He stroked her hand once, his gaze anxiously fastened to her pale face. Memories of the last time she lay in a hospital bed assailed him, causing his throat to tighten, a lead weight pressing from inside his chest. The sound of a nurse behind him reminded him that visiting hours were long over.

Forcing a breath out his nose, he turned abruptly on his heel, striding blindly out of the hospital.

He found himself at his apartment, with no recollection of driving there. All he could see, all he could remember, were the seconds ticking away in slow motion like some cliched made-for-tv movie; the car roaring around the corner, her face turned to him, laughing at some inane comment he had made, her attention distracted, and then the sound oh god the sound of her body hitting, the scream of breaks too late, too late...

He slammed his hand against the doorframe, forcing himself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Those who posses eidetic memories learn the tricks which will block out certain sights, keep them from coming appearing uncalled for. No use.

Mulder, sit down.

His breathing steadied, hearing her gently-amused voice echoing in the otherwise-still room. Shaking his head as though she could see him, he slumped to the couch, one hand tugging his tie off even as the other hand automatically reached for the vcr remote, his panacea for stress. The screen flickered to life, whatever tape he had left in there the night before starting in the middle of some decided action. He lay down on the couch, and tried to force everything but the scene in front of him from his unforgiving memory.

He awoke suddenly, the moans from the screen merging with his nightmares. Eyes wide open, he saw her lying on the ground, one leg bent at an impossible angle, blood flowing from her nose, pale skin ashen and ...

No.

Moisture gathered in the corner of one eye, tipping out onto the bridge of his nose. He breathed deeply, trying to calm his heart, almost imagining that he could smell her fragrance, that mix of perfume and sweat that always alerted him to her presence, even when she was trying to sneak up on him. His eyelids closed, trying to hug that image to himself in lieu of more recent, less pleasant memories.

The leather of the couch shifted under him, and a warm touch delicately wiped the tear from his skin. He froze, then one hand slowly lifted to his face. His questing fingers encountered flesh, and his eyes snapped open to stare into his partner's warmly- flushed face.

As though moving in a dream, his hand rose to trace the so- familiar lines of her cheekbone. He didn't question, didn't want to break the impossibility of her being here. A slight smile curving her rose-perfect lips, she touched the tip of his nose with one finger, letting that digit slide to his lips, then fall to his chest. She drew a delicate line down his chest, hooking it into his belt and tugging the buckle open.

His eyes closed again as he felt her hands slide under his waistband, curving around his buttocks to slip his trousers off. Then her mouth was nuzzling him, warmth he could feel though the material of his shorts. His penis leaped to attention against the restricting fabric, trying to follow that warmth, and he arched against her, hands clenched at his side. Then she was sliding back up his body, nimble fingers unbuttoning his shirt, palms flat against his chest, lips soft and smooth against overheated skin. Her tongue flicked across one nipple, and his hands grabbed at her shoulders, dragging her against him, legs holding her still. His fingers threaded through her hair, so soft and silky, unlike the tangled mess it had been in not three hours ago as she lay there, leg broken, concussed and unconscious...

He thrust that thought away, the heaviness of her weight on top of him all the reality he needed. Pulling her head down to him, he felt her mouth open to his, the stroke of her tongue across his lips forcing a shiver along his spine. His hand slid down her back, under the silk tank top she was wearing, and lifted it over her head. The delicate white lace bra quickly followed, and he half sat up, leaning her backward to cup his hands under her breasts, marvelling at the silky texture. Bending his head, he tongued first one nipple, then the other, the sounds coming from the television an overly-dramatic counterpoint to her softly indrawn breath. The nipples hardened as he swirled the tip of his tongue around them, and he felt her breathing speed up.

Her legs curled so that she was sitting astride his lap, her skirt hiked up around her hips. One hand supporting her, his other slid along her exposed thigh, fingers following the rough texture of her hose until it ended at mid-thigh, and his fingers encountered a small snap. Feeling like the rookie in "Bull Durham," he licked suddenly-dry lips and attempted to unsnap the garter. Much to his surprise, the clasp parted easily, and his hand moved on to the silk of her underwear. He could feel the dampness, the heat, radiating from her, and moaned deep in his throat, wanting only to bury himself in her, to thrust inside until he could hide completely within that warmth.

As though she could read his mind, she shifted, swinging her legs of the sofa and slowly striping first the skirt off, then the rest of the garter snaps, and then dark blue silk panties. Her hands ran down her sides, her gaze never leaving his.

"Come here."

The words, the first he had spoken, seemed too loud in the room. The movie had ended The only sound was the rewinding of the tape, and the rasp of his breathing. She smiled at him, moving slowly to kneel over him, her hands eversoslowly drawing his shorts off. His hands clasped her hips, pulling her into position over him. They paused there, an eternal instant of hesitation.

He knew he should go slowly, make this something tender, something memorable, but all of his fear, his anger, had distilled into a single driving need to feel her flesh around him, to hear her call his name in passion instead of desperation.

She seemed once again to read his mind, taking his erection in one small hand and guiding it into herself, body arching like a strung bow as he filled her.

"Oh god..." She was warm, wet, completely and utterly welcoming, and he was undone. Too fast, too overwhelming. He could feel himself so close to the edge, the sensations almost embarrassing in their intensity. She moved, rocking against his hips until he wanted to scream out for her to stop at the same time he needed her to continue, to take him over the edge into oblivion. The gentle rocking continued, first slow, then speeding up until he thought he was going to come, then slowing down again just at the instant his body tensed for release. She was playing him like a damn violin, he thought, not sure if he liked that or not. His every thought translated into action, his reactions carefully orchestrated and controlled. But ohgod it felt so good.

He reached up, grasping her not-so-gently by the neck until he could shove his face into the curve of her neck. She made a particularly erotic move, and his mouth closed on the soft skin, biting down hard to hear her moan. She pulled away, her fingers flat against his chest, alternately pushing and pulling away until he thought no rocking horse ever had it so good.

"Please," he said finally, his pride completely in shreds. His hands curled heavy on her shoulders, as though to pull her completely down onto him through sheer force.

Her head tossed back, she increased the speed of her motion, the muscles of her vagina closing firmly around him. He gasped once, a hoarse, tortured sound, before his body spasmed and collapsed.

His eyes rolled backwards, and his face fell into lines of exhaustion. Her hands came up to frame his face, and he felt the soft touch of her lips on his nose. He reached out to pull her closer, and was asleep the moment her soft flesh nestled against his.

He woke to disorientation, the sunlight coming through the blinds suggesting that it was late in the morning. He stretched, turning on his side. A memory of the night before flickered across his waking mind, and he sat upright, both relieved and disappointed to discover that he was fully dressed. Apparently, the tape had been more suggestive than he remembered from the previous viewing. A blush started at the back of his neck, working its way around to his face as he recalled details of that particular dream. It had seemed so real, so... He chuckled at himself. So much for his ability to repress. If Scully ever knew the fantasies he had about her, she'd run faster than a rabbit in a dog kennel. Or so he told himself, not wanting to open that particular can of worms.

Shaking off the last of the dream, he swung off the couch and headed for the shower. His partner should be up, if not about, and knowing her would be more than eager to find out when she could get out of the hospital.

He entered the hospital room, not surprised to find that she was still sleeping. The doctor left word that her concussion was more severe than previously thought, and they wanted to keep her in for another day of observation. The nurse on duty said that she'd had a quiet night, not so much of a blip on her chart. He grinned at that, thankful that at least one of them got a good night's sleep.

Standing over her now, he was amazed once again at how tiny she seemed when at rest. His hand reached out to brush a lock of hair off her face, and he froze in disbelief. There, on the soft skin where shoulder met neck, was the unmistakable black and purple bruise of a love bite.