TITLE: Making Moves
AUTHOR: aRcaDIaNFall$
FEEDBACK: arcadianfalls@yahoo.com.au
SPOILERS: minor reference to Duane Barry
CLASSIFICATION: A, R, UST
SUMMARY: Mulder's not sleeping well.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was intended as another of my trademark generic
little moments *g* but ended up going a little further... Vote pink,
purple or aqua for a sequel *g*.
As usual, this is independent of whatever the 'real' XF is up to (I
think you guys just saw the final on Sunday night?), and if you're
writing back to me *please* remember - for the sake of my sanity - that
I'm staying spoiler-free for the entire season 9. Thanks! arc :)
--> http://www.geocities.com/arcadianfalls/


Making Moves
by arcadianfall$


He hadn't moved in almost half an hour. I gazed at him, bent over, face
downward as if reading, his chest rising and falling with each breath.
I pushed my chair back from the desk and stood, moving closer
cautiously, watching him. "Mulder?"

It was like I'd set off a cannon. He looked up with a start, grip
slipping on the file he held and pages spilling out, wide eyes fixed on
my face for a brief, blank second before realisation set in and he
broke away. "Damnit," he muttered, reaching down to gather up the
pages. I crouched down beside him, silently helping. Only as we both
rose did I speak.

"You falling asleep on me, Mulder?"

"No. I was..." He shrugged, shuffling the papers. "Thinking."

"It really looked like you were asleep."

"I wasn't asleep, Scully." He sounded as though he was losing his
patience. "I was just reviewing the file."

I shrugged, knowing it wasn't worth arguing. "Fine. Do you want to know
what I found when I reviewed the last three autopsies?"

"Does the case, in your opinion, warrant further investigation?"

I drew a breath. "In my opinion, no... but I think your gut instinct is
going to be yes."

He reached to switch off his monitor. "Then you can tell me on the
plane."


---

He was restless during the flight, mumbling impatient responses to my
questions, not displaying his usual brand of reckless enthusiasm for
the case.

"You okay, Mulder?" I asked finally, surrending all more subtle
attempts to figure him out. 

He rubbed at his eyes like a tired child. "Fine, Scully."

"You don't look fine. Are you sleeping okay, Mulder? You look tired."
He'd already been in the office for hours by the time I arrived in the
morning, and he'd worked late last night, too. And yet, it didn't seem
that he was obsessing over any particular case; despite the hurry to
get us on the plane, he didn't seem to care much about where we were
going and why.

"Maybe I work too much," was his flip answer.

"You're not getting up to anything crazy behind my back, are you?" I
studied him closely. "Because you know how that always seems to work
out."

I was rewarded with a smile. "Nothing crazy, Scully. I promise."

---


We stopped by a diner, then went straight to the motel. It was late,
but Mulder didn't seem to notice, knocking at my door at quarter past
eleven in sweats and sneakers.
"Goin' for a jog. Wanna come?"

I was already in pajamas and robe, and the night air was freezing. His
suggestion had little appeal. I shook my head. "I'm calling it a
night."

"Suit yourself." He grinned and took off through the brightly lit motel
parking lot, disappearing around the corner. I watched him go,
wondering where the sudden energy had come from. 

---

I picked up a book to read a chapter or two before bed and didn't
manage to put it down until almost one-thirty. Yawning, I put the book
down on the bedside table, and reached to switch the lamp off. But the
curtains were only half-closed, and the light spilling in made me feel
a little too exposed. I reluctantly slipped out of bed, moving across
to tug the curtain across fully. 

Mulder's room was still brightly lit. Suspicion and concern hit me at
once. Had he not yet returned from his jog? Was he still awake, reading
or watching a late movie? Maybe he'd just fallen asleep. Or maybe there
was something up. He'd been moody all day, and I was usually pretty
good at reading him.


He was in pajama pants and t-shirt, his hair still wet from the shower.
He didn't seem surprised by my appearance, only ushered me in as if
he'd been expecting me.
The TV was on, a book, a biography, open face down on the rumpled bed,
case notes spread all over the place. He stretched out, remote in hand,
flicking through several channels in succession.

"You look exhausted, Mulder. Why are you still awake?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" he muttered, not taking his gaze from
the TV screen.

Folding my arms, I stood by the bed and stared at him. "Mulder, when
was the last time you slept?"

"Friday night."

"It's Wednesday."

"Yeah."

"You haven't slept at all since Friday night?"

"Dozed off for about an hour Sunday afternoon."

"Mulder..." I stared at him, not understanding his behaviour. "Why
didn't you say anything?"

He shrugged. "Didn't want you losing sleep over it." He turned his
head, giving me a wry grin which I couldn't return.

"You should have said something. You're in no shape to have been at
work."

"What, I should have been stuck in my apartment twenty-four hours a
day? I'd drive myself crazy."

I didn't argue that, but instead sat on the edge of the bed, reaching
to ease the remote from his hand and flicking the TV off, forcing him
to look at me.
"Want to tell me about it?" I asked softly.

Another shrug. "What's to tell?"

"There's got to be a reason, Mulder."

"You going to play doctor, Scully?" he asked tiredly, starting to sound
irritable again. He got up off the bed and started pacing around the
room, as though he couldn't contain his restlessness. "It's late."

"Well, it's not like you're going to sleep any time soon, is it?" I
challenged.

"You need sleep, Scully. That's half the reason I didn't tell you."

"That's a stupid excuse, Mulder."

"It's the truth."

"It may be the truth but it's still a stupid excuse. You know I'm here
for you. I'm here right now because I want to help you."

"What are you going to do, Scully? Say the magic word? I know all about
insomnia. There's no miracle cure."

"So just talk to me. Tell me about it."

"Transient insomnia. I've had it before, but never this bad. Lasts
anywhere from a single night to several weeks. Sufferers experience
difficulty falling asleep, waking frequently during the night with
difficulty returning to sleep, waking too early in the morning,
experiencing unrefreshing sleep."

"That's the textbook definition. Tell me what you're experiencing."

He stopped pacing and looked at me, arms folded. "I can't sleep. I lie
down and I can't sleep. My mind is buzzing, I'm tense..."

"Are you stressed?"

A shrug.

"You've got to help me out here, Mulder."

He sat on the other side of the bed, facing away from me, and heaved a
sigh as he buried his face in his hands. His words were muffled as he
spoke, the weary impatience of one reciting a well-learned speech.
"It's not environmental, noise or temperature related, because we're
halfway across the country and it hasn't changed. I'm not on any
medication. I haven't been drinking, I don't smoke, I haven't had
caffeine for three days."

He still hadn't answered my question. "Are you stressed, Mulder?"

"I don't get stressed," he muttered. He flashed me a tired grin but I
just shook my head. 

I rose, moving around the bed and kneeling in front of him. "Look at me
for a minute."

The simple instruction seemed remarkably difficult for him, but he
finally brought himself to look directly at me, his jaw set. I had only
a few seconds to study the exhaustion etched in his face before he hid
behind his hands again, scrubbing at his eyes in that lost little boy
way. I reached up, tugging his hands away, holding them in mine.
"What's going on, Mulder?"

"Nothing."

"Something happened, on Friday, or Friday night. Something started
this."

"Nothing happened on Friday."

"Mulder..." Now I was starting to lose patience. I released his hands
and stood. "I'm going back to bed."

He didn't protest as I thought he would, he just kept sitting there. By
the time I reached the door I knew I couldn't bring myself to leave.
With a sigh, I climbed onto the bed, grabbed the remote and put the TV
back on. He turned slowly to face me. "You don't have to stay here,
Scully."

"I'm staying." I gestured for him to move closer and he raised a sleepy
eyebrow. He grinned, wriggling closer to me.

"You comin' onto me, Scully?"

"You wish."

"Yeah..." He snuggled up beside me, resting his head on my breast and
closing his eyes with a sigh. "I do."

I smiled, stroking his face. "I'm just going to put that comment down
to delirium, okay Mulder?"

"No," he murmured, eyes still closed. I was suddenly acutely aware of
how warm he was against me, how possessively we were holding each
other. I hadn't intended this, and yet... "I mean it."

Tingles as his words sank in, even as I tried to dismiss them. The man
hadn't slept for five days. "Mulder..."

"I'm not delirious, Scully. I know what I'm saying."

I was silent for a long moment as I tried to find the words to respond.
"Okay, Mulder," I said finally, gently. "I believe you."
He was so still against me, I thought for a second that he was falling
asleep. But then he dragged himself upright and stood, grimacing as he
stretched. A little taken aback by the swift movement, I just watched
him for a few moments.
"You look tense," I remarked quietly.

He was fumbling for his sneakers. "I'm going for another jog."

"It's two a.m."

"I'm not asking you to come with me, Scully." The irritability was
back. 

I couldn't really explain why, but I felt more determined than ever to
stick with him on this. "I'll come. Just give me a minute to get
changed."


---

We didn't talk much. Sticking to the lit streets, he led the way
through the maze of suburbia, our sneakers crunching over gravel and
grass, panting breaths cutting through the sleeping stillness, dogs
howling and barking as we passed. Mulder was faster than me and I had
to push myself to keep up, my head throbbing and my chest burning. We
came to a stop, finally, and for several minutes just stood there,
getting our breath back. Only then did I look around and realise - he'd
brought us to a baseball field. 

There was nobody but us there, but the fluorescent lights on one side
were on, staining the grass a brilliant green, and the night sky was
littered with stars. It was so still, so eerily beautiful.
"Why are the lights on?" I wondered aloud.

Mulder shrugged. "Prevention against vandals, maybe." He gestured.
"Let's go."

I followed him down a steep slope and onto the field. The garish
fluorescent lighting felt surreal and as I looked at Mulder I felt a
jumble of emotions stirring within me. Had he brought us here
deliberately, wanting to rekindle that memory? Or was it just by
chance? Studying his downturned face, his body language, I didn't think
he knew any more than I did. 
Where had this uncertainty coming from, this sudden willingness and yet
hesitation? Was it just delirium on his part, and possessive concern on
mine, that had brought these feelings to the fore? This sudden, acute
awareness of the sexual tension, this surreal night...

"Mulder, why are we here?" I asked, finding myself still breathless
from the jog.

He gazed around, frowning. "I don't know, Scully." 

I sighed, then stifled a yawn, the late hour and exertion of the jog
starting to set in. I moved across to the bleachers and sat, hugging
myself to keep warm, watching him as I sat there.

"Tell me what happened Friday night, Mulder," I said finally. 

Hesitation, frustration, then an unwilling answer. "It was six years,
to the day."

"Six years since what?"

He took a step closer. "Duane Barry."

I flinched at the name, I couldn't help it. Duane Barry? My abduction?
That was the last thing I'd expected. It was all so long ago, now.
There were fresher wounds, more recent traumas. "Why Duane Barry?"

"Because I lost you, Scully."

"You got me back."

He moved away again, restless. "And six years later, we're still in
separate motel rooms..."

I stared at him, forgetting about the biting cold, surprised by the
statement. "Is this what it's all about, Mulder? Because we haven't
slept together?"

"It's not that petty, Scully."

"So what is it, then?"

He folded his hands behind his head and stared up at the night sky.
"It's six years later and we're still both waiting for each other to
make the first move. Six years, Scully... it's a long time."

"We've been moving, Mulder."

"You know what I mean."

"So what, you're discounting everything we've been through? Mulder,
we've had dancing, and baseball, and enough near death experiences to
write a book about."

"And despite all of that I'm still afraid of the way you'll look at me
if I try to tell you that I love you. Don't you wish, Scully, that we
could just..." 
He trailed off with a shrug, as if afraid to finish the sentence. But I
knew without question what he had wanted to say, and I understood his
frustration. I had sleepless nights, too, thinking about him. Sometimes
I just wanted to reach out and touch him, to hold him, to be held. 

"So that's what you've been losing sleep over? The fact that we're
not..." I searched for the right term "making moves on each other?"

An ironic smile. "You don't think it's a valid enough reason?"

"I think we should have talked about this sooner."

Another shrug. 

"Do you want to talk about it, Mulder?" I asked carefully, my heart
pounding as I watched him.

"Now?"

"You got somewhere else to be?"

A sheepish grin acknowledged I had a point. He watched as he scuffed
his sneakers in the grass. "I don't know what there really is to talk
about. I think maybe we already do enough talking, as it is."

He was right. We kept things in the intellectual domain, leaving us
nowhere to go with the feelings. But we couldn't all of a sudden just
let ourselves get physical. There would be consequences. 

"What do you want, Mulder?"

"I don't want to have to hold myself back all the time."

"Sometimes it's necessary."

"I know that. But sometimes it isn't, and we do it anyway, because
we're uncertain, or we're afraid of being caught."

I sighed. We did still need to talk about it, somehow, as impossible as
it seemed. But right then wasn't the time. 
I stood and moved closer, putting my arms around him. I held him close,
and the two of us just stood there, my head resting against his chest,
his head on mine, his warm arms around me. I could hear, faintly, his
heart beating.

He broke the silence, a quiet, tired murmur. "I think we're both
delirious."

I half-smiled at the comment. "We should go back to the motel."

"Yeah," he agreed, dropping a kiss on my forehead as he drew back.
"We'll walk it, this time."



Past three a.m. when we reached the motel again. I followed him into
his room, watching as he kicked off shoes.
"I can stay for awhile, if you want," I offered.

He shook his head. "Go get some sleep."

"Why don't you at least try to rest? Put the lights out, TV off, get
comfortable.."

A grin. "You offering to spend the night in here, Scully?"

"Did I say that?"

"You implied it."

I smiled widely, not exactly sure who was putting the moves on who.
"Did I?"

"I think you may have. You said 'get comfortable'..."

Encouraged, I took a cautious step closer to him, then another, and
another, until we were face to face. Intense silence, so still and calm
and certain. This was the moment. His expression sobered as he gazed at
me. There was wonder in his dark eyes as I touched his cheek, his
eyelids fluttering closed as I reached up and kissed him. It was more
than just a kiss, it was a completely overwhelming sensory experience
that sent my head spinning. For more than six years we'd wondered and
imagined. Was this worth the wait? Absolutely.

I drew back slowly, taking a second to recover myself. "Then I guess
I'd better stay."



We were settled in a matter of minutes, Mulder cuddled up against me,
not childishly like before but drawing me into his arms possessively,
protectively, the way I hadn't really been held since Ethan had left.
That felt like eons ago. 
It felt a little strange, to be suddenly so open with each other, to
realise the whole future we'd opened up for ourselves in the small
hours of this one morning. I felt a little vulnerable, knowing what had
changed, that I couldn't hide behind the old excuses any longer. But as
strange and surreal as it felt to lie there with him so close, it was
so warm, so certain. It was Mulder. 

I fell asleep in his arms. Waking an hour or so later I found him still
awake, propped up on the pillows with the bedside lamp on, reading the
biography. A little disappointed to see him still awake but half asleep
myself, I murmured something to him, then rolled over, falling back to
sleep. Several hours later, the bright morning sunlight filtering
through the drawn curtains, I woke to find him sound asleep beside me,
book open on his chest. 
He stirred as I leaned across him to switch off the lamp and put away
the book. "Scully.."

"It's okay, Mulder," I soothed, regretting having disturbed him. "Go
back to sleep."

"You fixed it, Scully," he mumbled, opening his eyes and giving me a
sleepy smile. 
 
I smiled, playing along. "Looks like there is a miracle cure."

"Looks like you're it." He touched my cheek, his eyes searching my
face. "Where do we go from here?"

I shook my head. "Don't worry about that for now. Go back to sleep."

"I don't want us to forget about this, Scully. I don't want to pretend
this all never happened, and just go back to how things were. This is
important."

I understood his meaning. This had long ago gone beyond insomnia,
beyond a simple incident. We knew, now. We understood at least a little
more of the relationship. 

I slid my arms around him, amazed at how easily we had adjusted to each
other's presence in such close quarters, to the intimate contact. "Back
to sleep."

"You staying?"

"Are you in a hurry to get rid of me?"

A chuckle. "No." He lifted my hand from his chest and clasped it
between his own.  "There's something I want to say to you, Scully..."
he murmured. "But I can't see your face."

I smiled. "Nothing to be afraid of, Mulder," I answered ambigiously. I
squeezed his hand. "Go to sleep."

"You make it sound easy."

"Hey, I'm the miracle cure, right?"

"You should -" he yawned "-patent that. Make millions, buy us a Beverly
Hills mansion..."

"Sleep, Mulder."

He dropped off again in the next few minutes. I lay still, my breathing
falling into rhythm with his, staring ahead of me and wondering how
much we'd be able to stick to the promises made, how willing we would
be, come light of day, to let those channels of communication remain
open. Us? It was at once a terrifying and exhilarating thought. 
I sighed and closed my eyes, resting my head on his chest, blocking out
the insecurities and instead just listening to his heartbeat, feeling
his warmth. Did I doubt this? No. Was I afraid when I had this? No. So
the only question left was... who was going to make the next move?



fin.


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