From: Amory20@aol.com
Date: Tue, 26 Dec 2000 22:01:12 EST
Subject: New: Learning Curve by JLB
Source: xff


TITLE: Learning Curve
AUTHOR: JLB (amory20@aol.com)
CLASSIFICATION: MSR
RATING: PG-13, vague sexual references
SPOILERS: nothing specific, though this story takes place sometime after "all 
things" and before "Requiem"
FEEDBACK: if the mood strikes you, please drop me a line at Amory20@aol.com
ARCHIVE: if it's the first time, please just let me know.
SUMMARY: Scully plays pupil.  (no, it's *not* what you're thinking)
DISCLAIMER: as much as it pains me to say, M&S are the rightful property of 
CC, 1013, and FOX
NOTE: a holiday gift to anyone who's missing those wonderful moments of M&S 
interaction as much as me ... but i must warn you, it's fluff, pure and 
simple.  enjoy!

Learning Curve by JLB

These days, Mulder is teaching her all sorts of new things. 

Not in the same way that he does in his dark, dreary basement, with
slides and newspaper clippings and crime scene photos.  Not in the
academic, intellectual way that he has for years now, pushing the
boundaries of her science further than she ever thought it could
stretch, challenging her to think in new ways, in new directions.


No, these days, he's teaching her small, quiet things about herself,
about who she can be, about who he is and what they are together.

He calls some time after ten, alert, but his voice is laced with a
deep sensuality that seems fitting given the hour.  She has just
gotten out of the shower, after having spent nearly fifteen minutes
under the steaming spray of water, trying to work out the knots from
her neck.  As she balances the phone between her cheek and shoulder, a
drop of water eases its way down her neck with chilled slowness, runs
into her shirt, and spreads, a dark spot on the blue cotton.


"I know it's probably past your bedtime," Mulder says, skipping a
greeting all together.  "But I was wondering if you could come over." 


She is slightly taken aback.  It is not strange for Mulder to call at
all hours, to summon her from the bright, warm confines of her
bedroom, out into the black, endless night, in pursuit of one mystery
or another.  But she suspects, based on nothing more than his voice --
the low, breathy quality that it takes on as it carries over the phone
-- that this visit he desires now has nothing to do with a case, with
an X-File or autopsy results. 

This is personal, she thinks nervously.  He wants something else
entirely.

"Mulder, it's ten-thirty Sunday night.  I need to get some sleep." 
She speaks with little conviction, already waiting for him to convince
her, talk her into it. 

"Scully ... it's *only* ten-thirty," he whines, but even his whining
seems deep, dark, and dangerous.  "There will be plenty of time to
sleep later."

"What do you need?" she asks, sighing but eager to hear what he will
offer as an explanation.

"There's something I want to show you." 

She almost laughs.  If this were any other man on the phone, she would
be laughing right now, derisively, deep laughter dripping with
condescension. There would be a sarcastic, dismissive response, and
she'd be in bed within seconds, tucked warmly beneath the covers.


But this is Mulder -- terribly honest, at times painfully insecure,
Mulder.  For all she knows, he could have E. T. sitting on his couch,
eating Reeses Pieces and discussing the Knicks game.


It is Mulder, so she takes him seriously. 


"Can't this wait until the morning?  I'll see you in less than twelve
hours."

She does not, of course, really need to be convinced -- she is already
thinking about what clothes she will change into, which pair of shoes
she should wear -- but there are lines she must say, standards she
must uphold because she still thinks that is who she is, who he
expects her to be.

"This is not a Bureau matter," he says in a no-nonsense, deeply
pitched drone. 


She smiles against the phone, cool plastic touching her cheek.  "Oh
really?"

"Yes, and it can't wait until the morning.  It might not keep." 


Again, the urge to laugh is strong, but she holds back, letting out
nothing more than a quiet huff, a quick rush of air as she smiles
again.

"Okay," she says finally, letting the moment stretch to give the
appearance of deliberation.  "I'll be there as soon as I can." 


"Good," is all Mulder says as he disconnects the call. 


******


It feels like a school night, she think foolishly as she drives to
Mulder's apartment.

When she was young, her mother never allowed her to go out this late
on a school night, so now, even as an adult, Scully can't help
thinking that she shouldn't be out so late on a social call when she
has to get up for work in the morning.  As she searches for a song on
the radio, she feels silly and giddy, though she's certain that no one
would be able to pick up on her mood by looking at her.


Except Mulder.  Mulder will know. 

There is no light coming from under his door when she reaches his
apartment, and for one brief, confused moment, Scully wonders if she
imagined the phone call, if she wanted to see him so badly that she
conjured up the sound of his voice from the strength of her
imagination alone.

But then she hears the subtle shuffling noises that always signal
Mulder in the next room, and the door opens before she has a chance to
knock.  She finds herself face to face with a smiling Mulder, all
sleepy eyes and stubbled jaw. 

"You made it," he says, holding the door back so she can come inside. 

"Did I take that long?" 


Behind Mulder, the living room is dark, shadowed and quiet except for
the dim light and quiet gurgle of the fish tank.  His apartment has
always seemed like some strange, mysterious lair, private and terribly
intimate, full of secrets and promises that teased her with their
possibilities. 

She feels it even more so now -- late night, in the warm darkness,
when the sole purpose of her visit is to what it is Mulder has to show
her. 

"No, I was just getting impatient," Mulder whispers as he helps her
out of her coat.  "You know I have a problem with that." 


She smiles.  "I don't know ... you've always struck me as a fairly
patient person."


He smirks, and smoothes the collar of her blouse down against her
neck. 

"Well, maybe it's a recent development then." 

She nods, her hair falling to cover her face, and Mulder stares at his
feet, which are bare beneath the frayed edges of his jeans.  They are
at a standoff, facing one another silently in the cramped hallway. 


"So what is it you wanted to show me?" she asks finally, looking up
into dark eyes. 

"It's in the bedroom," he smiles lazily. 


She laughs fully now, unable to fight the urge any longer. 

"Oh... I see." 


He takes her hand, and begins to lead her down the dark hallway,
toward his equally dark bedroom.  His hand is warm and dry, tight
around hers. 

"Scully, I promise you that this is entirely on the up and up." 

She doesn't respond as she follows him into the messy, chaotic
bedroom.  It is dark inside, so she has to strain to see, but there
are clothes strewn about, pillows tossed on the floor, open books and
dog-eared magazines on the bedside table, a file or two spread out on
the arm chair.  It looks virtually the same as the last time she was
here. 

Is this what Mulder wanted her to see?  Further evidence of his rather
questionable abilities as a housekeeper? 


He moves through without commenting on the clutter he must sidestep
around.  It is effortless, the way he navigates the room, like some
sort of sixth sense guides him around the mess, and she can only stand
in the doorway, watching him with keen interest as she would an exotic
animal in a nature documentary. 


At the window, Mulder stops and holds out his arm, almost like a
spokesmodel showing off a shiny red sports car, a new washer and dryer
set on "The Price is Right." 

"Ta da!" he announces, moving aside so Scully can get a better look. 


There, in front of the window, a telescope is set up, black metal but
shining in the light that comes from the window.  It looks new,
probably expensive, and she comes over to run her fingers against the
smooth, cold metal. 


"It's a telescope," she says simply, fiddling with the parts.  She
can't remember the last time she used one. 


"Yes," Mulder answers snidely.  "It *is* a telescope.  Your powers of
observation are outstanding, Scully." 


She shoves him gently, with a hand on his shoulder, and he bumps into
the wall.  For a moment, he makes an exaggerated show of rubbing his
shoulder, wincing as if he were mortally wounded. 


"Is this new?" she asks, ignoring him.  "I would have thought you
already had a telescope." 


"I did."  He steps behind the telescope and looks through the
eyepiece.  "But it was old and I hadn't had it set up in years, so I
decided to splurge and get a new one.  This baby set me back a pretty
penny."  He pats the body of the telescope with his hand, and a
strange, hollow sound echoes through the room. 


"Let me look."  She nudges him out of the way, and fits her eye up
against the glass. 

It is a clear, luminous night, the sky a deep, dark blue, and there
are dozens of bright, pinprick stars, shining cleanly against the
frosty darkness.  She knows the constellations of course, being a
sailor's daughter and having taken several astronomy classes as an
undergrad, but she looks at them now with fresh eyes.  The Big Dipper,
Orion, even Mars, look different through the telescope in Mulder's
dusty window. 


When she finally pulls back, she realizes that Mulder has left her
side.  She turns and hears the quiet sounds of water running,
splashing against the porcelain of a sink.  A moment later, he emerges
from the bathroom, pulling off his dark T-shirt.  His face is damp,
probably freshly washed, and a drop of water drips from his chin onto
his bare chest.  She watches its erratic journey in the dim light that
comes through the open bathroom door. 

She can't help noticing that the top button of his fly is undone, the
jeans slipping low on his hips so the line of thin hair that trails
down his stomach seems longer, darker. 


"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice sounding weak and shaky. 
She turns back to the telescope, unable to look at his sleek muscles
and gold skin shining in the dark room. 


"Getting ready for bed," he says plainly as he runs a hand through his
hair. 


"I thought you wanted to show me your telescope." 


"I did.  Don't mind me, Scully." 


At his dresser now, he roots around in the drawers for God knows what. 
There is no hesitance in his movements, no hurry either.  Mulder is
going about his business as if he were entirely comfortable with
present circumstances. 


It is one of those annoying moments when Scully doesn't know what to
do -- leave or stay, ignore or confront him.  Nothing seems to make
sense.

"Mulder, if you're tired, I'll go.  I don't want to keep you up." 


"Scully," he berates, turning with his hands on his hips, a pair of
pajama bottoms clutched in one hand.  "I'm the one who called you.  I
guarantee that there is zero chance of me falling asleep on you in the
next ten minutes." 

"But--" 

"Scully," he laughs this time, discarding his pajamas and moving
toward her at the telescope.  "I want you to stay." 


In the agonizing moment that it takes for Mulder to fully approach
her, back her up against the window, Scully contemplates leaving,
convinces herself to stay, then decides she should leave again.  But
when she feels the cool glass behind her, pressing sharply against her
warm back, she closes her eyes and stops thinking. 


"Maybe you're too tired to drive home?"  He breathes against her face. 
"It's late." 


"Mulder," she warns lightly, unsure what else there is to say. 


She agreed to come to him tonight.  She agreed to see what he had to
show her.  That says something about her motivations, she thinks.  It
says something about who she is and what she wants, behind all the
practiced refusals and carefully constructed distances. 


"It's okay, Scully," Mulder whispers, lips touching her cheek.  "It's
okay if you want to stay." 


She opens her eyes and nods, reaching for his hand.  "Okay." 

"Okay," Mulder agrees. He brushes a strand of hair back from her
cheek, smiling softly. 


It is impossible for her not to fidget as he moves across the room
toward the door, so she toys with a button on her blazer, staring at
the scuffed toes of her shoes.  There is too much nervousness for her
to ride the tide of confidence too far.  Hesitation and second
thoughts hit her full force, nagging her in a voice that sound
suspiciously like her mother's. 


"Mulder, maybe it's better if I go.  Maybe..." She takes a step toward
the bed, running her hand against the rumpled sheets. 


"Scully, trust me," he says lightly as he closes the door behind him. 


The room is as dark and quiet as it's been all night, but with the
door closed, it seems black and soundless, wild, just the two of them
closed off from the rest of the world. 


She feels like she can't breathe for a moment, and turns back to the
window, where the blinds are still open so the telescope can be used. 
It is not an unusual thing, though -- Mulder usually has his blinds
drawn.  Once, she asked him why he never closes them, why he always
allows this private room to be on display.  He stared at her for a
moment with dark, patient eyes and pursed lips, then said,
matter-of-factly, "There's usually nothing to see in here.  If someone
wants to waste their time watching me toss and turn, who am I to
deprive them?" 

It made sense, in a strange, twisted way, but also struck her as sad. 
She'd spent the rest of that night trying to forget she had asked. 


Now, without saying a word, she moves the telescope to the corner of
the room, turning back to the window to pull the blinds down,
depriving the already dark room of the thin light from the street. 
Mulder is quiet behind her, and when she turns back to him, he hasn't
moved from in front of the door. 

"Are you warm?" he asks, and now it is apparently his turn to fidget,
as he reaches for the fan and plays with the knobs. 


"I'm fine.  But if you want to put it on..."  She stares down at her
feet again, this time unable to make out the scuff marks on the
leather because the light from the bathroom doesn't reach her. 

She is entirely unsure of what she's supposed to be doing.  She thinks
about unbuttoning her blouse, but decides that maybe Mulder will want
to do that.  She contemplates kicking off her shoes, but realizes that
she will be absurdly short when he comes over and inevitably wants to
kiss her.  The wisest course of action is to simply remove her blazer,
so she carefully slides it off while watching Mulder fiddle with the
fan.  She lays the blazer on a chair in the corner of the room,
careful not to knock Mulder's files to the floor. 


A soft grunt signals that Mulder finally has the fan working the way
he wants, which seems to be on the lowest speed, so just a faint
breeze stirs the blankets on the bed.  Scully feels a thick strand of
hair blow into her eyes, obscuring Mulder as he begins to walk toward
her. 

"Relax, Scully," he says quietly.  "We've done this before, remember?" 

They exchange nervous, fluttery smiles. 


"Yeah but this is so ... so premeditated."  Scully lowers her head
shyly. 

"Premeditated?"  He shakes his head.  "No, Scully.  You were just here
to look at my telescope." 

"Is that what they're calling it these days?"  She smiles wryly, but
still feels conflicted, unsure and needy.

He takes another step toward her, now so close she can feel his body
humming against hers, warm and solid. 


"I think this is performance anxiety or something," Scully reluctantly
confesses, refusing to make eye contact as she hooks a finger in one
of his belt loops and pulls him closer, closing the distance. 


Mulder laughs warmly, and suddenly there seems to be so much more air
in the room, more light and heat. 


"I think I'm the one who needs to worry about that.  You're perfect,
Scully." 
 His long finger slide across her jaw, reach up to tangle in her hair. 

Perfect. 

As she stands there with Mulder, she is certain that no one has ever
told her that she was perfect before, and even more certain that had
she been told by someone in the past -- her mother, a friend, a lover
-- she never would have believed it.  If she could believe anyone, it
would be Mulder, who understands the meaning and power behind even the
most innocent of words, who understands the importance of the truth,
however tarnished or unpleasant it may be. 

She wants to know what it is that Mulder sees when he looks at her,
what he sees in her in moments like this, what fragile, elusive thing
it is inside her that makes her perfect for him.  She could just ask
him, but then she'd be putting him on the spot, asking him to defend
his feelings for her like he does his most outrageous paranormal
theories.  Spoiling the moment. 


Sometimes it's best to simply trust, to believe. 


Slowly, he leans in to kiss her, cupping her face and searching for
the just the right angle.  It is suddenly impossible to wait for him,
as he seems insistent on going slowly, so she reaches up on her toes
and seals her mouth over his, uncompromisingly, with little
gentleness. 


She doesn't have to pretend with Mulder.  She doesn't have to be coy
or submissive.  She knows this now. 


When Mulder breaks the kiss, a definite popping sound rings out in the
quiet bedroom.  He looks dazed, a little unsteady as he rocks back and
forth on his feet, but he manages to pull the collar of her blouse
aside so he can put his mouth to her neck, tongue and teeth and lips,
hot like stars stinging brightly against her skin. 

It's a school night, she thinks again giddily.  It's a school night
and she's in Mulder's bedroom late, late at night and he's burning
tattoos in the shape of his mouth on her neck. 


To think she even tried to resist coming here tonight. 


"Do you like the telescope?" he asks suddenly, moving his hands down
so he can pull at the small buttons of her blouse. 


She doesn't answer, watching his progress as the two halves of her
shirt gradually separate, give way to the dark lace and fair skin
underneath. 

"The telescope?" he urges again, now sliding the blouse from her
shoulders.  He stops for a moment when he realize it's caught at the
buttons on her wrist, and frees them before tossing the flimsy gray
material to the floor, where it joins a pile of Mulder's wrinkled,
rumpled clothing. 


He's touching her now with just his hands, his nimble fingers and warm
palms.
 The cool metal of his watch is like ice against her skin, and she
jumps slightly when Mulder's wrist touches her.  She stops to remove
it, smiling up at him as she lays it on the bedside table. 


"I like the telescope," she says finally.  "I like it a lot." 


Mulder is too serious to smile.  He nods briefly before moving for her
bra, tracing the lacy edges before opening the clasp.  Then her bra is
nothing more than a scrap of burgundy lace, scattering to the floor
like a dark, overgrown snowflake. 


He pulls her against him, pressing their bodies together so tightly
that she has to work for breath.  All she can feel is warm skin,
twitching muscles. 


"See...  I didn't make you come out late at night for nothing," Mulder
says, just the hint of a smile touching his face, a quick flash of his
teeth in the darkness. 


She nods, reaching up again to brush her lips against his throat this
time, the side of his neck where she can feel the blood pounding
through his body, hard and fast. 


She feels herself moving backwards toward the bed, but she can't tell
if Mulder is pushing her or if she's pulling him.  It is a strange,
slow motion fall back onto the bed -- Mulder covering her like he's
afraid she might try to get away, kissing her again, his mouth
demanding as much as hers did earlier. 

They both still have their pants on, she realizes as her shoes fall
gracelessly from her feet, thudding loudly against the floor.  She
tries to move a hand down between them to unzip her pants or unbutton
his -- whichever fastener she encounters first, she doesn't care --
but Mulder is pressed to her so closely, pushing against her so
insistently that she can't manage it. 


"Mulder," she groans, her head slamming back against a pillow as he
zeros in on her neck again. 

"Shhh," he whispers, and his breath vibrates against her skin. 

There is the soft sound of fabric tearing as he pulls at her pants,
but she doesn't complain, especially not when he manages to get his
own pants over his hips as well, so she can feel him against her. 


Even now, there is a brief moment when it all seems inconceivable, a
brief moment when she can't believe that Mulder is about to move
inside her.  Again.  But then he pushes inside her, smoothly, quickly,
and her legs are wound tight around his hips, and she doesn't know how
this couldn't be real, how she and Mulder could ever not be together
like this, school night or not, telescope or not. 

Because even like this, Mulder is recognizable.  His eyes are dark,
focused intensely on Scully as he looms over her, then on the wall
behind them, before he screws them tightly shut.  There is nothing
foreign in his expression, nothing that she fears or does not
understand.  He is familiar as he moves against her -- swollen,
chewed-on lower lip, sweat-darkened hair, straining muscles and all. 

Scully wonders what she looks like, but then Mulder pants out her
name, twice, against her neck, and she knows that despite the
inevitable flush staining her skin, the sweat making her shine against
the pale sheets, the tangled mess of her hair on the pillow, he
recognizes her as well. 

"Scully," he calls again, reaching down to touch her with a sure, firm
hand. 

And that is it -- eyes closed, muscles rigid, head thrown back, she is
gone. 

When Mulder begins to move again, she can enjoy him now in a sleepy,
contented way, without that sharp ache inside her as a distraction. 
It has never felt this way before, she realizes, not with anyone else. 
It was never this important, this easy and right. 

He comes, hot and fast, and Scully knows that she will never become
accustomed to it, the way it feels to have Mulder inside her like
that. 

It is an effort for him to roll himself off her, but Mulder does,
moving slowly and carefully.  They lay side-by-side, not quite
touching, both breathing heavy, deep burning breaths. 

"I guess I'm not going home," Scully says quietly. 

Mulder leans toward the edge of the bed, so he can see over the side,
to the sea of rumpled clothing that surrounds the bed. 

"Your clothes seem to be a lost cause, so it looks like you're stuck,"
he announces as he settles back in bed, the mattress shifting under
his weight. 

"Is the telescope it?" she asks, turning on her side, trying to make
herself comfortable in Mulder's bed.  She can feel her eyelids getting
heavy. 

"What?"  For the first time all night, Mulder's voice has a panicked
edge, high and tight. 

"Was that your only impulse buy?"  She smiles at him in the darkness. 

He smiles back, reaching out to touch her shoulder. 

"I guess you'll have to wait and see." 

He moves closer, so their bodies whisper against one another, faintly
but assertively.  She wants to press him further, tease him about his
new toys, but she is too sleepy. 

Without another word, she falls asleep in Mulder's dark bedroom, with
the blinds down and the door closed. 

*****

In the morning, Mulder brings her change of clothes up from the trunk
of her car, leaves her plenty of hot water in the shower, and makes
white toast with strawberry jam.  She eats a slice while perched on
the edge of bed, dressed and ready for work.  Crumbs fall, like a
dusting of snow, onto his sheets, and she tries to brush them off just
as Mulder comes out of the bathroom. 

He doesn't comment on the crumbs as he moves to the window, where he
pulls the blinds open and places the telescope back in front.  Scully
watches him as he carefully arranges it, but she doesn't feel a need
to speak or move to him. 

"I think Skinner has a new case for us," Mulder says with his back to
her, shifting the telescope for the right angle.  "I meant to tell you
that last night." 

"Anything interesting?" 

He turns, smiling. 

"Always, Scully." 

Yes, she thinks.  There is always something new to learn, always
something new to see, to feel. 

She moves from the bed to join Mulder at the window, adjusting the
knot in his tie as he squirms uncomfortably. 

"I'm ready to go," she tells him. 

"This was easy," he says, brushing some crumbs from her lip where
they're stuck in her lipstick. 

She doesn't know exactly what he's referring to -- how easy it was to
lure her over to his apartment, how easy it was to fall back into bed
together, how easy it was to share a bathroom and breakfast -- but
she's certain that she agrees.

"I'll drive, Mulder," she says as she reaches for her blazer. 



the end. 

feedback is welcomed at amory20@aol.com