Title: Lighting the Dark

Rating: M – this chapter contains sexual situations and if you're offended by that sort of material you shouldn't read. Thank you.

Disclaimer: I do not own any the characters mentioned herein. No infringement intended.

Author's Notes: Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and reviewing.

Teena Mulder had style.

She'd decorated her home with ornate works of art, fine paintings and antique furniture. Each piece was worth a small fortune and Scully suspected she had somehow wanted to fill her life with something; give the emptiness meaning. She'd been an icicle of a woman; uptight and emotionless even when she spoke to her son and her only remaining child. She hadn't looked at him with a maternal fondness or any kind of feeling whatsoever.

But Scully couldn't deny that the home she'd occupied before her death was beautiful. True to his word, Mulder had hired a caretaker to ensure the antiques remained dust-free and the he'd called before his arrival to ask the woman if she could purchase some essential groceries; coffee, milk, bread and cereal.

Her name was Connie – an overbearing motherly type of woman to talked way too fast and hugged them both enthusiastically despite having met Mulder once and Scully never. "Pleasure, pleasure," she insisted as she planted her hands atop her rounded hips. "Hope you like the place, Mr Mulder. Finally decided to come back up, eh?" Mulder struggled not to wince and Scully recognised his discomfort immediately.

"Just taking a short vacation Mrs Eccles."

"Connie," she insisted with the wave of her hand. "Miserable weather we're having. It's been like this on and off for a week now. Hope you didn't have sunbathing planned." Mulder's eyes flickered to meet hers so briefly she almost missed it. "I'll get out of your hair. If you need anything just holler. I only live down the street." It was easy to imagine Connie Eccles hollering alright for even when she talked her voice was booming with undue enthusiasm.

Mulder ushered her outside, biding her goodbye as she shook open her umbrella and disappeared off into the rain. Closing the door, he exhaled deeply. Somewhere in the distance a rumble of thunder rolled through the clouds and he chuckled. "Thank God that's over with. I knew from phone calls that she was a colourful character but..." he rolled his eyes and Scully smiled, unbuttoning her coat.

"Nice house, Mulder," she said running her fingers over the plush cushions that were piled against the corners of the sofa. "These antiquities must be worth a fortune on their own... and this house..." The former residence of Teena Mulder was far bigger than she could possibly have required. Four spacious bedrooms – all with exquisite views, two bathrooms, a rustic kitchen, a study and a terrace that lead out to a small backyard and then a steep inclining stairway to the beach below. Their own home in was nothing to balk at certainly, but there was something luxurious about this home that spoke of wealth. Not a happy wealth, however. She got the impression as she walked around the living room, pausing to study the original oil paintings and tentatively touch the rims of vases, that his mother had lived out her days unable to find true enjoyment in the materialistic things she'd purchased.

"What should we do first?" Mulder asked, kneeling to untie the laces of his boots. The hems of their jeans were soaked through and droplets of rain had saturated their hair. Scully ruffled her unruly tresses, suddenly cold. "Would you like a coffee?" Another clap of thunder erupted in the sky, startling her. She lifted her eyes, following the sound of it as it moved across the sky in a low, menacing growl.

"I'd like a shower," she decided. "Or a bath. I'm cold." Stretching out her arm she showed him the prickly layer of goose-bumps that had risen along her skin. Years ago, he'd have been forced to feign nonchalance but these days he could say and do mostly what he had wanted to do in his heart for what felt like an eternity. It was liberating. Mulder reached out to her, drawing her slender frame into his arms. So much smaller than him, her curves seemed to fit against him. She trembled against him, her exposed skin cold.

"Here," he said as he took a thick woollen blanket from the back of the sofa. The material was soft and smelt of fresh lemony detergent. Connie had left no stone unturned in making sure his inherited home was as welcoming as possible. He draped the blanket around her shoulders, touching her chin to urge her eyes towards his. "You sit," he whispered to her, "and I'll run a bath."

Crèmes and bubble-bath had been thrown out long ago and the bathroom was sparse. Aside from the requisite toilet rolls, soap, toothpaste and air-fresheners there was little he could use to prepare the soothing baths she was used to at home. Rummaging in the cupboard he found a bottle of honeysuckle and jasmine oil - only a quarter full. She couldn't have bubbles but at least the oils would calm her and help her to relax. Steam rose in thick, scented plumes as he ran the water reflecting how much his mother had changed her home in the latter years of her life. For an eternity she'd decorated her bathroom in garish floral patterns and left ceramic knick-knacks on all the surfaces. The bath, sink and toilet had been a pale shade of pink and he'd blanched every time he'd been forced to visit.

Now though, the walls were a pale, soothing blue and the pink had been replaced with a new shiny white tub that curved wide at one end and the taps were still a clean silver. She must have redecorated close to her death. Her suicide.

"Oh Mulder," Scully appeared in the doorway, her forehead creased in a frown of disapproval. "Can't I leave you alone for a minute and you're thinking of those memories again?" She set aside the blanket, drawing a deep breath of the honeysuckle and jasmine into her lungs. She approved, he could tell. "Want to tell me what you're thinking about?" Scully asked, standing between his legs as he rested on the edge of the tub. Her fingers wound of their own accord in his hair, knotting in the still damp strands.

"About my mother," he sighed morosely. "I always believed that somewhere beneath her upper-class rigidness there was something. I can only remember two occasions in which she showed me affection, Scully. If I'd known then that they'd be the only times..." She shushed him as she so often did, pressing his cheek against the swell of her breasts. Silence descended upon them as he listened to the steady thump of her heartbeat against his ear. "Get undressed," he whispered against her. "Your bath is ready." He pulled his fingers through the lightly scented water. Scully stroked his scalp once more, her gaze probing his eyes intently. She was so insightful he knew and if he weren't already so emotionally open to her, he'd have been afraid by her knowledge of him.

Smiling at last, she stood. "You can stay." It had surprised him how after they'd become lovers she'd been so unabashed by nudity. Scully removed her clothes, pausing to fold them before lifting her leg into the tub. "Ooh... hot! Smells great though." He had no control over the arousal that 

pulsated through his body at her nakedness. She had a beautiful back, he thought. There'd been many nights he'd lain awake running his fingertip along her spine and following the sweet curvature. "Mulder?" she glanced quizzically at him, settling herself into the tub. He smiled.

"I'd like to stay," he said. "Maybe you can tell me your story now." She drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. The look in her eyes was nothing short of 'come hither' and he was happy to oblige, undressing quickly and sinking into the water behind her, resting in the wide curve of the bathtub. The water seemed to cocoon him – embrace him almost. Parting his legs, he urged her close and she settled back against him, her hair spilling over his shoulder. It felt good to have her in his arms, her warm body resting against him. "So..." he whispered against her ear, revelling in her subtle tremble when he did. "When?"

A long moment elapsed as the steaming water sloshed against the edge of the bathtub. Then she said three words.

"Robert Patrick Modell."


She left the hospital room, reeling. Mulder followed behind with his eyes downcast and she knew he was deep in thought – replaying the events over and over again and his memory was just sharp for his own good, sometimes. Their footfalls against the corridor were the only noises between them because he didn't speak and she was reluctant to break his reverie.

His silent reflection forced her to recall the afternoon's events, too. In the beginning she hadn't believed a man could force his will upon other people – not in the way Modell had done. But she'd watched Collins set himself alight, his flesh seared beyond recognition. She'd watched Frank Burst die of a heart attack and although there could be no definitive proof that it had been Modell's doing – and she'd stated as much – when Mulder had turned than gun on himself, pulling the trigger with undiluted fear in his eyes, she'd known he hadn't been responsible for his actions. Something in Modell was persuading him to do so and it terrified him.

It had terrified her, too. Standing there watching him she'd been rigid with fear. Time passed in infinite stretches that somehow weren't long enough. His eyes pleaded with her; do something, Scully. Do something. And desperation had seized her as she realised she could not let him die. Be damned everything else, they had to see the day through together. The feeling in her heart had been unlike anything she'd experienced before – a painful ache of impending doom that had almost suffocated her as she'd stood there.

Then the fire alarm sounded and she realised that she'd found the strength to move. A bullet discharged from the chamber and Modell was down. Model was down but Mulder was okay and her soul rejoiced. I can't be without him... she thought as she took the gun from his hands, FBI agents rushing into the room. He kept his head down, near weeping with relief. His posture was one of defeat, however and she wanted so badly to comfort him and take him into her arms. When did I fall in love with him? She asked herself. Of course there could be no determinable way to know when her heart had finally been surrendered to him – but only that she had realised it now. So close to losing him.

"Modell," said Mulder as he narration drew to a close. His arm had wrapped around her and while she had spoke, his fingers were stroking her nipple, cupping her breast and distracting her. "I would never have guessed that moment," he told her. Against her back, he was hard and she wanted to discuss the story further but the distraction had proved too much. Reaching behind, she took his penis in her hand and stroked him firmly. The water shifted noisily as he jerked into the cone of her fingers.

"You've interrupted my story," she complained half-heartedly, shifting up enough that his penis settled against her backside. His hands cupped her breasts, her nipples hardening at once. Moaning, she wriggled against him. "You've always been insatiable, Mulder." True, indeed. Since they'd become lovers his appetite for sex never ceased. Was never satisfied. Parting her thighs, he slipped one hand beneath the water and stroked her hot flesh. Running his fingertips over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Turning in the tub to face him, she settled back atop his thighs positioning his penis against her opening. The first moment he entered her, every time they made love, she was reminded of the first time. He felt divine inside her, filling her body and stretching her open. She relaxed against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing her breasts against his chest. His lips found her throat, dropping open-mouthed kisses to the column of her neck. She sighed, breathing in the scent of jasmine. His skin felt soft from the treated water and she closed her eyes, relishing in the 

intimacy of their act – something she always found herself doing. Perpetually grateful to have a sense of loving and being loved.

"Scully..." he groaned, his hands tight on her hips as he pushed himself into her. She responded with a groan of her own. He pulled her head down for a lingering kiss, her lips tasting of something he couldn't quite identify. Her hair was damp, the steam making the strands wavy around her shoulders and he thought she looked more beautiful than he could ever remember – of course he always had this thought when was making love to her. Each time she was more ethereal than the last.

"Oh..." she murmured, arching her back in the way she often would when she was close. He quickened his pace, her inner muscles tightening around him like liquid velvet. His fingers closed so tightly around her hips that he wondered if he might bruise her alabaster skin. Her thighs clamped around him and she dug her nails into his back, whimpering as she abandoned all sense of modesty. He suckled her nipple as she came, trembling and quivering as she rode out the waves of her orgasm. "Oh Mulder," she sighed, falling against him. "I'm sorry." His penis was hard inside her and she knew he hadn't reached climax himself. His fingers stroked her hair, his mouth pressed against the shell of her ear.

"Shush," he said, holding her tight. "Later you can show me that amazing thing you do with your mouth." She shuddered with laughter, kissing his shoulder.

"Gladly," she replied.

Sorry about the delay. I went to see The X-Files Movie last night. I was impressed by the characterisation of their relationship although I personally would have liked to have seen a plot line more focused around the "Tooms" or "Host" kind of idea. I would have classed this as more of a thriller than a horror but it was absolutely wonderful to have seen Mulder and Scully back on our screens again. Horray!