Title: And Goodnight Mouse
Author: Exe1121
Rating: Strong R
Spoilers: Specific for En Ami, Chimera and All Things, and some 
for the rest of season seven.  A small one for Never Again
Classification: SRA MSR/RST
Feedback: Live for it at Exe1121@mail.com
Distribution: If you want it, it's yours but please ask first.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters mentioned here, the book 
Goodnight Moon, Oliver Twist, CVS or any other trademarked item 
found here.
Summary: How did Mulder and Scully go from En Ami to All Things?  
Well, it included childhood books, mice and sex.














And Goodnight Mouse


"Do you think there's a valid connection between children's 
books and the murders?" Mulder asks, a piece of pizza dangling 
in one hand, the other shifting through case files.  He glances 
up when Scully doesn't answer.  "You there?" he asks and it 
comes out sharper than he intended.


She feels uncomfortable in his apartment, constantly reminded of 
his arms braced against the door frame, his eyes avoiding hers.  
She picks at her own pizza and glances around his living room, 
seeing the piles of books, the basketball on the chair, the 
sneakers lying in front of the TV as if she's never been here 
before.


She thinks about the murders they're investigating, the way the 
killer leaves short quotes from books that have a place on a 
child's night stand.


"My dad used to read me Goodnight Moon over the phone," she 
says, kicking off her own shoes and drawing her feet under her.  
"When I was little and he was away for long stretches of time.  
I used to be afraid I'd forget what he looked like, smelled like 
when I didn't see him for that long."


Scully stands and moves over to his window, bracing her hands 
against his desk and straining to see the sky.  She can see a 
single star and refuses to think about how lonely she is.  
Instead she wonders where the old lady went to in the last 
picture of Goodnight Moon and feels like the mouse, sitting 
alone on the window sill, looking for answers in the night.  
Even as a child she would question everything.  Why did they 
leave the fire going if they're asleep, Daddy?  How come that 
bunny gets to sleep in a bed?  Did Bill try to hurt it too?  Can 
cows really jump over the moon, Daddy?  Can they?  A child's 
book may not be responsible for the murders, Mulder, but it 
taught me how to question you.


"Do you really think Samantha is starlight?" she asks him to 
cover up her own emotions.  It's a defensive tactic she's 
learned over the years.  As long as Mulder has himself to talk 
about he rarely notices what she's feeling.  She continues 
without waiting for him answer.  "It's a nice thought.  I mean, 
since you don't believe in heaven and God and all, it's a nice 
place for her to be."


Mulder can't quite grasp the conversation and it's not a new 
feeling.  Ever since she returned from her sojourn with 
Cancerman they've been pulling at straws with each other, 
speaking in circles and not able to really connect.


Scully continues to look out the window, feeling terribly 
homesick all of a sudden.  She misses her father's profile, 
backlit by a fire, her sister's laugh, the warm embrace her 
mother used to give her back when Scully allowed herself to be 
held.  There's a hole in her heart that Mulder used to fill with 
his bad jokes, his goofy smile, the Chinese takeout he would 
bring over without warning.  She's not sure they'll have that 
again, not after what happened two weeks ago.  A fortnight, she 
thinks, feeling like a princess trapped high in a tower, able to 
see her Prince Charming but not reach him.


"I'm taking some time off," she abruptly states, turning back to 
look at him.  "I need to get away for a while."


"I thought you all ready tried that," he says, looking at his 
shoes so he doesn't have to face the sudden flare of anger that 
crosses her face.


"I'll see you in a week, maybe two."  She leaves without another 
word, taking her jacket and shutting the door behind her.  He 
looks at the case spread in front of him, rubbing his eyes in 
frustration.  It's a reach at best, he knows.  The VCS can 
handle it just as well as he can and he thinks about asking 
Skinner to have them take a look at it.  Some time off sounds 
nice, he realizes, standing and clearing the pizza boxes and 
half empty glasses of soda.  Maybe they could both use a break.


XxXxXx


"I looked into his eyes," Scully tells him each night as he 
falls asleep.  He can see her standing in the empty offices, 
angry that she can't prove her reasons for leaving him.


"What do you see in mine?" he had asked her before turning and 
leaving the room.  She hadn't answered and he now wonders what 
she would have said if he had stayed to find out.  He tosses and 
turns, the sheets tangling in his legs and he longs for a woman 
to wrap his arms around, to kiss and to hold as he falls asleep.  


What would she have seen in his eyes, he asks himself.  The 
affection and caring he normally feels for her weren't evident 
on his face that day.  Betrayal, yes.  Anger most definitely.  A 
good deal of hurt, of confusion, of bewilderment.


He lays in the dark and stares up at his ceiling.  The last time 
he had a break from work he was just out of the hospital and 
Scully was calling night and day to check up on him.  She won't 
call him now, he knows.  He'll have to make the first move 
towards forgivness this time; she has too much pride to do so 
herself.  Maybe he will, he thinks.  


XxXxXx


In her mother's house, Scully finds the thin hardcover book 
crammed between her ninth grade biology book and Charles 
Dickens' Oliver Twist.  The first page is half torn, Goodnight 
missing the last three letters and moon gone completely.  She 
flips it open, amusing herself by finding the mouse on each 
page, wondering why the sky gets lighter as the night gets 
later.


She thinks about a failed IVF, about a blond daughter she never 
got to know.  She thinks about Mulder holding the child that 
will never be, about how good he is with children.  If she's the 
mouse on the window sill, then he's the one leaning off the 
bookshelf, about to fall.  Curiosity gets the better of him, 
making him forget that the pull of gravity is stronger than 
small claws digging into yellow painted wood.


I just wanted to make something right in this world, she thinks 
to him, across the city.  She crouches there, holding the book 
tightly in her hands until her mother comes with the offer of 
hot tea and an old movie.  I wanted to make the same difference 
you do.  I wanted it all to be better.


XxXxXx


Mulder finds himself at the Gunmen's one night during his week 
off, out of places to go and things to do.  They're a safe haven 
with a refrigerator full of beer and Domino's on their speed 
dial.


Tonight, however, they remind him of leaning against the door 
frame, angry beyond words at his best friend.  It desperately 
makes him want to just yell at her and end this stony silence 
between them.


"Hey, Mulderman, look what we found," Frohicke announces, waving 
a red photo envelope at him.  One hour photo processing, it 
boasts, and Mulder thinks it's ironic that they suspect the 
pizza man of spying yet let CVS develop their photos.  "From New 
Years, remember?"


Mulder does. He dragged Scully to their holiday party after 
being released from the hospital.  The guys and their guests got 
a kick out of the zombie stories and even Scully had relaxed and 
had a few drinks.  Mulder also remembers the combination of pain 
killers and beers Scully didn't know about giving him the guts 
to kiss her again, her lips soft and warm under his, his fingers 
touching her cheek gently.


Frohicke spreads out the pictures on printer trays and empty 
take-out boxes, whatever flat surfaces he can find.  Langly 
presses a beer into his hand and Byers wanders over from a game 
of Space Invaders.


There's a picture of Mulder and Scully sitting on the worn out 
couch in the back of the Gunman's lair, his arm across the back 
of the couch, their faces tilted towards each other.  They look 
like they're in a world of their own, as if nothing exists 
outside of them.  Mulder pockets the picture when the guys 
aren't looking and excuses himself after a while.


He sits in his dark car, the picture illuminated by a street 
light and is ashamed to feel tears burning in the back of his 
eyes.


If you had you looked in my eyes that night, Scully, he tells 
her, you would have seen something vastly different than the 
cocky, overconfident facade I was putting on.  You would have 
seen a man desperately in love and unable to tell the one he 
loved.  I'm right here Scully, just look up and see me.


XxXxXx


When Scully finally comes back to work she seems no different.  
Things are still awkward and tense between them, and they avoid 
spending much time together.  She does autopsies and spends her 
time in the lab;, he consults for VCS.  He takes his lunch break 
at noon and she's on hers when he returns.  He comes to work 
late and leaves late; she gets there early and is out the door 
when the clock strikes five.


He misses eating with her, misses how her TV gets better 
reception than his does and considers buying a new one.  Ever 
since his mother died and he inherited her entire estate, he's 
found himself with money that he doesn't know what to do with.  
He wants to take Scully out to dinner to spend time with her and 
tease her about how much salad she eats. He would if he thought 
she'd accept his invitation.


He thinks she misses him too but he can't be sure and doesn't 
want to ask.


He notices that she's more emotional lately, although they it 
takes the form of tears she thinks she hides rather than bright 
smiles.  He wonders if she's mourning the child they tried to 
create just a year ago or the passing of another spring with no 
one to share it with.


She leaves Goodnight Moon on her desk one day when she steps 
out, and he picks it up, flipping through the worn and tattered 
pages.  He's been seeing it with her a lot lately, something he 
can't figure out and he lacks the energy to try.  He wonders if 
Scully would have read it to their child and tries to picture 
the scene in his mind.  The Little Engine That Could, he grins 
to himself.  That's the message she would want their son or 
daughter to have - you can do anything.


He wonders if the same applies to their relationship, if they 
push a little harder will they be able to fix what's wrong.  
Then he wonders if she cares.


XxXxXx


It's the first time they've been out in the field in almost a 
month, since her episode with Cancerman.  They sit across from 
each other in a diner, his legs sprawled under the table and 
hers crossed neatly so that they don't touch.  She snaps at him 
for stirring his iced tea too loudly, he rolls his eyes when she 
orders her fourth salad of the trip.  She lays her fork and 
knife side by side when she's done, he knocks his with his elbow 
onto the floor.  Lunch, a normally inconspicuous meal for them 
has become a battlefield, both of them hoping to get the last 
shot in.


Scully has to restrain a sadistic smile as his wayward elbow 
also knocks his water glass on the floor, the glass shattering 
and sparkling in the dim light.  He curses and leans over to 
pick up the bigger shards.  Another day, another time, she would 
have warned him about the danger of doing so, but today she just 
can't find the strength to care.


The red blood spilling from his finger, staining the napkins and 
what's left on his plate, is, however, something she *does* care 
about.


"Jesus, Mulder, let me see that," she says and he guiltily pulls 
the bleeding finger from his mouth.  When she takes his hand 
it's the first time they've touched in a month and they both 
jerk slightly with the contact.  That under current, the part of 
their relationship they try so hard to ignore, runs deep and 
strong between them now.


She can't find any band aids in her purse so she throws some 
money on the table and pulls him out to the car.  She wraps his 
index finger in Neosporin, gauze and medical tape.  She holds 
his hand a minute longer than necessary, admiring the light tan 
even this early in spring and the small hairs along the back of 
it.  The long digits are slightly tapered and she remembers the 
feel of his fingertips resting on her cheek when he kissed her 
at the Gunmen's.


Mulder clears his throat and she drops his hand hastily, 
embarrassed.


"What, you're not going to kiss it better?"


The low timber of his voice catches her off guard, the quiet way 
he's speaking in a noisy parking lot.  She knows if she looks up 
his eyes will be soft and friendly again, thankful that she's 
patched him up and made him whole once more.  And she can't have 
that.


"Don't be so careless next time, Mulder," she snaps, walking 
around to the driver's side and ignoring the hurt look that 
crosses his face.


XxXxXx


Scully shoots an annoyed glance at her briefcase, angry that she 
can't find the report she has half written up.  The door 
connecting her room to Mulder's gets the same look and she pulls 
a tee-shirt over her pajama pants and tank top.


When she opens the door without knocking to find him sprawled on 
his stomach on the bed.  His feet lay on the pillow and his head 
is propped up on his fist, his eyes fixed on the TV.


"Did you know elephants are the only animals that can't jump, 
Scully?"


Discovery Channel, she thinks.


"Can I have the report?"  She spies it laying next to him on the 
night stand, just out of arms reach, even his long one.


"Get it yourself."


"C'mon, Mulder," she says, dangerously close to whining.  "I'm 
tired and I want to go to bed."  He frowns for a moment before 
carefully reaching for it; when she sees the bulge in the front 
of his pants, she knows why.


We're wearing matching flannel, is all she can think, sorting 
through the report.  She's seen him hard before, both asleep and 
awake, both covered and unclothed.  She's pretty sure he doesn't 
know about that last one, but she's occasionally walked into his 
bathroom while he's showering to grab his comb or borrow his 
razor and the shower curtain has been less than opaque.  He's 
impressive, yes, but it's not something she generally dwells on.


"Where're the lab results, Mulder?  I put them in here."


He shrugs and changes the channel, dropping the remote back on 
the bed and not looking at her.  "I thought you were tired.  We 
can do this tomorrow."  He's cranky because he's horny and 
because he knows he won't get any tonight.  Not with his hand 
cut and Scully in the next room so that he's embarrassed to 
watch porn with her so close.


She frowns and leaves him alone with his erection and 
frustration, willing to wait until morning.


XxXxXx


Two weeks later Scully is sitting in front of a madly clicking 
slide projector, a Greek salad balanced on her lap as Mulder 
walks out of the room.  She feels like she did the day that she 
asked him about getting a desk, rebellious and wild, ready to do 
something he'll hate.  She all ready has, she supposes, 
preferring her bath to a trip to England.


But after that last stakeout she can't seem to get clean enough.  
Something about sitting in a dingy room for days watching frat 
boys puke and come has her taking hour-long showers, scrubbing 
at her skin until it's raw.


Things seemed to be getting better before he left; they had a 
few brief minutes of flirtiness right before he walked out, 
which she then ruined by complaining over the phone to him for 
days.  The invitation to England is the first show of 
acknowledging her that he's shown all week, and she just can't 
bring herself to accept it.


She fingers the frayed edge of Goodnight Moon and wonders is 
happening. 


XxXxXx


Mulder misses her terribly over the weekend; all the emotions 
he's been hiding behind his anger for weeks now expel themselves 
in a sudden show of tenderness as he tucks the blanket around 
her chin.  He gathers up the tea cups and washes them in the 
sink, the hot water scalding his hands.  It makes the small scar 
on his finger stand out and he looks at it for a moment before 
finishing the dishes.


He doesn't hear the pad of bare feet again the kitchen floor and 
jumps when Scully lays her hand between his shoulder blades.


"Scully?" he questions, starting to turn to her, when she grabs 
his hips and stops him.


"I don't want to look at you," she says in a flat voice.


"Oh."


Her hands slide across his belly and though other than that she 
doesn't touch him, he knows that if he leans back just a little 
she'll be there against him, warm and solid.  The fingers of her 
right hand flirt with his waist band and her other hand pushes 
up his tee-shirt to touch his stomach.  She runs a nail down the 
dark line of hair trailing south from his bellybutton and he 
shivers.


"What are you doing?" he asks, genuinely confused although he 
won't ask her to stop.


"Touching you," she responds in the same voice as before.


"Why?"


"Mulder," she says as if it's the biggest secret in the world.  
"I think I've forgotten how to kiss."


"Oh," he says again, leaning his own hands against the counter.  
"Nonsense.  I kissed you a few months ago."


She hums low in her throat and he turns suddenly, his hands 
cradling her face as her own slip around to his slim hips again.  
She looks up at him for a long moment and he smiles fondly at 
her, at the fact that she barely come up to his shoulder without 
shoes.  She smiles back, unsure of herself, of him, of 
everything.


When he leans down and kisses her, he wonders where all the 
anger that's been burning inside of him has gone and finds that 
he doesn't care.  The kiss is slow and sweet and lazy as hell, 
his tongue wondering around her mouth, tasting lipstick, milky 
tea and her sweet breath.  Her hands tighten on his waist and he 
takes a step closer to her.  When they break apart with a small, 
wet sound, he takes her fully into his arms and rocks her back 
and forth.


"Never mind, I remember now," she whispers and he chuckles, his 
chin against her temple.


"Scully, that night, in Spender's offices," he begins and feels 
her tense against him.  He plows on anyway.  "When I asked you 
what you saw when you looked in my own eyes... what you saw that 
night isn't what I wanted you to."


She understands his Mulderesque, cryptic meaning and pulls back 
so she can look at him.  Whatever she sees tonight in his eyes 
makes her smile.


XxXxXx


Hours later they lay in his bed and talk.  They've been talking 
for hours, their throats dry and minds tired.  They speak about 
inane things, like how sharks are the only fish with eyelids and 
that only forty seven percent of statistics are useful; they 
speak of serious things and he tells her about his brief 
marriage to Diana and she tells him about the time she was 
engaged for all of three weeks.  They laugh and cry and kiss as 
they relive the best and worst parts of seven years together.


Mulder eventually climbs out of bed and hands her a plastic bag, 
the receipt still inside.  She opens it and pulls out a first 
edition copy of Goodnight Moon.  Her eyes sparkle with thanks 
and he squeezes her little finger in a Muldery. 


She opens it and a single tear slides down her check when she 
reads what he's written.  He brushes it away and takes her hand 
in his, marveling at the way her entire hand can fit in his.


"I love you, too," she says, and he's blinded by the smile she 
gives him.


"I don't really understand what it means to you," he says, his 
words half a statement, half an invitation to explain herself.  
Happiness shines from his eyes and she's never seen such a 
wonderful sight.


"I don't think I do either, completely.  Just something 
comforting at the end of a long day."


"Is that what this is?" he asks.  "The end of a long day?"


"No," she replies, holding his face in her hands and kissing him 
in between words.  "It's the beginning of a new one.


Less than thirty minutes later and they're both naked, shyly 
looking at each other and getting used to being so exposed to 
another after all this time.  Even after knowing each other for 
what seems like a lifetime, sex doesn't come easily between 
them.   They argue, of course, about who gets to be on top and 
she hits her head on his chin once, causing them both to laugh 
quietly.  But when the time comes, she's poised over him and he 
can feel her heat and moisture so tantalizingly close, they fall 
silent.  Their eyes meet and she slides down.


You, me, us, he thinks, his brain quickly becoming white hot 
mush as he feels her gripping his cock.


"I'm inside of you," he gasps as she starts moving and he 
quickly looses the power of speech at the awesome power of it 
all.


"You have been for years," she replies and kisses him.


XxXxXx


End


Authors Notes:  This is the first fic I actually wrote, but not 
the first one posted.  So... is it my first or second or does it 
even matter?  I was a little iffy about posting it- not a 
favorite of mine, but the beta insisted.  Jess, I love you, by 
the way.  You're the world's best beta and I doubt I could have 
done this without you.  The gummy worms are in the mail.


https://squiggle1121.tripod.com/index.html