It happened at Chili's restaurant

the airport

"So, here's the plan, as I see it: we inform the Chicago field office about Weems, leaving it to them to secure his testimony, you change your clothes... we fly back to D.C. by sunset, and all is right with the world."

That was what she said. What you can't hear, what you can't understand unless you were there, is how she said it. There was this... growl... thing. There was. I mean, I've known Scully now for seven years and there was never a growl thing when she talked about DC until that very moment and if the damn elevator had worked we would be home right now, naked and sweaty and completely legal.

This, at the very least, is what I plan on telling the security guard now picking his way around the tables in the O'Hare airport Chili's Restaurant/Bar with a murderous look in his eye. That same murderous look is directed at my partner and myself as we attempt to stuff me back into my pants.

You see, we just had sex for the first time. In a red vinyl booth. In the deserted restaurant/bar. At two-thirty in the morning. Ok, it's not exactly what I always pictured when I thought about the two of us together, but it hardly matters now. The deed, so to speak, is done, and I am a very happy man. Well, I would be, if I wasn't so sure we're about to be arrested. I mean, it's not like anyone actually saw us. Except the waiter, but that doesn't count since he practically told us to go ahead. And the security guard, and he only noticed when the table broke.

Right, maybe I should start over. Scully and I were in Chicago to investigate a man with more luck than is reasonable to expect in anyone outside of the back room of a Vegas casino. And things were going well, very well, in fact. We solved the case, sort of, and a nice little boy got the treatment he needed to save his life.

But you see, ever since I kissed Scully on New Year's Eve, things have been a little... different between us. In fact, to the casual observer, I suspect we look like we're doing it. I mean, she giggles at my jokes now. She purrs, she bats her eyelashes, she fiddles with the tip of my tie.

She's driving me insane.

Don't get me wrong, she has always been desirable. It's just that, until recently, I never felt like I had much of a chance with her. I kept thinking, this is Scully for god's sake. This is the woman who wore that horrible green face thing to bed to keep me from looking at her as desirable in her pajamas and big fluffy robe. I mean, come on, I know she normally sleeps in satin. Was it that important to keep me at arm's length? And it doesn't exactly send your libido flying when she replies to your profession of love with, and I quote, "oh brother". That's what I thought, anyway, until I got sick.

Until that moment when she walked into my hospital room, musky with fear, and sat beside my bed.

You have to understand what it was like, when I touched the center of Scully's soul. Diana... I had to dig pretty deep there, but I found what I was looking for in the depths of her murky intentions. She wasn't a bad woman, really, she just wasn't a good one.

And then Scully was there, and it was like dipping my whole body into a clear mountain stream after swimming in an algae-choked puddle. Everything, every lovely little molecule in her body was focused on the same thing: me. Do you know what that's like? To be the forgotten child, the guy in the basement, the weirdo, and then to realize that the woman you love with your entire being actually thinks you might just be the most important thing in the universe?
And remember, she'd just seen a hell of a lot more of the universe.

Anyone who thinks it was the brain surgery that's made me as soft as putty when she walks into a room, is a fool. And it wasn't because I kissed her, either. It was because she has a purity of intent that is completely blinding.

I'm a little satellite spinning wildly around the celestial object that is Scully. She sends me into fucking orbit.

She makes me weak in the knees, like a great kiss.