Title: The Hundredth Day 2: Make My Life Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com) Category: M/S UST Rating: PG-13 Spoilers: Nada (set around season 7, though) Archive: Sure. Summary: A perfect moment is spoiled by email. Disclaimer: CC and Co. own the whole enchilada (that's the extent of my Spanish, by the way). Quick note: You don't need to read the first part of this series for this to make sense. (However, if you want to, it's here: http://www.geocities.com/ginarainfic/hundreth.html). All you need to know is Scully hurt her foot on a day when she was feeling very vulnerable in her attraction to Mulder. He was sweet and kind and loving. She was tired of fighting her feelings and some not-so- innocent kissing ensued. They stopped because of foot pain, basically (hey, it's better than a damned bee). Still, everything was hunky-dory when Mulder left that evening. Okay, with all that in mind. . . On your mark, get set, go. . . Hundredth Day 2 Scully didn't come to work the morning following our first kiss. Not surprising, considering the fact that she could barely walk. No, I'm not flattering myself. A misstep at an impromptu picnic sprained the arch in her foot. Badly. What was surprising was the email she sent me during the night. The email explaining a phenomenon she refers to as the "hundredth day syndrome." Apparently, our kiss was due to some bizarre law of averages that simultaneously makes her horny and me irresistible approximately 3.65 days a year. Apparently, ninety- nine out of a hundred days, she can control any stray manifestations of said condition but this time, it struck when we both happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Never mind that it felt so right. Never mind the physical. . . gusto. . .of the kiss itself, or the fact that we shared a pillow and I once again confessed my love for her. Apparently, none of that mattered because we were no longer in any danger of a repeat performance. At least, for the next ninety-nine days. Or some such shit. I sat there in front of the computer and deleted my first, "Damn it, Scully. Your rationalization has now ruined one of the best moments in my miserable life," response almost as soon as I finished typing. I mean, how much of my own personal breast-beating was she supposed to take? The next email was a simple, "Well, if you want to go on living in a fool's paradise, fine. But I know what I feel and I'm pretty sure I know what you feel." Delete. I told her I was no poet. Then came the humorous one: "Okay. But if you'd like to run another clinical trial on that little procedure you're trying to perfect. . .I don't know what you call it but, you know, the one where you tried to remove my tonsils with just your tongue. . .I'm available. Anything in the name of Science." Delete. The funny thing is, I wouldn't have said one damned word about the whole kissing incident if she didn't send that email. We both know that it's not our time yet. We have work to do that's bigger than any needs we might have--individually, or collectively. But the email clinched it. Because she tried to explain something that defies explanation. Because she can't just sit back and believe. Not about us, anyway. She won't let herself or. . .something. And that rationalization, to me, is a denial of what exists. And that denial is a lie--of sorts. An untruth. And everyone and his mother knows how I feel about the truth. She wanted me as much as I wanted her. I don't want her to explain it away. Not even to save herself. I left her email unanswered and went to work, expecting to talk about it in person, when I got the call from Skinner's secretary informing me that Agent Scully took a sick day. My email at work contained a breezy message from Scully herself about her need for one day of RICE and NSAIDS. Rest, ice, compression and elevation and non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs. As if I needed the spelled out version. After all this time, I could read a hospital chart with the best of them. I chose not to answer that email as well. Childish? Perhaps. But mother always said if you can't say something nice. . . And at that moment, my thoughts were not leaning toward nice. The day passed in a haze of paperwork. Periodically, I checked my e-mail--including my home account. I kept hoping that, even though I had already read her message that morning--she still would have thought better of it and clicked the "unsend" button. The "no- -I won't cheapen the moment with words" key. The message was still there. Five o'clock rolled around and, for once, I left on time. I needed to see how the patient was doing. First and foremost, I had to make sure she was really all right. It's something I should have done in the morning but. . .well, I'm just a sensitive guy and my ego got a boo boo. By the time I reached her door, I wasn't sure that coming over was a good idea. I wasn't sure what to say; what to do. The night before, in a rare moment of complete inner honesty, she told me how tired she was. That was all she said but the subtext was clear. She was tired of fighting what we have. Of not having what we have. Fully having what we have. She gave me an out. Gave me the opportunity to be the strong, sensible one for a change--and I took it. For about five seconds. And then, I just got on the bed, trying not to squish her or her injured foot too much, and kissed her. And what a kiss. I literally thought we were going to fall through the bed at one point. She was pulling me and I was pushing her--all in an effort to get closer and closer. . .and then--as with everything in our lives-- we were interrupted. This time, by her injured foot, which picked just that moment to give her a huge nudge. And that was all it took. One moment to break the mood and bring us back to the reality we have accepted as our lives. Damn. I knocked before I could stop myself. No answer. I pulled out my key. "Scully?" I called out to the seemingly empty apartment. "Mulder?" Great. She was in the bedroom. "You alone in there?" Oh. She'll love that. I'm not sure where my internal censor was when that came tumbling out of my mouth but I guess he was thinking that if the hundredth day was actually mistimed and, let's say, the superintendent of her building was the only man around. . . "What?" Good. Saved by thick walls. She came hobbling out a moment later looking--cute. Standing there in shorts and a sweatshirt with her hair a bit rumbled. Maybe I should repeat that "are you alone" question after all. "Mulder--what are you doing here?" "I wanted to see how you were. I knocked but you didn't answer." "I thought I heard something. I was watching an old movie and I guess I fell asleep. I thought I was dreaming." "How's your foot? Swallowed enough Advil?" "It's much better, Mulder. Really. Thank you for wrapping it for me last night. That and the Advil all day---and the rest--has really helped a lot." "I'm glad." "Did you get my email?" "Both, actually." She looked down at her foot for a moment. Forgot about the first one already? "Good. I haven't had a chance to check my computer." No chance? All day at home after dropping a minor bombshell and no chance to turn on the computer and check to see if I responded? "Well, that's okay. I'm sure the links to "Farm Animal Fun" and offers of penis enlargement will still be in effect." She smiled a little. Well, this was cozy. She was standing in the doorway of the living room, I was still standing about two feet from her front door. We were both making small talk like we had never spent more than five minutes together in our entire lives. Yup. Cozy. "I'm going to go. I just didn't have a chance to email you today and. . .I thought I'd rather see how you're doing in person. So--rest up. If you're not feeling a hundred percent tomorrow, don't come in. Then you'll have three whole days, with the weekend and all. You'll be high-heel ready by Monday." "No, I'll come in tomorrow." "Scully. Nothing is happening in the office. Really. I'm all caught up with paperwork and I'm just running down old email and phone messages hoping to find a new case. Stay home." She stood there and stared at me. Of course she was coming in tomorrow. I told her to stay home. She'd be there if she had to crawl in. "Whatever," I said, giving in. "Feel better and have a good night." I turned toward the door and grabbed the door knob. "Want some tea?" she asked. "Tea?" "Coffee? Soda? Beer?" "I could use something to drink." The conversation continued in the same lively manner over her tea and my beer. It was a mistake coming here. I would have seen her at work tomorrow and pretended nothing had happened and we'd take one of those half-assed leads and be off and running once again. Not a bad life. Maybe I'd get lucky in another ninety-nine days or so. I could save things right now. Start up a normal conversation. Just tell her about my day at work and begin the slide back to routine. I could. . . "So, hundredth day, huh?" But, I didn't. It was just a momentary loss of control but I saw the mug shift in her hand before she gripped the handle tightly. If I wouldn't have been staring at her, I would never have known that I got to her. For just a second. She nodded her head in response to my question. Clearly, she wanted the subject dropped. "So, Scully. . .how does this thing work, anyway? I need to know the rules so when it happens in another 98.5 days, I'll be prepared." "Mulder. . ." "No. Really. Explain." "I did that in my email." "You didn't explain. You damn near apologized." So much for keeping things unemotional. She stared at me in surprise. "Well, if that's how you interpreted my message, I didn't explain it as clearly as I was hoping to." "I'm listening now." She put her tea down and inhaled softly. "After you left, I thought I owed you an explanation for my uncharacteristic behavior. I refer to days like yesterday as the 'hundredth day" syndrome because. . .I don't know, it's just a pet name, I guess. There are a handful of days a year that I find myself less able to deal with some of the complications of our relationship." "Complications," I huffed softly. "Yes." "And on those days, it's my duty to reel you in?" "You usually do." "Do I?" "All the time." "So, I dropped the ball last night? Mixed- metaphorically speaking?" "I don't regret it." "How charitable of you." "Mulder. . ." "Well, you should know that you didn't just make my day, Scully. You damned near made my life. So. . .please, don't downplay your lapse into the world of emotions. Or sexual urges or whatever it was. . ." "Mulder. . .stop. Don't make this bigger than it has to be." I needed to leave. Badly. Because I making it bigger than I had to. I knew that. In a moment, I was either going to weep in frustration or have a hissy fit worthy of old Scarlet O'Hara herself. And that's not exactly an endearing thing to present to the woman you love. I emptied the rest of the beer in two quick swallows and went to Scully's counter to throw out the bottle. She keeps her trash in the cabinet under the sink. Neat and tidy. That's my Scully. When I straightened up, I nearly banged into her knees. She had hoisted herself up on the counter and was sitting there, watching me. "Talk to me?" she whispered. "I don't have anything to say, Scully." "I think you have a lot to say." "Yeah, well. Whether I do or don't--I don't want to say it." She looked at me in silence. Her expression had that lovely unreadable quality to it. "Would you rewrap my foot for me?" "C'mon, Scully. You've been doing it yourself all day." "It's hard to do on my own. I either make it either too tight or too loose. I've been trying to fix it the way you did last night, but it's not working." I didn't believe her for a moment but I went to collect the supplies and pulled up a chair so my face was pretty much level with her knee. I lifted my own knee up a bit and had her rest her foot on it as I rewrapped her pretty, albeit still slightly swollen, foot in silence. "Better?" I asked, as I finished. "Much. Thank you." I looked back up at her. There was a sadness in her eyes. Even if I sometimes push her toward it, I don't like seeing it when it finally arrives. "What happens if I have my hundredth day?" I asked her. She just gave the smallest of smiles. Well, as the kids say, 'duh.' She's been reeling me in for years. I smiled back without a trace of real humor. This wasn't a funny situation. It was rather sad. I stood up to leave and--well, I never could leave well enough alone. I just had to test a theory. I faced her and placed one hand on each of her knees and gently pushed them apart. Then I stepped between them. Not quite in the danger zone of touching but close enough to make things interesting. She sat there and watched my actions and her breathing hitched a bit--as she waited to see what I'd do next. I looked down and watched myself stroke her left knee with my thumb and forefinger. Part of me wanted to test her. See how she'd react when I was the one who was tired. Tired of playing games. Tired of not having what we have. Completely. Rile her up a bit. Find out if she still wanted me today or if it really was some crap that just happened with the alignment of moon, earth, sun and stars. But a larger part couldn't look her in the eye. I watched my hand continue its caress of her knee and listened to the rather heavy, uneven sounds of our breathing in the silent room. Yesterday, I could hear us as we lay on her bed kissing. The television was on in the background but I still managed to hear the sounds our lips made as they shifted against each other--alternating levels of suction, the funny smacking sounds of parting and coming together. The gaspy breaths we were forced to take in order not to disconnect this precious, first contact. Yesterday, it was love. For me, it's still love. And if she's not ready to own up to that entirely. . . Then she's not. And I don't want silly tests, or games, or scientific terminology to categorize and file away something that is way too precious to me. I stop the slow caress and step away from her. My hands push her knees together. "Do you want a boost down?" I ask finally, meeting the smoky blue eyes that became slightly narrowed in confusion. "No. I can get down on my own, Mulder." "Of course you can. Well, I've got to go. You. . .rest up and I'll see you tomorrow--or, Monday. Whichever." "Tomorrow. I told you." she said softly. "Yes, you did." She made no move to get down from the counter. And I think she felt that would somehow keep me there. She was wrong. "Goodnight," I said softly and didn't look back as I walked to her front door and left her apartment. Author's notes: Gasp! I left the story hanging--sort of. Part 3 of this series will come soon enough. After I write it, of course.