Title:  Sublimation
Author:  Philiater
Category:  Scully/Skinner, MSR implied.  Angst all around.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Everything up to Mulder's abduction
Feedback: philiater1@yahoo.com 

Thanks once again to Keleka for the superb beta help.


sublimation (sub-lim-a´shun) 
In psychoanalysis, an unconscious defense mechanism in which
unacceptable instinctual drives and wishes are modified into more
personally and socially acceptable channels.




Mulder was right; I was never going to understand him.  The longer
he stayed away, the worse I felt.  I wonder whether guilt is an
aphrodisiac.  If it is, then I should be one satisfied FBI woman. 
But I'm not.

I love Mulder; always will, but I there are times I want more.  Much
more.  I've been thinking of having an affair.  Affair is not the
right word, we're not married.  But Mulder would see it as one.  If I
told him about it later.

I don't know where he is or who he's with.  He could be shacked up
with a porn star for all I know instead of being abducted.  In the
mean time I'm pregnant with his baby and left wide open to criticism.

That's not fair.  I'm just angry.  Of course he's been abducted. 
Skinner said so.  And what Skinner says is the FBI gospel truth. For
Skinner, guilt is a permanent marker of his personality.  Guilt about
me, guilt over Mulder, guilt for losing the X-files.  We make a
delightful pair.

We've come back from Arizona empty-handed.  Couldn't find Mulder
while dodging bounty hunters, shape shifters and clairvoyant
preteens.  I think Skinner would have given his right arm to have
Mulder back, even if he is a major pain in the ass.  Nobody suffers
so well as Skinner does.

Skinner might be the one to lose myself with. I would have done so
before, but truthfully, it wouldn't be fair.  Skinner is in love with
me.  I've known it for a long time.  Mulder and a sense of decency
kept me from doing anything about it.  Now, I think my desire for him
is stronger than my fear of being cruel.  And make no mistake about
it, if I do this to him it will be cruel.

He wants to see me tonight.  I don't know what about.  I think I'll
go to his apartment; make some pretense so we'd have to meet there. 
If conditions are right we'll make the beast with two backs.  I can
hardly wait.

************************

I arrive a little late. We'd agreed on eight o'clock, and it's a
quarter to nine.  Make him wait, make him anticipate my arrival.  If
he's angry so much the better.  Strong emotion can make sex heady
stuff.

He opens the door with a scowl on his face.  Ah, good.  He's pissed
off.  His white dress shirt is open a few buttons to reveal dark
hair, and a drink is clutched in one hand.  He waves me in with a
sweep of an arm.

I brush past him a little too closely.  I want him to feel me, smell
my perfume, want me.  I sit primly on the sofa and watch him move
about the living room like a caged tiger.  He's thinking about
something he wants to say, and I wonder what it is.  He seems
distracted.

Finally I walk over to the bar and pour scotch into a glass.  No ice
for me, thank you very much. I swirl the amber liquid around before
taking a slug.  It burns savagely all the way down my throat.

When I turn, Skinner is frowning at me.  "Should you be drinking?" 
he asks.  What he means is: should I be drinking in my 'condition.'

"No, I shouldn't be."  I let the statement stand alone.  No need to
decorate it with more words than that.

He frowns again and moves toward me.  My pulse quickens at the
thought he will try to remove the drink from my hand.  When he is two
steps from me, I take another large swallow.  My eyes look up to his
in defiance.  His eyes are angry, and dark with suppressed emotion. 
I smiled wickedly.

When he makes the move to take it, I pull it back away from him. 
"NO," I say.

"Yes."  His voice is deadly quiet.  I have over-stepped too far.

His hand snakes out and grabs my wrist.  He easily bends my arm back
until it is pressed up against my back and the drink tumbles to the
floor.  The other wrist joins the first in one large hand.  He pulls
me up against him and I feel his erection on my belly.  A smile of
triumph plays on my lips.

His other hand tangles in my hair and pulls my head back almost
painfully.  "What are you doing Agent Scully?"  The quiet words belay
the dangerous tone lying underneath.

I'm breathing like I've run a marathon.  His eyes dart to the
cleavage he's uncovered by placing me in this position. I grind my
hips against him in a lascivious motion, and lick my lips.  I wait
for him to decide.

He makes a strangled noise and lifts me up to devour my mouth.  Heat
sears its way into me.  He tastes of scotch, mint, and something else
wonderful and heady.  He drinks me in like a dying man, and I respond
with as much ardor as I could.

Abruptly he releases me and I stumble backward to fall on my ass. 
He turns around and stands in front of the balcony door.  

"I won't be a substitute for Mulder."

I feel shame wash over me.  He's seen through me and doesn't like
what he seen.
I scramble to a standing position and make for the door. Tears of
humiliation blind me, and I miss the doorknob.  I reach for it again,
but a bear paw covers my hand to still its action.  He is standing
behind me; too close, and breathing too heavily.  I lean forward
until my head touches the cool white door.

"I'm so lonely, Skinner." My voice quivers, the false bravado long
gone.

"I know."  When he says it I wonder whether he meant he knew I was
lonely or that he was lonely too.  "Don't go."

He turns me in his arms and this time the kiss is sweet and full of
forgiveness.  I didn't deserve it, but am grateful to take it.

I wrap my arms around him and hang on for dear life. I know now that
he will give me what I came for, but he wants a price for what I
asked.  He wants me to feel something.  He wants me to know I was
being bedded by him, and not by a ghost.

I pull away and stroke his face.  "Take me to your bed, Skinner."

He picks me up and ascends the stairs.  I kiss his eyes, his neck,
and anything else within reach.  I crooned his name over and over so
he would know.

Later he holds me tightly against his nude body.  An arm and leg are
slung over me to show possession even in sleep. When he is snoring
loudly I gently remove his arm and leg.  With as little noise as
possible I pad into the living room to dress.

On the way out I spot a cream-colored envelope with my name on it. 
The writing looks like Mulder's. So this is what Skinner called me
over for.

I tear into the envelope and a short card falls out.  I can barely
read it through the tears running down my face.

Dear Scully,

If you are reading this letter then you know I am dead.  Skinner was
always a lot more responsible than I am when it comes to these
things.  If I haven't said it by now, I love you.  I love you more
than I have loved anything else in my life.  I dragged you through
rain, swamps and deserts and you still came with me.  Your support
never flagged, and I am grateful for having known you.

Take care of Skinner.  He'll need you now.

Mulder.

I clutch the letter to my chest and cry even harder.  In that moment
I know two things.  I am loved by more than one man, and Mulder is
going to come back.

Skinner, the baby, and I will wait.

end