TITLE: One Lost Night 1/1
AUTHOR: Dogg'N'Scull 
E-MAIL: thorfinna@s...
SPOILERS: Up to and including William, season 9
RATING: PG-13 for sexual situations
CLASSIFICATION: D/S, Angst, AU
DISCLAIMER: They're not mine, I'm not making any money off of this, nor
do I have any to be sued for...
SUMMERY: When grief is all you have left, sometimes the need to feel is
more than you can bear. When one chance is more than you ever expected,
sometimes it's better not to take it.
NOTES: This is a SEQUEL to my story After William (NOT to be confused
with Philiator's WIP by the same name.. she's graciously allowed me to
keep my title! Thanks Phil!) and picks up immediately after it, on the
same night. You should read it to understand this one. You can find it
here: http://www.geocities.com/lugubriouslyglad/ALittleTooRed.html
DEDICATION: For Donna#3, the best damn friend I could ask for. Happy
Birthday, Darlin'. 


One Lost Night 

A blast of cold air hits him as he pushes his way out into the
night air. He shivers and realizes with a sinking feeling that he's left
his coat in her apartment. Cursing himself, he feels his jeans and
swears. His keys are still in his coat pocket. 
He stands, hands on hips, his breath making little white puffs,
knowing he'll have to go back up; back to see her aching eyes, feel the
anguish, the attraction, the arousal.
His heart is still pounding, blood singing in his ears. If he
goes back up there, he knows he won't be able to stop himself a second
time. It took everything he had to get out of there. 
He wants to go back up. He wants to so much. He wants *her*. 
But that voice in his head is telling him he can't do it, and he
knows the voice is right. It would be takin' advantage of her.
I just have to get my keys. It's a legitimate reason, he tells
himself.
You can take a cab.
I'd have to call one. Phone's in the car. 
It's wrong.
The moment's passed. It'll be safe to go back up.
It's not you she really wants. 
Then there's nothin' to worry about, he tells himself firmly.
Nothin' to worry about.
Focusing on that thought he makes his way back inside,
deliberately skipping the elevator, hoping the stairs will work off some
of his nervous energy. It doesn't.
Just be quick, he tells himself as he walks to her door. Get in,
get out. In. Out. Poor choice of words, he thinks and curses himself for
the image it brings to mind.
Has it really been only minutes since he walked out this door?
Minutes since he held her, kissed her skin, soft and warm under his
lips? Saw the loneliness in her eyes?
Christ.
Steeling himself, he knocks, three sharp raps. He hears a
muffled gasp, as if she were standing just on the other side of the
door, and then it's opening, cold yellow light spilling into the
hallway.
He opens his mouth to speak but the words die on his lips as he
sees her. 
She stares up at him, the look in her eyes unfathomable, half
afraid, half anticipating the reason for his sudden return. She sees
fear in his, wariness, and the unmistakable smolder of desire. Her lips
part as she draws in a sharp breath and his eyes track the movement.
"I, ah-" his voice breaks and he coughs roughly to clear his
throat. "...forgot my coat."
She stares back at him blankly. Then her eyes seem to gain
recognition and she blinks. "Oh... Oh!" she manages, and steps back from
the door. She holds it open, silent invitation for him to enter and
against his better judgment he does. She closes it again, her shoulder
brushing against his arm as she passes him, and hesitates a moment as
she realizes she's locked the door without meaning to. 
Heart pounding, she steps back, her gaze sweeping up to meet his
and tension flares between them, as tangible as the floor beneath her
feet. Swallowing, she forces herself to turn away from him and spies his
jacket, lying pooled on the floor beside her sofa. With careful steps
she walks across the room and bends to pick it up. Clutching the piece
of clothing in her hands, she turns to face him again. He stares at her,
his jaw clenched tightly shut, so much energy coiled within him.
"You don't have to go," she hears herself say, wondering what
the hell she's doing.
His eyes widen, then his brow creases and he looks almost as if
he were in pain. "I think I do," he croaks. "Unless..." he adds, his
gaze locking with hers, concerned. "Unless you need me to stay..."
Stay. Yes, God, please stay! she cries to herself, her grief and
loneliness shoving her tiny, warning voice deep down inside her to where
she doesn't have to listen. He can make her forget, she thinks, at least
for tonight. Fill the empty silence that has taken up residence in her
apartment, in her life. Something to make her forget the absent sound of
her son's cries. She wants him to... needs him to. 
She feels herself on the verge of tears, the onslaught of
emotion and need causing her to tremble so that she can't even speak.
She stares down at her hands, twisting in the dark fabric of his jacket,
a half sigh - half sob escaping her.
It is the one thing he cannot defend himself against, seeing her
in distress. He is at her side in three strides and pulls her into his
arms, sooths her with soft words. She buries her face into his warm,
safe chest, his scent surrounding her again. He holds her and, unable to
resist, his lips brush her scalp as he kisses her hair.
Fire shoots through her body as she feels his kiss and the shift
from comfort to carnal is instantaneous. Her lips part with a gasp. She
splays her hand against his chest, feels the rapid heartbeat beneath the
crisp white cotton of his shirt. The last of her common sense tells her
to get the hell out of there, that if she looks up at him now she will
not be able to stop this. 
She looks anyway. 
A shudder tears through her body as she meets his eyes, sees the
intensity, the desire. They darken as her breath quickens, her chest
heaving against his. He can see the change in her eyes, knows they are
about to cross a line that cannot be un-crossed. As she slides her hand
up into his hair, he makes one last effort to stave off their impending
folly.
"Dana, you don't want this," he breathes as she drags his head
down. 
Her lips touch his; a shock like electricity courses through
him.
"Please...," she whispers into his mouth, kissing him
relentlessly. 
And he's lost. He knows its wrong, knows this cannot end well,
but he can't deny her, no matter what this will do to his heart come
tomorrow when she will inevitably regret what happens between them
tonight. If he can take some of her pain from her, even a tiny piece,
even for just a moment, how can he refuse her? In his heart he knows
that this is the only chance he will ever have to make love with her.
He's not sure that that doesn't weigh heavier in his surrender, but he
knows it makes little difference in the end. He is still crushing his
mouth to hers, still pulling her against him, still thrusting his
erection into her stomach with growing urgency.
She tugs at his shirt, just as urgently. She will trade one
guilt for another tonight. Betrayal upon betrayal, she thinks. What's
one more? 
You'll be betraying him too, the voice tells her. Manipulating
his love, using him.
He'll be using me too, she counters, and he knows it.
You'll kill him when you reject him.
I won't reject him.
You will. You know you will.
He's willing. He knows what he's getting into.
...Do you?
She has no answer for that, pushes it aside instead and gives
herself over to her need to be touched, to feel alive...

It is his name she cries out when she comes. Not his title. Not
his family name. *His* name. John.
It steals his breath. He's never loved her more than he does at
this moment. He doesn't tell her, he's not that stupid. But it sings in
his blood and with every thrust of his hips until he too reaches out and
touches God.

Pale sunlight bathes his face in warmth and he slowly opens his
eyes. As sleep fades, he becomes aware of several things at once; first,
that he is not in his own bed, second, he is naked, and last, the smell
of sex is unmistakable in the room. It takes less than a second longer
for him to remember the night before - skin on skin, around her, over
her, inside her. He slept with Dana Scully.
Under normal circumstances this would be a good thing, but the
reality of the situation only makes him feel hollow, not happy. He rolls
over, confirming what he's already suspected - her side of the bed is
empty. If it had happened at his house he knows she would have left and
avoided the inevitable morning after awkwardness. Perhaps he should have
done the same for her, he thinks. But he's not one to procrastinate. It
can only make things harder if they put it off. Still, he hesitates,
closing his eyes briefly to savour their scent and fix the night in his
memory.
Finally he sighs and rolls himself out of bed. His clothes are
scattered about her floor and he opts for his underwear and pants,
sliding them on before gathering up the rest of his things. He takes one
last look around her bedroom and then goes out to find her.

She hears the door to her bedroom open and her heart beats
faster as he pads by William's room where she sits in the early morning
light. Is he leaving, she wonders? Will he want to avoid this as much as
she does? No. She doesn't think so, and nods to herself as she hears him
walk back up the hall after a moment. 
He hesitates outside the door and she can imagine him as he
stands there, his hands on his hips, head lowered as he considers
whether or not he should come in. She says nothing still, waits, her
gaze on the tree through the window, outside. At last the door opens,
and she's aware of him stepping in the room though she doesn't
acknowledge his presence.
He's silent for a long moment as he stares across the room at
her. He wishes things could be different for them. Wishes he was what
she wants, who she needs. He knows he's not, knows he will never fill
that role. He doesn't know what to say to her, but feels he should say
something. "You're up early," is the best he can come up with.
She nods her head, barely perceptible. "I couldn't sleep," she
says, still not looking at him. 
"No?" 
She turns at last, her face solemn. "No."
He takes a step forward. "Why not?" he asks in a whisper, though
he can guess.
She drops her gaze, stares down at her hands in her lap. 
He looks away, a sigh on his lips. "You regret it," he says,
just like he knew she would. 
But she surprises him. "No," she says, looking back up at him.
"No, I don't regret it. I'm *sorry*... sorry that I used you like that,
but I don't regret that... the act itself."
The act itself, he repeats to himself, not so sure she doesn't
when she uses language like that. "You don't regret sleepin' with me?"
he asks, unbelieving.
Her face colours and she looks away again. "It probably
shouldn't have happened, we both know that. But I'm not going to worry
that it did. What's done is done, and I hope we can both put that behind
us."
He gapes at her, unable to comprehend what she is saying.
Regret, he expected. Shame, anger, anything but this unconcerned
acceptance she's offering. He knew she'd break his heart this morning,
but he never dreamed she'd do it like this, by not caring.
"What's done is *done*? Do you even realize-" he breaks off,
wondering for the first time if the rumours, the reputation she has at
the Bureau, are true after all. 
Her eyes snap up to his, and he sees a crack in her facade.
She's more affected by this than she's lettin' on, he realizes. Too
affected, he wonders? So affected that she's trying to do whatever she
can to keep it from being more than she can handle? To, God help him,
keep it from happening again? Or keep her from *wanting* it to happen
again? 
"Dana?" 
"I... I need to move past this. I need *us* to move past this,"
she says softly.
He shakes his head. "I'm not sure that I can," he answers
truthfully.
Real fear shows in her eyes now, and she purses her lips in an
attempt to keep them from trembling. 
Sex has ruined everything in her life, she thinks fleetingly.
Has it ruined this now too? She curses herself for her stupidity. She
needs John, needs him more than ever. She's terrified that she's
destroyed what little trust they had managed to build between them. And
for what? A moment of denial? 
When she'd left his side hours earlier, the longing and guilt
were stronger than ever. Her desperate attempt to escape her pain had
only made things worse, and possibly taken away the one thing she had
left that she could count on - him.
"What do you need me to say?" her voice trembles. "That it was a
mistake? That I wish it never happened?"
"I need you to tell me the *truth*!" he says desperately as he
crouches down beside her. He takes her hands in his gently, his eyes
holding a plea.
"I asked you-"
"Damnit, Dana, I don't want you to tell me what you think I want
to hear! I just want to know the truth!" 
"The truth," she spits, shaking her head as she rises and turns
to face him. "What truth do you want? That I haven't felt like this in
months?! That I didn't think it was possible to feel this way about you?
That I shouldn't be feeling this way about you, that I *can't*?!
That all I can think about is that I've betrayed Mulder? Again! And
that, for reasons I'm not willing to think about, I don't feel the way I
should about that?!"
Doggett stares at her, his heart pounding at her words. "And how
do you think you should you feel?" he whispers.
"I don't know! Terrible... Guilty... Wrong!" she cries,
exasperated.
"But you don't," he says, not a question, unable to keep the
hope from his voice.
She covers her face. "I can't feel this for you. I can't."
"But you do," he says in wonder. "You do. Dana..." he reaches
for her.
"No. Don't," she says, stepping away from him.
He catches her wrist, not forcefully, just enough to stop her
movement. "This was *not* just another night for me. I don't think it
was for you either. Neither of us are the type to just sleep around..."
"That doesn't matter," she says, sounding defeated.
"That does matter. That makes all the difference," he disagrees.
She sighs and shakes her head. "It can't. I'm sorry. I shouldn't
have let this happen."
"Can you honestly tell me it meant nothing? Can you?" he
demands, his hands on her arms, holding her to his gaze. 
She closes her eyes.
"You said my name," he hisses. "Mine. Not His."
Her eyes snap open again, meet his warily. She hates what she
has to do, hates that she has to hurt him. But she can't let him go on
hoping. Not when there's nothing left for her to give him. She meets his
eyes, unflinching.
"It was sex. That's all. I needed comfort, you were there."
His eyes turn to steel. "You're lyin'."
"No."
He stares at her, doubt creeping into his heart.
She goes for the kill. "I used you. I'm sorry, but that's all I
needed. It won't happen again."
He lets her go. He's unsure if she's lying or not. But then he
realizes, it doesn't really matter. It's the way it's going to be.
"No. It won't," he agrees, and without another word, he's gone.

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