TITLE: Paradigm Shift (1/1)
AUTHOR: Nlynn
POSTED: May 8, 2000
DISTRIBUTION: Gossamer, Spookys, Xemplary. Others please ask first so I can visit.
FEEDBACK: Would love it! Nlynn@erols.com
DISCLAIMERS: Not mine. Never will be. Darn.
SUMMARY: Post "All Things"
CATEGORY: MSR
RATED: NC-17
SPOILERS: Up to and including "All Things."
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Brownies, eclairs and hugs to Alcott, Eclipse, Dlynn and the rockin' women at X-Scenes.

Paradigm Shift
By Nlynn
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Ten years.

Is that how long I've been lying to myself? It's hard to believe it's been so long. I'm a different person now. Who I was then doesn't make sense to me. The choices I made, the decisions I faced, were made by a woman I do not know today.

Yet she is me.

An interwoven part of me that at some point I forced away, tucked into that tiny black box reserved for all things too painful to recollect. Seeing Daniel forced me to open that box, to piece together parts of the torn picture that was my life and my choices 10 years ago.

While he clung to a faded image that he perceived to be happiness, I moved on. His pain and want had literally manifested in his heart. It tore at him with each beat, each pound ricocheting desire and regret.

I was the opposite. While Daniel fantasized about a life with me, I never gave him much thought. I was too busy hunting down government conspiracies, keeping a watchful eye on Mulder and picking up my dry cleaning.

It's so much easier to look ahead rather than back.

But seeing Daniel's pleading eyes brought it back--the tumult of emotions that had eclipsed my life for a year.

The look he held for me hadn't changed since the last time I saw him, saying goodbye over a Caesar salad and water. But I had. And I didn't realize how much until we were face to face.

Sometimes we need to reexamine the paths we've walked in order to get a clear picture of the present.

I guess I should thank Daniel for that. And, in an odd way, I should thank Eileen Szczesny, too. If she had decided to stay home instead of going out on a margarita binge, her autopsy chart would have never existed. I would have never known that Daniel was sick. And I wouldn't be having this epiphany in Mulder's kitchen at one in the morning.

Paths converging, strangers leading us toward ourselves. I used to discount such coincidences as quickly as I pointed out holes in Mulder's bizarre theories. The last couple of days, however, have led me to believe that Jung may have been right, that there are indeed meaningful coincidences.

I just hadn't been paying attention.

It took a near accident to jar me, that and a woman who kept appearing when I felt lost. There was something about her, the way she turned to smile at me from the street, that struck a familiar chord. She reminded me of Mulder. Protecting. Guiding. Always there but not truly noticed. Until now.

I realized that the minute I turned her around and stood face to face with my partner…

My partner who is at this moment sleeping in his room while I stand at the sink, turning a glass of water around and around in the palm of my hands, watching as the clear liquid circles inside. Is that what life is? A circle? Beginning at the apex and curving along until it once again reaches the beginning?

Along this circular path we are meant to reach one destination. And all the choices we make in life will inevitably bounce us back to where we belong.

But what if I had walked a different road? What if I had never joined the X-Files? How would I have ended up here tonight, telling Mulder that I had once slept with a married man? If we all have destinations we are meant to reach, then God has certainly come up with an elaborate means of keeping everyone on their respective paths.

I take one last sip of water and walk back to the living room couch, where Mulder had let me sleep rather than telling me I should go home.

My hands run up along my skirt and my fingers stop at the zipper. My life, I realize, has been as confining as my work clothes. And now I'm about to remove the final layer that has been holding me back for so long and walk toward a new future, one that holds no promises but is laden with possibilities.

I'm scared, I realize as I slowly tug at the zipper. The skirt slides down my thighs and joins the blanket on the floor. I'm half-dressed in the middle of Mulder's living room with his fish as witnesses.

For all the wrong choices I have made in my life, I know with absolute clarity that being with Mulder is right. But that doesn't still the butterflies in my stomach. Logic rarely soothes emotional release. Emotions are the body's way of reacting to what the mind cannot. Right now my body has already anticipated my next move.

I step over my outer shell, the person I used to be, as it lays in a heap on the floor. Now begins the short walk to Mulder's bedroom. It's hard to believe that it has taken me seven years to take these final steps.

But that's what destructive patterns do. They pile up around your heart, each wrong move reinforcing the wall that keeps hurt and pain from tearing into that beating organ.

Once, I was told that my heart was closed. Mulder and I were working on a case in which a man claimed that a raki teacher had given him-and several others-leukemia. In the end, there was no X-File. The leukemia was a direct result of drinking tainted water for most of their lives.

When I told the teacher the true cause of the illnesses, he wanted to show his gratitude by giving me a free session. After much prodding, I acquiesced.

He moved his hands above me and talked about chakras. When his hands stilled above my heart, he said, "There is much pain here."

I was taken aback and my body must have stiffened because he said, "You don't need to explain. The information is just for you."

If he were here tonight, I'd tell him my history.

Daniel was the first. My professor. My mentor. I was young and impressionable and he was strong and confident, qualities I wanted in myself. I thought if I could possess him, I would in turn become that part of him.

The ring on his finger didn't keep me away. I refused to see the faces of his wife and daughter. I didn't want to imagine Daniel curled up next to the woman he married, his arm draped across her waist.

But our late-night dinners, cloaked behind the veil of mentor/student relationship, took a toll on his family. And when, on the final night, he reached across the table and took my hand in his, I knew it was time to leave. He didn't approve of my choice to join the FBI. He thought it was a waste.

"You're a medical doctor, Dana. You belong in a hospital, treating patients, not gallivanting around town playing cops and robbers," he had said.

Then I knew. He was another version of Ahab.

Jack turned out to be the same, although I certainly didn't think so in the beginning. That he was an instructor was just a coincidence, I had told my friends. Plus he wasn't married. He was Daniel's opposite, strong and protective. There was a part of me that wanted to be covered in that security. I let that lull me into drunken acceptance until he, too, decided how I should play out the rest of my life.

I left him, too.

What can I say about the other men I've seen? None of them truly represented a relationship in its fullest definition. Ed was a rebellious phase borne out of too many days and nights playing sidekick to Mulder. But what did I need to learn from him in order to move on to this moment? That I needed to let go and be less structured?

Maybe.

Padgett intrigued me because he looked beyond my tailored suits and saw straight into my heart. What was his lesson? I stop in midstep when it hits me. It was his words - "Agent Scully is already in love."

I just didn't let that sink in--until now.

Autopsying my choices has opened my eyes to what I've been missing all these years--that what I want has been standing in front of me, next to me and around me each and every day.

Mulder.

I can barely make out the moonlight seeping from the cracked door to his room. When I get to the door frame, I lay my hand on the wood to reconnect with the tangible present.

Beyond the threshold lies the biggest change of my life. I'm not worried that Mulder won't accept me. I'm more concerned about the fading afterglow, about what happens during the mundane parts of the day at the office.

Pragmatism at its best.

I take in a breath and realize there is no going back. I want this paradigm shift.

I step over the threshold.

The past is gone. And the present is sleeping soundly, sprawled across the bed, a bare leg peeking out from under the comforter.

Slowly I remove my jacket and set it on the edge of his bed. Then I pull off my shirt and let it dangle from my hand.

His breathing is still even.

But mine is coming out in small quiet gulps. I'm at the foot of his bed removing my bra, then my underwear. Now there is nothing between us but his dreamscape.

As if he senses my presence, I hear him stir and mumble.

"Scully?" he says, half sitting up, the comforter sliding down to his waist and revealing his bare chest.

"It's me, Mulder."

He blinks a few times and I stand still, waiting for him to adjust to the darkness, waiting for him to see my naked outline. I know the minute it clicks because his gasp is audible. That's when I make my way to the side of the bed.

"Scully?" he whispers. "Is that really you?"

I answer by climbing into bed next to him. He sits up and adjusts the covers so that I have enough for my side. His eyes are focused on that task, as if he's afraid to look at me and take me in. As if I might be an apparition that will fade away the moment he looks at me.

I reach out and brush his cheek with my hand. "Mulder, it's okay."

He stops moving and pauses for a second before lifting his eyes to mine. He is accepting the truth, and the longer the seconds tick by, the deeper his gaze looks beyond the surface, penetrating my soul and leaving me breathless.

"Seven years, Scully," his voice trails off and I nod.

"Seven years. Is this what you really want?" he asks.

Again, his gaze is shifting through parts of me that had been closed off, finding its way into my bloodstream and the core of my heart. My flesh stands at attention, goose bumps covering me even though it's not cold. It's as if I had been sitting in a cool bath and someone turned on the hot water tap. The heat starts out slowly, lapping at toes and then calves and thighs until it envelops the entire body. That's exactly what Mulder has done to me with one look.

All thoughts of fear and change have been erased with that look.

"Mulder, it's been much longer than that for me," I whisper, finding my voice. "And when you realize that you've been living without truly seeing, you want to make up for lost time as quickly as possible."

His eyes shift from mine to my lips. He slowly leans forward and takes my face in his hands. "I never thought … I never imagined …" he says, looking back into my eyes.

"You imagined, Mulder. I'm sure of it," I smile.

"That obvious?" he says, his hot breath tracing my lips. His fingers glide softly over my cheeks and he closes the distance with his mouth. His lips are soft, just as I imagined they would be, and he tastes of tea, sleep and a hint of Colgate.

We move slowly, lips barely touching but still exploring. The corner of his mouth. The corner of my mouth. He takes my bottom lip between his and glides his tongue lightly over it. He does the same with my upper lip and then covers me whole once again.

His fingers tighten in my hair and at some point I realize my hands have found their way into his.

God, I crave this man.

I want to touch every part of him, connect with the man who has been by my side for seven years, trace his path as it meets with my own. I want to know his flesh as well I know my own.

Our tongues meet in the middle, sliding and tasting. He moans and I feel him shiver beneath my touch. Or was that me?

I'm caught in a place where time stands still, where every emotion and nerve is on heightened awareness. Where I can no longer discern between where my body begins and his ends.

I draw him in deeper and move my hands from his hair down to his neck, his shoulders, his chest, touching all the parts that I can reach.

"More," I whisper into his mouth. And I break away, breathing heavily. I push him back against the pillow and straddle him, feeling his erection straining against his boxer shorts. He moans again and digs his fingers into my shoulders before sliding them down my arms and cupping my breasts.

"Scully," he whispers, his fingers tracing my hard nipples, his hazel eyes boring into mine. He wants so badly to sit up and continue his ministrations with his mouth, but I won't let him. I can't. Not yet. I have a need to fulfill. I have to search his body with my hands. I have to touch every part of him. All the parts I have thought about over the years.

My hands run down his chest and I lean forward, so that my breasts are touching him. Skin on skin. The effect is shocking, electrifying, but comfortable and right. I move above him, letting my nipples tickle him.

He bucks slightly and moves his hands down my legs and back up. Down and up. Down and up. Each teasing stroke coming closer to my center.

I pull away before he can take control. I'm sitting beside him now, my hands gliding over his legs, down his thighs, over his knees, shins and feet. He is warm, the hair on his legs soft. I trace places where he has been bruised, wanting to replace the pain with a soft touch.

Along the way I plant tiny kisses. One on his knee, one on the inside of his thigh. He fingers tighten in my hair and he groans. But I keep moving and kiss the inside of his other thigh.

When I've reached his chest again, he sits up and quickly lifts me so that my legs wrap around his waist and we are facing each other.

His fingers find their way back to my breasts and he stares at me.

"I want to see you, Scully."

And he continues, taking a nipple between his thumb and index finger. "Now I want to taste you," he whispers, moving his mouth over me. He flicks his tongue against my flesh and I arch my back toward him, speaking to him with my body. He smiles before taking me in, his tongue swirling against my nipple. Then he's suckling me.

I'm drowning, letting his firm tongue lick away my fears. I shiver. And then shiver some more. I run my hands through his hair and down his back and back up through his hair.

"More," I demand.

He complies.

Before I know it, I'm on my back and his boxers are gone. Then he's above me, supporting himself on his hands, looking into my eyes. He stops moving and just stares.

"I want to remember every single detail," he says. "Burn it into my mind so that I'll never forget, Scully."

He traces my face with his fingers, down my cheek, across my lips and over my eyes. His touch is feather soft. Leaning in, he whispers, "Never forget."

And the words are lost in a meeting of lips and tongues. Softly at first. Lovingly. Respectfully.

And then becoming insistent, demanding, each of us wanting more.

He begins to move faster and I join his pace. Our bodies are now pressed together and I can feel him against my thigh, his cock seeking my warmth. With a shift of my hips he's at my opening. The feel of him so close causes us to moan aloud. He moves forward so that his tip is just touching my folds. I arch toward him and he pulls back, teasing.

"I want you to remember, too, Scully."

Tiny waves rock my body and I feel so close, so close that I didn't realize I had said those very words.

"So close, Mulder."

And then he's inside of me, moving, wracking my body with sensations I had long forgotten. I expected it to be uncomfortable at first, but with so many years of wanting, it's not. I match him, wrapping my legs tightly around him, bringing his flesh closer so I can feel every part of him against me. I slide my hands down and cup his ass, pushing him deeper inside. And I gasp as he hits the right spot. "There, Mulder. There," I rasp.

He moans and moves slowly, knowing exactly what I need, reading my body as if he's read it a thousand times before and can quote passages verbatim.

"Speak to me Scully," he whispers against my ear, the feel of his hot breath the final thing that sends me over the edge.

And I cry out. I call his name over and over again. As I do, he moves faster and faster, thrusting into me until he, too, is calling my name.

"Scuuuullllyyy." The words tear from his throat and he entwines his fingers with mine, both of us squeezing tightly until the spasms subside and he eases his body on top of mine.

Mulder shudders and pulls us onto on our sides. When I look at him, I see his eyes have welled. But it is he who is reaching out and brushing my stray tears away with his finger. He brings that finger to his lips and kisses it and smiles.

I smile back and move closer to him. He enfolds me in his arms, brushing my hair with his hand.

"Mulder, there is only one answer."

"It's you. It always has been, Scully," he says.

I rest my head on his shoulder and like that, bodies joined, we fall asleep.

I do not dream. I merely float. Time passes in a warm cocoon until we stir and wake. My partner looks at me with sleepy eyes and smiles.

"So, Scully, how 'bout those Knicks?"

"Mulder, you know that baseball's my game."

"Hips before hands, Scully. Remember that," he says, sliding his hand to give my hip a squeeze.

I'm quiet, lost in thought.

"Mulder, have you ever seen a portion of your life in such clarity that you knew, without a doubt, without reservation, that you would follow a certain belief or certain course of action?"

He nods without hesitation.

"Yeah, I have. But the strongest feeling came when I said goodbye to Samantha. There's no proof that her spirit form was there. There's no proof that it wasn't just my imagination fully at work, wanting desperately to believe. I just knew that it was the end of the road, that my search was over and that she was okay. I just knew, Scully."

I touch his face. "I'm glad you found closure, Mulder. I know it was important to you."

"And to you as well," he says. I nod and lean my head against his chin. And we fall asleep again.

This time when I wake, the early-morning light is brushing against his bedroom window. I'm quiet as I retrieve my clothes and head to the bathroom.

I look tired, I think, as I take in my reflection in the mirror. No, sated would be a better word. It's a work day and as much as I'd rather be in bed with Mulder, I have to get home and get ready for the day.

Work is work, and I know Mulder understands that.

I pick up my jacket off his bed and look at him one last time. Since I left his bed, he has managed to wrap the entire comforter around him, a bare leg sticking out. He sleeps peacefully and I only regret that I cannot crawl back into his arms right this minute.

"Tonight, my place," I write across the back of an envelope, taping it to the door before I leave.

The sun streams down on me, licking the cold and hinting at a warm Washington day. A day that could have been any other had I not confronted myself.

The circle of time continues, except now I am not alone.

The End

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