"Snapshot II:After" 
By Dawson E. Rambo 
 
Disclaimers: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and other tangentially mentioned 
characters are copyrighted by Chris Carter, TenThirteen productions, and 
by Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox, Inc. All rights are 
reserved, and these characters were used without permission. No 
infringement is intended. 
 
Classification: V+,MSR,A 
Rating: PG (Some situations might not be suitable for all ages) 
 
------------------------------------------------------------------------ 
        Mulder closed his eyes the same instant the door clicked closed 
behind her. He let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. 
Staggering, Mulder made his way to his chair and collapsed into it. On 
automatic pilot, his hand searched the small pile of sunflower seeds, 
found one, and popped it into his mouth. Mulder stared at the wall, 
focusing on nothing, seeing even less as his tongue chased the seed 
around the inside of his mouth, trying to latch onto it, seeking that 
satisfying crunch! 
        The thoughts and emotions swirling around inside his head fought 
for attention, for primacy, for focus. He couldn't latch on to any of 
them, so he just let them flow past in a rushing stream of feelings. 
        Well, he mused, things have certainly changed now. But how much? 
It had always been there, they both knew. That certain something between 
them, an unspoken bond, all the more powerful because it hadn't been 
discussed and analyzed like every other facet of their relationship. It 
had just grown over the days and weeks and months and years, until it 
occupied the central portion of both their souls. It was a never-ending 
voice for Mulder; he couldn't speak for Scully but he thought he might 
have an idea of what she felt when she felt... 
        What? Love? That was the word they had both used, and Mulder 
knew they had _only_ used it because it was the closest word to the 
emotion, the feeling, the...bond that they shared. It was the only 
English word close enough to even begin to describe the edges of it. It 
was like trying to explain the shape and contours of a mountain by 
pointing at a pebble. It was so much more than that...and, at the same 
time, somewhat less, as well. 
        Just the one kiss, Mulder thought. That single, electric, 
incredible kiss is supposed to last me...last _us_...until we find 
Samantha. Until we uncover the conspiracy. Until it is all finally and 
truly placed on public display. A single kiss, a stolen moment in a 
shadow-filled office in the dank basement of a government building past 
its' prime. He would horde that moment, Mulder knew. He would cherish it 
in the center of his being, in the very core of his soul. 
        He closed his eyes again and leaned his head back, replaying the 
moment over and over again in his mind: Scully lifting her face, her 
eyes lasing in and locking on his, the small smile at the corner of her 
mouth, the way her eyes were moist and full from the unbidden tears 
directed at the unfairness of their predicament, the way she had softly 
licked her own lips just before moving her head towards his, the way she 
had tilted her face to the left just enough to make that first touch 
against him so perfect. 
        His fingers remembered the silk of her hair sliding through 
them. His tongue could still taste her breath. The kiss had been meant 
as a talisman, a promise against the darkness of the nights to come. A 
symbol, you might say, a simple, profound little nothing, two friends 
sharing a moment of intimacy that was bound to occur sooner or later, a 
little ditty that meant nothing at the same time it meant everything in 
the world to Mulder. 
        He let out another deep breath and glanced at his watch. He 
snapped upright, shocked to discover that over forty minutes had passed 
since Scully had left for the night. She was expecting him at her 
apartment in less than twenty minutes, and he still had to make a stop 
at VideoHut and pick up a non-romantic, non-dangerous, action-filled 
mind-candy spectacular. 
        Mulder grabbed his car keys off the desk and stood, snapping his 
reading lamp off at the same time. Only Scully's light was still on. He 
moved to her desk, reaching for the light - 
        And stopped. She was there. At least, some remnant of her was. 
He could sense something in the air. A scent? Yes, a little something 
still hovered over Scully's desk, a mixture of cinnamon, and another, 
unnamed spice, and beneath that, a little lower down the olfactory 
register, something more primal, more...Scully. Mulder felt the 
intoxicating effect of Scully's vapor trail, and had to force himself to 
reach over and turn her light off. He glanced at his watch. 
        Forty three minutes. Shit. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Dana Scully killed the ignition of her three-year old Toyota 
Camrey, and glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. Something, she 
decided, was amiss. Oh yes...it's that _smile_ on your face, Dana. 
That's what's different. And almost as quickly as she had noticed the 
smile, it vanished, replaced instead by an expression of deep 
preplexion. Is that regret you're feeling, Dana? a little voice asked. 
Second thoughts, perhaps? 
        No, she decided. Not at all. Not for a thousand reasons, none of 
them good, none of them realistic or mature. All of them valid, though. 
        We can talk tonight, she decided. That is why he's coming over, 
promises about movies and beer and pizza be damned. We both know that 
we'll have to talk about it, to talk it out, starting around the edges 
and moving closer to the center until they would finally manage to nail 
the proverbial Jell-O to the proverbial tree. 
        And then what? 
        Life goes on as usual? Monday rolls around and the next case 
pops to the top of the deck like some demented joker? God only knew what 
was waiting out there for them next, and God wasn't telling. 
        Dana felt the pressure building inside her, felt the anxiety 
pooling in her gut, slowly marching its way north, tightening her 
chest and making her fingers tingle. The faint early throbs of what 
promised to be a killer headache were already dancing behind her eyes. 
        Why, Dana? Why can't you just let it be? Why can't you just let 
the Kiss exist in time as a perfect moment? It had been perfect, after 
all, hadn't it? 
        Yes...yes, it had. The most perfect kiss Dana could have ever 
hoped to expect from Mulder, or from any man. Someone had once said that 
"...a kiss is both a promise and a lie." Truer words had never been 
spoken, she decided. She had wanted the kiss, needed the kiss, need to 
express something to Mulder that mere words hadn't even begun to 
approach, a feeling inside her that had been struggling for expression 
for as long as she could remember. So much had happened to them 
together, as friends, as partners...as lovers. 
        Dana's head snapped upright. She'd been lost in her own gaze, 
staring at the rearview mirror for the past ten minutes. Lover? Where 
the hell had that word come from? Taking Mulder as a lover was about the 
furthest thing from her mind, for God's sake! 
        Wasn't it? 
        Shaking her head, Dana sighed in exasperation and got out of her 
car, double-checking to make sure she'd locked it. She walked quickly to 
the entrance to her building, softly laughing at herself. 
        The little voice returned. 
        You said you loved him, Dana. 
        Yeah, she answered, but I love my brothers, too. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Mulder stood in the video store facing the Almost-But-Not-Quite-
New-Releases wall. He was at a loss. He could feel the cell phone's 
weight in his pocket, and his hand itched to retrieve it and dial 
Scully's number and ask her what movie she wanted to see. Everywhere he 
glanced were romantic, lovey-dovey movies that Mulder knew neither one 
of them could take right now. Clint Eastwood peered down from one box, 
his arm casually draped over Meryl Streep's shoulder, the box copy 
telling about a love affair that had spanned a weekend and lasted a 
decade, about a love that could never be. 
        Jesus God, Mulder thought, turning his attention to Bed of 
Roses, a Christian Slater-Mary Stuart Masterson number about a widower 
and an orphan falling in love, and then out of love, and then back into 
love amid the goings on of a Greenwich Village flowershop. The only 
other choices available seemed to be horror movies about children's toys 
coming amazingly to life and wreaking havoc or science fiction movies 
about little green men. 
        Grey, Fox silently mouthed. They're little GREY men. 
        And below that, on the left, something called a Red Shoe Diary. 
He wasn't quite sure what that was, but it definitely didn't 
seem like something Scully would be interested in. 
        Oh what the hell. It wasn't really important what movie he got; 
they weren't going to watch it anyway. It was an excuse to get them 
together so they could talk. He grabbed the first movie he could find 
and walked to the counter to pay. 
 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Scully raised her face from the sink and looked in the mirror, 
making sure she had gotten the last traces of makeup off. Satisfied, she 
reached down and grabbed a scrunchy, quickly threading a ponytail. Hands 
on hips, she regarded herself in the mirror. The Marine Barracks, 
Quantico sweatshirt was comfortable and familiar. The FBI Hostage Rescue 
Team sweat pants were equally soft and worn. Bare feet completed 
her....outfit, and the overall effect was what she had been shooting 
for. Relaxed, casual, but not sexy in any way, shape or form. 
        No use torturing the man, Dana thought to herself, grinning. 
        Who's kidding who, her mind answered a moment later. You want 
him as bad as you hope he wants you, and you know it. 
        And there, my dear, was the crux of the problem. Scully thought 
back to her last relationship, the last time she had been... 
with someone, as the quaint phrase went. She could remember the 
attraction, the arousal, the desire she felt for Jack. But that was 
somehow less than what she felt now, today, tonight, for Fox Mulder. 
Jack had been...chemistry. Physics. Motion times erotic force equaled 
pleasure divided by regrets. Mulder touched something inside her, a 
spiritual switch that Dana hadn't known she had until that maddening man 
on the other side of her office had reached over and casually flicked it 
ON as if he'd been changing the channels on a television. 
        Scully leaned on the sink and stared closely at her own face in 
the mirror. At first, she remembered, the reception had been a little 
fuzzy. The radar hadn't been picking up very well. Slowly, over time, as 
the shared experiences built upon themselves, the signal got clearer and 
clearer. 
        Scully couldn't remember a time when Mulder hadn't been in her 
life, or in her heart. At first, she had attributed it to the natural 
closeness that two partners shared...but her little voice, that damned 
nagging little life-narrator who always insisted on inserting her 
blithe, pithy little comments into every facet of Dana's life hadn't let 
her get away with that for very long, no sir indeed. 
        They had never made love, and as far as Dana was concerned, 
there was neither a rush nor any immediate plans to change that 
particular fact. But one single truth remained: Despite the lack of what 
could only be called the textbook description of physical intimacy, she 
and Mulder _were_ lovers. 
 
                                      *** 
 
        Mulder parked his car in one of the two open guests spots and 
killed the engine. He grabbed the rental movie and headed into the 
building, thumbing through the keys on his ring as he walked. Something 
inside of him screamed for him to knock on Scully's door, to ask 
permission to enter what was, after all, her inner sanctum. But he also 
knew that he'd been letting himself in for so long that to change 
anything now would send a signal to Dana that he'd rather avoid sending. 
        The key slid into the lock as if it had been oiled. The cylinder 
turned, the door opened, Mulder entered the apartment, took four steps, 
turned to see Scully walking out of her kitchen, locked eyes with her 
and- 
        Was gone. The keys clattered to the floor, followed by the thump 
of the clamshell video case. Mulder took a step towards Scully, she a 
step towards him, and half a step later she was in his arms, her arms 
coming around him, her palms flat against his back, pulling him _to_ 
her, against her, his own hands in her hair, finding the scrunchy and 
sliding it off the ponytail in single, smooth motion, her hair cascading 
around her neck, his fingers in it, his nails scraping her scalp, 
sending a chill from the top of Dana's head to the tips of her toes as 
she lifted her mouth to his descending one. 
        Dana's thoughts jumbled together, and then vanished as Mulder's 
mouth captured hers once again. This time is was different...familiar, 
but better, somehow. His lips were known to her now, but she wanted to 
learn every single thing about them all over again, again and again, 
every single day for the rest of her life. Her arms came up around his, 
linked around his neck and pulled him down even closer. She felt the 
hunger building inside her, threatening to rear up and take control, and 
she pushed it back down, using every single possible control mechanism 
she had, fighting it, wanting to keep it pitched at a certain level, 
just under the boiling point. 
        Mulder held her in his arms, his hands massaging her back, and 
then sliding lower. His right hand felt the curve of her buttocks, and 
he lowered it, capturing her supple cheek with his hand and squeezing. 
He felt her stiffen, and knew that it wasn't that she didn't want him 
touching her there, but that she DID want him touching her there, wanted 
him to take both cheeks in his hands, wanted him to palm them and 
massage them and use them to pull her against his aching, pulsing need. 
And that same silent, spiritual communication that they had shared from 
day one telegraphed her real want, her real desire to prolong this 
delicious tease as long as possible without going overboard, and he 
obeyed that wish, surprised to discover that he wanted it too, that he 
wanted to just kiss Scully. 
        As if this kiss could be called 'just' anything. 
        Scully's hands were at his jacket now, pushing it off his 
shoulders. It fell in a dark grey fabric puddle at his feet as Scully 
used her body to push him towards the couch. 
        The fell onto the couch in slow motion, a slowly collapsing 
collection of knees and elbows and arms and lips. Mulder had his back 
against the side, Scully shifting until she was almost on top of him, 
her body trapped between him and the couch. 
        The kiss deepened, lengthened, grew and expanded. Everything 
ceased to exist except her lips, the tickle of her breath on his cheek 
from her nose, the way her fingers were running through his hair, the 
way her other hand was on his hip, her fingertips just brushing the edge 
of his butt, gently pulling him against her harder, more insistently. 
        Just as suddenly as it had began, the kiss ended. With mutual, 
unspoken agreement, they broke apart, both of them panting, each of them 
staring into the other's eyes. Mulder thought he had never seen a more 
beautiful shade of blue in his life. 
        "Welcome back," Scully smiled. "I had no idea how much I..." 
        "...needed that..." Mulder gasped. 
        "...needed it, until I saw you." 
        "I know." 
        "Sorry, Mulder. I know I said only one..." 
        "One was never an option, Scully." 
        Scully bit her tongue and silently nodded. 
        Mulder was suddenly aware that the most significant evidence of 
his arousal was pushing against her, and he moved, trying to relieve the 
pressure. 
        Dana frowned. "Don't...don't move, Mulder. Don't deny it... 
don't deny your wants. I need to feel that...against me. I need to 
know it's there." 
        "Oh, it's there all right, Scully." 
        She smiled, a soft, embarrassed grin, and pressed her face 
against his chest. Mulder was still squirming against her. 
        "Mulder, stop!" 
        "I'm sorry, it's just that-" 
        Scully reached down and took his right hand in her left, and 
brought it to her waist. Lifting the hem of her sweatshirt, she slid his 
hand underneath it, upwards, until his fingers grazed the bottom of her 
breast. 
        Mulder gasped, his eyes closing. His arm suddenly stopped 
moving, and Scully had to tug on it to accomplish what he had intended. 
The hot, hard points of her own arousal were now pressed against the 
palm of Mulder's hand. 
        "See? Me, too." 
        "Scully...please...this is...too...too much!" Reluctantly, she 
let go of his hand, and a moment later it was outside her shirt, 
resting on the relatively safe arc of her left buttock.
        "We agreed," he started, and then stopped, knowing how absurd 
that must have sounded. 
        "Mulder...it's all right. We need to do these things as... we 
need to do them, I guess." She looked deeply into his eyes. "You don't 
want to make love to me, do you?" 
        Mulder knew what she meant. "No. Not tonight. I mean...I do want 
you, but I don't want to...not tonight." 
        "I  know. We'll know when it's right, Mulder. And for tonight, 
sitting here on this couch with you, feeling your hunger pressing 
against me, feeling your lips on mine, feeling your fingers in my 
hair...that's what's right for tonight." 
        Mulder returned her gaze for a long, silent moment, and then 
nodded. 
        "Can't argue with that," he said, lowering his mouth to hers. 
---------------------------------------------------------------------- 
End Part II 
 
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