Date sent: Sat, 21 Mar 1998 08:15:46 -0500 From: "Shannon O'Connor" Subject: NEW -- Dichotomy -- V -- PG TITLE: Dichotomy AUTHOR: Shannon O'Connor E-MAIL: shannono@iname.com DATE: 18 March 1998 DISTRIBUTION: Please post to ATXC; sending to Gossamer. Others, just let me know where you're sending it. RATING: PG CLASSIFICATION: V KEYWORDS: Not provided (at author's request) SPOILERS: None SUMMARY: Scully considers the two men in her life. COMMENTS: I think the story speaks for itself ... and it can be set whenever you want it set, although the one time frame reference places it sometime this year. DISCLAIMER: Not mine, please don't sue. :-) ********** Dichotomy By Shannon O'Connor Night falls, darkness closing around the faces and places we see so clearly in the light of day. Slowly, I move from room to room, turning on some lights, turning off others, checking windows, readying myself for another night. My last stop is the doorway to my bedroom, and I pause here briefly to enjoy the view before me. He is sitting on my bed, still fully clothed except for his shoes, one leg stretched out along the mattress and the other resting on the floor beside him. He idly flips channels on the television, pausing once or twice, probably checking the weather forecast and the sports scores. He is so different from the man I work with every day. My work partner of going on six years is intelligent, bitingly funny, obsessive, and often exasperating. But I love him, in my own way, and I wouldn't have him any other way. This man, though just as intelligent and funny, is obsessed only with me, with us. He is exasperating only in his continuing attempts to drive me crazy before giving me release. And I love him, too, in a completely different way. This dichotomy has become the story of my life during the past several months. These two relationships have come to define the varying shades of my existence, from doctor to FBI agent to friend to lover. I was surprised when he came to me that night, showing up at my apartment door unannounced. We had been friends for some time, sharing the occasional dinner or movie, talks on the phone, funny e-mails. We enjoyed each other's company and made no bones about that fact. But then he came to me to confess. His feelings had deepened, he said, and after much debate he had decided it was better to tell me and risk our friendship than to lie to me. And at that instant, I knew I loved him too. We started things slowly, simply picking up the frequency of our dates and adding an occasional, relatively chaste, kiss. We kept our relationship low-key, mainly because we wanted a chance to explore our newly discovered feelings without the interference of well-meaning family and friends. It was nearly a month before things started to build. Our kisses became less chaste and came more often, and I found it harder and harder to let him leave at the end of the evening. Finally, a little less than eight weeks after his unannounced visit, I didn't let him leave. Our lovemaking was passionate, the consummation of what felt like decades of desire. And when we were finally satisfied -- at least, satisfied for the time being -- we slept wrapped in each other's arms. That was nearly two months ago, and the passion has yet to wane. We don't sleep together every night; in fact, now that I think about it, it's been less than a dozen times. Of course, work has interfered; out-of-town trips come often without warning and can take weeks. But somehow I don't think anything could weaken the pull between us. We belong to each other, mind, body, and soul. And as I stand here, watching him, he looks up and meets my gaze. The fire leaps into his eyes, and he deftly flicks the television off, places the remote on the nightstand, and holds out his hand to me. I couldn't resist, even if I wanted to. His body is like a magnet, drawing me to him almost before I realize I've moved. He doesn't speak as he shifts to put both feet on the floor and pulls me between his legs, sliding his long arms around my waist and pressing the side of his face into my abdomen. My hands tangle in his hair, and I lower my lips to press a kiss on top of his head. "I love you, Dana," he murmurs against my stomach, the sound reverberating through my body. "I know," I answer, leaning down so my lips brush his ear. "And I love you too, Mulder." **********END**********