Mended Hearts by Leyla Harrison Disclaimers: Mulder and Scully aren't mine, as usual. They belong to CC. God knew what would happen to them if they really were mine. Summary: Scully must come to terms with how she feels about Mulder - and how he feels about her - after "Paper Hearts". *Very* minor spoilers. Rating: Some Mulder and Scully angst, definitely MSR. NC-17 for sexual situations. ***** I walked out of the office and closed the door, leaning against the wall and closing my eyes. I felt drained. God knew, I felt just as drained as Mulder had looked when I had been in the office with him moments before. The case had taken more out of me than I had cared to admit. I had never known that I would have reacted as fiercely as I had. Mulder certainly had no idea of what was going on in my head. As usual. But this time he had an excuse. He was too wrapped up in what he was feeling. And that was to be expected. What was it that had rocked me to the core about all of this? Could it have been the fact that Mulder had suddenly thought that his sister had maybe not been abducted by aliens as he had believed for years? Could it be that when he abandoned his steadfast belief in that that I was overwhelmed by it? I mean, from the first case I had worked with him, he had confessed to me how his conviction about what had happened to Samantha had turned his life into a mission for the truth about what happened to her. And then this bastard shows up and plays mind games with Mulder. That sick, fucking bastard. I had been with Skinner on the bus, our guns drawn, trying to get a good shot at him while Mulder trained his own gun on him, the little girl in the seat in front of them, and although I couldn't see Mulder's face clearly from there, I could imagine the anguish. Wanting to put a bullet through his skull and yet being haunted by the fear of not knowing. The fear of maybe never knowing. God knows I wanted to be the one to put a bullet through that bastard's skull. Even if it meant never knowing the truth. I wanted to do it just because of what he had done to Mulder. So now Mulder was sitting in our office, probably crying, probably clutching that cloth heart to his chest, praying that it wasn't Samantha's. Praying for forgiveness from her, from his mother, and from his father. And I had left him in there alone. Alone to cry and to suffer. I had left only because I had sensed that he needed to be alone. And because I was afraid that if I stayed any longer, that I would cry, too. And I didn't cry in front of Mulder. Not when it was his pain, anyhow. Only when it was my own pain, and even then, only rarely. The sight of Mulder, fresh tears in his eyes and on his cheeks, was more than I could stand. It tore at my heart and set off a fierce instinct to comfort him. He had buried his head in my stomach and wrapped his arms around my waist, and I had looked down at the top of his head and touched his hair, when I had really wanted to pull him further into my arms, to stroke his forehead and to kiss the tears from his eyes and from his cheeks. To tell him that everything was all right, that I loved him. I wanted to soothe him in a way I had never wanted to before. God. Where did that come from? I squeezed my eyes shut and put my fingertips up to the corners of my eyes to keep the tears from coming out. I heard a thump, a noise I recognized as a fist hitting a desk, and then a loud cry. A raw, animalistic cry. Mulder. Without hesitation, I flung the door to the office back open. Mulder was still where I had left him moments before. He seemed to be unaware of my presence in the doorway. His hand went out, sweeping everything from the desk in one angry, tortured motion. Everything went flying - papers, the phone, case files. I hurried to his side. "Mulder," I breathed, and he turned, saw me there, and his face crumpled. I touched his arm, but he was still in too much pain. He shoved my hand away, roughly. I reached for him again, this time trying to pull him towards me, but he shoved me back, hard. I stumbled back across the room, stunned by his anger towards me. "What the hell are you doing?" I asked, stunned that he would push me away so violently. "You. Never. Stay." He spit the words out furiously. "What?" I asked, shocked. "You never stay when I need you, Scully." "That's bullshit!" "I need you!" he cried, and the frightened sound of his voice made me ache for him. He had never said those words before. Never. Mulder was not one to admit that he needed anyone. Least of all me. I was hesitant to approach him, for fear that he would push me away again. "Mulder --" "If you're going to leave, Scully, just fucking leave. Just fucking leave and don't come back." "Is that really what you want?" I asked. I knew it wasn't. I knew he wanted me to stay as much as I wanted to be there. But I was willing to go along with him. "Do you want me to leave? I can. I can walk out this door. I can leave the X-Files. I can go back to Quantico, and you'll never have to deal with me again. Is that what you want, Mulder?" My words were coming out too harshly, and I knew it, but I was powerless to stop them. Something wild and dangerous was happening in this room. The air was charged with it. "I can walk right out of your life. If you want me to, Mulder, I will. Just say the word, Mulder, and I'll be gone." He was at my side in an instant, pulling me to his chest. I let out a sharp cry as his fingers dug into my upper arms. He snaked one arm up around my back and pulled the back of my neck, tilting my head back, leaning his head down, forcing his lips over mine. I fought him, if only for a moment. I pushed at his upper body and tried to pull my mouth from his, but it was impossible. His lips were covering mine, his tongue moving between them, parting them, sweeping the inside of my mouth. He released my neck and his arms went around me, pulling my body closer to his. Pressing me into him, until I could feel almost every part of me against him. Closer than we had ever been. I gave up trying to resist. As soon as his lips had touched mine, they had set off a fiery response in me. As soon as he released my neck, I felt my own arms around him, my hands reaching up for his head, pulling his face closer to mine, running my fingertips through the silky strands of his hair. His hands were at my waist, running over the sides of the jacket I wore, pushing me away from him only to release the buttons and to slip the jacket from my body. I heard it make a soft noise as it hit the floor. Mulder's hands were back at my sides again, pulling the cotton shirt free from the waistband of the slim skirt I wore. His hands slipped underneath, and I felt his fingertips caressing my bare skin. He released my mouth long enough for me to moan softly. The touch of his hands was setting me on fire. "Mulder," I gasped, "Mulder, Mulder." He looked down at me. "You don't know how much I want you," he muttered, his gaze dark and intense. "How much I've always wanted you, Scully. You don't know. You don't have any idea." I nodded my head slightly. "But I do," I protested. He shook his head. "How could you?" "Because I've wanted you -- this," I gestured at him and I, "just as badly." His eyes widened a bit in surprise, shock, almost. Then he looked down at me, serious again. "I don't know what I'm doing." He released me, and I took a step back from him. I was flustered. Incredibly flustered. There were strands of hair in my face, and I awkwardly tucked them behind my ear. My mouth felt swollen from his kisses. My face felt raw from his stubble rubbing against my skin. My cheeks were hot and flushed, I knew - the curse of a fair skinned redhead - and *I* was hot. I didn't have to glance down to see that my nipples had gotten hard and were poking through the thin fabric of the shirt I wore. I could feel the wetness between my legs. Mulder seemed to be just as aroused as I was. I could see the bulge in his pants. I could see the look in his eyes - that dark, possessive look that I knew he had shared with no one else. "Oh, Christ, Scully, I'm sorry," he murmured, a wave of guilt flooding his face. He stepped back even further from me and leaned against the edge of the desk, looking all at once very scared. He dropped his gaze to the floor. I reached down and retrieved my jacket from the floor where it had landed. I slipped it back on, noticing that my hands were trembling. I swallowed hard. My throat was incredibly dry. "I don't think there's anything for you to be sorry about, Mulder." He looked up at me. "I don't want to hurt you." Silence. Tears filled my eyes. I pushed them back as best I could. "I know that," I answered, my voice thick with tears. "And you haven't." More silence. "I can't just...I can't just have *sex* with you, Scully. Not like this. It can't just be some...*thing* that we do." He paused. I knew what he was thinking. They were words I knew he would never say to me. "I don't want that." God, I respected him for that. Knowing that he wasn't just trying to get me into bed like every other man. But Mulder certainly wasn't like any other man I had ever known. "What do you want?" I asked. Mulder hesitated. "I want it to be just you and me and..." he trailed off. "I don't know." He lowered his eyes again. I moved closer to him, so that I was right in front of him, my legs touching his. I could feel him holding back, fighting to keep his hips from thrusting forward towards me. I touched his cheek with one hand, lifting his face so that he was looking right at me. "You don't want just sex," I murmured. "You want us to...make love?" He barely nodded. "I want to make love to you, Scully," he said softly, and I trembled very slightly at the thought of it. Mulder had said a million things to me in the course of our working together. But never that. How many times had I lain awake in one of those cheap motel rooms, unable to sleep, wishing that I would hear that? How many times had I been at home, alone, lonely, wishing that he were there? How many times had I pressed my face into a pillow, muffling the tears that came right after an orgasm I had given myself from thinking of him? How many times had I wished that he would put his arms around me and hold me? How many times? How long was I going to deny how I felt about him? It had gone beyond friendship long ago. And now I was certain that he felt the same way. It aroused me. Comforted me. Terrified me. The consequences of our making love were huge. We could effectively jeopardize each others' lives. Not to mention the truth. Making love to Mulder was something I had dreamed of and fantasized about. Here it was in front of me. And I was absolutely terrified of the consequences. Not to say that I didn't think it had a lot going for it, as well. I knew that there was a way that it could work. It could. I had one fantasy that was shockingly tame compared to my other, more carnal fantasies about Mulder. In it, Mulder and I were walking, outside somewhere, on our way to somewhere, talking about something. All of it was completely normal. There was no deviation from our everyday working activities. Except that in the middle of me telling Mulder something, he would stop walking. He would abruptly come to stand right in front of me, taking my face in his hands, and he would kiss me. He would kiss me, oblivious to everything and everyone around us. I had replayed that fantasy a number of times in my head. I had reveled in the passionate force of his kiss over and over, as he held my face captive with his hands, just kissing me, kissing me like he could never get enough of me. And now here he stood, face to face with me, our lower bodies touching, and we had shared that kiss. Or a kiss somehow similar to it. "Mulder," I murmured, and he looked at me, his gaze soft now, his eyes soft pools of brown. He took my face gently in his hands, as if he had been reading my mind all this time about that fantasy of mine. He pulled my face towards his and kissed me, this time more gentle, but no less passionate than the kiss of moments before. His lips were warm and soft. I could feel him capture my lower lip with his mouth and pull gently. I felt his hands at my sides again, tracing over the shape of my body, barely touching, and I could feel the waves of desire that had not yet sufficiently cooled rising up in me once again. "Mulder," I whispered between kisses, "you should stop, you really should." "Why?" he asked, as I looked at him. His eyes were closed now, and he was placing small kisses on my nose, on my chin, on my brow. "Because if you don't, we're going to do something we may regret." I hated having to say this to him, but I had to know how he really felt. What he really wanted. "I would never regret it, Scully. Never." His words were a vow, a vow that I knew that he meant. "I don't think you would, either." I shook my head slightly, feeling his warm lips everywhere on my face. He captured my mouth with his once more, pulling me closer to him. Our lower bodies were now fused together, and his hands were under the jacket again. "Why did you put this back on?" he asked, a slight chuckle in his voice. "Mulder..." I didn't know what to say to him. This was a side of him I didn't know. I thought I knew so much about him, and yet there was so much that I had never known at all. "We can't do this here." He opened his eyes and regarded me seriously. "You're right." I nodded, grateful for his agreement with me. "Where should we - " "This is going to sound terrible, Scully, but I have to ask." I arched an eyebrow at him, waiting for the question. "Your place or mine?" He asked it with that Mulder smile that I had grown to love, even though I hadn't seen nearly enough of it in the four years we had come to know each other. I thought for a moment. "Do you actually have a bed in that apartment of yours?" I asked, and he laughed aloud. "Yes, I actually do," he answered. "I just don't use it much." Were we really standing here in the office, talking about whose apartment we should go to in order to make love? It all seemed so normal, so easy, as if we were just going to get in the car like we always did, and go somewhere to solve a case, to catch another killer, or track down some monster. But it was far from normal. "It's up to you, Mulder," I finally said, tossing the ball back in his court. He debated for a moment. Finally he sighed. "Let's go to your place. I want to make love to you in your apartment. In your bed." I shuddered again inwardly. God, he had no idea what even those simple words were doing to me. I looked at him and his eyes were glittering. Maybe, I thought, revising my last thought, maybe he does. We got out of the Bureau building quickly, silently. There were no words between us. No "accidental" touching. No brushing of hands. Nothing. We got into Mulder's car and he started it up, looking at me once with those dark, hungry eyes before pulling out of the parking lot. It made a warm shiver pass through my entire body. "I have to, um, make a quick stop before we go to your place," he said, awkwardly, almost. For a moment I didn't know what he was talking about. Then it dawned on me. "Oh," I said softly. "Well, you don't *have* to." He didn't respond to that until we were at a red light. "I don't want to get you pregnant, Scully," he said, turning to look at me. "I'm on the Pill," I told him. "What?" he asked, surprised. "Irregular periods," I informed him. "Since I was about 18." "Oh," he breathed, the relief obvious in his face and in his voice. He turned his eyes back to the road. There was no more conversation. After a few minutes of silence, Mulder lifted one hand from the steering wheel and placed it, gently, on my upper thigh. I sucked in a breath. "Sorry," he said, starting to pull his hand back. I put mine over his, stopping him. "Don't be." Watching him intently, making sure he was keeping his eyes on the road, I moved his hand so that it was on my knee. Just below the hem of my skirt. I then slowly slid his hand up. Under the edge of my skirt. I watched his chest, watching his breathing increase rapidly. I moved his hand further up, slipping down in the seat slightly so that I could move my legs apart just a fraction more than they already were. "Scully," he managed to croak. "I can't drive if you do that." "But you like it," I said. A statement, not a question. He nodded, not able to look at me. I left his hand where it was. His fingertips were on the inside of my thigh, about halfway up. I covered his fingers with mine. We finally got to my apartment and Mulder managed to pull the car into a parking space that was almost in front of the building. He turned the car off, not moving his hand. Not yet. "Two can play games, Scully," he reminded me, unhooking his seatbelt. I reached for mine but he shook his head. "Don't." He used his free hand to part my legs farther. Then, with the hand that was already between them, he slid higher. Higher. Until I could feel him trailing his fingers over me, the touch so light that it wouldn't have been felt if I hadn't already been so attuned to every movement he was making. "Oh, God," I gasped, the arousal and the fear of getting caught washing over me in a rush. "Jesus," Mulder muttered. "You're so hot. I can feel it." "We have to...get inside, please, Mulder," I begged. "We can't do this in the car." He slipped his fingers over me again. I tensed my muscles. "Mulder," I begged. He slipped his hand out from under my skirt, a sly smile on his face. "Let's go inside, then," he said. I somehow managed to get up the sidewalk. My legs were shaking and I wasn't sure how I was able to walk at all, let alone find my keys and put the right one into the lock. But I did, and finally we were truly alone, safe. My apartment was dark and I reached for a switch to turn the lights on. Mulder took my arm, sensing my movements. "Leave the lights off for now," he said softly, his mouth next to my ear, sending shivers down my spine. He pulled me to him and kissed me, again, finally, his mouth hot and wet over mine. I pulled him close to me, realizing that I craved his touch desperately. We had just kissed maybe twenty minutes before, but I needed him. Needed to feel this. He got me out of the jacket. His hands pushed me away from him, separating our bodies just inches, enough for him to move his hands between us. I could feel the backs of his hands slowly sliding over my chest. "I have to touch you, Scully," I heard him say, and then his knuckles were brushing over my already hard nipples, and I cried out into his mouth. "God, Mulder," I moaned, and he repeated the movement, this time a little slower, turning his hands over and letting his fingertips brush over my nipples this time, staying there, hesitating, brushing his thumbs over them. I arched up into his hands, wanting his touch without shame. "Too many clothes, Scully," he muttered, moving his fingers down to my waist, pulling the shirt I was wearing from where it was safely tucked into my skirt, lifting it, pulling it. I lifted my arms over my head and let him remove the shirt. I was feeling hot, feverish, and would have gladly ripped each item of clothing I was wearing from my body if he had wanted me to. But he seemed to be enjoying the slowness. Truth be told, I was enjoying it too. He reached behind me for the zipper of the slim skirt I was wearing. I heard the soft noise as the zipper was lowered and the skirt slid over my hips with no help from him at all and pooled at my feet. I stepped out of it, wearing only my bra and stockings. "Let's go into the bedroom, Mulder," I said softly, feeling an amazing sense of power. The look in his eyes as he took me in was hungry. Definitely aroused. Most definitely. I took his cool hand in mine and led him back into the bedroom. I heard my heels clicking on the floor, and as we entered the room, I slipped the shoes off and left them at the doorway. I didn't bother to turn on the lights. He stood before me, fully dressed. "Tell me what you want, Scully. Anything. I'll give it to you." "Get undressed," I commanded him, my voice even. I wanted to do it myself, but I was afraid that my fingers would tremble too much and I wouldn't accomplish a damn thing. He quickly rid himself of the suit he was wearing. The shirt. I watched the clothes fall to the floor, leaving him in his boxers. Dark colored. With his erection poking out. He looked down and then back up at me, a little sheepish. "There's nothing to be ashamed about, Mulder. You appear to be very well endowed." He nodded. "Although I guess I should check, just to be sure." My voice was low and coy. I had never spoken to a man like that before. Sex had never been like this before. It had all been about accomplishing a goal, getting to the finish line quickly, to have it be over. With Mulder, we were still dealing with the foreplay and neither of us seemed to want to rush it. We wanted it to last. I went to him and put one hand on his arm to steady him and with the other, I ran my fingers over the length of him through the cloth, feeling the muscles in his arm stiffen and feeling him grow harder at the same time. He *was* well endowed, I thought, taking in the size of him mentally. Then I reached behind him and slipped the boxers over his hips, watching with satisfaction his eyes slip close momentarily as the elastic moved over his erection. Then the boxers were on the floor and he stood there before me, nude and unashamed. My God, but he was beautiful. "Scully," he murmured, "I still think you're wearing too many clothes." His hands came up to my breasts, pushing them together within the confines of my bra, so that the tops of them lifted over the edges of the material that held them. I gasped as he ran his thumbs over the nipples again. Then he reached for the front clasp and slowly unhooked it, letting the garment fall to the floor. He took in a breath. "You're so beautiful, Scully. So beautiful," he whispered, as his hands roamed over my breasts and my nipples. I was making a low humming noise in my throat and was unable to answer him. His hands moved to my waist and I felt him push me towards the bed. Sat me down. I moved to lie down but he stopped me. Mulder went for the waistband of the stockings, pulling at them. He watched as I lifted myself off the bed so he could ease them and my panties over my rear. I rested my body back on the bed as he slowly slid the undergarments down my legs. His eyes raked over me hotly. I leaned back slightly on the bed, but again he stopped me. Instead, he parted my legs slightly, opening me. I could feel the wetness on the insides of my thighs. I didn't think I had ever been this aroused. Ever. "I feel so swollen," I mumbled, my head spinning at a dizzying pace. He slipped a hand between my legs and touched me with two fingers, and I gasped. "You are, Scully, you are," he answered. "Oh, God, and you're so wet. Jesus." His voice was filled with wonder. He parted my legs further. "Oh, Mulder," I managed to get out, as he lowered himself to the floor, kneeling between my legs. I felt his nose nuzzling the insides of my thighs, placing light kisses there, his breath hot against my skin. I could feel his fingers again, opening me. I could feel his breath. My eyes fluttered shut. "No, Scully," he said softly. "Keep your eyes open. I want you to watch what I'm doing to you." I wanted to. I really did. But it was almost impossible. The arousal was so strong that I was having a hard time staying in a sitting position. I propped myself up on my arms, leaning back slightly. His tongue dipped into me, a light touch at first, then a long, slow stroke, from bottom to top. I could see his head between my legs, and I could feel the slightly rough texture of his tongue as it slipped over me. He paused at the top of the juncture, and let his tongue dance lightly over the most sensitive bundle of nerves there, forcing me to let out a low, ragged moan. Mulder's lips closed over that spot, pulling it into his mouth, and I unconsciously opened my legs wider. "Mulder," I moaned, moving my hands to his head, not wanting him to change anything about what he was doing, afraid that he would stop. He lifted his mouth from me, and I groaned in disappointment. But then he slipped a finger deep into me. I gasped at the feeling of penetration. Another finger. It didn't even feel uncomfortable. I watched him as he watched me. Then he lowered his head once more, and continued to lick and suckle at me. I threaded my fingers through his hair, gasping, my breath coming out sharply, moaning his name. And his tongue continued its loving assault on me. Licking me. Stroking over me. His fingers moving slowly but steadily inside me. His tongue occasionally flicking over my clitoris. Sometimes his thumb. I twisted my head mindlessly from side to side, struggling to keep my eyes open. He thrust his fingers deeper, and I gasped. His tongue shot out, flattened to cover me completely, to take long strokes, and his thumb moved over my clitoris, massaging it gently. It was too much. I was going to explode. I clutched at him. "Mulder, oh, God, Mulder," I moaned. He didn't stop. He moved his thumb over me again, his mouth, and his fingers inside, and I came in a fiery burst. My breath was coming in short little explosions and I felt myself spasming around his fingers. He didn't lift his mouth from me until my body stopped convulsing. Then he lifted me up, and slid me back onto the bed. I was incapable of moving on my own. I was still trembling violently from the force of the orgasm, my nerve endings still shaking, still filled with arousal. Mulder settled himself between my legs and I felt the tip of him slipping over me, slick with wetness. I looked up at him, taking hold of him and guiding him into me slowly. "Christ," he gasped. I felt the length and the thickness of him filling me and my inner muscles involuntarily contracted around him. He gasped aloud. "Scully - " he gasped, and I moaned with the sensation of him entering me and the feeling of him deep in me. I tried to pull my legs up so that he could get in deeper. I couldn't seem to do it, and with one strong arm I felt Mulder pulling my legs up, sharply, so that he plunged within me in a deeper stroke as I had wanted. I gasped aloud. I looked up at him and saw the astonishment on his face. He pushed into me in a strong movement. I didn't know if I could come again. I wanted to. I wanted to so badly, but my body was aching and I wasn't sure that I was ready. I didn't care, though. I wanted to let Mulder pound himself inside me for as long as it took for him to explode. I knew that he wanted to. But his initial strokes were slow and tender, his arms propped up on the bed on either side of me, the strain showing on his face. "You don't have to go so slowly," I told him, reaching up one shaky hand to stroke the side of his face. "This is for you, Mulder. Do what you need to do." "I need to see you again, Scully," he managed to tell me, not slowing his steady in and out movement. "I want us to come together." His words hit somewhere deep in my heart and I felt a physical stirring again. "Oh, Mulder," I sighed, feeling him move just a fraction faster. I focused and tensed my muscles and watched his face contract. "Scully, I can feel that," he moaned, and I did it again. His eyes slid shut. His movements suddenly became faster, and I knew that he was going to abandon his hopes for making it good for me. Not that I minded. I wanted to see his face as the orgasm peaked. He was moving in and out of me faster now, his body slapping against mine, and as much as I had thought it wasn't possible, the arousal was beginning to build in me again. I clutched at his arms, forcing him to open his eyes and look at me. Even though we had never been together like this before, I knew that he wouldn't last much longer. I felt the muscles in his arms tense under my fingers, and his eyes grew unfocused. "Watch me, Mulder," I urged him, and he did as best as he could. I could only imagine what he saw - my sweat soaked body beneath him, my hair plastered to my forehead, my eyes wild. But it must have done something to him because his eyes went wide and he was slamming into me then with a force that I didn't know he had. Yes, I was going to be sore in the morning. Something about the loss of control Mulder was displaying struck me as more open and honest as I had ever seen him, and I squeezed his arms tighter. Tears slipped down my cheeks unbidden and I choked back a sob as he tensed and let out a yell. My muscles contracted involuntarily as another orgasm swept over me. Mulder collapsed on top of me, letting my legs down slowly. His chest was heaving, and I wrapped my arms around his back and pulled him to me as tightly as I could. It was only then that I realized that he was crying, and I stroked his back, my mouth at his ear, pushing back his hair, murmuring incomprehensible soothing words. Finally he stilled and he slowly slipped out of me. I moaned softly as he withdrew, feeling the loss of his body both physically and emotionally. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me softly on the forehead, on my lips. "I love you," he whispered in between kisses. I nodded, unable to speak, my throat aching with unshed tears. "I know I'll never know who that last heart belonged to. I'll never know whose little girl she was. If she had a brother who was looking for her." His arms tightened around me a little more, and I saw that his eyes were closed. "But I can always keep looking for Samantha. For the truth." I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "Yes, you can." "As long as you're with me, Scully. I'll always be able to keep looking. You've always been my strength." "I always will be, Mulder," I vowed. "I don't understand why you've always been there. Maybe I never will." I touched his face, and he opened his eyes to look at me. "It's simple," I told him, my voice tight. "I've always been there because I love you." He kissed me again, slowly, his lips moving over mine. Somewhere in the middle of that, we both drifted into sleep. A soft, quiet sleep. A sleep without nightmares. END "Mulder, if you had to do without a cell phone for more than two minutes, you'd lapse into catatonic schizophrenia." - Dana Scully, The X-Files