. I think it happened in the same instant. I think we
saved each other.

It hurt to see Mulder so devastated by what happened. He
tried to keep away from me. I wasn't about to let that
happen. I took his hand in Modell's room; it was reassuring
to feel his fingers wrap around mine for a brief instant.
Once again I tried to convey an unspoken message to him: I'm
here. I won't leave you.

I said to Mulder in the hospital, "Let's not give him another
minute of our time," but it seems to me that's exactly what
I'm doing now. I'm letting Modell come between me and Mulder,
and I won't have it.

"You're stronger than this," I told Mulder as he struggled
against Modell. Well, so am I. I won't let anything interfere
with me and my partner.

I can't stand it any more. I have to call him and make sure
he's okay. I reach for the phone but at the last minute I
pause. What am I contemplating? Am I looking to give comfort,
get comfort, or something more?

Whatever it is, I'll deal with it when the time comes. Right
now, I need to talk to my partner.

x-x-x-x

The TV is on, but I don't see it. I'm thinking about Scully,
wishing she were here, willing the phone to ring. I'm too
chickenshit to call her myself. I tell myself she's better
off without me pestering her. It doesn't keep me from
wishing, though.

I close my eyes and think about how nice it would be if she
were here, leaning against me, my arm around her. 

I hear the phone ring. At first, I'm sure I'm imagining it,
and I want to say, don't bother me, I'm about to kiss Scully,
just go away. Then it filters through my thick head that
Scully isn't really here, and I grab for the phone. Before I
even pick it up, I know who it is. "Are you okay?" I hear her
concerned voice.

Here's my chance. The truth, or a noble lie? There's a long
silence as I contemplate my next step.

"Mulder, are you okay?" Scully's voice repeats.

I clear my throat, and my voice comes out with a feeble
tremor, not at all contrived. I opt for the truth, but not
the whole truth. "I'm not so good, Scully."

Silence from her end as she contemplates the unexpected
answer. "Would it help if I came over and sat with you a
while?"

Yesyesyesyesyes!

"Scully, I don't want to put you out," I start to say.
Nobility appears to be winning out.

"It's no trouble," she says. "I could use a little company
myself."

Of course she could. What a jerk I am. I'm sitting here,
wallowing in my misery, forgetting that Scully had an ordeal
today, too. It was of my making, and I can't for the life of
me think why she's not running in the opposite direction, but
I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth.

"If you're sure," I say, still trying to give her an out.

"I'm on my way," she says.

Oh, baby. Maybe I'll take the chance and tell her what I've
been thinking about. 


Oooh, Baby  (Part 8) 
By ArtemisX5 
Rating: PG


I was such an idiot. The other day, I came across the
journal-like essay I felt compelled to write after seeing
Scully in her underthings for the first time and I am
horrified to realize I thought I wanted her then. I had no
inkling of the intricate world of want she would construct
for me.

When she laughed at me in the rain in Oregon I thought I
would melt. When she bared her body to me I thought I owed
her a baring of my soul. Now I'm not sure I even had a soul
until I met its mate.

She gets more beautiful every time I look at her. Her mind is
sharpening into the perfect yin to my yang. Every day I find
another subject on which she is an expert. She trusts me, she
believes that I believe even when she cannot believe herself.
She's saved my life and my ass more times than I can count.
Every day she adds another silken strand to the web she is
ignorant of spinning.

I am utterly, unbearably in love with her.

Her 'I've got a secret' smile still dances for me. But she
doesn't know my secrets:

Sometimes when I look up from my desk, I mean to say, 'Scully
I'm in love with you,' and instead I say, "What do you want
for lunch?" When I watch her eyes as she waxes scientific, I
want to cup her chin in my hands and kiss her so softly that
she wonders if it happened. I dream about her nightly. I
fantasize about her daily. When I put my hand on her lower
back I always imagine that I'm touching her skin. I sleep on
the left side of the bed because I know she sleeps on the right.

But there is one thing she must never, ever know. Even if all
my other secrets come to light, I will carry this one to my
grave. KGB torture couldn't extract it from me.

Whenever I talk to her, my mind calls her Baby. The word has
never left my lips, but it's there, and it's her.

And it's her. Here. Clacking her way down the basement hall
in her towering heels. She's gonna give me suspicious looks
all day if she catches me sitting in her chair, touching the
lines of her handwriting on the deskblotter. So I swing into
my own seat and chuck a pencil heavenward for good measure.

"Good morning, Mulder."

"Morning, (*Baby*)."

Now all I have to do is avoid sodium pentothol for the rest
of my life. 


Oooh, Baby  (Part 9)
By Foxsong 
Rating: G


He frowned, looking sidelong at her. "I was the one who asked
you. You go first."

"Darers go first," she insisted. Her toes curled into the
sand as if that could help hold her place there.

"Don't be such a baby. Get in there." He reached out and
prodded her side with a forefinger. "I'll push you if you
don't hurry up."

"Cut it out, Mulder." She swatted impatiently at his hand,
but made no move to step forward.

He waited, watching her. The insistent wind ruffled her hair,
sweeping it forward to brush her cheek. She must have felt
his eyes on her, for at last she turned her head and looked
full at him.

He glanced away from her for a moment, and then met her eyes
again. He searched for words, but the only ones that seemed
to fit caught in his throat. "I love you," he finally said.

He could see the answer in her eyes. It seemed such a long
time until she spoke. "I love you," she breathed at last.

He thought he should say something more, but didn't know what
it could be, so he only nodded, and then turned away from her
to look ahead again.

Her fingers grazed his elbow. "I'll be right behind you."

He sighed. "Here goes," he said, and made a running start. 


Oooh, Baby  (Part 10)
By: Lola Ravenhill 
Rating: PG


I can see those elfin eyes staring at me from across my
bedroom. I don't know how he got here, or why he picked now
to come, but I know why he's here.

I sit up in the bed, but I don't move any further. I made my
move by not telling him to get the hell out of my apartment,
now it's up to Mulder to approach. He doesn't disappoint.
Mulder, moving like a sleek jungle cat, comes closer. I see
the moonlight glinting off his skin, changing morning gold to
nighttime bluish-silver. He's not wearing a shirt, just a
pair of jeans that could just possibly have been painted on.

Mulder comes to a stop right next to me, and I have to lean
back to get a good look at his face. It's mostly shadowed,
but some stray light makes a few bright patches. His lips
glow, all lush and moist curves. They move silently, mouthing
the words "Hey, Baby." The unexpected words send a little
electric tingle to my toes, and they flex underneath the sheets.

His hand slips out, and the pads of his fingers stroke along
my cheekbone. I lick my lips slightly and, almost instinctively, 
my face nuzzles against his palm. Before I can move any more, 
he drops to his knees; I can hear them as they hit the floor.

I can't help but focus on his lips. They are wonderfully
moist, and seem to glisten as he runs his tongue along them.
I reach out a hand and brush my knuckle against the soft
little bend of his bottom lip. He grabs my wrist and licks at my 
knuckle. The move stills me. Even though I am so ready for this 
moment, that one little maneuver practically stops my breath.

The inactivity is tense, but we stay there for moments, my
knuckle pushed up against his moonlit lips. Outside my
window, cars zoom by and sirens echo off in the distance,
typical sounds of a city night. After a car screeches right
below my place, the stillness is broken as Mulder moves back
just a little.

"Do you want this, Scully?" he whispers. My eyes are still
trained on those curvy lips.

It has taken us time to get to this position we are in
tonight. I have needed to get to know him first, to get to
know all the intricacies, details, and patterns that are Fox
Mulder. They are things that had begun to be revealed to me
on a rainy night in Oregon, and I have been learning them
ever since. There are still plenty of mysteries to be learned
about him, but I know now how he feels about me.

And he has to know how I feel about him.

"Yes," I reply, finally meeting his eyes. They are wide,
moonlight glancing off of arousal-dilated pupils. His mouth
is smiling, the fine lines of his lips curved upward at the
end. I give in to the urge to brush a kiss against one of
those upturned corners.

"Move over, Baby," Mulder rasps. Giving him a small smile of
my own, I move over, and let him in. 


Oooh, Baby  (Part 11)
By Tess 
Rating: R-NC-17


"... Happy Birthday, dear Mulder. Happy Birthday to you." 

I don't even try to hide the smile that wreaths my face as
Scully plops a chocolate-frosted cupcake onto my desk. 

"Don't forget to make a wish," she murmurs. I look up and the
faint light from the tiny candle atop the cupcake highlights
her beautiful face. 

I close my eyes, purse my lips and blow a gentle stream of
warm air toward the flame, extinguishing it and sending my
wish heavenward on a tiny puff of smoke. 

She dips a finger toward the cupcake and scoops up a dollop
of frosting.

"What did you wish for?" She sticks her finger into her mouth
and I can see her little pink tongue delicately lapping up
every trace of chocolate. 

"Mulder?" 

What was my wish? 

********* 

I ease the door open and walk toward the kitchen on quiet
feet. The apartment is redolent with the sweet smells of
something baking and on the counter I can see a slightly
misshapen cake cooling on a wire rack. Scully is focused on
blending melted chocolate and butter in a bowl and I take a
moment to simply watch. Watching Scully is one of my favorite
ways of passing time.

Nearly four years have passed since the day our partnership
was formed. I remember the way she looked back then...

Long hair, girlish features, boxy jackets hiding lush
curves... Her hair is shorter now, her features sharper, her
eyes are sometimes haunted and those lush curves are no
longer a secret held from me. Her legs and feet are bare
beneath the apron she has tied over her skirt and her
red-lacquered toes are curled against the cool tile floor.
She's more beautiful to me now than ever before.

I must make a noise because she looks up from where she has
been painstakingly measuring sugar to find me leaning against
the doorway. 

"Mulder!" She shakes her head in exasperation. "You're
early." I smile and push away from the doorway to cross the
room toward her. 

"I was lonely." I lean my hip against the counter and dip my
finger into the bowl, offering her a taste of the warm
chocolate frosting. She sighs but her tongue slips out to
daintily clean the frosting from my finger. My Scully is a
planner and my early arrival has obviously thrown her plans
off. From the corner of my eye, I see wine glasses and an
open bottle of Merlot on the table. The phone is neatly lined
up next to the menu from our favorite Italian take-out
restaurant. 

Scully wipes her fingers on her apron and plants her hands on
her hips. Her mouth is slightly pursed in irritation--I
wasn't supposed to be home for another forty minutes. I'm
screwing up all of her plans. 

What the heck. It's my birthday. 

I use my body to crowd her into a corner of the counter and
dip my head toward hers. My tongue traces the seam of her
lips and her mouth opens to allow me entry. She tastes
wonderful. Warm chocolate blends with her own familiar
flavor. I want more. I want to taste all of her. 

My fingers go to work on the buttons of her blouse and her
hands are busy tearing at the loose knot of my tie. She
shoves my shirt and tie to the floor seconds before I solve
the mystery of the clasp of her bra. My tongue scrapes over
her pink-tipped breasts and I carefully step out of my shoes
as she pushes my woolen trousers down my legs. 

This is what I want... what I've wished for from practically
the first moment of our meeting. I want Scully. All of her.
Heart, mind, body, and soul. And I have her. For the last few
months--in every way--she has been mine as I have been hers. 

I lift her onto the counter and she fumbles with the zipper
of her skirt and the knot of her apron. I close my fingers
over hers. 

"Leave 'em on, baby."

She laughs but her laughter dies quickly under the intensity
of my gaze. Her eyes are alight with fond humor and if not
for the desire dilating her pupils, I'd think that she's
laughing at me. And I wouldn't care. I am completely turned
on by the way she looks. The homey apron contrasts with the
proper woolen skirt and I run my hands under both, pushing
the twin fabrics out of the way to expose the skimpy lace
barrier of her panties which I strip over her trembling
thighs with one long tug. 

And then I am inside her. Pushing. Pressing. Penetrating until
I cannot get any closer. And still she squirms, her arms 
wrapped tightly around my neck as she seeks to draw me deeper.

She is what I want... no gift she bought can compare. No
previous birthday can hold a candle to this one.

I am home. I am complete. I am in love.

*************** 

"Mulder?" Scully's voice pulls me from my daydream. "What was
your wish?" Her head is tilted to one side and her face is
alight with curiosity. 

I pull the candle from the cupcake and carefully break the
cake in two. 

"I can't tell you, or it won't come true," I say and offer
half of the treat to her. She leans forward to take the cake
from me and I catch her hand with mine, pressing a kiss into
her warm palm. 

"But it's my fondest desire." 

Her eyes widen and her fingers tremble beneath mine. The
smile that curves her lips is at once shy and filled with
anticipation. 

And I realize that it's only four months until her
birthday... 

Oooh, Baby  (Part 12)
By Marlen 
Rating: G
Spoilers: pre-Arcadia


I'm packing when I hear a distinctive knock on the door.

"Come in, Mulder."

I hear his voice echo through the apartment as the door opens
and closes.

"Now Scully, what if it weren't me on the other side of the
door? What if it were a stranger getting ready to attack you?"

"Mulder, don't be ridiculous. I knew it was yo--" As I come
out of my room and approach the living room, I'm drowning in
a sea of pink.

Mulder in a pink-collared shirt and sweater, to be precise.

I don't think I've ever seen that before.

Must be an X-File.

I smile, sizing him up. Very nice, even in pink. Not a lot of
men can pull it off and still look manly, but Mulder sure does. 

"Let's get crackin', Scully."

What a way to ruin a muse, Mulder.

"Laura."

He checks me out as well. I look at the embroidered sweater
I'm wearing. I doubt he has the same reaction to my choice of
clothing as I did to his. "I'm almost done packing. I'll be
just a moment." Mulder nods and sits down, drumming his
fingers on the arm of the couch. As I go back to my room to
finish up, I wonder if he knows he's doing it or if it's
purely a subconscious act on his part.

In the six years I've been on the X-Files, I've seen some of
the most improbable things occur beyond nature, but
this...this I could never havepredicted--Mulder and I posing
as a married couple, to investigate the mysterious
disappearance of a couple in a community known as The Falls
at Arcadia.

So, what's bothering me? This case. Not the case per se, the
fact that we have to live, for the most part, as a married
couple. Our relationship has never been something easily
defined in the traditional sense of the term. We started off
as partners and became the best of friends. Our trust
unwavering amidst the toughest of struggles, but now we're
hovering near a turning point into something...more. Not yet
a couple, but not what we once were.

I may not know exactly where this relationship is headed, but
I do know that we're not ready for this even if it is only
"pretending." But by the way he looked at me just a moment
ago, I get the feeling Mulder's going to enjoy this. He'll
definitely play the part of a husband and try to touch me in
ways most couples do naturally, use that boyish grin to charm
his way with the neighbors and of course, there's that voice.
Deep, scratchy, and most assuredly seductive. 

I wonder if he knows what he does to me when he does that?
How am I going to survive all that time with him?

We're going to have to solve this case fast.

Just in case, I ought to take some protection with me. I go
into the bathroom and search the cabinets until I find it.

Yes. I think this will do the trick.

I put the green night cream in my bag. No man in his right
mind would want to do anything when a woman is wearing that
to bed.

Then again, Mulder isn't just any man.

======

I wonder what's taking Scully so long? I stop drumming my
fingers on the couch and dive them into my pocket to pull out
a small velvet box. I open it and take out the plain gold
band, placing it on my finger. I can't help but wonder what
Scully's reaction would be if I asked her to marry me.

I know we're nowhere near ready to go down that road, but I
can't help but think of a "someday" with Scully. I'd like to
think that is where we're headed. I smile to myself: I always
thought about here and now. The future never concerned me
before...until I met Scully. 

She's kept me sane and stayed by me throughout the roughest
of times. 

I realize she's in the room and staring at the small box with
a questioning look on her face.

I stand and grin at her confusion. "Since we have to play the
part, might as well have the accessories to boot." I hand her
the box with her ring and bow. "My lady."

Her eyes go wide when she finally sees the ring. "Mulder,
it's...it's beautiful. The FBI sprang for this?"

"You bet, Baby, but don't lose it, because we have to give
them back." I wave my hand with the matching ring on it.

Is that a slight smile I see on Scully's face? So, she likes
it when I call her Baby. I think this case is going to be a
lot of fun. 


Oooh, Baby  (Part 13)
By Donna 
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Milagro


Well she finally seemed to be asleep. He'd insisted she stay
here. If she could refuse the emergency room, he could refuse
to let her be alone.

He lowered himself onto the couch, still shaky himself from
the events of the day. That SOB Padgett had nearly killed
her. He didn't have the specifics but it was true. Hell, he'd
thought she *was* dead--all that blood.

Reading "the book" had set him on edge and he still hadn't
been able to completely relax from that: Scully doing the
"naked pretzel" with some other man. He'd managed to say it
fairly lightly when telling her about it but the
visualization--and the anger--hadn't left him.

Padgett had referred to her as "Baby" in his story. No one
referred to her that way, even him. At least not out loud.
Yes, he'd heard it come from his lips when she-- her image
anyway--gave him the release he needed. But she didn't know
that, would never know that.

Well he may have slipped earlier this evening as they clung
to each other. He'd never before held her like that. Why did
trauma have to be behind it?

His mind drifted to the first time he'd had his arms around
her. That night in Oregon...it had been too brief and he'd
had no idea how long it would be before he'd have her in his
arms again. If only he hadn't been so startled. No one came
to him for reassurance, but this diminutive redhead hadn't
seemed to hesitate, even with all the crap he'd pulled.

If she'd been there with some other agent, Willis or someone,
would the night have ended with her on the bed and the other
agent sitting on the floor, not even touching her? He shook
his head at that memory.

They'd both been so young and, in their own ways, naive. And
he knew without doubt that neither could ever have foreseen
what would blossom between them in the future.

There was no way *he* would ever fall in love with a little
spy and she...Padgett had said he'd made a mistake writing
that she would fall in love. "Agent Scully is already in love."

They'd both frozen at those words, carefully not looking at
each other and ready to deny it--at least on her part--if
anyone had overheard. Was it true?

When he'd found her, bleeding on his floor, he'd been slammed
between the eyes with just how true it was for him. He still
wasn't sure how he'd found the strength to release her.

He shook his head, comparing it to the almost embrace all
those years ago.

He looked up as he heard her, restless in the next room. She
was probably dreaming. He rose to check and opened the door
wider.

"Mulder." She reached for him.

"I'm right here, Baby." He took her back into his arms. 


Oooh, Baby  (Part 14)
By Pacquin 
Rated: R
Spoilers: None 


"Come on, Mulder. Fair's fair." Scully frowned slightly, then
crossed her arms and looked at her partner. He was sitting
with his feet propped up on his desk, leaning back in his
chair and looking up at the ceiling, suit jacket slung over
the back of the chair, white shirt unbuttoned at the neck;
his hands laced together behind his neck as he leaned further
back in his chair. "You *always* decide what car we're going
to get. You always get to *drive.*" You got to pick out our
names when we went undercover. It's only fair that *I* should
get to make a decision occasionally."

Mulder said nothing; then he slowly moved his head from side
to side, stretching the muscles in his neck. "You get to make
decisions, Scully. I seem to recall not so long ago that I
let you pick out the car, I let you drive--hell, you even got
to decide which case we worked on."

"That was last February, Mulder! On my birthday!" Scully
walked over to the desk. "You mean I have to wait six months
until my birthday rolls around again before I get to make
another decision?"

Mulder lowered his feet to the floor and sat up straight in
his chair. He looked at Scully thoughtfully for a moment,
then shrugged.

Scully sighed. "Okay, Mulder, look at it this way: Somewhere,
*someone* is having a birthday. And in honor of that person's
birthday, how about *I* get to make a decision for a change?"

He leaned back in his chair again and gave her a long look.
"Okay, Scully. Fine. You get to make the decision. If you're
going to be such a baby about it." 

Scully raised her left eyebrow and stared at her partner.
"What was that? If I'm going to be such a 'what'?"

Mulder took his hands from behind his neck and leaned forward
in his chair. "I think you heard me ... 'Baby'," he said
huskily.

"'Baby'?"

Mulder got up from behind his desk, then walked over to the
door and closed it. He looked at Scully and then slowly,
slowly turned the lock. Mulder turned and began to walk 
toward her, unbuttoning his shirt as he went, then came up 
behind her and put his hands on her waist, sliding them 
up her body, and reached around and began unbuttoning her 
shirt, nuzzling her neck as he unhooked her bra--one-handed--
and gently stroked her breasts."You've got about thirty 
seconds to make a decision, Scully...."

"Mmmm...." Scully closed her eyes and leaned into him,
resting her head against Mulder's chest. "How about the
floor...."

He pressed his lips against her neck, brushing kisses against
her soft skin. "I just got my suit jacket back from the
drycleaners, Scully. How about the desk?"

"Oh... God...." she moaned as he slid his hands under her
skirt. "Well... okay... but this doesn't count as my
decision, Mulder...."

"You can make the next one, Scully, I promise...." He gently
pushed her down on her back onto the desk, then slipped her
panties off her hips.

Scully closed her eyes, then opened them quickly as she heard
something metallic hit the floor. "Was that the stapler,
Mulder?"

"Who cares...."

"That makes the third one this month...."

Mulder unzipped his pants and moved between her legs. "I'll
steal the key to the office supplies cabinet and get us a new
one...."

Scully sighed as she felt the sweet weight of Mulder's body
on top of her. "Well, just so long as it wasn't the
laptop...."

"Mmm... laptop... I like the sound of that, Scully," he
murmured as he slowly entered her.

"Oh... Mulder...." she gasped.

Oh... *Baby*...."


OOOH, BABY: THE MEETING  (Part 15)
written by Lara Means 
Rating: R-NC-17


I have absolutely no idea what Skinner's saying right now.

We've been sitting in this meeting for more than two hours. I
know it has something to do with the budget for the next
fiscal year, but beyond that... I tuned him and everybody
else out a long time ago.

All I'm aware of is my partner.

Sitting across the table from me.

Watching me.

Blatantly, unapologetically watching me.

I try not to notice. Or at least, I *pretend* not to notice.
But it's tough. Whenever he catches my gaze, the flush
starts. It creeps slowly over my chest, up my neck, until my
cheeks are blazing. It doesn't matter how quickly I break our
eye contact--that flush of arousal goes on forever.

I think I've been successful in hiding it. I lean over and
let my hair fall forward, become engrossed in whatever report
whomever's speaking has referred to.

Eventually the blush will subside. I only wish my thoughts
were as easy to control.

I can't stop thinking about him.

About this morning. And last night. And yesterday afternoon.

And every single time we've touched, kissed, made love.

I close my eyes, barely aware of Skinner's droning voice, and
remember this morning.

We showered together, a rare indulgence on a workday. We're
always late when we do that. But this morning, the temptation
of his body behind the pebbled-glass shower door was just too
strong to resist.

His back was to me when I opened the door--he started to
turn, but I wouldn't let him. I slipped my arms around him,
pressed my naked flesh to his, felt him shiver at my touch...
I took the soap from him and lathered up my hands, then
replaced it in the dish. Then I skimmed my hands along his
arms to his chest, my fingers swirling around his nipples,
teasing them to tight little peaks, feeling mine harden as well.

At his throaty moan I moved south, to where he wanted me, to
where I wanted to be--all the while keeping my body tightly
molded to his from behind. I trailed my fingers through his
wiry curls, then danced them along his hard length. His hips
surged forward reflexively as I gripped him, and he reached
out to steady himself against the shower wall. Breathing
hard, he stilled his body and let me pump him, slowly at
first. His arms began to tremble as I went faster and faster,
both of us knowing his release was near. Finally, finally...
he threw back his head and bellowed my name, evidence of his
passion splashing the shower wall.

I slowed my movements, milking every last drop from him, my
other arm around him in a gentle embrace. After his breathing
returned to normal, he turned in my arms and held me tight.
Then he cupped my face in his hands and murmured, "Oh, Baby,
what you do to me..."

"Agent Scully? You have something to add?"

Skinner.

I blink, suddenly very aware of my surroundings--but
completely *un*aware of the last five minutes. I glance
across the desk at my partner, and his cat-who-ate-the-canary
grin tells me I just might've made a noise--quite possibly a
whimper. I try to affix my professional mask and look back at
Skinner.

"No, Sir," I tell him, noticing the slight tremor in my voice. 
He stares at me for a moment, then gives his head a tiny shake 
and returns to whatever he was talking about before.

I shoot Mulder what I hope is a withering look, complete with
Raised Eyebrow. But I know it's hopeless.

I can't wait until this meeting is over.


Oooh, Baby  (Part 16)
By Sallie 
Rating: PG-13-R


Mulder's eyes snapped open. He had been sleeping soundly, but
something had awakened him. Not something, rather, but the
absence of something. Scully's side of the bed was empty, and
the warmth of her body spooned next to him had dissipated. 

"Scully?"

Fox Mulder hadn't slept easily, or well, for years. It had
been even more difficult for him after his "resurrection."
Not only did he dream terrible dreams, nightmares ending in
soundless screams, but when he couldn't sleep, he tossed and
turned, and wrestled with the hows and whys of his return. 

"Scully? Baby?"

Of course there were other questions, too. How had his
partner, a woman he'd cherished for years, and only begun
taking to his bed just before he vanished, become swollen
with child? What twist of fate caused her pregnancy? The
miracle child: was this a blessing or a curse? What was his
part in this astonishing conception? 

"Scully. Are you all right?"

He remembers the pain of his return. Not physical pain. That
was somehow gone. The pain is in his mind when he thinks
about all that he missed while he was dead. It is painful for
him to try to figure out why he was taken, where he went, why
he was returned. Why, when he had been buried, lifeless and
cold, had he been able to come back, to open his eyes and see
Scully's lovely face? Deep inside his very soul, it hurts to
think about these things, and realize he will never know the
answers. 

While searching the unlit bedroom for his now-missing
partner, he thinks coming back from the dead is not all it's
cracked up to be. 

"Scully! Where are you?"

"I'm out here Mulder."

He follows her voice through the dark apartment, deftly
avoiding furniture in his path. "Scully, what's wrong?"

"Shhh, I'm fine, Mulder. I had a cramp in my leg, so I got up
for some milk. I decided to stay for the sunrise."

She is silhouetted against the window. Beyond her, fingers of
pale gold light are beginning to poke through the curtains.
Mulder walks up behind her and encircles her waist with his
arms. His hands rest atop hers, holding her round belly. When
he presses his face into her hair, the familiar scent
comforts and calms him.

Quietly they watch the sun's progress together. Mulder
remembers how glad he was when she asked him to stay the
night. He wishes he could always stay here; he can sleep when
they lie down together. Somehow she keeps the night terrors
at bay. He knows that if he asked her she would say yes, but
he doesn't want to put her on the spot. He doesn't want to
seem so pathetic that he cannot sleep by himself. He wishes
she needed him more.

Mulder smiles into her hair and remembers rocking gently
inside her, being oh-so-careful not to disturb the baby
growing nearby; their passion muted by respect for what is
happening within her body. He presses kisses onto the back of
her neck.

"When you called me, did you say 'Baby,' Mulder?"

Mulder grins, and continues his nuzzling. "I just wanted to
know where you both were."

Scully smiles too. "We're right here, Mulder. We'll always be
right here." 


Oooh, Baby  (Part 17)
By Gwen Purcell 
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Yeah, probably, but you've seen them all.


Scully awakens with a start. Mulder's arm lays heavily across
her chest,and it occurs to her that it feels like it belongs
there. However, that isn't what pulled her from blissful
sleep. It was her leg--another cramp. She's been getting them
frequently during the last month, and she knows that a glass
of milk will help. Scully carefully lifts Mulder's arm and
places it on the mattress. He doesn't even stir. She smiles,
remembering what sent him into such a deep sleep. He had been
so careful not to hurt her or the baby, and she had felt so
loved.

Still smiling, Scully slips from the bed and limps into the
kitchen. She sits for a moment on a kitchen chair and
massages her leg until the tightness in the muscles eases.
She stands and opens the refrigerator. Things are different
now. Even the contents of her fridge have changed since
Mulder miraculously returned to her. She reaches for the
carton of skim milk, bypassing the 2% that Mulder likes on
his cereal. She keeps more food here now, since she has
finally regained her appetite, and is often feeding
two--well, three. 

Scully pours herself some milk and stands by the window to
drink it. The woman she sees reflected there looks content,
and almost unfamiliar. The face which had been so drawn and
somber during the time that Mulder was missing and dead is
looking more animated and fuller. Beyond the window, the
darkness is being replaced by light. "Just like my life," she
muses. "The light is coming back. Now, if he would only
commit to living here with me, things would be perfect. It
would be the practical thing to do," she reasons, setting
down her glass. "I might need to go to the hospital in the
middle of the night, or I might need ice cream, or I might
just wake up and want to look at his beautiful, sleeping
face. If only he needed me enough to stay." She continues to
stand and watch the color seep into the day, as she hears
Mulder wake and realize she is gone. She thinks she hears him
call her Baby. "That's new," she smiles.

When his arms slip around her, she doesn't even startle. She
was waiting for the warmth of him, and delights in it. His
warm kisses on her neck thrill her, and when he passes off
the word "Baby" by saying he was looking for them both, she
responds, "We're right here Mulder. We'll always be right
here." She snuggles a bit closer to him, and hears his
whispered reply, "Me, too, Baby. Right here, forever, if
you'll have me."

She turns in his arms and rocks back on her heels to see his
face more clearly. His eyes are dark with love, but a droplet
of moisture runs down his face, giving away the nervousness
he feels waiting for her answer. She looks into his eyes and
nods, "Yes, Mulder, forever." His arms tighten around her and
she sinks against his chest, breathing in the scent of him.
It is an awkward position, with the baby between them, and
soon they break apart. Mulder catches her hand and says,
"It's early, Scully. Let's go back to bed." She turns to
follow him, when there is a banging on the front door. 

They look at each other in distress, tempted to ignore it.
When the pounding continues, Scully pulls her robe around her
and heads for the door. Mulder hurries to the bedroom to pull
on some jeans. As Mulder returns to the living room, he hears
Scully say, "Sir, come in. What's wrong?" 


Oooh, Baby  (Part 18)
by frogdoggie 
rating: R
Spoilers: Hmmm. For the X-Files--the whole works I guess,
S1-S7. Plus...well, see the author's notes. ;-)
*Author's notes at the end of this part.


Cole Hardin woke with a start, sweating and rolling to sit
up. His bed companion was roused from slumber and scrambled
to get out of the way.

"Hey," Winston grumbled, shifting to foot of the bed. "Que
pasa, boss?"

Hardin sat back against the headboard, swiped the
perspiration from his bald head and blinked down at the
little dog.

"Sorry. But, I had one hell of a dream," he replied.

The supernatural entity, an elemental disguised as a French
bulldog, raised an eyebrow at the tented sheet over Cole's lap.

"I guess," he replied in his gravely voice. Cole cleared his
throat in embarrassment and the bulldog's jowls curled in a
smirk at his discomfort. "I take it this wasn't a channeling
dream?"

The tent in his lap sagged as Hardin considered the creature
pinning him with a quizzical stare. The Master Speaker to the
Dead scrubbed at his mouth as he considered his answer.

"Yeah, it started out as speaking with the dead. Some guy
with a prosthetic arm was trying to get his point across.
Persistent, and confusing fucker he was too. He had one arm
and then had two by the end of the dream..."

Hardin's voice trailed off.

"And?" Winston prompted, snorting a little.

"Sorry, I was trying to remember the guy's name. It sounded
Russian."

When Cole was lost in silent thought for a few seconds,
Winston sighed impatiently and spoke again.

"So--you got a hard-on over some Russian guy with one arm?
Gee, I never knew you swung that way."

Hardin fixed the dog with an annoyed look.

"Get serious."

Winston gave him a toothy, doggie grin.

"All right, so why the boner? The Russian guy must have had
one incredible story to tell."

Cole turned his head and stared out the bedroom window. A
full moon illuminated both he and Winston as the bald-headed
man grew meditative.

"He was trying to confess--well, let's just say he had a lot
of issues he wanted to unload."

Winston interrupted.

"In Russian?"

"No, he spoke English--with no accent," Hardin replied, his
voice distant. "A lot of what he said was the most outrageous
shit I've heard in a long time, but in the end it all came
down to...hell, I don't know...he must have been some kind
of voyeur."

Winston straightened and peered eagerly into Hardin's profile
as the tall, muscular man continued to stare into the summer
night.

"The guy was a peeping Tom?" the dog asked, panting. Hardin
ignored the Frenchie's lascivious interest.

"He kept flashing me images of a couple," he replied, still
lost in thought. "A tall guy with brown hair and a big nose,
and a woman, a gorgeous, petite redhead. I got the impression
they weren't amongst the dead. No, they're very much
alive--and very much in love. They were in a cabin somewhere.
It was night and the Russian was watching. I got bits and
pieces of what he saw."

"Whoa, hang on. Don't tell me he was watching them fuck?"

Hardin refocused on the dog and his expression was wistful as
he thought of his lost Nancy.

"It went way beyond fucking--it was making love in the truest
sense of the word."

The little dog studied his friend's face and nodded in
understanding.

"I think I get the picture," he whispered.

Hardin cleared his throat again and his face was less
wistful.

"But yeah, the Russian had a really good view of them having
sex. The guy with the nose was saying "Oh Scully, oh
Baby...calling on God...you know the drill..."

"Holy shit"

"No kidding...it was pretty hot."

"Hence the hard-on"

"Right."

The two friends stared at each other and finally Hardin shook
his head in bemusement.

"It was one crazy-ass dream. Really screwed."

Winston's wide tongue licked his lips and he snorted another
laugh.

"It sounds like someone was really screwed good."

Hardin chuckled.

"I left myself open for that one."

Winston grinned, his tongue lolling.

"Yup. Thanks," he replied.

Hardin tried to look annoyed, failed and laughed at his
friend.

"In keeping with the theme tonight--screw you," he said.

Winston jiggled with his growled laughter and Cole settled
down in the sheets, signaling that he was trying go back to
sleep. Winston took the cue and lay down as well, his wide
head on his front paws.

"Maybe the Russian guy'll show up again and sort things out,"
the little dog said.

"Krycek."

"Huh?"

"I remembered the Russian's name--Krycek."

"So, maybe this Krycek will return."

Hardin yawned and punched the pillow under his head.

"Yeah, maybe. He was one talkative dead man."

Winston nodded, his bulbous, liquid brown eyes growing heavy.

"He had unfinished business," he replied.

"I want to believe," Hardin mumbled sleepily.

Winston, half asleep himself opened one eye and peered at
Hardin in the moonlight.

"Hmmm? Was that something the Russian said?"

"No, it was something the 'nose' guy said. I remember his
name now too--unusual name."

"Screwy name?" the dog replied, shutting his eye and laying
his chin on his paws.

"Yeah, his name was Fox. Fox Mulder."

Winston didn't comment. He was sound asleep and snoring.
Hardin shrugged and drifted off to sleep as well.

*Author's notes: I hope you'll forgive this offbeat crossover between The
X-Files and my Crossroads Universe. ;-) For more on Cole
Hardin, Winston and the lost Nancy I guess you'll have to
wait for my novel. LOL. In the meantime - this is Mulder,
Scully and a certain Ratboy through my original character's
POV. Happy Birthday, Nook. Many happy returns. :-) 


Oooh, Baby  (Part 19)
By MeridyM 
Happy Birthday, and many more...
Rating: PG


New Year's Eve, 2002

John Doggett walked soundlessly into the bedroom. He stopped
at the foot of the bed, hardly able to believe what he was
seeing there. 

A woman nursing his newborn child.

Her eyes were closed, a contented smile on her face. He stood
still, listening to the sounds he hadn't heard in so many
years: the tiny gulps and sighs of a nursing baby, the
tuneless hum of a mother to her child. 

He came close and leaned over mother and child, catching the
faint scent of baby powder and fabric softener, of mother's
milk and lavender. Suckling hungrily, his son watched him
with hazy blue eyes. John brushed the side of his finger
across the baby's satiny cheek as a tangle of emotions welled
up: love, amazement, awe, inexpressible joy. He felt
upside-down, inside-out, besotted. 

He smiled, smoothing the wisps of black hair on the child's
tiny round head. "That's a heck of a supper you're havin'
there, Bud," he whispered.

Mo Dannah opened her eyes. "Hi," she said, smiling up at him.
"Did you eat?" 

"Yeah, I grabbed a burger while I was down in Hayden." He
stroked her hair, and she leaned into his hand lazily, like a
cat craving attention. She looked sleepy, but in a kind of
blissful way he envied. "It's New Year's Eve," he said. "Do
you want at least a sip of champagne?" He raised the bottle
he held in his free hand. 

Her brows raised in surprise. "You bought champagne?" 

"Well, yeah," he said, "It seemed fitting--a new year, a new
life. A new life for all of us, you know?" 

Mo smiled at him. She reached up to touch his cheek, and he
turned his face to kiss her palm. It was true. All of it was
so new. 

~~~

For the last half-year, they'd been on the run from the
people who wanted John dead. They'd worked at odd
jobs--cleaning, restaurant work, carpentry when John could
find it. They'd stayed in motels or in apartments that leased
by the week, and they could never settle in anywhere too long
before John would start to see someone following them or
overhear someone asking about him where he was working that
week. He and Mo would always be packed and gone that same day.

Monica had also gone underground and sent them the occasional
message to let them know she was okay. Mulder and Scully had
vanished completely, and there'd been no word from them since
early fall. John tried not to worry about them, but it nagged
at him, the not-knowing. 

Back in May, when Mo had discovered--to her utter shock--that
she was pregnant, John had moved in with her in Boulder,
until it became clear that it wasn't safe there, either.
They'd hit the road after that, and had only recently stopped
moving. It wasn't the ideal way to go through a pregnancy,
but they'd had no other choice. 

They'd gotten married in June, the traditional time for
weddings, which probably made their wedding even harder on
Mo. It had been a quick, simple ceremony at the county
courthouse in Moab, Utah, with no one in attendance but a
stranger as witness. Mo had cried into her pillow on her
wedding night, wanting her mother, wanting her sister,
wanting the comfort of friends and family. John had held her,
his arms wrapped around her newly rounded belly, having no
words that could really comfort her.

They'd spent the last month and a half in Idaho at the summer
home of a friend, and as Mo's time had come closer, her
friend Marian had come to help out. On the night of the
Winter Solstice, the darkest and most sacred night of the
year, the baby Mo never thought she'd be able to have had
been born, while the wind shook the trees and tossed snow
against the windows. 

~~~

"Get some glasses," Mo said. "I'll have a little champagne
with you--but just a little." 

John smiled. He set the bottle down on the nightstand and
went to the kitchen to find some glasses.

Mo looked down at her son, whose nursing had slowed to the
occasional flurry of suckles. His eyes were half-closed in
drowsy milk-ecstasy. "Your daddy's silly, isn't he, Sweetie?"
she murmured, tracing a finger down the baby's cheek. But she
knew it was John's way of trying to make life a little more
normal for them, and she was grateful.

She sometimes wondered if he really knew how much she loved
him, how much she'd always loved him.

~~~

"How're you feelin' tonight?" John toed off his shoes and
carefully settled onto the bed next to Mo and the baby. He
passed her a glass containing just enough champagne to make
her wish she could drink more.

"I'm fine," she said, "aside from the sore nipples and the
sore bottom." She chuckled. "Though I can't complain about
the improvement in my, um, assets."

He grinned. "Well, I can't either," he admitted, "but I'm
sorry about the soreness, Sweetheart. That can't be much
fun." 

She dropped a gentle kiss on the sleeping baby's forehead.
"It's worth it," she whispered. "And it'll pass." 

John encircled her with his arm, and she nestled against him,
adjusting the baby's blanket and resettling his little warm
body against her belly. The baby sighed and stretched and
nuzzled her in his sleep. 

She rested her head on John's shoulder. "It's hard to believe
the year's over, isn't it?" 

He stroked her hair tenderly. "Yeah. It's been a hell of a
year." He raised his glass, and she touched her glass to his
with a soft clink. "Here's to absent friends," he said.

"And to everyone we love," she added. She sipped the
champagne slowly, trying to make the tiny amount last. She
looked up into his face. "You're thinking about them, aren't
you? Monica, Mulder and Scully?"

He didn't have to ask how she knew. She just. . .knew. "Yeah.
It's funny," he said. "I was wondering what Monica did on
Christmas."

"That's not funny," Mo murmured. "That's sad. I know you miss
her. And I've been thinking about Scully a lot recently, too."

"You have?"

She nodded. "She didn't think she could have a baby either."
Mo sipped the last of her champagne. 

"That makes sense," he said. "When I was driving back from
Hayden earlier, I remembered something Mulder told me one
time." His fingers were moving absently in her hair. "I don't
know why I even thought of it, but I did, right there on the
exit ramp of the 95."

"What was it?" Mo asked.

"Well, this was before I knew for sure that he and Scully
were, you know, involved--though I gotta tell you, I always
suspected it. Scully was too miserable the whole time he was
missing. I knew there was more there than a regular
partnership."

Mo nodded.

"I don't have a clue why he even told me this, but he said
that he knew Scully was special from the first case he worked
with her. And here's the kicker: He told me he always had the
urge to call her Baby. But he never felt like he could."

Mo tilted her head back and smiled at him. "Well, it's not
very professional."

He smiled back and pulled her hair gently. "Right. But the
funny thing is that in the last year or so, I overheard him
call her that a few times." 

"In front of you?"

"I'm good at being unobtrusive when I want to be."

"Hmmm." 

He could tell she was sleepy, and he stroked her cheek.
"Whenever I heard him call her that, I always thought of what
he told me that time. I figure he must have known right from
the beginning that she was the one for him--even though it
took them a while to figure it out."

"That sounds familiar," Mo whispered.

"I know." John kissed the top of her head. "I guess I just
wonder about them." 

"Oh, darlin', I know," she said. "I know you do."

He massaged her head gently, his fingers combing through her
dark curls. "I wonder where they are right now. I wonder
*how* they are." His blue eyes had turned serious. "Do you
think they're all right?" 

"I do." Her assurance was clear even through her sleepiness. "I 
have to believe that. I think they're together, just like we 
are. And you know what else? I think he still calls her Baby."

John nodded. "I'd sure like to think so," he said softly.
"And speaking of 'baby,' I think this one needs to go to bed,
huh?" He smoothed his son's silky hair. 

"Mmmm." 

"And so do you," he added, smiling. "Here, let me take him.
I'll tuck him in."

John lifted the sleeping baby from her tummy and carefully
carried him the short distance to his bassinet. He settled
him into the wicker baby bed and covered him with the tiny
quilt there. He bent over and kissed his son's chubby cheek,
marveling at the peaceful beauty of the sleeping infant. 

"I guess maybe there's no perfect time to be born, huh,
Buddy? But if it makes any difference, no one could love you
more than your mom and I do. And, I swear to God we'll keep
you safe."

John straightened the quilt one last time and turned back to
the bed. Mo was asleep, her empty champagne glass still in
her fingers. He took the glass and set it on the nightstand
and pulled the comforter up over her. She rolled onto her
side and sighed. 

"Happy New Year, Sweetheart," he whispered. And he reached up
and turned off the lamp. 


Oooh, Baby  (Part 20)
by SLS 
Spoilers: Post-Modern Prometheus


'Touched down in the land of the Delta Blues In the middle of
the pouring rain...'

The sounds of Marc Cohn's "Walking in Memphis" fade into the
background. Mulder holds me close as his eyes bear into mine
with deep intensity. I blush under his gaze and look down,
feeling my face warm up. 

"One more?" he asks as I start to let go and sit back down.
Smiling, I nod as the next song drifts through the speakers.

'I'll always remember the song they were playing. The first
time we danced and I knew...' Anne Murray's soft, smooth voice
plays over the hall. Placing one hand at the small of my
back, Mulder takes my right hand in his left and pulls me
even closer. 

Listening to the lyrics, I look into Mulder's eyes, feeling
as though this song was written just for us. All of our
obstacles, heartache, and triumph since we've known each
another...it all seems to melt away as we move together on
the dance floor. I feel an involuntary shiver go through me. 

His hand now rests over mine, near his heart, and his other
hand is still settled on my back. My fingers softly rake up
and down his back. I rest my head against his chest as the
song plays in the background. 

'Could I have this dance for the rest of my life? Would you
be my partner every night? ...'

Mulder tucks my head snugly under his chin and I feel him
breathing deeply in and out. His heartbeat slows to a
comfortable rate and my own falls in beat as my eyes slip
shut. 

'I'll always remember that magic moment. When I held you
close to me...'

I feel cocooned in his arms. Safe. Protected. Loved.  Nothing
could touch me now. No cancer. No pain. No loss. 

'As we moved together, I knew forever. You're all I'll ever
need...'

Mulder leans down, hovering over my ear.  "You're all I need,
Baby," he whispers. 

'Could I have this dance for the rest of my life? Would you
be my partner every night?...'

He pulls away and looks into my eyes again. "Was this the
ending you hoped for, Scully?" he asks with a hint of a grin.


'When we're together it feels so right. Could I have this
dance for the rest of my life?...'

I look at him for a long time, not knowing how to put my
answer into words. Standing on my tiptoes, I place a soft
kiss on his full lips. Mulder weaves his fingers into my hair
and holds my head close, to deepen the kiss into one more
urgent. More passionate. Just more. 

"Does that answer your question?" I ask when we part to
breathe. Mulder grins again. 

"Absolutely, Baby. Absolutely." 


Oooh, Baby  (Part 21)
By Avalon 
Rating: PG


He dreams of her 
His sweet sea goddess 
Stormy and frantic 
Pounding like water 
A gift he worships

He fell in love when she laughed with him in the rain. Her
breath rose between them, a cloud of vapor clinging to the
droplets already there. He wanted to step into it, to breathe
in the essence of her, the same air that had traveled through
her body, oxidizing her blood, warming her hands and feet and
charging her brilliant mind. 

As he got to know her, he realized her similarities to water.
There were times when she was as swift and sure as a
fast-running river, sweeping him into her current with her
rushing intelligence. Other times she slowed, becoming a
lazy, bending stream, methodically tracing her path, little
by little eroding the sediment and finding the truth buried
beneath it.

And sometimes, she solidified, glacial and unbending, and he
had to tread gently across the ice that she became. These
were the worst times, the times that he dreaded, for the
water churned angrily beneath the frozen surface, and he
didn't wish to break through and drown. Still, he learned the
skill of artful negotiation, hoping that one day he would
never have to endure her as winter again. 

When they finally succumbed to the inevitable, she trickled
over him, bathing him in the heat of her sweat, the taste of
her fresh and dewy on his tongue. He stilled, awed by the
thundering sweep of her ardor, her cresting passion so like a
breaker curling over the beach. When she consumed him, he
drowned willingly, saturated in her cool essence, her
undulating waves, the pulses of her pleasure that seemed to
soak into his own bloodstream, synchronizing his heartbeat
with hers.

She is so many things to him: pounding waves, inviting
bathwater, needling spray. But mostly she is that mirage in
the desert that a dying man invents, the glistening glass of
water that will quench his undeniable thirst and keep him
from destruction.

She saves him, in every way. 

fin