"A Pro"
by Marie Endres joemimi@prodigy.net

Classification: Post-ep "Per Manum"; MSR; RST; 
Mulder POV

Rating: Strong "R"

Spoilers: "Per Manum"

Summary: "I don't want to be a pro anymore"

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are not mine. 
They belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, 
and Fox Broadcasting. 



"A Pro"
         
   
       I see you before me, radiating such joy, 
such relief that I cannot help myself. I cannot 
match this moment with something deep and 
meaningful. It's too big. Any attempt at 
putting into words what we have just agreed to 
do, would cheapen it somehow. I cannot find a 
way to tell you how I feel, how I've always 
felt when I am near you, that somehow there is 
hope for me, hope that if you could feel 
something for me, then perhaps I was worthy. I 
was something more than some sorry son-of-a-
bitch.

         This was my ultimate confirmation. You 
do not just want me, you want me to be a part 
of you, the part that will go on, long after we 
are both gone, a part that will kiss and 
embrace a thousand tomorrows. You have asked me 
to conspire with you in this most intimate of 
creations. And with a simple affirmation, I 
have agreed to father your child, our child. I 
cannot stop the words that self-deprecatingly 
tumble forth when you state that your doctor 
will need to explain the donor procedure to me. 
In laughing shame, I explain my experience: 
"I'm a pro."

         I leave your home, walking steps that 
will take me to our haven, a safe-house away 
from normalcy. Away from contact. Our office. 
It shows me again at what I have become a 
professional- shuttering myself away, making 
love to my aloneness, loving it more than the 
fear of reaching beyond my self. I get into my 
car and close the door, but I do not turn over 
the engine. It is quiet in here, and my heart 
still thunders in my chest from the enormity of 
what I have just promised to do. I have felt 
its pounding before, as I hurtled myself toward 
relief, as I cried out and stifled those same 
cries, as I once again found myself alone, a 
pro. Yet I have taken a step, perhaps a first 
step, toward changing that solitude forever.

         As I start the car and lose myself in 
the concentration of driving the familiar 
route, a thousand images come to me. They are 
not visions of nurseries and first days of 
school. They are of you and me, taking baby 
steps toward each other, ones that have brought 
us to this point. How appropriate that we were 
never able to make big giant leaps of faith 
with each other. Baby steps that will lead to a 
baby.


* * *
   I will not allow you to travel this last 
distance alone. And so I wait. I wait here, in 
your home, to know what you know. Is there 
hope? Will there be a child? A little bit of 
you, a little bit of me? Will there be more 
than just each of us, separately? The thoughts 
swirl into a dreamy soup that washes over and 
takes me under, until you awaken me with your 
entrance.

   Tonight as so many other times, I do not 
require your words to explain your heart. Your 
countenance tells me everything I do not want 
to believe. The relief, peace and joy I saw 
there just recently have fled and in their 
empty wake, I fear what you fear. Your hope has 
been dashed and with it, so have many of my own 
unspoken desires. Having a child enables one to 
reach across time, to have forever. It is a 
connection, a way to take a message beyond 
today. I never knew I craved this until now 
when it no longer seems a possibility. I never 
realized how much I longed to touch the future 
together with you.

     I take you into my arms, wanting to 
encircle and shield you from the pain, wanting 
a tangible way to make it better. I know I 
cannot do that, but at least if you are not 
apart from me, I can be close enough to whisper 
some words of hope. After hearing them, you 
raise your head up, and I feel you close the 
distance between us. Yes, I think, bring your 
lips to mine. I don't want to be alone anymore; 
I don't want you to be alone either. Yet, you 
do not. At the last possible second, your mouth 
takes the shortest of detours and finds my 
cheek.

         I am in the presence of another pro, I 
remind myself. You have found ways to be alone,  
too. Have I done this to you? Do you choose the 
path of least resistance, fearing that if you 
crossed this line in the sand that shifts 
beneath us, you could never return to 
masturbatory safety? In my own fear of 
connecting with another, did I drive you to 
this, that when you could not possibly need me 
more, you choose less than what you want? We 
are truly alone, together. Two solitary pros.

         I raise my right hand up to hold your 
face closer to mine as I return your kiss, as 
intently as possible considering its placement. 
We remain like this for a moment; I half expect 
us to switch sides as in a diplomatic kiss. As 
if a voice outside myself is screaming in my 
ear, I hear over and over again: End this. End 
this insane, solo dance. 

    I lean forward to speak close to your ear, 
"I don't want to be a pro anymore."

     You pull back to look me in the eye. You 
look puzzled. I will not force you to decipher 
my choice of words. I won't make you guess, not 
tonight, not now.

      "Scully, we tried just one path. There is 
another one."

         You shake your head, quietly 
dismissing what you think are other modern, 
scientific methods of egg donors, surrogates, 
and every other complicated suggestion now 
known to womankind.

         "No,no,no," I say in a attempt to 
quiet your heart. "I don't want to put you 
through anymore. . .procedures. I want to-" It 
is harder to speak my heart than I thought it 
would be. If I hold you, I can do anything, 
though. And so I pull you once again near me, 
and closing my eyes, begin to speak:

         "I want to love you, Scully," I 
whisper. "If you'll let me." I lean out of our 
embrace the smallest of bit to gauge your 
reaction. You raise your head up and away from 
my chest as your hand reaches to caress my 
face. I move my lips to your palm that rests 
against me. "Please let me," I plead.

         Your eyes close and the tiniest of 
smiles begins at your mouth. I want to taste 
that little bit of happiness; it is like a 
precious, out of season fruit, that I must 
savor. As my lips move close to yours, I 
realize that the shaking of my emotions has 
found its way to my entire body and I tremble 
as our mouths meet.

         "Mulder, you're shaking," you say to 
me in tender observation as you speak so near 
to me.

         "I know. We amateurs tend to do that," 
I say with a little nervous laughter in my 
voice.

         I feel rather than see your smile as 
you know, you comprehend what I am saying. I, 
we, have been alone in our self made 
purgatories for so long that we had become 
professionals at both the act and behavior of 
those who go through life shut away from 
another. Tonight, we go forward in order to go 
back to the beginning. Now, the pros turn 
amateur.

         No one leads the other to your 
bedroom. You shed your jacket as we walk 
together, hands clasped, and I pick up your 
hand in order to place a promissory kiss. The 
short distance to your bed is not long enough 
for me to rustle up the courage I hoped I would 
have at this moment. We stand facing each 
other, the mattress nudging the sides of our 
legs.

         "Let's sit," I suggest. You may think 
it is because of the height difference. I know 
it is to give my wobbly knees a break. I raise 
your hand to my lips again, kissing first the 
back, and then your wrist. I turn your hand 
enough so that your pulse gently throbs against 
my mouth.

         Your hand slips forward and then 
behind my head as you lean in toward me, 
bringing us together. As our lips meet, I feel 
a breathlessness that I only knew once before, 
the night that I first kissed a girl. You are 
every first rolled into one.

         Our lips move together, tasting, 
savoring the unique sweetness between them. We 
are eager for both right now and what is to 
come. Not even thinking about it, I let my 
tongue slip toward your lower lip. You open 
your mouth to me, taking me within, allowing me 
in. I draw you ever closer to me, and as you 
lean into what was once just my space, alone, I 
am thrown just enough that I can't help but 
fall back onto the pillows that cradle you each 
night. You do the most magical thing then; you 
laugh. It is more precious to me than the sound 
of a seraphim's song and I feel as blessed.  I 
am blessed to know that this is not just a 
process to get through in order to enjoy a 
beautiful end result, but a joyful journey in 
itself.

         I pull you down on top of me, 
adjusting my arms to hold you at your waist, 
while your hands come up to shelter the sides 
of my face.

         "Mulder, are you sure?" you say in a 
serious whisper.

         My eyes meet yours as I speak: "There 
are so few things that I feel I can ever be 
sure of, Scully. But one of them is you." I 
seem to know what you were asking me; you were 
wondering if this was simply pity, if this was 
only an attempt to give you a child. In being 
sure of you, being certain of the fact that you 
were the one sure thing in my life, I know that 
this night is so much more about life and love 
than mere biology. It is about forever.

         Our lips continue their exploration as 
we are now certain of our intent. You place 
small kisses to my mouth, my chin, and across 
my jaw. I feel you press yourself closer to me, 
as every inch of you covers most of me. I am 
hungry for this closeness, so lacking has it  
been in my life. I cannot get enough of it, of 
you, and so my hands tighten their grip on your 
waist, holding you firm. Yes, I am sure you can 
feel me hard and straining beneath you. You 
gasp as we make contact there.

         I have raised up my head so that I can 
capture the soft, small lobe of your ear in a 
gentle nip. I soothe it with an immediate, slow 
swipe of my tongue. Your sighs are becoming 
addictive. I feel you continue to press 
yourself against me and I vaguely fear the 
exquisiteness of it, fearing it may bring this 
amateur at shared pleasure to a quick end. 

         "Scully," I murmur, "I think I need 
you to move."

         You stop for a moment and look a bit 
confused, but allow me to shift us so that we 
are on our sides facing one another. You smile 
at me when I say, "It was starting to feel a 
little too good."

         Your hands drop to the bottom of your 
top, intending to remove it. Even though I have 
about as much confidence as a teenager right 
now, I offer, "Please, let me do that." Your 
hands fall away, relaxed, as mine reach out to 
grasp the smooth fabric edge. After I raise it 
just a little, I lower my mouth to place a kiss 
against the small bit of skin that is exposed. 
I continue this delicious path upwards until I 
feel the swell of your breasts brushing my 
cheek. "Oh God, Scully, you're so warm, and 
soft and precious," I say, not even taking time 
to think about my words. 

         Your hands have found their way to my 
hair and you stroke me again and again like one 
trying to soothe a frightened child. Deep down, 
I always knew you were telepathic.

         I remove your top and your hands reach 
out to lift my sweater. Your fingers feel cold 
and tentative as they gently touch the skin 
that was just covered. We try to continue our 
kiss, but know that we must break for a moment 
as you and I together lift my T-shirt and 
sweater up and over my head. The cool air 
floats against my exposed skin like autumn 
after August. You reach out one finger to comb 
through what little chest hair I have, tracing 
a pattern only known to you. You lower your 
head and encircle one of my nipples with your 
mouth. You close in on the sensitive tip with 
your teeth barely touching it and I moan in 
utter appreciation. Knowing that we often do 
what we hope another would do for us, I find 
the clasp to your bra and unhook it, allowing 
me to pleasure you.

          As it is removed, you move ever so 
slightly away from me and I watch with sadness 
as you bring your free arm up and across, 
instinctively shielding yourself. I lean close 
to you, covering your nakedness with my own 
chest and hold you close as I quietly say, 
"It's OK, Scully. Let me touch you; I want to 
touch you so badly."

         "My God, Mulder, this is worse than 
being a virgin," you say with a little chuckle.

         "No, it's better than being a virgin. 
They always ended up being sacrificed to fire 
gods and stuff. This is much better," I soothe.

          You softly laugh and I know that I 
have won half the battle of life. Your arm 
falls away from its protective work and slips 
around my waist. I hold you close to me, 
feeling your racing heart beat in time with 
mine. As much as I tried to remind you that we 
are in a better place than most virgins, I am 
happy that you aren't looking directly at me. 
You would see the panic look I swore I didn't 
have as I contemplate how best to touch you 
first. 

         I kiss my way down your cheek, onto 
your shoulder and then slowly further down your 
arm. I tilt my head just slightly and allow my 
lips to graze the fullness of your breast. You 
inhale deeply as my kisses are now joined by my 
hand which cups and strokes. Your hands lightly 
touch upon my shoulders until I take the nipple 
that is so near to me into my mouth. Then, your 
hands grab and knead the flesh that lies 
beneath them.

         "Oh," you sigh as I lick and suckle at 
the beautiful, hardened nub.  I raise my head 
in order to look at you effused with pleasure 
and I am not disappointed. "More," you plead, 
and I am more than happy to oblige.

         Moving to your equally perfect other 
side, I pause to place a tender kiss upon your 
heart. Its hammering beat encourages me 
further. Open mouthed kisses leave a cooling 
trail from your breasts down to your navel 
where I pause, awaiting your approval. You move 
my hands to the button on your slacks. 
"Please," you ask.

         I undo it first and then slide the 
zipper down. You move slightly to allow me to 
move the satin-lined fabric down your slender 
legs and finally off.  My hands caress your 
calves, and lightly skim, tickling behind your 
knees as I make my way back in order to remove 
your panties as well. You are lovely, far more 
erotic than any images of you that ran 
frantically through my mind at times in the not 
too distant past when I was a pro. To be able 
to touch you now is worth the fear of, well,  
being able to touch you. I realize that I am 
almost sitting before you, caught up in just 
being able to look at you, when you rise up on 
your knees and reach toward my jeans. You find 
the first button difficult and so I place my 
hand over yours to let you know that I can take 
care of this myself. You shake your head 
slightly. "No," you say resolutely, "Tonight, I 
will do this, not you." 

        I move this way and then that to shed 
what clothes remain between us. We kneel, again 
facing one another, naked and unashamed. "Lay 
back, Scully," I urge, and your hands reach 
back, sliding slowly along the smooth cotton of 
the comforter, until you are fully reclined. I 
follow you and I am soon beside you, my elbow 
propping me up so that my other hand is free. I 
kiss you and trail my hand down until it rests 
at the apex of your thighs. "It's OK," I say 
against your mouth as your legs now part in 
assent. 

         Every word ever written about the 
beautiful wetness that is every woman's secret 
does not do this moment justice; they seem 
cliché in comparison. To feel you yielding, and 
ready for my touch overwhelms me and I find 
myself aroused as never before. You turn a 
little, in order to meet my fingers which delve 
into you, first one and then two. As your 
breath quickens, you meet my gentle thrusts. 
You slowly reach out to touch me. You take me 
into your hand and stroke the underside and 
then tip of my swelled and throbbing shaft. I 
try not to think too much about how incredible 
it feels to have * your * hands on me for fear 
of the inevitable. Again, you seem to read my 
thoughts, for the next words to escape your 
lips are, "Now, Mulder, please."

         I slowly move toward you and settle 
between your thighs, my one hand supporting 
your neck and my other about to guide myself 
into you when I pause for the shortest of 
moments.  I look up at you. You smile at me and 
my brief career as an amateur is complete. I 
unhurriedly move forward as I enter you, as 
finally the two most separate have become one.


*   *   *   


I see you before me, as sleep enfolds you in 
its tender embrace. You sleep peacefully, 
quietly, unencumbered by questions of success 
or failure, at least for now. If tonight has 
been the beginning of life for our child, then 
our greatest hopes will be realized. If it does 
not, then at least we have now, tonight when 
all of the solitude that we have know 
separately and become professionals at 
sustaining, has ended in a loving firestorm of 
pleasure. And for amateurs like us, that is 
enough.                      

     
END

Feedback: Amateur or pro, your words mean 
everything! joemimi@prodigy.net

Thanks as always to Georgia, the kindest friend 
and beta reader ever.