Title: Provocation
Spoilers: Sein Und Zeit
Rating: R
Feedback: chalcedony.1@hotmail.com
Mulder and Scully react to the news of his mother's death.


The information was a stone breaking through the glassy 
water of a pool, its weight rippling the surface. Action 
and reaction.  Mulder's mother was dead.  

The call had come into their office while she waited for 
Mulder to finish his meeting with Skinner.  She had heard 
the words and she understood them, but how to take it in?  

Her first thought was for Mulder and his sorrow.  That was 
the first ripple.  

The next one nearly caught her off balance.  While she sat 
at the desk, her hand still frozen to the phone, she 
understood it:  I'm all he has left.  That she knew this 
before he did, felt strange.  The desire not to think about 
it prodded her to move.  She headed for Skinner's office 
and let thoughts of how to tell him crowd out thoughts of 
what this might mean for them.  

Riding up in the elevator, another ripple--Mulder was 
parentless. Orphaned.  Something inside of her shifted.  
Could her affection for him possibly deepen?  It did.  She 
felt it.  

A sense of possession, one that she'd always pushed away, 
insinuated itself along the edges of her consciousness like 
fog seeping over a ridge.  

An increase in the weight of responsibility for him, a 
small increment, felt like the weight of that stone falling 
through the water.     

"There's been an emergency," she said, as she bypassed 
Skinner's secretary.  

The case hadn't been going well. She could hear the tension 
in their voices and steeled herself to interrupt as she 
pushed open the door. "Sir?"

"What? What is it Agent Scully?" Skinner seethed, bitter at 
the interruption. 

"I need to have a word with Agent Mulder."

"It can wait."  He hid none of his impatience.

"No, it can't, sir."

Mulder caught the soft yet insistent tone of her voice, 
"What is it Scully?"

"Mulder, your Mom's dead."

He heard the words, but they weren't real to him.  He was 
looking at Scully, and he knew what she'd said, but he 
asked it anyway. "What?"

"The police just called, one of the neighbors discovered 
her, and the coroner's there now." 

"It's not possible.  I just...I just talked to her.  I was 
going to call her," he brushed past her. 

Scully glanced at Skinner to receive his mute concern 
before following Mulder out the door.  

_____________________________________________

They'd gone to the house and Mulder passed from incredulous 
to suspicious.  He was in denial one minute and the next he 
was trying to make sense of it.  Was it the Consortium?  
Was this all a set-up to make it look like suicide?  She 
hadn't wanted to do the autopsy, but how could she refuse 
him?  When she finished and came to find him, he was 
listening to that last message over and over again on the 
answering machine.  And then he'd broken down in her arms.  
His grief had been intermittent throughout the night--she'd 
covered him up on his couch at one point and left him to 
sleep.  She went to his bed alone.  Then later, he'd come 
in and curled himself around her, clinging to her, and she 
had comforted him, trying not to think about how good his 
arms felt around her, or let herself give in to the 
delicious pleasure of his warmth.  She forced herself to 
think of his sorrow and sank willingly into fatigue.   
_____________________________________________

When her eyes flicked open that next morning, they felt 
like dry sockets.  In spite of sleep, her body was tense 
from lying in an uncomfortable position on the bed, half 
spooned with Mulder's head on her stomach.  She shifted and 
he woke. The feel of his head turning against her belly 
sent a shiver of pleasure through her.  He looked up at her 
with the face of a bereft child.  She wanted to run her 
fingers through his hair again, crawl under the covers with 
him and hold his warm body against her, reassuring him that 
she was there for him.  Her instincts made her reject that 
idea.  Instead, she stiffened and he rolled over onto his 
back, Agent Mulder again, folding his hands behind his 
head, watching her.  

Now that it was morning, she had every intention of moving 
on with the day.  She had to leave him.  She'd given him 
her comfort and now it was time to be selfish and preserve 
her sanity.  She swung her legs over the side of the bed 
and zipped her boots on.  "I'm going to brush my teeth," 
she said making a face, and presumably went off to find a 
toothbrush, the sound of her heels reverberating on the 
hard floor.  

Mulder made no answer except a low groan and some 
stretching noises. 

The feel of the toothbrush against the side of her tongue 
and the mint of the toothpaste stinging in her nostrils 
helped to revive her.  She brushed automatically, watching 
herself in the mirror, leaning a hip against the sink.  
Mulder slouched in behind her and reached for his 
toothbrush, leaning across her with one hand. He reached 
around her with the other, grazing her hip as he grabbed 
for the tube of toothpaste.  His touch left a tingling 
trail of heat behind it.  She ignored him as he bumped 
companionably against her back, and tried not to identify 
just what exactly was bumping where.  She spit and rinsed 
and turned for a towel to dry her mouth, and then turned 
back to the mirror to fuss with her hair.  He watched her 
as he lazily brushed his teeth, not taking his eyes off of 
her.  

After all of the shared hotel rooms and nights spent in 
each other's apartments, it was surprising they hadn't 
often shared this intimate routine.  She'd talked to him as 
he brushed his teeth many times.  He was known to wander 
into her room, toothbrush in mouth, to incoherently finish 
a thought or retrieve some item.  It was less common for 
her to let him watch her.  Today it felt different, more 
intimate after a night spent in the same bed.  

It would be so easy to turn and slide her arms around him 
and brush her lips against his.  But how would she stop and 
where would it end?  It was going to be soon.  Her body 
radiated with the thought of it.  She felt light-headed and 
loose limbed.  

She trailed her fingernails along his back as she left him 
to finish, and went to look for her keys. 

She found them and turning back, nearly bumped into Mulder 
as he stood there in his t-shirt and jeans, rubbing his 
fists in his eyes. 

"Are you leaving?" 

"I need to go home...get some clothes, clean up." 

He nodded. 

"I'll call Skinner, check in, and give you a status 
report," she assumed he wasn't coming in today.  

He stood there watching her, looking lost.   

She didn't know what to say.  She couldn't ask him if it 
was better.  It wasn't.  It wouldn't be.   So she slid her 
arms around him and pressed the side of her face to his 
chest and held him.  

She promised herself it was only for a minute.  Just to 
soften the hardness of her leaving him.  

She felt the cords of muscle along his back and the ridge 
of his vertebrae as she slid her hands over the surface of 
his t-shirt.  And then she felt something cool on her back 
sliding up under her sweater.  She drew in a sharp breath 
as Mulder smoothed his hands along her bare skin.   

She closed her eyes and leaned into him.  He seemed to 
appreciate the encouragement because he slid them higher, 
kneading as he went.  She turned her head down, pushing 
away from his chest just a little.  He pulled her back to 
him, and she pushed again just a little.  A miniature 
wrestling match, a show of resistance for the sake of 
resistance.  But he was hers now and she was his.  They 
both knew it.  Diana was a distant memory, his mother was 
gone, and would they ever know what had happened to 
Samantha?  
 
"Scully," his voice whispered against her ear.  She heard a 
plea for reassurance, a declaration of need.  She felt 
relieved.  Relieved not to have to play a game, relieved 
that he knew he needed her, relieved that they could 
finally say it.  

"I'm here Mulder," she said and she pulled his body close 
and hugged him. "I'm here." She wanted to tell him that she 
loved him.  She wanted to say that he would always have 

her.  But it wasn't time yet.  She wasn't ready to say it 
even though she knew it, and it was true.  

He dropped his head to the side and pressed his lips 
against her neck.  She could feel the roughness of his 
stubble.  She hesitated just a moment and then let herself 
accept it.  She leaned back to give him access, and felt 
warmth and moisture as he opened his mouth against her.  
Electricity flooded her body.  She went limp against him as 
he sucked and kissed his way down her neck.  He pulled back 
to look into her eyes, vulnerability and need evident on 
his face.  

Her eyes met his with reassurance.  The firmness of her 
hand on his bicep, squeezing him, affirming her presence.  
She tipped up to kiss him, a quick press of her lips on his 
before leaving.  But he tightened his grip and opened his 
mouth against her.  He kissed her back, first with his lips 
and then with his tongue, doing things to her mouth that 
made her nearly lose consciousness.  She could smell 
toothpaste and taste it. They were breathing into each 
other.  A tiny groan of pleasure escaped from deep in her 
throat.  Her hands were in his hair, and his were pressing 
her into him, pressing their bodies together.  She could 
feel his hardness through their clothes. It felt like high 
school, making out with her clothes on, but she sensed 
Mulder was about to change all of that.  She could hardly 
believe this was happening.   

He pulled back, and she watched him, panting and out of 
breath.  Her eyes were raw with desire as he slid his hands 
up to cup the satin of her bra.   His thumb brushed across 
the nub of her nipple back and forth and she could feel 
herself getting wet for him.  He leaned in again to claim 
her mouth, his tongue sliding smoothly over hers....  

A sound like a fist rapping against wood came to them.  
Mulder stopped and Scully listened.  There it was again, 
someone knocking on the door.  They both stopped short, 
surprised but not embarrassed.  Scully was efficiently 
moving to the door and opening it before any suspicion-
arousing delay might occur.  It was Skinner. 

"Hi."

"Hi," she said with an edge in her voice.   

"How's he doing?" 

"It's been a hard night for him," she felt protective of 
him...of them, she realized with a degree of surprise.  

"Billie LaPierre's asking for him.  She's got something to 
say and she'll only talk to Mulder."  

Someone was always demanding something of them.  Couldn't 
they just have time to process this grief?  She would fight 
for it.  "It's not a good..."

"What is it?" Mulder appeared.  

"The case has heated up.  I've booked two flights for us."  

"Well then you better book three," Scully said, marking her 
territory, eyes flashing with possession.  It was settled 
then, without another word.  
_____________________________________

Not for the first time, Skinner felt like a third wheel on 
that flight.  Every time he turned around, they were gazing 
at each other and leaning into one another's space.  He 
pretended not to notice how they held hands on the flight 
under a blanket, or how Mulder pressed his mouth to her 
forehead as she leaned against him in sleep.  Watching them 
together might have made him ache with loneliness, but the 
knowledge that such love existed pushed away any feelings 
of envy.  Watching them together was like watching an act 
of nature, a sunrise or a falling star.  It was something 
that just was...and was beautiful... and he felt lucky to see 
it.