TITLE: Air Supply/Every Woman In the World

NAME: Mik

E-MAIL: mikdok@hotmail.com

CATEGORY: SRA

RATING: NC-17. SC/O M/Sk implied. This story contains a suggestion of slash i.e. m/m sex. So, if you don't like that type of thing – STOP NOW! Forewarned is forearmed. Proceed with caution. Of course if you have four arms you can throw caution to the wind.

SUMMARY: Men want a mother, a friend, a housekeeper, a whore...in short...every woman in the world.

ARCHIVE: Anywhere as long as my name and addy stay attached.

FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist...

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: This is an AU, very vague spoilers for multiple episodes, nothing current.

KEYWORDS: story slash angst Skinner Mulder NC-17

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20^th Century Fox Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. I'd rather say that they really are mine, but I've been advised to deny everything.

Author's Notes: To my a-mum, the least girly female on the planet, who served as consultant for all the girly bits. Oh, Patrice, if you only knew why you were answering all those questions...

If you like this, there's more at https://www.squidge.org/3wstop

If you didn't like it, come see me, anyway. Pet the dog.

Every Woman In The World

by Mik

Dr. Wilder, nee Scully, sat on the edge of the ornate tub in the ornate bath of the ornate hotel suite. She was even rather ornate herself, having been swathed in white fluffy lace and fineness as the old song went. She ran a brush through the thickness of reddish gold curls and contemplated the events of the day. It was silly, she knew, to be nervous about stepping out of that bath. Hardly a virgin when she met Captain Andy Wilder, the two had been lovers for six months … kicked over the traces her Aunt Gail had said. What a term!

But there was something different now. She had given herself before, willingly, even eagerly, but never with the sense that she couldn't get up in the morning and go home if things were less than satisfactory. But there was no getting up and going home tomorrow morning. And...where was home, after all? Not that Georgetown apartment she had made into the womb where she could hide from the world, tucked into her familiar bedroom, with its familiar shadows and her familiar fantasies -

None of that, she scolded mentally. I'm a married woman, and married women do NOT fantasize about other men, especially other men who are in love with other men.

Strange to think of Mulder in love with Assistant Director Skinner. No, just strange to think of Mulder in love. She realized that, aside from many fevered nights of imagined passion, she couldn't picture him gazing at anyone the way Andy gazed at her some nights when he thought she was asleep. The idea of Andy looking down at her in wonder made her smile. The idea of A.D. Skinner looking down at Mulder...well, that just made her laugh. Somehow she couldn't see wonder and tenderness on those stern features. He'd probably be staring at Mulder in bewilderment and trepidation.

There was a knock at the door. It pushed open a crack. "Are you decent?"

"Come in," she said, standing up and putting the brush down on the marble vanity.

Andy, in the bottom half of a truly hideous pair of pajamas, inched in, and sent his eyes around. "I feel so privileged, invited into the inner sanctum of femininity." He picked up a bottle of shower gel and sniffed. And then a bottle of splash. And then a bar of soap. "This all smells the same."

She nodded and reached for the negligee that matched her gown.

"Why?" He looked at her, with a hint of that bewilderment that she had just imagined on A.D. Skinner's face. "What do you DO with all this stuff, anyway?"

She couldn't help laughing as she reached for the soap and eased it from his hands. "Oh, Andy, you don't really want to know. It will spoil the magic."

"What?" He was laughing. "Do you mean to tell me my oh, so practical doctor wife believes in magic?"

She began to gather all her bath accouterment together. "Oh, absolutely."

He leaned down to press his brow to hers. "Wanna' make some magic, wife?"

There was something in his voice, just a certain note he dipped down to that made parts of her body grow warm, then hot. "I'd like that."

He took her hand and led her from the bath out into the bedroom. A fire was filling the otherwise darkened room with an auburn glow. Before the ridiculously ornate faux Victorian hearth, Andy had spread a blanket, two pillows, a champagne bottle in an ice bucket and two plastic champagne glasses. On one pillow there rested a single red rose.

She gulped back tears of appreciation, gratitude and a tiny bit of frustration. Why had she lived this long before having a man leave a rose on her pillow? "Oh, Andy," she sighed, for want of deeper words.

It was sufficient for him. He dropped into a cross-legged crouch and poured champagne. "A toast, then." He held up the glass. "Here's to..." he paused, brow furrowing up like a thoughtful puppy, "...every woman in the world."

She took the glass...feeling the lump in her throat dissipate. "That's not exactly -"

"And that, among them all, I was lucky enough to find you," he finished, and leaned in for a kiss.

She felt herself blush from perm to pedicure. Dana Katherine Scully Wilder was not a woman given to romantic notions or flights of female fancy, but Andy somehow was making this wedding night by Woman's Day seem, if not perfectly sensible, then at least not unbearably sweet.

The thoughts must have told themselves on her face, for he studied her introspective expression anxiously. "Did I go overboard?" he asked much like a small boy wanting to know his cutouts and paste presentation was a suitable tribute to a beloved mother. "I only wanted it to be memorable."

She might never be a mother, but that did not preclude her from the genetic gift of that oh, so reassuring maternal smile. "Andy, it's lovely … perfect." She tried to imagine Mulder trying to arrange a honeymoon. Romance would be conspicuously absent, as the bridal bed might well be covered in ancient files and evidence bags. In fact, Mulder's idea of romance would be merely showing up on time to get married.

Andy seemed to read those thoughts, as well. He settled back and reached for the bottle to refill her glass. "You should have told me Mulder was gay. It would have saved me a lot of sleepless nights."

"Who said he was gay?" she protested. It startled her that she felt a need to protect Mulder's image, even now.

"Well, isn't he?" Andy smiled quizzically. "The way he was glomming that jarhead, he sure appeared to be."

'Jarhead'? She was surprised by the depth of Andy's perception. "I didn't know...at least, not until recently. I don't think Mulder knew," she added thoughtfully. "But I don't think the 'glomming' was entirely one sided."

"Jealous?" he teased, not so lightly.

She matched his smile. "No more than you."

"Hey, I own my jealousy," he said evenly. "Gay or straight, he means a great deal to you. I'm tempted to request permission to take you with me just so I don't leave you alone in DC with him."

"There is nothing to fear from that sector," she soothed. "He and I spent many, MANY nights in close quarters and we were never once tempted to fraternize." Well...he wasn't. "And now I think that jarhead, as you refer to my former boss, would probably tear me limb from limb if I even cast a longing glance in his direction." She emptied her glass. "Besides, my heart is already packed and ready to follow you."

He smiled and quickly claimed another kiss. "I only want to make you happy, Dana."

She was immeasurably touched by the simple yet heartfelt sentiment, so different from Mulder's snide cynicism and righteous speeches. "You do, Andy, you do." And therein was the secret. Mulder didn't know what happiness was. And Andy wanted to give it to her with both hands. Well...she reflected as she let Andy fill her glass one more time ...perhaps Mulder has learned some happiness. He seemed so...so settled today. She lifted her glass. "To every man in the world. Thank you for sending me the best."

He accepted her toast. "Who knows...maybe Mulder will find the second best," he said with a wicked little grin.

She set her plastic cup down on the hearth and lay back into the pillows. Rose in hand, she reached up for him. "I think he found the best one for him." She laughed softly as she felt his weight and warmth against her. "I think we both did."

- END -