Disclaimer: All characters seen or mentioned on the X-FILES belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Production, FOX network, DD, GA, etc. and are used without permission. The character of Preston Powell Jr. belongs to me, and if I had as much money as Preston does, somebody might want to sue me for this...but since I don't... The song IT'S SO HARD TO SAY GOODBYE TO YESTERDAY, by Freddie Perren and Christine Yarian, is also used without permission. This is part 1 of a 12 part series, a sequel to TWELVE RITES OF PASSAGE. If you haven't read that story, you may want to read it first. TWELVE DEGREES OF SEPARATION No. 1: September It's So Hard to Say Goodbye To Yesterday By Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com Dana Scully opened her desk drawer and surveyed the contents. After six years, not really much to call her own. A few pens, a couple of half-empty rolls of breath mints. A handful of pictures she'd sneaked out of the packets of official photos. Mostly candids or either her or Mulder, depending on who was wielding the evidence camera at the time. "Save me some of those." Fox Mulder's voice was close by her ear. Her hand shook, dropping one of the photos. It fluttered to the desk, and Mulder reached around her to pick it up. He held it where she could see it, too. It was one of her, looking like hell. Mud-streaked, her hair in rain-soaked strings, dark circles under her eyes that might have qualified for an X-File investigation of their own. "What a babe." Mulder's dry comment was little more than a warm breath in her ear. She rewarded his attempt at lightening the mood with a half-hearted smile. "Get the feeling we're not going to be coming back this time?" "Five strikes, you're out." Mulder sat on the edge of her desk, facing her. His hazel eyes were mostly gray today, matching his suit. "It'll be okay." She shook her head. "No." "We've been through this before." "Mulder, you refused to see me for weeks--and you were still living here in D.C. that time." She looked away from his uncomfortably direct gaze, wishing he didn't have such a potent effect on her sense of balance. From the first time she'd walked into this office and looked into that earnest, boyish face, she'd been lost. Willingly became Mrs. Spooky, following where any sane man or woman would fear to tread. She'd have walked through hell to prove herself worthy as his partner and friend. She HAD walked through hell. And back. And now that she owned his respect, loyalty and trust, he was leaving for Boston and she was returning to Quantico. Six and a half years, and she was back to square one. "It's not the same this time, Scully." "No. This time you'll be living 400 miles away." "Maybe that's good." She looked up, trying not to show the stabbing pain that cut through her heart at his words. "Good?" "Scully, maybe it's time you start having that life you're always talking about." He put his hand on her arm, but the touch was oddly impersonal, much more so than usual. She had the strange sensation that she was looking at him through the wrong end of a telescope, watching him grow smaller and farther away. His hand fell away, leaving her arm feeling cold. She drew a swift breath and stepped away from the desk, turning so she didn't have to look at him. "What about you? Are you going to get a life?" He slid off her desk. As he brushed past her on the way to his more cluttered side of the office, he bent and murmured in her ear. "I keep telling you, Scully, I HAVE a life." She forced herself to start packing up her things, working with methodical precision, driving herself. But again and again, her gaze trailed across the room to settle on her soon-to-be ex-partner. He packed with less feverish determination, but she could see past the outwardly casual demeanor. The termination of the X-Files still had the power to hurt him, even now that his sister was back, safe and sound. He'd always hinted that his obsession with the X-Files would end once he found Samantha. But like any addict, he was finding it hard to go cold turkey. Scully understood. She was suffering her own withdrawal symptoms. An hour later, their packing done, Scully and Mulder silently sifted through the photos she'd found in her desk. He took the photos of her, and she claimed the ones of him. Neither commented on their choices. Both looked up when the door to the office opened and Assistant Director Walter Skinner's bulk filled the rectangle of light. "I wanted to say a proper goodbye before you two got away." Mulder was sitting close enough that Scully could feel the tension radiating from him. "Wanna make sure we're really good and gone this time?" Skinner's mouth twitched slightly. "I wish I had the power you seem to ascribe to me, Agent Mulder." Mulder's mouth curved slightly. Scully felt him relax. "So do I, sir." "Agent Scully, I hope you'll find time to drop in and say hello." She nodded. "I will, sir." Skinner leaned against the door frame, folding his large arms across his broad chest. "I believe that the work you've done here in this division was important work. It made a difference. You have every reason to be proud of what you've done. And I'll do everything in my power to make sure that your accomplishments receive the respect and admiration they deserve." Scully felt embarrassingly close to tears. Mulder shifted uncomfortably beside her. "Agent Mulder, I fought for the Boston assignment for you because I was informed that your sister was working on her doctorate at M.I.T. this year." "Why not D.C., sir?" Mulder asked. "Or Baltimore?" Scully looked up at her partner, surprised. His expression was unreadable. "The only available assignment in D.C. is wiretapping surveillance, and I have no intention of wasting your talent like that ever again. Baltimore did have an opening, but it was strictly entry level field agent--not for you. Boston's opening is much higher on the ladder. You'd be in spitting distance of the ASAC position." "I'll never make ASAC, Skinner. You know that as well as I do." "Never is a long time, Agent Mulder." "Wait," Mulder said as Skinner turned to leave. "Why'd you stick Scully back in the Academy? With all she's done--" "She's a department head, Agent Mulder. Also a step up." Scully blinked. "Department head?" Skinner's unexpected smile transformed his face. "Halloran forgot to mention that, Agent Scully. You'll be head of the Academy's Forensic Pathology Department. Six M.E.'s under your supervision. I expect you'll be heading up the F.B.I. Academy in less than ten years--if you haven't already taken my job by then." Skinner gave a little nod and left. Mulder shifted restlessly beside her. "He could've found me something around here. I still think he's helping them keep us apart, Scully." She wasn't so sure anymore. The jobs she and Mulder were being offered were far better than they had ever hoped to have, considering the enemies they'd made over the past six years. The thought that Mulder could make Assistant Special Agent in Charge... "Mulder, this is such a wonderful opportunity for you. You haven't been on the fast track in years, so maybe you don't remember just how hard it is to get there. And you'll be right there in Boston, not that far from your mom and minutes from M.I.T. and your sister." "And 400 miles from you." There was still that, wasn't there? She nibbled her lip. "Ah, hell, Scully. I ought to just resign. I feel like my life's not my own anymore." He slipped the photographs he'd chosen into his pocket. "I could go into private practice." "You'd hate it." He nodded. "I'd hate it." "Boston is a lovely city." He nodded again. "Samantha will be there." "It'll be nice living in Massachusetts again, knowing that she's there with you, won't it? Like healing old wounds." His gaze pierced her, forcing her to look at him even though she knew it would be painful. "Sometimes you scare me, Scully. You know me so well." She looked down at her hands. "Cuts both ways." They were silent for a few minutes, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. After all this time, they were far beyond the need for small talk. She was the one who finally found the strength to make the last, fateful move. "We'd better get moving before we take root." She dropped her selected photos of Mulder into the small cardboard box on her desk and reached for her purse, which hung off the back of her desk chair. She picked up the box, fighting a wave of unutterable sadness. "Skinner said the Boston office is expecting me bright and early on Monday morning." Mulder picked up his own somewhat larger box. She noted that he'd left most of the X-File esoterica still posted to the bulletin board behind his desk. No need for it in Boston, she supposed. "Are you flying or driving?" "Driving. My car's still got some good miles left on it, so I thought I'd take it with me." "Guess you don't need me to take you to the airport, then." She sighed. Was this good bye? This one pitiful moment in time? "I'll call you before I go." "You don't have a place in Boston yet." "So I'll find one and you'll help me move in. Did I mention I'm thinking about buying a grand piano?" She smiled. "I like you, Mulder, but not that much." His laughter was soft, a little rueful. He nodded toward the door. "Ready?" As I'll ever be, she thought. She followed him to the door, pausing for a second to look back at the office. By this time next week, a cleanup crew would've removed any trace that she or Mulder had been there. They wouldn't leave it as is this time. She was about to turn away when she caught sight of the poster tacked to the wall. I WANT TO BELIEVE. "Coming?" Mulder was several feet up the hall by now. "I forgot something. Go on, I'll call you tonight." She waited until he turned the corner, then went back into the office. She carefully removed the poster, rolled it into a tight tube and secured it with a rubber band from her box. She tucked the poster inside the box and left the office. The ringing click of the shutting door followed her up the hallway. * * * * * * Mulder surveyed his apartment, amazed at how little was left to take with him now that he'd thrown away everything he deemed non-essential. Scully accused him of being a pack-rat, but he knew that his endless clutter was more a result of apathy than a compulsion to collect things. Truth be told, Scully had a lot more keepsakes than he did. But then, she had a lot more good memories to want to keep alive. In the end, he was able to pack most of his belongings in his car. When Scully called Saturday night, he kept the conversation short, steering their words far afield from the dangerous emotions that roiled inside him. He was losing Scully she was going to be taken from him again God don't let them take her from me again I can't do this without Scully don't make me do it without her... The jumble of thoughts terrified him. It wasn't like he hadn't known for years now how much he depended on Dana Scully's quick mind and steely strength. But as the hour of his departure approached, regrets were turning to panic, and he was beginning to realize how utterly their lives were intertwined, even though they'd tacitly agreed not to pursue a deeper relationship. How could it get any deeper, though? They were so intimate already, making love would almost be an afterthought.... For Scully's sake, he had to make the cut swift and clean. It would bleed a little, but time and distance would heal their wounds. Wouldn't it? And Boston wasn't the other side of the ocean. It was just 400 miles away. A six hour drive, less than two hours by air. If she needed him, he could be here in no time. And she could be there for him. If he needed her. He just had to figure out how to stop needing her. They arranged to meet on Sunday for brunch at a favorite D.C. cafe. He was early. Eager to see her one last time, he supposed. She entered the cafe right at the appointed time, her coppery hair ignited by the mid-morning sun streaming through the cafe windows. He wanted to run across the room and grab her, make her come to Boston with him. He didn't want to find out if he could survive without her there to watch his back. She paused as she caught sight of him. Her small hands clenched into fists, then relaxed, and she resumed her walk across the cafe. He turned, pressing his back against the solidity of the bar, glad for the support. She held out her hand and he took it, careful not to crush her fingers. "All packed and ready to go?" she asked. He nodded, tugging her gently to him. She didn't resist when he slipped one arm around her shoulders and held her against his side. She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Promise you'll at least call, Mulder. Or e-mail me." "Count on it." She looked up at him. "I know how you are, Mulder." "Yes, you do." "If you don't call me, I'll call you. Collect if I have to." "I'll call, Scully." "Don't think you can get away with an unlisted number, because I have ways of hunting you down." He laughed, which he suspected was her intent all along. "Okay, Scully, I said I'd call. Every day, probably, since I doubt I'll even be able to pick a tie without consulting you." She grimaced, her small Roman nose crinkling. "I'm not taking credit for your ties, Mulder." He wondered what she'd do if he kissed her. The temptation was especially strong now, with her standing so close, looking up at him with those sad sea-blue eyes. It really would be the perfect time, he thought. A good-bye kiss. Just to see what might have been. Should have been? Then Scully moved away from him and the moment passed. "Let's get a table." He motioned for a waiter, who came and seated them. Scully ordered a bagel, and he chose an omelet. They ate in silence, as if observing their own special ritual. The releasing of each other, to other places, other lives. The omelet stuck in Mulder's throat, but he forced it down, keeping up appearances for Scully's sake. She walked him to his car. He was already packed and ready to leave for Boston as soon as he turned in his keys to the landlord. He'd arranged for a moving service to take the furnishings he couldn't pack into his car to a small warehouse rental place Samantha had found near her apartment in Cambridge. He'd check the furniture out as soon as he found a place to live. He paused at the car, turning to look at her one more time. "I'm staying with Samantha at her place until I get a chance to rent a place." "Call me to let me know you got there safely." "I will. Um, by the way, I need to get my spare key back from you." She glanced up quickly, unable to wipe the stricken look from her face. He felt a little queasy at the sight. "I have to turn it in to the landlord." She looked away, rummaging through her purse until she found her key ring. Her fingers trembled as she removed his spare key and handed it to him. He caught her hand and held it. They stood in the bright sunlight, eyes narrowed against the glare as they looked at each other for a long, aching moment. Then Mulder opened his arms, and Scully hurtled forward, pressing her face against his chest. He felt her body shake, reminding him of another time and place, when he'd held her, comforting her after Donnie Pfaster had almost killed her. He remembered telling her it would be okay. He'd believed it then. But he wasn't so sure now. So he stayed silent. He wouldn't lie to her, even to make her feel better. Or himself. * * * * * Scully's mother dropped by her apartment unannounced and stayed with her all afternoon and into the evening. They talked about everything but Mulder's departure. Scully knew her mother was aching, too. She loved Mulder as if he were her own child. Her other sons were far away--had been for years. She'd grown accustomed to brief visits, few and far between. But since Missy's death, Scully knew that her mother and Mulder had been in frequent contact--phone calls, usually a weekly visit to catch up. It had started partially as a typical Mulder penance--he'd missed Melissa's funeral out of his overwhelming sense of guilt, then felt guilty about that, too. So he'd spent part of Mother's Day with Margaret Scully, then the next Saturday afternoon...and the Thursday evening after that. Soon, he was almost seeing as much of Scully's mother as she was herself. Mulder almost never included Scully in those visits. It was his special time with her mother, and Scully had respected their privacy. Still, now that he was physically removed from her, she missed that time they'd spent apart, even the times he'd spent with her mother. She wanted more time with him. Only when the phone rang around seven o'clock did either woman bring up Fox Mulder's name. Margaret Scully looked up at her daughter and mouthed the word, "Fox?" Scully answered the phone. "Hello?" "It's me, Scully." She smiled and nodded at her mother. "You sound tired, Mulder." "Six hours on the road with the unwashed masses, Scully. It made sea travel suddenly much more attractive." She chuckled, knowing just how bad a sailor he was. "How's Samantha?" "Just as hard to live with as she was twenty-six years ago." He made an "oomph" sound that sounded suspiciously like a sisterly whack on the back. "She's messy, too. Must be a Mulder trait after all." "I've always said so." She glanced at her mother, who sat forward, eagerly trying to fill in the blanks of the one-sided conversation. "Mom's here. I think she'd like to talk to you." Tamping down her reluctance, she handed her mother the phone. "Hello, Fox, how are you?" Scully leaned back, soothed by the sound of her mother's voice. She closed her eyes and listened with Mulder's ears, trying to feel what he must feel when he talked to her mother. She knew that he loved his own mother, but all that had happened during the years before and after Samantha's abduction had taken a heavy toll on their family and on Mulder's relationship with his parents. Anger and guilt that couldn't be overcome easily. But with Scully's mother, Mulder had known nothing but unconditional, overwhelming love. The love Margaret had always given her own children, love that had weathered adolescent rebellions and adult disappointments. Tears filled Scully's eyes as she heard her mother's words with Mulder's heart. "I expect phone calls, Fox. At least on Christmas and Mother's Day." Scully wiped away her tears. She saw her mother smile at whatever Mulder said in reply. "Me, too. Here's Dana again." Scully took the phone. "I'm back." "You Scully women are real nags, you know?" He softened the words with vibrant affection that reached through the phone. "I'm racking up a big phone bill on Samantha's phone, and I'm afraid she'll try to make me pay it." Another "oomph" sound indicated that Samantha was still listening. She heard a soft, unintelligible sound and Mulder added. "Samantha sends her love." "Send mine back." "Can I keep some for myself?" Scully couldn't find words for a second. He sounded so much like a lost little boy that she was afraid she'd choke up. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat and found the strength to reply. "All you can hold." He didn't answer right away, and she could feel his struggle with emotions through the phone line. He took a wobbly breath as if he were about to speak, but he fell silent again. Nothing could stop Scully's tears this time. "If I don't hear from you by Tuesday, I'm calling your ASAC and filing a complaint." She hoped her voice didn't sound as thick and teary as she thought. "I'll call you tomorrow." His voice sounded hoarse. Strained. "Bye." She couldn't wait for his answering good bye. She hung up the phone and buried her face in her hands. A moment later, she felt her mother's strong arms wrap around her. "He's not that far away, Dana." She pressed her burning face against her mother's shoulder. "He was already too far away before he ever left, Mom." "Did you ever tell him that?" She drew back, mortified at the thought. "No, of course not. Do you know how unprofessional it is to be so emotionally attached to your partner?" It was better that she'd never told him how she felt. "He's not your partner anymore." Scully shook her head. "He's gone, Mom." "Boston's just an hour or so away by air." "It's finished." "It doesn't have to be." Scully rubbed her hands over her face, wiping away hot, salty tears. "Maybe this is what it will finally take for him to have a happy life. I'm not going to stand in the way of that." "Maybe you're what will make him happy." "It would've happened already if it were going to, Mom." She knew Mulder loved her, in his own way. But she didn't believe he loved her the way a man loved the woman who would claim his bed and bear his children. And she didn't really love him that way, either. She didn't. Really. * * * * * * * * Samantha curled up on her couch next to Mulder, resting her head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, marvelling at the feel of her solid warmth against him. He'd looked for her so long, but until she'd actually walked out of that warehouse in Baltimore, he'd never truly believed he'd see her again. The strangest part of finding her was finding out how close he'd been time after time. She'd been living in San Juan, Puerto Rico when he went to the SETI array in Arrecibo. Working at a restaurant in Atlantic City during the Jersey Devil case. Visiting New Mexico with friends the fateful April when he'd barely escaped death in a fiery boxcar. She'd even been attending the University of Oregon that time he and Scully went to the Pacific Northwest on their very first X-File investigation together. "I would never have found you without Scully, Samantha." "I know." "She got me through so many nightmares. I didn't think I needed anybody until she walked into my office." He smiled at the memory. She'd walked in, looking like Ms. J. Edgar Hoover with her sleek red hair and her tailored suits. He'd dripped sarcasm, hoping she'd run screaming for the hills, but she'd just smiled that little Mona Lisa butter-wouldn't- melt-in-my-mouth smile of hers, and he'd been sunk. Day by day, she'd gotten under his skin--sometimes aching like a splinter, sometimes soothing like a balm, but always delving deeper, making herself more irrevocably a part of him. He'd never had a relationship--no friendship, no romance, no family tie--that was deeper or more satisfying than the bond he had with Scully. Their quick goodbye in D.C. hadn't severed the tie. She remained inside him, a warm, bittersweet throbbing. "You're going to miss her," Samantha said. God, yes. "She can come visit," Samantha added. Not right away, he knew. She'd have to dive right into her job at the Academy. Being department head over all those male M.E.'s was going to be tough. Scully was up to it, of course, but he wished he could spare her the headaches she'd be facing in the months to come. All he did know was that he wasn't going to let his sudden neediness get in her way. "We'll both be busy settling into our new jobs." "So maybe she can visit over the Thanksgiving weekend?" Maybe, Mulder thought. He didn't want to think about it too much. He could picture himself obsessing on the thought of her coming to visit. Counting the days, hours and minutes. Driving himself crazy. "Fox, you know, Preston's coming by on his way home." Mulder glanced at his sister. "Are you asking me to get lost?" She smiled. "No. I'm just trying to prepare you so you'll be on your best behavior." "Much as I'd love to hang around and chat with you and Thurston Howell the Third, I'm beat. I'll just grab the couch in the utility room and get some sleep." "Fox, I told you to take my bed. I'll sleep on the couch out here." "I'm used to sleeping on a sofa, Samantha." He winked and stood. "Besides, you might need that bed yourself." "Fox!" She threw a sofa cushion as he retreated down the hall. He closed the door to the utility room, surrounding himself with darkness. He didn't expect sleep to come easily, especially without a television to lull him. And it didn't. Sometime later, he heard the door open and voices. Samantha's boyfriend, Preston. He tried to soothe himself with the happy timbre of her voice, the gentleness he heard in Preston's lower tones. Soon came the sound of music, and he imagined his sister and the man she loved, sitting side by side on the sofa, hands entwined, hearts in tune. The music was slow and soft, the kind Samantha liked. The tune sounded vaguely familiar, and he closed his eyes, trying to make out the words. "I don't know where this road is going to lead, All I know is where we've been and what we've been through, If we get to see tomorrow I hope it's worth all the rain It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday. And I'll take with me the memories To be my sunshine after the rain, It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday." Mulder opened his eyes and stared into the darkness, missing Scully. * * * * * * * * Scully had to admit that Mulder kept his promise to call. Every day, he rang, and they talked in brief, narrative spurts, outlining their days, how the new jobs were going. Mulder sounded tired but she could tell he was slowly easing into the new rhythm of the Boston field office. As for herself, she was meeting all the expected resistance from the men under her supervision, but after six and a half years of dealing with heptivorous mutants, E.B.E.'s and vicious government conspiracies, six testy male pathologists were a walk in the park. Missing Mulder was a much harder problem to overcome. If only she didn't feel so utterly separate from him. Their conversations were full of information but short on any real meaning. He wasn't there in the room with her where she could read his expression, discern his thoughts in his eyes. He wasn't there to put a steadying hand on her back when she needed it. And she wasn't there to protect him from the slings and barbs from his heartless fellow agents. Mulder had a reputation that was bound to follow him, even to Boston. She hated the thought of him facing all that alone again. He'd been so alone when she first met him. One man against the whole world. She liked to think she'd done that much for him. Helped him see he didn't have to be alone. And if another woman reaped the benefits of her work, she'd have to find a way to be happy for them both. She thought she might even be able to bear it, if she just knew she still owned a little part of him that no one else could take away. On Friday of that first week apart, she got a sign of sorts. An envelope came in her daily mail, postmarked Cambridge, MA, with an unfamiliar return address in Mulder's quirky scrawl. She ripped the envelope open. A shiny new key slipped into her lap. She quickly scanned the accompanying note, a smile spreading across her face. "S, I'm thinking about getting more fish. I'm over the grief of losing the last crop. So how about jotting down my new address and hanging onto this key? The fish flakes will be by the tank, like always. The guys here in the Boston field office are turning out to be okay. When I find one that looks as good in a skirt as you do, I'll grab him for my partner. M." She retrieved her key ring from the hall table and flipped through the keys. She found the newly empty space, and quickly, before fate could change its mind, she put the new key where the old one had been. It looked right, she thought. And she realized she was already starting to feel better. END OF #1 Disclaimer: All characters seen or mentioned on the X-FILES belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Production, FOX networks, DD, GA, etc...I have no permission to use them (although give me a few minutes with Mulder or Skinner and...) The characters of Lydia Chamberlain, Travis Danton and Preston Powell Jr. belong to me, and if I had as much money as Preston does, somebody might want to sue me for this...but since I don't...IN MEMORIUM by Alfred, Lord Tennyson is also used without permission. If he can come back from the grave after me, then maybe I'll get my own X-File number and get to meet Mulder after all...HEAD OVER FEET by Alanis Morissette is also used without permission but with great admiration. (Please don't hurt me, angry girl!). GONNA GET A LIFE is sung by Mark Chesnutt, but I don't know who wrote it, and I hope whoever it is will forgive me for using it without permission as well. This is part 2 of a 12 part series, a sequel to TWELVE RITES OF PASSAGE. If you haven't read that story, you may want to read it first. TWELVE DEGREES OF SEPARATION No. 2: October Gonna Get a Life by AHaynes33 AHaynes33@aol.com The little e-mail icon in the upper left corner of his computer screen blinked. Fox Mulder wheeled his mouse pointer in that direction and clicked. A smile darted across his mouth when he saw her name. The note was brief but full of information. His smile faded rapidly as his eyes scanned the screen. M, Getting a life like you suggested. Travis Danton, 38, brown and blue, 5'10", teaches English Lit. at Georgetown U. Bkgrnd check clean. Met him at a G'Town/U of Md basketball game. Dinner and a movie, tonite. Don't wait up. Your move? S Mulder stared at the screen, absently squeezing his lower lip between his thumb and middle finger. Your move? What was that supposed to mean? Your move, Mulder, sweep into D.C.and stop me from falling into bed with the good professor? Your move, Mulder, say those three little words that'll get YOU a one-way ticket into my bed? He shook his head. No, that was just wishful thinking. No game-player, his Scully. She meant it was his move to get a life of his own. He punched the mouse button, scrolling down for the next message. Samantha's i.d.--SAM-I-AM. Tension in his shoulders eased a bit. He double-clicked to bring up her message. All caps--he kept telling her that all caps was the computer equivalent of shouting, but Samantha had returned to his life with a stubborn streak wider than his own. FOX, UP FOR PIZZA AT BOTTICELLI'S? A PSYCH PROF FRIEND OF MINE IS DYING TO MEET YOU. LYDIA CHAMBERLAIN. SINGLE, NOT MUCH PERSONALITY, BUT A REAL DISH, OR SO THE GUYS SAY. PRESTON AND I WILL BE GLAD TO CHAPERONE. DANA'S GOT A DATE, DID SHE TELL YOU? SAM-I-AM ;-) So, Samantha was taking pity on him. Dana Scully's got a date, so we have to take poor Fox's mind off the matter by setting him up with a dishy psych professor. He ought to go. Scully would go if the situation was reversed. Hell, she WAS going--with the English Lit. professor. Why shouldn't he go? Why not meet the dishy Professor Chamberlain, see if he still had what it took to get in her pants? Sauce for the goose.... One more piece of e-mail. Mulder's eyebrows rose as he read the tag. DR-LUV. What did Frohike want? Mulder, Bad vibes happening. The lovely Dr. Scully has a date. I checked the guy out. Total sleaze-- Coming from Frohike, that said something, Mulder thought. --drives a Volvo, votes Republican, subscribes to the Wall Street Journal, GQ, and the Disney Channel and collects British memorabilia. Date from hell. We have to save her. I need your help. DR-LUV Mulder didn't want to know how Frohike knew all that. He clicked on the e-mail export system, pulled up Frohike's e-mail address and jotted a note. DR-LUV, Some folks' nightmares are other folks' dreams come true. Scully deserves a life. It may not be the one you or I would choose for her, but.... Don't peep through her window if she invites him in. She'll shoot you dead. Mulder He clicked on the send button and opened the next reply window to jot a quick note to Scully. Then he shut off the computer and picked up the phone to tell his sister he'd meet her and the dishy professor at Botticelli's. * * * * * Dana Scully applied a quick coat of lipstick as she booted her computer. She'd showered and dressed as soon as she got home after her last class at the academy. Now was the worst part-- waiting for the dreaded knock on the door. She'd been out of the dating game for too long. Her stomach was in knots. The e-mail icon flashed in the corner of her monitor screen. She checked her mail. One message, from DR-LUV. She suspected Mulder had given Frohike her e-mail address. Blackmail or bribery of some sort must've been involved for her partner to sell her out to the little troll. But at least Frohike posted notes sparingly and was usually on his best behavior. Beloved, Statistically speaking, English Literature professors are more likely to be homicidal maniacs than postal workers--and not nearly as interesting. Have a lovely evening. Don't do anything I wouldn't do--or most of what I would. DR-LUV Scully deleted the message from her database, smiling in spite of herself. She was about to shut down the computer when the e-mail icon blinked again, alerting her to a new piece of e-mail. She clicked on the icon and went immediately tense when she saw Mulder's i.d. She never should've posted her note to him. What had she been expecting him to do--tell her not to go? She opened the note. S, Ask the good professor what this comes from..."by faith, and faith alone, embrace, Believing where we cannot prove." Words to live by, I'd say. I'm taking your challenge. My own prof-- Lydia Chamberlain. No personality, just a dish. Write back if you want to compare notes. M Damn! She jabbed at the mouse button, closing down the e-mail program. She shut off the computer and leaned back in the chair, temper rising like flames to heat her cheeks. Lydia Chamberlain. No personality, just a dish. Sounds suspiciously like a Bambi Berenbaum moment to me. Damn it, Mulder! Okay, fine. Isn't that what she'd wanted him to do, go out and have a good time? Finally have that life they'd been talking about all these years? Isn't that why she had agreed to her own date with Travis? The knock on the door kept her from having to answer her own question. * * * * * Samantha had been half-right, Mulder thought. Lydia Chamberlain WAS a dish. But she also had a good personality. Smart, funny, relaxed. She was his age, maybe a year or two older, but good bone structure and lucky genes gave her ageless beauty. Her eyes were brown, her shiny hair the pale brown color of pecan shells. She wore her hair straight and shoulder-length, framing fine cheekbones and delicate features. Her skin was creamy olive, hinting at Mediterranean ancestry. In the little black book he kept in his eidetic memory, he gave her nine sunflower seeds out of a possible ten for looks alone. So far she had also avoided the major pitfall of most psychologists--she hadn't made a single attempt to analyze him. Nevertheless, she kept steering the conversation toward him. They remained in the corner booth, talking softly, while Samantha and Preston left to join the noisy dance crowd at the far end of the pizza place. A jukebox in the corner was playing a country song, something loud and rollicking. "I'm gonna get a life. That's what I'm gonna do, And startin' now, You can find one, too Gonna get a life Like I shoulda done A long time ago Before you wrecked this one." Mulder sighed and picked at a mushroom that had fallen from his pizza to his plate. "You're one of the few people I've ever met that have actually heard of the X-Files project, Lydia." "The psychology department won a private grant a few years ago--cutting edge of scholarly paranormal psychology research--a ten year study into the benefits of regression hypnotherapy in cases of alleged Satanic Ritual Abuse and repressed Alien Abduction memories." A bell went off in Mulder's head. "You're the one--" "Samantha was one of the first patients I met." "You helped her remember she had been abducted." Those memories had eventually led her to a dangerous showdown in Baltimore, where she'd finally remembered that she was Samantha Mulder. Lydia smiled. "She was more than ready, Fox. I was just in the right place at the right time." He felt a little niggle of discomfort at her use of his first name. He thought about Scully, who'd tried calling him that once--and only once. He'd made sure of that, and Scully had done what she'd always done, respected his wishes. What if he'd let her call him Fox? What if he called her Dana more often? He tried to remember the way his name had sounded on her tongue. Hesitant, like a little girl trying to scrape up the courage to ask for her heart's desire. Danger warnings had gone off in his head. So he'd laughed. Shook his head. Fed her some line about how he didn't even let his parents call him Fox. She'd hesitated then, for a split second, trembling on the edge of retreat. Then her pointed little chin had jutted forward, and she'd bowed only slightly to his wishes. "Mulder, I wouldn't put myself on the line for anybody but you." Oh, Scully, back then you had no idea just what kind of trouble I could get you into, did you? * * * * * Travis took Scully to the movie first, then dinner afterwards. Her stomach was rumbling wildly when they finally got a table at a trendy Arlington pub. She grabbed the basket of crackers and ripped open a little packet of melba toast, uncaring about what her date might think of her. Mulder wouldn't have cared. In fact, he might have tussled with her for the toast. To his credit, Travis didn't seem to notice her frantic struggles with the cellophane wrapper. He was too busy looking around the crowded pub. "Did you know that Hemingway once ate at this pub?" She lifted one brow. "Earnest?" He frowned, not getting the joke. She stifled a disappointed sigh, trying to ignore the sarcastic little whisper in her head. Loo-hoo-ser. Mulder's voice. Mulder was her conscience now? The thought almost made her laugh. "Legend has it he was on a fishing trip in Virginia and stopped in. This bar was pretty new then. He drank whiskey sours and penned the first four paragraphs of a new novel on a cocktail napkin. He got plastered, tossed the napkin in the trash by mistake, and got back to his lodge to find that he'd picked up a napkin with a woman's phone number on it instead. History isn't clear on whether he rang her up or not." Travis waved for the waiter. "I'll have a gin and tonic. Dana?" "Iced tea," she said, and suddenly remembered Mulder's e-mail. She'd forgotten to jot down the quote, but it had been pretty simple. Her memory wasn't eidetic like her former partner's, but it was pretty good. She leaned toward Travis. "A friend of mine wanted me to ask you about a quote he heard somewhere." Travis' eyebrows lifted slightly. "Shoot." Never say that to an armed woman, Scully thought, and had to stifle a chuckle. She searched her memory for the quote. "By faith, and faith alone, embrace, Believing where we cannot prove." Travis hesitated only a second. "'In Memorium.' By Alfred Lord Tennyson. From the prologue." "Oh." She felt curiously deflated. From Mulder she would have expected Edgar Allan Poe at the very least. Then she remembered. "In Memorium." Her mother had told her about the days right before she'd turned up in the hospital on life support. How her mother had already ordered the grave stone, despite Mulder's insistance that she was giving up too soon. Her mother had looked so guilty when she admitted that. Scully didn't know what to say to comfort her. Mulder had been angry. Frustrated. Too soon, he'd insisted, when her mother asked him if he'd speak at the memorial service. But she'd pressed him. And he'd agreed, finally. He'd told her mother he wanted to read from a poem. "In Memorium," by Tennyson. Then Scully had mysteriously appeared in the Northeast Georgetown Medical Center, and the memorial service was postponed, then called off. Scully realized she had to see the poem. Surely she could find it in one of her old college textbooks. If not, she'd head for the library. The investigator in her gnawed at her insides, insistent and impatient. She'd know what else lay in that poem before sunset tomorrow. * * * * * Mulder realized with a guilty jolt that Lydia was staring at him expectantly. Waiting for a reply to some question he hadn't even heard. He rubbed his finger down a red-stripe on the checkered tablecloth. "I'm sorry?" Lydia's eyes narrowed a bit. Suddenly he revised his earlier impression a bit. She WAS psychoanalyzing him now. "I asked if you missed the work." "Yeah, sometimes. Not the hassle, though." He didn't miss sniffing the air for cigarette smoke every time he walked in a room. He could certainly wait another lifetime or two to see Mr. X skulking in a shadowy parking garage. But he missed walking into that cold, dark basement and seeing Scully sitting at her impossibly neat desk, her wire-rimmed glasses making her look like a studious school girl as she looked through file after file of the Bureau's version of Ripley's Believe It or Not. He missed the heady challenge of coming up with one plausible excuse after another to touch her without getting decked. He missed her arguments and her soft chuckles, the way she sized up his choice of ties with one tiny little twitch of her eyebrow. This time, he heard Lydia's next comment. "Did you know I've actually met your former partner, Agent Scully?" He looked up, instantly interested. "Well, you couldn't really call it a meeting. I attended a lecture she gave last month at Georgetown University. Unexplained pathological phenomena. She profiled eight cases that I suspect were pulled straight from the X-Files. Very interesting talk." Mulder smiled. Eight, huh? Which ones, he wondered? Definitely Tooms. Maybe the retrovirus in that dead FBI agent from Syracuse--the one that had almost killed Mulder himself. Or how about the strange little corpse in the exhumed grave in Oregon--their first X-File investigation together? "She seemed rather--well--passionless about the whole thing, though. Not quite what I expected." Lydia leaned back, her brown eyes narrowing slightly. "I have a confession. When I was doing some preliminary research into the X-Files, I talked to some of your fellow agents at FBI Headquarters. There was an informal office pool about you and Agent Scully. About whether you two ever--" He shook his head. "We didn't." Her reply was smug. "I knew that as soon as I saw Agent Scully." He didn't frown, although it took freezing every muscle in his face to keep from it. When he didn't reply, she continued. "Classic repressed sexuality. Asexual dress, chilly demeanor, decided detachment." All that from one lecture? Dr. Chamberlain thought too highly of her psychoanalytic abilities, Mulder thought. He didn't like her so much after all. "She's Catholic, no doubt, and she was probably a daddy's girl. Maybe there was even something incestuous--" Mulder had overturned his mug of beer before he even realized he'd moved. He was on his feet, breathing hard. Lydia looked up, eyes wide. "What's the matter?" God, Scully would hate him if he stood here and reamed his date because she'd said something bad about her. She'd be so embarrassed and absolutely furious with him. Of course, if she'd just heard what Lydia said-- He took several deep breaths, fighting for control. "Lydia, there's one thing that I learned a long time ago when I was training in psychology that really stuck with me. Something that apparently passed you by." Her eyes narrowed to slits, and he realized he'd just pushed her hot button--questioning her skill as a psychologist. Good, he thought. This is a lesson worth learning. "Arrogance is worse than ignorance, Dr. Chamberlain. It cuts deeper and it leaves a bigger scar. And I can assure you, based on years of experience rather than a single afternoon's lecture, that Dana Scully is a woman of great passion, great strength, and great mental health. She has seen and experienced things that no human being should ever have to know, and she's emerged stronger for it." Lydia's eyes were cold. "Maybe there are things you don't know about your former partner." "I'm sure there are." He bent forward, invading her personal face the way he often did with suspects he was interrogating. "And frankly, right now I'd rather be learning some of them than sitting here with you." He tossed a twenty on the beer-puddled table and walked away. He stopped long enough to let Samantha and her fiance know that he was leaving, then headed into the cool Boston night. * * * * * Scully put a quick end to the evening. She'd chafed through dinner, impatient to get back home to her closet and dig out her old English Lit textbooks. Surely with all the Tennyson she'd been forced to endure during the early years at Berkeley and U. of Maryland, she'd find the poem somewhere. Travis tried to kiss her goodnight. She forestalled him with a not-very-subtle hand against his chest. "I'll call you," he said. She'd deal with that bit of unpleasantness when the time came. She locked the door behind her and went straight to the closet. Two old British Lit books looked promising--NORTON'S ANTHOLOGY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE and ENGLISH WRITERS. She tried the latter, which was smaller, thumbing through the index quickly. Tennyson--and a daunting string of page numbers. She carried the book to her desk and started flipping through the listed pages, pausing only long enough to boot up her computer and check her e-mail. Nothing. The empty screen mocked her, and she sighed. She found the poem. "Strong son of God, immortal Love Whom we, that have not seen thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace, Believing where we cannot prove." Other phrases jumped out of her. "Our little systems have their day; they have their day and cease to be; they are but broken lights of thee..." She thought of Melissa, how their "little system" of government had failed her. Scully's heart clenched. "...For knowledge is of things we see..." They'd seen so much. So much she couldn't explain--yet. Then, a stanza that seemed to stand out, stark and rife with meaning she didn't want to think about. "Forgive my grief for one removed, Thy creature, whom I found so fair, I trust he lives in thee, and there I find him worthier to be loved." She closed the book and stared at the computer screen, remembering endless days and nights when she'd feared Mulder had died in a burning boxcar in New Mexico.... Her marquee-style screen saver had kicked in, displaying a scrolling quote from a song she'd heard and liked. Alanis Morissette, HEAD OVER FEET. "You are the bearer of unconditional things You held your breath and the door for me Thanks for your patience You're the best listener that I've ever met You're my best friend, best friend with benefits What took me so long?" She grabbed the mouse and clicked on the e-mail program. Grabbing Mulder's address from her on-line address book, she composed a message. M, Back from getting a life. Not all it's cracked up to be. BTW, re the quote: It's from "In Memorium" by Tennyson. Made me cry. So, was your dish tasty?" S She went to the bedroom to wash off her makeup and change into pajamas. * * * * * Mulder got back to his apartment just before midnight, after walking a couple of hours through the streets of Boston. He checked his e-mail, not really expecting anything but unable to deny his curiosity. He couldn't suppress a smile when he saw Scully's name and noted the time of the e-mail post. 11:21 p.m. So she'd gotten home at a reasonable time. Of course, he thought as his finger hovered over the mouse button, prepared to pull up the text of her message, it could also mean she and the professor were settled in for the night. His smile faded, turned upside down. He took a deep breath and clicked. Scanned her note quickly, bracing for the worst. Relaxed. Read it one more time. Grinned broadly. Reached for the keyboard. * * * * * Scully was turning off the lights when she realized she'd forgotten to turn off the computer. She crossed the room and was about to shut down the power when she saw the e-mail icon. DR-LUV already? He'd probably followed her with his night goggles or something. She sat down and opened the e-mail. Her heart quickened. Mulder. She quickly pulled up his note. S, Yeah, getting a life sucks. And no, the dish wasn't the least bit appetizing. Needed more spice. Boston's nice this time of year. Any vacation time saved up yet? M Scully smiled. End of #2 Disclaimer: All characters seen or mentioned on the X-FILES belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Production, FOX network, DD, GA, etc... The characters of Kelvin Thacker and Preston Powell Jr. belong to me, and if I had as much money as Preston does, somebody might want to sue me for this...but since I don't... PLEASE COME TO BOSTON, by Kenny Loggins (I think) is used very briefly and without permission. But it always makes me cry, so I thought it fit. This is part 3 of a 12 part series, a sequel to TWELVE RITES OF PASSAGE. If you haven't read that story, you may want to read it first. TWELVE DEGREES OF SEPARATION No. 3: November Please Come to Boston By Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com Dana Scully took pains to make a quiet approach to the last office in the FBI Boston Field Office suite. A secretary had pointed her in the right direction, not hiding her interest. Apparently Fox Mulder's reputation had not only preceded him but made him something of a sex symbol among some of the female staff. Scully tried not to let herself think about it. After his one apparently disastrous date with the psych professor, he'd never mentioned another woman, on the phone or in writing. That didn't mean he was still playing the monk, of course. But at least Scully had room to believe what she found comfortable to believe. She found him in the end office as she'd been told. It was a tiny room, more cramped even than their basement hovel back at the J. Edgar Hoover building. But here there was light and warmth. Afternoon sunshine streamed through the window, and Mulder and another agent were making use of the illumination to study some slides Mulder held up to the light. "Look at the eyes," the unknown agent said. "Do I have to?" Mulder had his back to her, but Scully could tell by the sound of his voice that he was grimacing. She had a feeling she knew why, considering how she'd just spent the last four hours. "Looks like some kind of weird allergic reaction." The other agent took the slide from Mulder and held it closer to his eyes. "Swelling and redness around the eyes and nose." Mulder nodded. "It's a reaction to a retrovirus caused by a toxin not native to this particular part of the solar system." Scully smiled and took a step into the office. "Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials, Agent Mulder?" He whirled around, eyes widening. A big, boyish grin spread across his face, and she realized just how seldom she'd seen him smile that way in all the time she'd known him. "Kinda hard not to when they're always kicking your ass." He crossed the room and gave her a swift hug. "What are you doing here? And please tell me you aren't about to get back on a plane to D.C." "I'm here on a consult, and I don't have to be back in D.C. until Monday morning." "Great!" He looked over his shoulder, waving the other agent over. "Scully, this is Kelvin Thacker. I'm trying him out as my partner this week." He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "We're still working on the the skirt thing." Thacker held out his hand. "And you must be the enigmatic Dr. Scully Mulder can't stop talking about." "Nice to meet you." Scully cut her eyes at Mulder as she shook Thacker's hand. "We'll talk later," she murmured to her former partner. He smiled. "So, how many bizarre, obscure or insane theories has he dropped on you so far, Thacker?" she asked. "One or two." Thacker smiled. Scully decided she liked this man. He was a handsome black man about Mulder's age, seemingly witty and good-natured. Of course, he'd have to be to put up with Mulder, she thought with affection. She squelched a moment of jealousy. "So what's your consult?" Mulder asked, his arm still draped over Scully's shoulders. The heavy warmth felt good, Scully thought. "This." She tapped the slide in his hand. "Think the mighty morphin bounty hunter is back?" "God, I hope not." She still shuddered when she thought of that---that thing, clothing himself in Mulder's shape while he brutally attacked her in a Germantown, Maryland, motel room. Mulder tightened his arm around her, no doubt remembering his own nightmare encounter with the bounty hunter. He'd almost died. She realized belatedly that Thacker was staring at them. "Mighty morphin what?" he asked. Scully looked up at Mulder. Don't ask me to try to explain this one, she thought. "I'll tell you about it later, Thacker." Mulder released her, robbing her of his warmth. "So, are you through here, Scully?" "Yes. I finished the autopsy about a half hour ago. It's definitely the retrovirus." Mulder nodded, as if he was sure all along. Which he probably was. "There were reports of an altercation taking place in the alley where the body was found. My bet is, the deceased tried to mug somebody he should've steered clear of. Maybe not our particular bounty hunter, but one like him." She tried not to shiver. "Well, my part's done. I'm about to hop in my rental car and look for a hotel for the weekend. I'm trusting you to come up with a properly shabby motor court that'll make me feel right at home." He flashed a lop-sided grin. "I know just the place. Chateau Mulder." "Unh-unh." She shook her head, trying to ignore the way her heart jerked into higher gear at the mere thought. "You don't even own a bed anymore, and I'm not sharing that couch with you." "I own a bed now. I had to buy one when Mom came for a visit last month. It's all yours." "Because you still sleep on the couch?" His sheepish grin was her answer. She sighed. He could always beat her with those little boy expressions of his. "Oh, all right. Head me in the right direction." He jotted down a quick set of directions. "Thacker and I have to finish up here, but I'll be there before seven." "Is there anything to cook at your place?" He looked suitably insulted. "One or two things." She couldn't wait to see what that meant. "I'll whip up something for dinner." She turned to Thacker and smiled. "Nice to meet you, Agent Thacker." "Believe me, Agent Scully, it's my pleasure." Scully gave Mulder's hand a quick squeeze. "See you at your place." She headed for the door. Behind her, she heard Thacker murmur, "Wow, Mulder-- sharp-shooter, great legs and she cooks, too?" I'll take that as a compliment, Scully thought. * * * * * Mulder had always taken great pride in his self-control, for he was at heart a man of deep emotions and fierce desires to be constantly kept in check. Despite most people's assumption to the contrary, he was no loose cannon, living from one reaction to another. He made calm, calculated choices, albeit based on his unorthodox view of the world. He set priorities, made sacrifices, put aside his more primal impulses to accomplish a greater good. But today, he just couldn't get his mind of the fact that Scully was waiting at his apartment for him to get home. Not even the prospect of tracking down an alien life form could lure his mind back to the job at hand. At five-fifteen that afternoon, Thacker threw up his hands. "For God's sake, Mulder, just go home and see her. You're not concentrating, and besides, sixty hours a week is enough for anybody. The weekend guys can analyze these statements and have the reports ready for you on Monday morning. Go. See your friend." Mulder didn't argue. He grabbed his coat and jogged down to the parking lot to pick up his Taurus. A dried out air freshener dangled from the rear view mirror, reminding him of stakeouts past. The past three months had been hell, trying to break in a partner. Thacker made number four. Mulder knew his ASAC was getting a little impatient with Mulder's inability to "work well with others." It wasn't like he didn't try. But his partners didn't know when to talk and when to shut up. They asked him inane questions about the X-Files that Scully, even in the very first tenuous days of their partnership, had been way too smart to ask. They didn't smell like fresh soap and sunshine, the way Scully did. Okay, that was probably asking too much. He could admit that. He thought Thacker might be working out. He was quiet, smart, and minded his own business. He didn't blow a gasket when Mulder proposed one of his "out there" theories, but he didn't let Mulder walk over his own rational take on the case, either. He wasn't Scully, but he was going to be all right. Mulder thought he was going to be all right, too--on the job, at least. He was past those first horrible nights when he'd skated on the edge of sheer panic, wondering how he was going to handle the complete and utter upheaval of his life. Ever since he'd met Scully, whenever his professional and personal life had been ground up and churned out (which had happened more times than he could count), he made it through the torture and escaped more or less intact. That was Scully's doing, anchoring him, keeping him from hurtling wildly into the stratosphere of madness. Now, suddenly, his professional and personal lives were chugging along smoothly enough, but his anchor was far away. Still within reach, thank God, e-mail and cellular phones. But too damned far away. Until now. He turned into the parking lot of his brownstone apartment building. A shiny new rental car was parked three slots down, and he knew it was hers. He raced up the stairs to his third floor apartment and pushed open the door. Scully lay stretched out on his couch, talking on the phone. She waggled her fingers at him as he closed the door behind him. "Yeah, he's here now. Just walked in." Mulder shrugged off his overcoat and tossed it toward the wooden coat tree by the door. It hooked on the first try. "Who's on the phone?" he asked softly. Samantha, she mouthed silently, then spoke into the phone. "Yeah, don't worry. I have ways of making him bend to my will." He arched his eyebrows, and she gave him one of her patented Scully smiles. His stomach curled up in a hot little knot at the familiar sight. God, he'd missed her. "We'll see you in about an hour. Bye." She hung up the phone and sat up. "You're home earlier than I expected." "Time off for good behavior." He loosened his tie and looked down at her. Gone was the tailored pearl-gray suit and sensible black pumps. Scully had changed clothes, donning a pair of faded denim jeans and a body-hugging long- sleeved black t-shirt. Her face was scrubbed and free of make-up, her copper-fire hair was mussed, and her small white feet were bare. In six years of knowing Scully, he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he'd seen her look this relaxed. That fact probably saved their partnership, because this Dana Scully was T-R-O-U-B-L-E. He looked down at his tie, where his faltering fingers were taking way too long to unravel the Windsor knot. "Hmm, no unrecognizable smells wafting in from the kitchen. What, you couldn't find the Spaghetti-O's?" "We're meeting Samantha and Preston for dinner. At a pool hall on Bennett Street. She said you'd know it." He did. Samantha was almost obsessed with playing pool. She loved the challenge to her mathematical mind, gauging all the elements of space, time, gravity and trigonometry to create the perfect bank shot. He grinned at the thought. He bet Scully, with her undergraduate degree in physics, was hell on wheels in a pool hall, too. "So you're finally going to meet Thurston Howell the Third." "Preston Powell, Jr.," she corrected with a chuckle. "Mulder, you're worse than my brothers, and I didn't think that was possible." "I don't believe you have brothers, Scully. I've never seen them, except in photos. And those can be faked." She looked down her nose at him, bringing back a hundred warm memories with that one little expression. "Must be an X-File." "Get your shoes on, Scully. The pool hall's within walking distance. I'm going to change and we'll go." She knelt on the couch and leaned toward him, sea-blue eyes teasing, as he walked past. "Don't change too much, Mulder." Yep. Trouble with a capital "T" he thought, escaping to the bedroom. * * * * * The pool hall was little more than a hole in the wall, decorated in garish colors and filled with people and noise. Coming in from the November cold, Scully felt as if she were walking into a wall of sheer heat. She unzipped the brown bomber jacket her brother Bill had sent her for her birthday last February and flapped the edges to let in some air. "Whoo! Turn down the heat!" she muttered. Mulder glanced at her. "The sweaty atmosphere is part of the charm." "Are we early?" Scully glanced around, looking for Mulder's dark-haired younger sister. It took a double take to recognize her. "My God, Mulder, is that Samantha?" Mulder nodded. "She looks great, doesn't she?" Scully shook her head in disbelief. Though she and Mulder's sister talked often on the phone or over the Internet, she'd met Samantha face to face only briefly, just over eight months ago. Samantha had emerged from a burning warehouse in Baltimore with no memory of how she'd gotten there or or what had happened during the six weeks she'd been missing from her life as another woman. She knew only that her real name was Samantha Mulder, she had a brother named Fox, that she had lived in Chilmark, Massachusetts. She remembered small snatches of events from the night she disappeared over twenty five years earlier, then nothing for three years until she awoke in a South Carolina hospital with full amnesia at the age of eleven. Her adoptive parents had given her the name Sarah Chandler. Once she'd recovered from the smoke inhalation after the Baltimore fire back in late February, Mulder had taken her and their mother back to Massachusetts for a period of readjustment. Scully hadn't seen Samantha since, but she still remembered how she'd looked, lying in a narrow bed at Johns Hopkins Medical Center. That woman had been pale, haunted, thin. The woman bent over the pool table in the corner absolutely sparkled with health and happiness. Scully felt a little niggle of envy. After all Samantha had been through, after all the lost time-- Maybe I can find that kind of peace, too-- Samantha glanced up and grinned, looking for all the world just like her big brother Fox. Scully's breath caught in her throat. Mulder waved and pressed his hand against Scully's back, urging her forward. Samantha propped her pool cue against the table and murmured something to a tall, handsome man with dark hair and laughing green eyes. Preston Powell, Jr., Scully guessed. "Dana!" Samantha launched herself at Scully, catching her by surprise. But Scully recovered quickly, hugging Mulder's sister with a surge of affection. She was a female version of Mulder, Scully thought, all puppy-dog eyes and a winsome smile. "Fox, how are you?" The green-eyed man held out his hand. Scully glanced up to see how Mulder would react to his sister's boyfriend calling him by his first name. Mulder cut his eyes back at her, flashing her a look that told her he was grimacing inside, but he shook Preston's hand and made a polite reply. "Preston, this is my part--" He stopped, glancing at Scully again, a pained expression in his eyes. Her heart squeezed in her chest. She took a deep breath and held out her hand. "Dana Scully. Mulder and I used to work together in D.C." "I've heard all about you, Dr. Scully." "Please, call me Dana." "Let's grab a booth," Samantha suggested. "I'm starving!" As Scully and Mulder followed Samantha and Preston toward a corner booth, Mulder bent his head close to Scully's. "'Please, call me Dana,'" he mimicked. She rolled her eyes at him, and his mouth twitched. The booth was small and tucked away from the pool hall crowd. Mulder took the seat by the window. Scully scooted in next to him. "So, Dana, Samantha and Fox tell me you're a forensic pathologist?" She smiled at Preston, a little disconcerted that he wanted to talk about her line of work while they were thinking about ordering dinner. "Yeah. That's what I do." Mulder leaned forward slightly. "They don't call her the enigmatic Dr. Scully for nothing." She nudged his ribs with her elbow, then looked up at Preston. "Samantha tells me you're an tax law professor at Harvard? One of my best friends is in tax law." She glanced at Mulder, a faint smile curving her lips. "You remember Lorna, don't you?" Mulder made a little face. "Uh huh." "Tax law must be pretty boring compared to what you and Fox do all day," Preston commented. "Oh, I don't know. I've seen some tax forms that could qualify as federal crimes," Mulder murmured. Preston laughed. "Might even classify them as X-Files, eh, Fox?" Scully stiffened, waiting for Mulder to bristle as usual. But her ex-partner merely smiled. "If the X-Files were still open." Samantha lifted her water glass. "To the X-Files." "Gone but not forgotten," Mulder intoned, clinking his glass against his sister's. Scully looked down at her hands, suddenly feeling like an outsider. Mulder could treat the X-Files lightly now. He'd found what he'd always been looking for--his sister. She'd always known that was his driving force, after all. In his motel room in Oregon, on their very first case, Mulder had told her all about what kept him searching for the truth against all odds. About the bright light and the presence in the room. No big secret, Scully, she thought, rubbing her finger against a little nick in the wooden booth table. You always knew that the X-Files were about Samantha. Not about you, not about your partnership and friendship, not even really about the truth. "Scully?" She looked up at the sound of his voice. "Hmm?" "You didn't toast the X-Files with us." She looked away. "No, I didn't." A thick silence hovered around the booth. Great, Scully thought. Way to go, Dana. Make everybody miserable, why don't you? "Looks like somebody's about to claim your table, Sam." Mulder interrupted the silence, nodding toward the pool table in the corner. Samantha's hazel eyes widened and she shoved Preston out of the booth. "Order us a couple of burgers and fries. Labatt for Preston, I.C.B. Rootbeer for me." They hurried over to the pool table before the couple who were eying their pool cues could make a move. Scully felt even worse. Mulder had just given his sister a signal to get lost so he could talk to Scully. "I'm sorry." It took a second for her to realize that he'd just said the same thing. "It's my fault," she assured him. "I just--there are so many questions we never got to answer. But I'm glad for you, Mulder. Samantha's back, and I can see you finally have a sense of peace--" "You still have the nightmares, don't you, Scully?" His hazel eyes were too intense for comfort. She looked away. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. "What difference would it make? You can't hold my hand for the rest of my life." She took a sip of water. He closed his hand over hers. "I could try." Mulder like this made her want to cry. So sweet and hesitant, like a little boy. She could imagine him with Samantha as a child, half the irritating, know-it-all big brother she knew he must have been, half the gentle, sensitive soul she knew he would always be. She squeezed his hand. "Your arms are long, Mulder, but they're not 400 miles long." "I wish they were." He slipped his arm around her and held her close for a moment. She rested her head against his shoulder. "That's what phones are for, Mulder." She moved away from his touch and flapped her coat again. "Whew, it's really hot in here." "Take off your jacket." She scooted out of the booth and shrugged off the bomber jacket, then slid in the other side of the booth, so she could face him. He leaned forward, and so did she. "Where are you hiding your gun, Scully?" He gestured toward her tight-fitting t-shirt. She smiled. "Purse, Mulder. Where's yours?" "If there were just a dance floor in this place, I'd let you take a guess for yourself." He flashed her his harmless leer, one she'd grown rather fond of over the years. What would he do if she took him up on it? God knows the temptation was almost more than she could bear. She forced herself to change the subject. "I really liked Kelvin Thacker. Mulder nodded. "Yeah, I think he's going to work out. Knows when to keep his mouth shut." She arched one eyebrow. "So that's what made me a good partner?" He shook his head. "No. The secret to your success, Scully, was that you knew when to let me fly and when to haul me back down to earth." He reached across the table and squeezed her hands. "I don't think I'm ever going to find a partner like that again." She knew the feeling. She herself had lost much of her passion for her work, now that Mulder wasn't there to keep things fresh and turned upside down. He'd learned quickly when it was right to push her toward the fantastic and when it was safer to back away. And she knew she'd never find that kind of partner again. He released her hands and sat back. "I'm going to reapply for assignment to D.C. next month. I figure it'll take another six months to process my application. Maybe if I'm a very good boy and eat all my peas, they'll let me come back." He flashed her the lazy grin she missed so badly. She was afraid to hope for that. Despite the recent elections of several sympathetic Congressmen and the fact that Richard Matheson had now been President for two years, she knew there were higher powers than the president and Congress--powers that had separated them and wouldn't gladly allow them back together again any time soon. A transfer back to D.C. wouldn't make them partners again, but anyone who knew them at all would know they would find a way to work with each other. Mulder had found ways to include her in his investigations the first time they were separated. The flukeman case, the sleep eradication case, the sniper in the college bell tower... Duane Barry... She sighed softly. "What is it?" Mulder asked. She shook her head. "Just thinking about how much we went through to find out what was going on, and there's still so much out there we don't know." He nodded. "I still keep looking, you know." "So do I." "We don't have to have the Bureau's support to seek the truth, Scully. It's not the property of the government." "Maybe you should let it go, Mulder." He seemed thrown by her statement. "Let it go?" "You've found Samantha. You can let go." "It wasn't all about Samantha, Scully. You know that." "Samantha's what started it, Mulder. So for you, it can finally be over." "But not for you." She wouldn't lie to him. "No. Not for me." "Sometimes I wonder if I'd done things differently--" She squeezed his hands. "No, Mulder, don't think that way. When I saw Samantha coming out of that warehouse--when I saw in your eyes that it really was her--" She took a deep breath. "It was worth all of it. All of it except--" Her voice faltered. "Melissa." She nodded. "And your father. My biggest regret is that we never caught Krycek." "I haven't stopped looking for him, either." Her smile was grim. "Neither have I." "I talked to your mom yesterday, did she tell you?" Scully shook her head. "Mom's protective of your private times." "You're lucky to have her, you know." "I know." "We got to talking about the old times, back when you were gone. We haven't done much of that, you know. I don't think either of us has been very anxious to relive all of that." She covered his hands with hers. He turned his hands palm up to return the pressure and continued. "Your mom and I were sharing memories about the time you were in the hospital in a coma, and we didn't think you were going to make it. You know, I never told you, and I don't know if Melissa did, but your sister helped me make it through a really dark time." Scully tensed, suddenly wondering what else she might have missed while she was in a coma. The way he talked about Melissa--the affection in his voice-- "She reminded me that I'd never really told you how important you were to me. To the work I was doing and what we were trying to accomplish. And there are other things I've never told you about Melissa and me. About the night she came to my apartment, the night before you regained consciousness." Scully blinked, both terrified and eager to hear what he was about to say. She'd gone over all her old memories of Melissa so many times, she could call them up and replay them at will. She was eager to learn something new, something she'd never known. And scared as hell to find out what part Mulder had played in it. "X had met me in the parking deck at the Bureau that night. He'd set it up so that the people who'd taken you would think I was going to be out of town. He'd planted something in my apartment, something he said they'd want. I was to wait in my apartment for them to arrive and then defend myself. With 'terminal intensity.'" Scully could tell by the tone of Mulder's voice that his last words were a direct quote from X. Her stomach curled into a knot of dread. "What happened?" "I was there. At my apartment. Waiting. They were supposed to be there at 8:17. Around 7:30, Melissa knocked on my door." That was so Melissa, Scully thought. Queen of bad timing. Or, in this case, maybe good timing. "She told me you were weakening. She wanted me to come to the hospital to see you. To tell you goodbye." He stumbled over the word, and his grip on her hands tightened momentarily. "I told her I couldn't come." "But--" He nodded. "I know. I came. Thanks to Melissa. She made me realize I was being a selfish, stupid ass for running around trying to avenge your death when you weren't even dead yet, when I should be there telling you how I felt. Even if you didn't come back to us, she said, at least you'd know how much you meant to me." He smiled suddenly. "What?" she asked when he didn't continue. "She also said that I'd know, too. How much you meant to me. She was right." Scully smiled, though her eyes burned with unshed tears. "So you came to see me." He nodded. I guess I have something else to thank Missy for when we meet again, Scully thought. * * * * * After they finished eating, Samantha and Scully went to play a game of pool. Preston and Mulder stayed at the table for a while, watching the women from a distance. "I like your Scully." Preston took a sip from his mug, his green eyes on Mulder's face. Mulder smiled into his glass of tea. My Scully, he thought. "Yeah, Scully's a hell of a woman." "I didn't know what to expect. Samantha thinks the world of her, of course, but I've heard stories from others--" "From whom?" Mulder lowered his glass of tea. "Well, an old college acquaintance I ran into a few weeks ago, for one. A fellow agent of yours. Tom Colton." Mulder grimaced. "Colton's an ass." The little jerk had royally screwed up an X-Files investigation and almost cost Scully her life, all because of his obsession with climbing the F.B.I. ladder. "Lydia Chamberlain said the same basic thing about Dana," Preston added. He could guess what that was. "What basic thing?" "That she's a cold fish. Hard as nails, cold as ice. I can see it's not true, of course." Preston looked uncomfortable. "I just wonder--" "How they could get such an impression?" Mulder stirred the ice cubes in his tea with his straw. "Scully's a true professional. If she were a man, she'd be called tough and no-nonsense. But because she's a woman, she's called cold. Hard." He clenched his jaw. "Well, if you have any doubts, Powell, let me relieve them for you. Dana Scully has a big, soft heart, a mind that's probably better honed than yours and mine combined, and she's got the touch of an angel or a linebacker, depending on the demands of the circumstances. Those hands--" He waved toward the pool table, where Scully was lining up a shot. "Those hands have bound my wounds, brought me back from death, comforted me, compelled me, restrained me, and once, even shot me." Preston's eyebrows rose, and Mulder grinned. "For my own good," he added. "In the beginning, Scully was sent to put an end to my work. Even she knows that, though I doubt she'll admit it. But in the end, Scully was all that stood between me and failure. Between me and death. I owe her everything." He looked down at the rich red-brown liquid in his glass, suddenly embarrassed by how much he'd just revealed to this man who was systematically taking his sister away from him all over again. He wondered when he had stopped being so tight-lipped, so paranoid. Preston took another sip of Labatt. "I've heard that law enforcement partners can be closer than family. Closer than spouses." Mulder didn't dare answer. "Hmm, looks like Dana's winning." Preston nodded toward the pool table. Mulder looked where he indicated. Samantha stood at one end, arms folded, watching Scully shoot. A little frown creased his sister's face. Mulder recognized the look-- Samantha had always taken games so seriously. Of course, so had he--and taken huge glee in beating her. "Shall we go take sides?" Preston slipped out of the booth and headed for the pool table. Mulder followed. Samantha walked over to stand between them. "I thought she was the queen of logic," she murmured to Mulder. Mulder glanced at his sister, then back at Scully, who was on the other side of the pool table, facing them. She was bent at the waist, her face almost level with the cue ball. Her blue eyes darted back and forth from the white ball to the purple ball at the other end of the table. To put that ball in the corner pocket, Mulder saw, she'd have to make a hell of a bank shot. Eyes still tracing the angles from the cue ball to the purple ball, Scully eased back and positioned her cue stick. She began to move the tip of the stick across her index finger, setting a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm. Then, she did something unexpected. She closed her eyes. Mulder watched, fascinated, as she continued to weave the cue stick back and forth in front of the ball, her eyes closed, her face tight with concentration. Then, like a snake striking, she jabbed the cue stick forward. The cue ball spun and banked, rebounding in a straight line for the purple ball. They struck with a "crack" and the purple ball rolled into the corner pocket. "I'll be damned," Preston murmured. Scully opened her eyes slowly. A little smile flitted across her face as she saw Mulder watching her. Her next shot was more complicated. She followed the same strange ritual, but this time she missed--though not by much. Samantha breathed a little sigh of relief. "Thought I'd never get to shoot again." She approached the table, and Scully crossed to greet Mulder and Preston. "Nice shootin', Tex," Preston said. He went around to stand near Samantha. Mulder just looked at her, not saying anything. She looked back, a little twinkle of amusement in her eye. "What?" "That was downright--" "Spooky?" She leaned toward him. "Do you think I'm spooky?" Touche, Mulder thought. "I assume, if you're still you, that there's some sort of logical, scientific explanation for what I just saw." "Of course." "Care to share?" he asked when she didn't explain further. "I'll do better. I'll show you. After this game is over." Samantha had just missed a shot, so Scully returned to the table. She made quick work of the last three shots, dispatching the eight ball with amazing ease, considering the tricky angle. Samantha sighed and handed her cue stick to Mulder. "See if you can do any better." She and Preston headed back toward the table. "Okay, so spill, Scully. What's with the little trance?" Scully chuckled. "Actually, it's a Melissa thing. Sort of." She took his hand and drew him over to the table. "We grew up playing pool. It's a military base rec hall tradition. And, well, you know Missy. One day she came up with this--thing she did. I guess some people would call it visualization. In her mind, she saw the ball go into the pocket--then made it happen for real. Sometimes it didn't work, but mostly it did. Making her very unpopular with my brothers--and me." Scully racked up the balls and removed the triangular rack. "But she couldn't keep a secret worth a damn, especially if I gave her one of my pitiful little sister looks." "I know the one you're talking about." Mulder smiled. She chuckled. "She told me what she was doing. How she looked at the balls, how they lay on the table, and then how she'd close her eyes and see herself hitting the ball into the pocket. Then, with her eyes still closed, she'd do it for real. With amazing success." "So you tried this visualization? You? My favorite little skeptic?" "Mulder, try it." She took the first shot, scattering the tight triangular cluster of pool balls across the green felt table top. "There's your shot--not too hard. Four ball in the side pocket." Mulder bent over the cue stick and gauged the shot. "What am I supposed to do?" "You see the cue ball. You see the four ball. You see the side pocket, and you see the angle needed to propel the ball into the pocket. This should be easy for a guy with a memory like yours." "Okay, I've got it. Now what?" She moved in behind him, resting her hands lightly on his hips. "Now, relax." Impossible, Mulder thought, deeply aware of the pressure of her fingers. "Line up your shot the way you think you should make it based on what you see." He shifted the pool cue and readied himself for the shot. "Now, close your eyes, and visualize the scene in front of you. Remember what it looked like, what the angles were, what the distances were. Can you see it?" He nodded. "Make any adjustments you think are necessary in the position of your stick." There was a double entendre waiting to be made there somewhere, but Mulder was too mesmerized to do it. He shifted the stick a fraction of an inch to the right. "Okay." Her voice was little more than a whisper. "Now, shoot." He obeyed, keeping his eyes shut. There was a satisfying "crack." He opened his eyes in time to see the four ball skitter into the side pocket. He felt a surge of excitement, and turned to stare at Scully. Her blue eyes danced with suppressed laughter. "Oh, Mulder, there's nothing paranormal about it. All you're doing by shutting your eyes is allowing your cognitive mind to take over, without any external distractions to alter the concrete laws of physics. You set the distances and angles in your mind, almost like feeding data into a computer. Then, you sit back and let your mind do its work." "And Melissa taught you this?" "She gave me the idea. I was the one who figured out the physics tie-in. Which is how I became the terror of the Annapolis Recreation Center." She smiled. "I paid for my first car with my pool winnings. To this day my mother thinks I earned it by mopping the rec center floors after school." He grinned. "Your secret's safe with me." "It's still your shot." He shook his head and handed her the pool cue. "You're the physics undergrad. I'm a psychologist. I can't figure out angles as well as you, although I can probably help you work through performance anxiety should the need arise." She propped the pool cues against the table. "Chicken." He held out his hand. "Let's blow this honky-tonk, Scully. Looks like it might snow, and you know how I love a little stroll in the snow." "Yeah. Right." She tossed him another "cut the crap, Mulder," look, just as he'd hoped. They made their goodbyes to Samantha and Preston and walked out into the brisk November air. The clouds were low and thick over the horizon, and the first few snowflakes had begun to float down, melting when they hit the pavement. But the temperature was below freezing, and Mulder knew the snow would start sticking soon. Maybe we'll get snowed in, he thought. It wouldn't be the first time. Still, it was scary what a tempting thought that was, even after all these years. He'd always found Scully attractive, even in the very early days when she had tried so hard to be the consummate professional, and he'd been sure she was a spy sent to ensure his downfall and the demise of the X-Files. Then, as she proved her loyalty and honor time and again, he'd been unable to hide behind his distrust. As recently as eight months ago, he'd come close to pursuing a very unprofessional relationship with his partner. But circumstances had intervened, and the time had passed. Maybe that was for the best. As it stood, his friendship with Scully was the most personally satisfying relationship he'd ever had--ever hoped to have. He would always find her attractive, always wonder what might have been if circumstances were different, but he would never again risk losing her. Not to appease his curiosity--or his hormones. * * * * * Scully awoke Saturday morning to impossibly bright light pouring in the windows of her bedroom. Wait. Not her bedroom. She was in Boston. At Mulder's. She rolled up to a sitting position and rubbed her eyes. Her travel alarm clock sat on the small walnut bedside table, but she'd failed to set it. The glowing red numbers showed 8:30 a.m. She'd slept in--for her, at least. She stretched and got out of bed, padding barefoot across the cold hardwood floor to the window. Outside, snow covered everything but the road, which was speckled by grayish slush where the snow had been marred by traffic. Though clouds still obscured the sun, the snow was blinding, making her squint. She shivered and pulled on her terrycloth robe. Through her closed door she could hear soft sounds. A radio or a television? She opened the door and walked down the hall to the living room. Mulder sat on the couch, eating cold cereal and watching a Bugs Bunny cartoon, his sock-clad feet propped up on the nicked coffee table in front of the sofa. He flashed her a grin and took another bite of cereal. She couldn't resist the urge to ruffle his already unkempt hair. "Captain Crunch?" "Sugar Bombs." He held up the bowl. "Wanna bite?" "Pass. Got anything else?" "Bagels. No promises about how fresh they are--" "I'll take my chances." She found a bag of blueberry bagels in the refrigerator and took one out. She toasted it in the small toaster oven on the counter and took it back to the living room along with a glass of milk. Mulder patted the sofa cushion next to him, and she sat down. A new cartoon was coming on. "Mmm, Pepe LePew!" She took a bite of the bagel. On screen, the animated skunk had cornered a chihuahua wearing a black and white striped fur coat. "You are the aroma of spring flowers that bloom in the spring!" he declared in his Charles Boyer accent. "Oh, check this out..." She waved toward the television. The panting chihuahua lurked behind a tree, carrying a large stick, waiting to waylay Pepe. Then, boom! She whacked him and ran. Pepe lingered, animated stars swirling around his head. He looked into the camera--well, where the camera would have been had there been a camera--and murmured, "Coquette!" Scully laughed aloud. "I love that line!" "I've used that one myself." Mulder scooped up another spoonful of cereal. "You have had more than your share of conks on the head." "I'm on the Aetna Life and Casualty hit list." She smiled. "Been there. Done that. So, do you have to work today?" "Nope." "We're just going to sit here and watch cartoons?" "We could go outside and have a snowball fight." She shivered. "No, thank you." "We could make out here on the couch like teenagers." She gave him her patented Scully look. He grinned. "Or not." She should have called him on that, she thought. Now that they weren't partners, she could afford to relax some of the barriers. Not that she really thought he'd try anything with her. Not now. Still...her curiosity nagged her. What would have happened if she said okay? Would he have blushed and stammered? Or would he have started groping her like a kid on the prom date of his life? And, perhaps the more important question was, what would she have done if he'd taken the dare? The answer hovered in the back of her mind, daring her to bring it out to the open. But she didn't, quickly slamming the door on the thought. Not all that long ago she'd come to the conclusion that what she and Mulder had was too special to risk. They were two halves of a whole, and they'd gotten there without falling into bed or declaring undying love or all those things people had been assuming about them for six years. It wasn't that she didn't find Mulder attractive. She did. God knows she did. Sometimes all her inner resources had to go toward keeping her mind off Mulder's lean body, sensuous mouth and sexy bedroom eyes. But in the end, the thing that existed between them, the thing that she cherished most, transcended anything physical or mental. She and Mulder shared an almost spiritual connection, one that she'd protect against any foe, including the weakness of her own body. * * * * * After cartoons, they watched football. One game after the other. Mulder usually couldn't stand keeping still that long, but somehow with Scully there on the couch with him, he was loath to move. She was such a steadying influence in his life, almost like some sort of drug that kept him from plunging into madness. Even when she wasn't here with him, he heard her voice in his head, warning him of dangers, quietly questioning his more off the wall theories, helping him stay focused and on track. He never liked to think about what his life would be like had she not walked into his office six years earlier. Truth was, he knew he wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for her. Around 1:00 he opened the can of Spaghetti-Os and they shared it for lunch while watching Florida State beat Florida on a last minute field goal. After that, they watched the Alabama vs. Auburn game. "Scully, did you know that many people in Alabama believe that Coach Paul 'Bear' Bryant's ghost haunts the end zones at Legion Field in Birmingham, where the so-called "Iron Bowl" used to be played between Alabama and Auburn every year?" He sounded like he was reciting another X-File, he realized. He couldn't stifle a grin. "Why yes, Mulder. Yes, I do." She quirked one eyebrow at him. "But you're not convinced?" he asked, anticipating her upcoming diatribe with barely hidden glee. She shook her head. "Mulder, Paul Bryant is widely held to be one of the top college football coaches ever to step on the field. He had an amazing record of wins that has never been equalled in Division I-A history. He won his last game before his retirement, and by all accounts, his death was a peaceful one. Even if I believed in the existence of ghosts, I doubt that Bryant had any sort of unfinished goal that would keep him from passing quietly into the afterlife." Mulder smiled, well pleased with her comeback. "Maybe he just comes back for the great barbecue." Her expression softened a little. "Maybe." He wondered if she was thinking what he was thinking-- remembering a little jaunt to beef country--specifically a barbecue joint where he and Scully had gotten down and dirty with some ribs. She'd looked so cute with that sauce dribbling down her chin that he'd forgotten his strict "hands-off" policy and wiped her mouth for her. He'd wondered then if Scully ever thought of him as something more than her partner and best friend. He'd thought she might, once. Just before they found Samantha, he and she both had contemplated the possibilities of deepening their friendship. Though they had never made that final move toward each other, Mulder still wondered if she ever watched him while he wasn't looking (the way he had watched her) and thought, what if? He thought about what ifs. Especially now that she was so far away. What if I'd kissed away the barbecue sauce like I really wanted to do? What if he turned and kissed her right now? She was so close. All he had to do was turn his head, bend a few inches, and-- A burring sound made him jump. "Yours or mine?" Scully asked, reaching into the pocket of her robe and pulling out her phone. "Mine." She turned it on and answered. Another burring sound came from the counter in the kitchen. Mulder went to answer his own cellular phone. "Mulder." "We've got another body, Mulder." Thacker's voice was tense. "Looks like the same thing as before. They're taking her to the morgue at Boston General. I'm at the office, pulling all our files on the previous case." "Damn. Okay, I'll meet you there." He turned off the phone and looked across at Scully. Her face was tense. "Guess you heard about the new body?" she asked. He nodded. While she showered, he dressed and straightened the mess they'd made in their couch potato mode, then dressed himself. Soon she emerged from the spare bedroom, neatly dressed in a black trouser suit, her hair towelled dry and shining like copper. She had packed her overnight bag and carried it out. "If things go like they have before, I'll be at the morgue all night. I'll probably have to catch a nap there at the hospital." Her eyes spoke her regrets. "And my flight back to D.C. leaves tomorrow at noon." "I'll probably be working late, too." He took the bag from her. "Come on, I'll walk you to your car." He put her bag in the trunk and went around to the driver's side of the car to give her the keys. She unlocked the door but didn't open it, turning to look at him. "Mulder, this weekend--" He touched his fingers to her lips, hushing her. "I know." "I'll call before I catch the plane back." "You'd better." She surprised him by hurling herself against him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. He felt her nose nuzzle his collarbone, and his insides melted into a puddle. He stroked her hair, not trusting himself to speak. Then she pulled away, looking down as she straightened her jacket. "I'll call," she repeated. She opened the door and slid behind the steering wheel. He watched her drive away, then walked to his car. As he cranked the engine, he ejected the tape in the player so he could check what the news reports might be saying about the new body. The radio was tuned to a soft rock station, surprising him until he remembered that the last time he'd listened to the radio, Samantha had been in the car, station surfing like a teenager. He was about to change the station when he heard the words of the song playing. "Please come to Boston for the Springtime..." He thought about Scully and smiled. Spring wasn't that far away. End of #3 Disclaimer: All characters seen or mentioned on the X-FILES belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Production, FOX networks, DD, GA, etc. and are used without permission. AIR OF DECEMBER by Edie Brickell also used without permission. And Shakespeare's Sonnet #98 is also used herein--but since there's extensive scholarly disagreement about WHO Shakespeare really was and what works he really wrote, I don't think it's possible to infringe on his rights. The characters of Eleanore Brennan and Preston Powell Jr. belong to me, and if I had as much money as Preston does, somebody might want to sue me for this...but since I don't... This is part 4 of a 12 part series, a sequel to TWELVE RITES OF PASSAGE. If you haven't read that story, you may want to read it first. No sex...yet. TWELVE DEGREES OF SEPARATION No. 4: December Air of December by Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com Margaret Scully re-read the Christmas cards from her sons, torn as always between pride and sadness. They were both so like their father, strong and honorable men dedicated to the defense and preservation of their country. They loved their wives and children, hating yet not shirking the sacrifices they had to make to serve the Unites States Navy. Sacrifices that precluded their attendance at family functions. They'd made it to their father's funeral and Melissa's. They hadn't made it to Dana's bedside when she was so ill, although they'd have made it to her funeral if that had come to pass like everyone had feared. Everyone but Fox, she amended with a small smile, straightening the family photos on the mantle. Her other son, as she always thought of him. He alone had faith that Dana would come back to them. And she had. Dana emerged from the kitchen, her sea-foam green sweater and faded jeans covered by a large chef's apron. Baking powder covered her hands and dusted her nose. "Did I hear a knock on the door?" Margaret stifled a smile. "I was just straightening some pictures." "Oh." Dana's slight smile faded and she went back into the kitchen. Margaret watched her go, her smile widening. Her daughter prided herself on being hard to read, but she couldn't fool her mother. Dana was eager to see Fox again. She'd visited him in Boston while she was there working on a case, but that had been over a month ago. Too many long, lonely days and nights had passed since then. And the real beauty of the situation was that Fox couldn't wait to see Dana, either. Margaret could hear the longing in his voice every time he called to check in with her. Through the casual conversations about his work and his family, she could hear the deep undertone of loneliness. It hadn't taken any effort to talk him into bringing his sister and his mother to Washington to spend the Christmas holidays with her and Dana. Fox and his mother should be there any minute. Samantha and her boyfriend were due to arrive later that afternoon, stay through Christmas morning, then drive down to Charleston to visit with Preston's parents. Margaret had never met Fox's mother, but she'd seen Samantha once, several months ago when the young woman had first come back into Fox's life. Margaret's heart had broken when she walked into the hospital room to find Fox silently weeping at his sister's bedside, watching her sleep, his hand on her arm as if to make sure she was really there. Dana had been there, sitting quietly in the corner, watching Fox through eyes bright with unshed tears. This time, there really was a knock on the door, and Margaret answered it. Fox stood on the porch, his hand on the shoulder of a tall, silver-haired woman who looked just like him. Margaret smiled and gestured for them to come in. "You must be Fox's mother. I'm Margaret Scully. It's so wonderful to finally meet you." Caroline Mulder's smile was genuine but wary. "Mrs. Scully, it's a pleasure to meet you, too. Fox has spoken of you many times." Margaret knew a good deal about the tragedies Caroline Mulder had experienced in her life, ordeals that had strained her relationship with her only son. Margaret immediately recognized that Caroline was intimidated by Fox's obvious affection for herself. She hoped to able to put the woman at ease. "Please, call me Maggie. Everyone does. Fox, it's so good to see you!" She hugged him, pleased when he warmly returned the embrace. "Same here, Mrs. Scully." Margaret just smiled at his formality. Since he called Dana "Scully," she had long since concluded that "Mrs. Scully" was a Fox Mulder term of endearment. "Where do I put these?" Fox carried a large bag filled to the brim with wrapped presents. Margaret waved toward the tall Christmas tree in front of the window in the living room. "Has it been that long since Santa came to visit you, Fox?" He grinned and carried the presents over to the tree. "You're here!" Dana emerged from the kitchen, wearing even more baking powder than before. Fox looked up immediately at the sound of her voice. "If it isn't Casper the Friendly Ghost!" Dana tried to dust the flour from her face, succeeding only in adding more. "I'm making cookies." She blushed a little beneath the flour as she looked up at Caroline Mulder. "Hi, Mrs. Mulder. Merry Christmas." "Merry Christmas, Dana." Caroline turned to Margaret. "Is there anything I can do to help? I cook a mean apple pie." "She does, " Fox said with a nod. But he only had eyes for Dana, Margaret noted with hidden pleasure. "Why don't you go wash up, honey, and let Caroline and me handle things in the kitchen?" Margaret reached behind her daughter's back and untied the apron. Dana didn't protest--not that Margaret expected her to. She watched with satisfaction as Fox followed Dana down the hall to the bathroom. "He's a different person these days," Caroline commented as they walked into the kitchen. "I believe I may owe that to you and your daughter." "He's a good man, Caroline. I think that has something to do with you." "I'd like to see him happy." Caroline chuckled ruefully. "I've almost given up on getting any grandchildren from him, though." Margaret patted her arm and handed her another apron. "He's still young." Caroline nodded, her hazel eyes sharp. "So is Dana." Ah, an ally, Margaret thought, smiling again as she donned her own apron. * * * * * Mulder leaned against the bathroom sink, watching Scully wash flour dust away from her face. Without make-up, she looked about eighteen, fresh-faced and freckled. She made him remember high school and all those tempting young co-eds who'd kindled his interest in the opposite sex. Funny he'd never really thought about it before, but Scully was exactly the kind of female he'd gone for back then--cerebral, relatively unconcerned with her looks, not afraid to stand up for herself. He sort of wished he'd met her back then. Maybe she'd have spared him a lot of heartache. "Missed a spot." He took the washcloth from her and wiped a patch of flour from the side of her neck. She glanced at him, a thoughtful look on her face for just a second. Then she lowered her eyes, taking the washcloth back. That look, he thought, remembering a barbecue joint in Wisconsin and a similar look. One of these days, if he ever got up the nerve, he was going to ask her what she was thinking when she gave him that look. "Before I left the office, I got a call from the Pittsburgh field office, asking about a strange death that sounds an awful lot like our friend the retrovirus." Scully nodded. "I got the same call. Told them to ship the body down to Quantico and I'd take a look at it sometime this weekend." "So you're going to have to work?" He tamped down a sense of disappointment. "Just a couple of hours. Wanna come?" "Mmm, exactly how I want to spend the holidays--you, me and a corpse in a cold autopsy room." "Is that a yes?" He nodded. "Wouldn't miss it." "The body should be there by tomorrow morning. Nothing like a Christmas autopsy to get you in the holiday mood." She tossed the washcloth in a hamper by the toilet. "But enough of that. How are you?" "Fine." "You haven't run off your new partner yet?" "No, I think Thacker's made the cut. We've been at it for well over a month, and we haven't killed each other yet." "And how does he look in a skirt?" "Pretty sad." Scully chuckled. "So what are we going to do all day? Cook turkey and watch soap operas?" he asked. "Actually, I need to go by my apartment and pick up a couple of things I forgot to pack. Wanna come?" She slipped off the counter and smiled up at him. "Hey, if I can stand an autopsy, I can stand a trip to your apartment." She led the way to her mother's kitchen. Margaret and Caroline were busy at the counter, finishing the batch of cookies Scully had started. "Mulder and I are going out for a little while. We'll be back in a couple of hours or so. If you need us, try our cell phones or call my apartment." She saw her mother and Mrs. Mulder exchange a brief, telling glance. Uh-oh, she thought. Mothers being mothers. She glanced at Mulder to see if he noticed, but he was looking at her mother's mantle, where photos of almost every Scully living or dead was displayed in one frame or another. "Mulder, I forgot something--wait for me in the car, okay?" He nodded. "Sure." Scully stifled a smile as he walked out the door. Then she ducked back into the bathroom and shut the door, making sure she wouldn't be overheard. She pulled out her cellular phone and dialed her home phone number. When she heard the answer, her smile broadened. "Okay, folks...it's show time." * * * * * "I thought we were going to your place." Mulder frowned as Scully took the turn toward the J. Edgar Hoover building. "We are, but I promised Skinner I'd bring you by when you got into town." Scully pulled into the parking garage and flashed her badge at the guard. He did a little double take as he caught sight of Mulder. His smile broadened and he gave a little wave. Mulder waved back automatically, then cut his eyes at Scully. "You promised Skinner? You see him much?" "We stay in touch. He comes by Quantico, or I'll drop by here. We have lunch sometimes." Mulder didn't like the sound of that, but he wouldn't let himself speculate why. After all, Skinner had proved to be something of an ally over the years. Sometimes even a friend. He just hadn't realized that Scully and Skinner had become such GOOD friends. In the outer office of the Assistant Director's suite, Eleanore Brennan sat in front of her typewriter, fingers flying. As Mulder entered the room, she looked up, eyebrows lifting in surprise and a smile spreading over her face. "Agent Mulder!" "Thought I'd come give the A.D. a chance to chew my ass again for old times' sake. Call it my Christmas gift to him." Mulder winked. "Is he alone?" Eleanore sniffed the air. "Smells like it." Mulder glanced at Scully, who arched her eyebrows. "Don't let him know we're here. I'd like to surprise him." Eleanore smiled and pressed her finger against her lips. Mulder opened the door and strode in, Scully at his heels. Assistant Director Walter Skinner looked up in alarm. Then his brow smoothed and he managed a half smile. "Well, Agent Mulder, I can see that your time in Boston hasn't improved your understanding of Bureau procedure and protocol." Mulder shrugged. "They don't make any better sense up there than they do down here." Mimicking Eleanore's earlier action, he sniffed the air. "Hmm. The air's remarkably fresh these days." Skinner's lips curved slightly. Mulder couldn't tell if it was a smile or a grimace. "What's remarkable is how little traffic this office has seen since you went to Boston, Agent Mulder. The quiet is almost--spooky." Mulder chuckled and gestured toward one of the chairs in front of Skinner's desk. "May we?" Skinner waved at the chairs. "So, how long are you in town, Mulder?" "Through Sunday. I've got to be back at work on Monday. My mom and I are spending the holidays with the Scullys." "Yes, Dana told me." Mulder's spine stiffened. Dana? He glanced at his former partner. Her pale blue eyes met his, inscrutible as always. Then she looked back at Skinner. "Sir, my mother wondered if you'd like to join us tonight for our Christmas dinner? Unless you have other plans." Scully leaned slightly forward, a little smile crossing her porcelain features. Skinner appeared sincerely taken aback. "I wouldn't want to intrude on a family event--" "There's always an extra plate at the Scully table," Scully insisted. "That's because the Scullys persist in their delusion that there are two Scully sons," Mulder muttered. "Mind you, I've never seen a shred of irrefutable evidence--" "And since when has that deterred your belief in extreme possibilities?" Scully shot him an amused glare. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I've really missed you two." Skinner shook his head. "What time, Scully?" "Six-thirty, sir. And sir? Dress down. No ties allowed." Scully's half-smile lit up her face. Mulder watched the interchange, only partially soothed by the fact that Skinner hadn't called her "Dana" again. Things between his former partner and their former supervisor obviously had changed while he was in Boston, and Mulder didn't think he really cared much for it. He and Scully chatted with Skinner for a few minutes more, talking about everything and nothing. Then Eleanore buzzed through, informing Skinner that the Attorney General was on the phone. Skinner grimaced. "I have to take that. I suppose I'll see you tonight?" Not if I see you first, Mulder thought, definitely NOT liking the warmth in Skinner's eyes as he looked toward Scully. * * * * * "So what are we picking up?" Mulder leaned against the wall outside Scully's apartment as she unlocked her door. "Just some things I forgot." She pushed open the door and walked inside. And stopped in her tracks. They had truly outdone themselves, she thought, staring at her apartment. "What the hell---?" Mulder bumped into her. Her apartment was buried beneath the gaudiest, most garish Christmas decorations Scully had ever seen--and growing up a Scully, she'd seen some doozies. Red, silver and green garland draped across her ceiling, dripped down the walls, swallowed the mantle whole. A life-size cardboard Santa stood by the couch next to a life-sized plastic Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. At least 500 colored Christmas lights were flashing like the runway at Dulles on a foggy night. Her power bill was going to be enormous. "Ho, ho, ho, Mulder!" Frohike popped up from behind her kitchen counter, wearing an elf suit with a little green peaked cap. He held out a mug of something dark red and noxious looking. "Want some hooch?" Mulder leaned close to Scully. "Want me to call 911?" She shook her head. "Merry Christmas, Mulder. And if I ever do something this stupid again, just take out my gun and shoot me." Scully walked in small circle, looking at the horror the guys at THE LONE GUNMAN had created of her normally tidy, attractive apartment. She caught sight of Byers emerging from her hallway. "Byers? You promised to keep an eye on Frohike!" A sheepish look crossed Byers' face, half-hidden behind his neat beard. As always, he wore a conservative charcoal suit and subdued tie. His one concession to the festive occasion was a small tie tack shaped like a holly leaf. "Langly sent me out for egg nog, Agent Scully. I'm afraid I didn't think my actions through. I'll make sure your apartment is in the same immaculate condition in which we found it." "Where is Langly, anyway?" Mulder asked. "Sent him for more booze," Frohike said. Mulder bent and murmured in Scully's ear. "Um, Scully, did you actually let them have a key to your apartment?" She nodded, her stomach sinking. "Do we have to go over the 'Trust No One' rule again?" "I thought you changed it to 'Trust Everyone.'" Her attempt at humor fell flat in the face of her frightfully-decorated apartment. "I'll change the locks and fumigate tomorrow." "I think I'm hurt." Frohike took a long swig of whatever it was he had in his mug. "Say, Mulder, I heard you've come across that nasty retro-virus again." "Scully?" Mulder frowned. She shook her head. "They didn't hear it from me, Mulder. You know them--they probably know what Skinner wears to bed." "Gray and green striped pajama bottoms. No top," Frohike offered. Mulder gave an exaggerated shudder. "Please, it's Christmas! You're giving me nightmares!" "So how's Boston treating you, Mulder?" Byers asked. "Like a stepson." Mulder grinned. "Anything new at H.Q.?" Scully backed off and left Mulder talking with his friends, surreptitiously removing as many of the gaudy decorations as she could while Mulder and the guys weren't looking. A few minutes later, a soft knock on the door caught her attention. She looked through the peephole. It was Langly, bearing liquor. She sighed and opened the door. "You promised not to go overboard," she murmured as he walked in. His eyes were huge behind his thick black-rimmed glasses. "What, you don't like it?" She sighed. "Were five strings of lights really necessary?" He stared at her for a second. "Yes." She shook her head as he walked over to the small cluster of men standing by Scully's counter. How had her life gotten to this point? Spending Christmas Eve with the four most paranoid men in the world-- And loving every minute of it. Mulder turned his head and caught her eye. He looked so relaxed. Happy, even. It was a side of Mulder she seldom got to see, and it gave her immense pleasure to realize that she'd had a hand in his contentment. One smile from Mulder was well worth having her apartment turned into a Christmas nightmare. She dropped onto her couch and rested her head back against the cushions, listening idly to their rapid-fire exchanges of information and disinformation. "Agent Scully?" She looked up to find Byers standing in front of her. "I'm sorry about the mess." She shook her head. "I don't suppose it would be a LONE GUNMAN Christmas any other way." He gestured at the sofa cushion next to her. "May I?" She nodded. "Please." Byers' formality after all these years still struck her as rather endearing. Of the guys at THE LONE GUNMAN, Byers was secretly her favorite. Polite, well-dressed, intelligent, self-deprecating--he seemed the odd man out. But Scully knew he was the driving force behind THE LONE GUNMAN. She often wondered what had happened to bring him to a point where he distrusted everyone and everything. At a glance, he looked like an accountant or a banker--conservative suits, a simple gold band on his left hand telling her he was married (though she'd never heard him or the others mention his wife). He definitely didn't look like the head honcho of an anti-establishment underground publication that considered the CIA to be the "most heinous and evil force of the twentieth century." Of course, after her own experiences over the past few years, his ideas didn't seem nearly as "out there" as she'd always thought. "Mulder seems to be getting along all right," Byers commented. She nodded. "He gets to spend a lot of time with his sister." "We miss him, though." "Yeah. So do I." "The last time we exchanged e-mail, Mulder mentioned he was going to ask for a transfer back to Washington. Anything new on that front?" She didn't know. They hadn't talked about it since her visit to Boston. "He may be reconsidering. He's found a partner up there that he likes, and I think they're letting him pursue some outside interests as long as he keeps his official work first. Could be he prefers Boston." Her stomach burned as she said the words. "I still wonder why the X-Files were shut down practically on the eve of the Congressional elections." Byers rubbed his beard. "We've heard rumors that the Intelligence Committee chairman was hoping to curry favor with a certain shadow organization in order to ensure re-election." The Consortium, Scully thought. She'd met her share of those particularly loathsome movers and shakers. She wondered if the aforementioned former senator's failed re- election bid was because of the efforts of Consortium--or in spite of them? Frankly, she'd like to know. Because she had formed one virtually unshakable tenet over the past six and a half years. Any friend of the Consortium is no friend of mine. "I don't know why they shut the X-Files down when they did," she told Byers. "I do know, however, that both Mulder and I have felt less pressure since the elections. When we were reassigned, I was surprised by the quality of our assignments. I have a great deal of freedom in pursuing my investigations in my capacity as a medical examiner, and Mulder's ASAC seems to be giving him plenty of slack to look into, um, extreme possibilities." "Still, I imagine that you'd be more successful working together." Always, she thought. She'd been a better agent when she worked with Mulder. And she liked to think he was a better agent when he worked with her. "Hey, Scully, looky what I found!" Frohike bent over the couch, dangling a sprig of mistletoe over her head. "Lovely tradition, I always say." "Down, boy." Mulder snatched the mistletoe out of Frohike's hand. "What did I tell you about those lips of yours? Lethal weapons. You could hurt somebody." "But what a way to go!" Frohike leered at Scully. She sighed. He was utterly hopeless. She pushed herself off the couch and turned to look at him. A slow smile curving her lips, she crooked her finger. "Come here, elf boy." Frohike's eyes widened and he took a step back. Scully chuckled. "I knew you were all talk, Frohike." "No, wait--" She shook her head, holding up her hand to ward off his quick recovery. "Sorry. One chance only, and you blew yours." Mulder bent and murmured in Frohike's ear. "You snooze, you lose." Carrying the mistletoe by the red ribbon tied around its stalk, he crossed to Scully. "I think I'd better let you take charge of this, Scully. No need to take any more scary chances." She tied the ribbon around her wrist like a bracelet. "So, how'd you like your Christmas present, Mulder?" He bent closer. "Couldn't you have just baked me a bundt cake?" "I burned it, so I had to settle for Santa's little elves here." He smiled. "You're braver than I, Scully, if you gave them the key to your place." "Well, just Byers. I made him swear on his life that he wouldn't let it get anywhere near Langly or Frohike." "Hey, you guys still do it, you know," Byers noted. Scully looked at him. "I beg your pardon?" "You two put your heads together for a minute, and it's like the rest of the world doesn't exist," Langly said. "Yeah, what's up with that?" Frohike muttered. Scully looked up at Mulder. His hazel eyes were warm with affection. "Well, these days, we don't get that much time together to plot the overthrow of the government," she murmured. "We have to make the most of our chances," Mulder added. Scully suddenly realized how close he was standing. His face was only a few inches away, so near she almost had to cross her eyes to focus on his strong, unique features. Damn, she thought, I should've put the mistletoe in my hair instead of around my wrist. Then she scolded herself for the thought. "Well, this party is threatening to take a nosedive into the crapper," Frohike groused. "Langly, didn't you bring some tunes?" "Yeah." Langly reached behind the couch and pulled out a battered briefcase. He opened it to display a jumble of tapes and CDs. "Any requests?" "Barry Manilow's greatest hits?" Mulder deadpanned. "Michael Bolton," Scully piped up. "Whitney Houston." "Please!" Langly put his hand over the Screaming Cheetah Wheelies logo on his t-shirt, a pained expression creasing his face. "You'll make me toss my eggnog." Scully looked around her fright of an apartment. "Who'd notice?" . Langly found something from the dregs of his CD case that was loud and unintelligible. Scully sighed. "Let me reiterate that this was YOUR idea." Mulder bent his head even closer so she could hear him over the din. His cheek brushed hers, his beard stubble leaving a tingling path along her skin. "I've been known to have some bad ones once every couple of decades," she replied, her mouth close to his ear. She sighed and he turned his head to look at her, his eyes dark and intense. Captured in his gaze, she couldn't seem to draw a breath. Frohike suddenly popped up at Mulder's elbow. "Hey, Mulder, guess who's joined MUFON now--" Mulder sighed and took a step back. "Elvis?" "Hah hah." Frohike made a face. "Actually, Darren Milton." "The shuttle astronaut?" Mulder was instantly interested. Scully sighed. NASA and UFO's--Mulder's weaknesses. She sat down on the sofa again. Alone. * * * * * The envelope had no return address, only three neatly printed lines--Ms. Melissa Scully, followed by Margaret Scully's street address. Margaret's hand trembled as she looked down at the card--it had to be a card, she thought. Red envelope, Christmas card size, angel stamp. Somebody who hadn't heard about Melissa, even after almost four years. "Maggie, are you all right?" Caroline Mulder touched Margaret's arm. Margaret blinked back tears. "It's for my daughter Missy." Caroline's expression changed subtly, and Margaret thought, she knows. She remembers what it's like to lose a child-- even though her child had finally returned to her. Margaret took comfort in Caroline's soothing touch and let the woman lead her into the kitchen to the table. "Would you like some tea?" Caroline moved to the cabinets, looking for cups for the tea still steaming in the kettle on the stove eye. "The cabinet by the sink." Margaret lay the card carefully on the table in front of her, studying the bold, artistic lettering on the address. A man, she knew instinctively. Someone who'd loved her daughter. Missy had been estranged from the family for almost six years before she finally showed up in Dana's hospital room, dangling a shimmering white crystal over her sister's comatose form. Margaret had been surprised but pleased to see her. Even happier when Melissa announced her decision to stay in D.C. once Dana had recovered. "Life is fleeting, Mom," she'd said. "What happened to Dana should prove that. I need to be here with my family." Melissa had missed her father's funeral. She'd missed Charlie's wedding and the birth of Bill Jr.'s third child. But she'd been there those last precious months, and Margaret thanked God daily that when her daughter had passed on, she'd been surrounded by people who loved her. Caroline placed a cup of strong, hot tea in front of Margaret. Margaret drank gratefully, smiling at Fox's mother. "Thank you, Caroline. I needed this." "For years after Samantha was taken from us, I'd walk through Chilmark looking at the faces of every little girl I passed, wondering if the next one would be my baby. I started haunting the school yard, wandering all hours at the beach or the park, knowing deep inside that the very next little dark haired girl I saw would be my daughter. Even though I knew that she'd never be returned willingly, I forced myself to hang onto that hope." Caroline took a sip of tea. "I went a bit mad, Maggie. I started to believe my own insanity. I--" She faltered, staring down at her cup of tea. "Poor Fox. I let him take the blame on himself because I wasn't strong enough to take it onto myself or stand up to my husband and his lies. I let Fox suffer for me. I'll never forgive myself for that." Margaret was silent. She couldn't understand how Caroline had allowed her gentle, sensitive son carry his unearned burden of guilt for all these years. But she also recognized that Caroline Mulder was deeply, fiercely sorry. And the fact that the woman could admit her own failures was a step toward healing. Impulsively, Margaret took Caroline's hand in her own. Caroline drew back momentarily, her eyes widening. Margaret stifled a smile, thinking how very alike were Caroline Mulder and her son. Fox had been wary at first when she touched him. But gradually she'd worn down his defenses, gentling him with her deep, unconditional love. And Margaret had been rewarded with the undying affection of a young man who had become a much loved son of her heart. So she held onto Caroline's hand, knowing that Fox's mother needed a friend as much as Margaret did herself. And that's how their children found them when they returned to the Scully house that afternoon. * * * * * Dana Scully stared at her mother's tear-stained eyes, and her heart turned a little flip. Panic shot through her, fed by the past few years of loss. Was it Bill Jr.? Charlie? One of her nieces or nephews? She rushed to her mother's side. "Mom?" Margaret smiled reassuringly. "Everything's okay, honey." She let go of Caroline Mulder's hand and brushed Scully's hair away from her forehead. "I just got that in the mail." Scully's gaze followed her mother's gesture, and she saw the red envelope. She stood slowly, her eyes tracing the name on the front. Missy. Her heart clenched. "I haven't been able to bring myself to open it," Margaret admitted. Scully looked at her mother, tears stinging her eyes. "Do you want me to open it?" A swift flicker of emotion twisted Margaret's face, then she seemed to will herself to relax. Her blue eyes met Scully's, red-stained but steady. "Please." Scully picked up the envelope, willing her hands to stop shaking. Warmth spread across her back and she realized Mulder had come up behind her and stood very close, a wall of steady support. She fought the overwhelming urge to close her eyes and lean back against his hard heat. Comforting herself with the knowledge of his unwavering friendship and loyalty, she found the strength to slide her finger under the envelope flap and tear it open. The card was handmade, she recognized immediately. Even the paper was hand-pressed, the front flap embossed with a small, minimalist rendering of an angel. Scully ran her fingers over the slightly bumpy surface, tracing the ribbon-like outline. Taking an unsteady breath, she opened the card and read the words neatly hand-printed inside. How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! What old December's bareness everywhere! And yet this time removed was a summer's time, The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, Like widowed wombs after their lord's decease. Yet this abundant issue seemed to me But hope of orphans and unfathered fruit, For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, And, thou away, the very birds are mute, Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near. -William Shakespeare Then, just below, in flowing masculine script: Mel, I'm back East and thinking about you. I know it's been a long time and maybe some old flames should just be allowed to die, but I couldn't let another year pass without trying again. I miss you. I love you. Can we talk? Mark The address jotted below his name was in Manchester, New Hampshire. Scully closed the card and let it flutter to the table. Mark. No last name shown--but of course, Melissa would've known his last name. Not that it would be hard to find out who he was. She was an FBI agent and she had his address. A couple of phone calls and she'd know more about him than his own mother did. She pulled out a chair and sat down. Her mother looked at her, apprehensive and expectant at the same time. Scully closed her fingers around her mother's hand and pushed the card toward her. Margaret closed her eyes for a moment, then she reached for the card and opened her eyes. Scully watched the play of emotions on her mother's face-- tenderness, sadness, love, regret. Missy had followed her own path without them for many years, and when she'd returned, neither Scully nor her mother had wanted to pry, afraid that Melissa might once again take flight. But this card was a reminder that there had been so much about Melissa that those who loved her most didn't know. How she'd spent the years away from them. Where she'd lived. Whom she'd loved. Mulder's hands closed over Scully's shoulders, strong and warm. She leaned back slightly, the back of her head resting against the lean muscles of his torso. His thumbs gently stroked her shoulders, kneading away some of the tension. She realized, not for the first time, that being separated from Mulder had its surprising rewards. Since he'd gone to Boston, Mulder had been more attentive, more supportive, more-- --physical, she thought. He touched her more. For that matter, she touched him more, too. Somehow the separation had served to crumble some of the barriers they'd carefully constructed between them during their time together as partners. Not that the attraction hadn't always existed, in one form or another. But by necessity it had always been more cerebral than sexual. But they weren't partners anymore. And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing after all, Scully thought as his hands continued to work their whispery magic on her body. She felt her muscles relax, tension and pain seep out of her mind. Heat built in her belly, along with a low hum of pleasure. Oh my God, she thought. I'm sitting here in my mother's kitchen, with Mulder's mother sitting right across from me, and I'm getting turned on by a backrub from my best friend. * * * * * Samantha breezed through the door around 5:45 that evening, Preston in tow. He was loaded down with brightly wrapped gifts; Scully directed him to the Christmas tree while Samantha hugged everyone in sight. "We detoured to New York City," Samantha said, shrugging off her thick wool coat. Mulder took it from her and hung it on the coat rack. "We wanted to pick out this..." She held out her left hand. A simple but obviously expensive diamond solitaire adorned her left hand. "So, what do you think?" While Caroline Mulder, Scully and Margaret took turns congratulating the newly engaged couple, Mulder stared at the ring, a tight sensation coiling in his belly. One more step closer to losing her all over again, he thought. He pasted a smile on his face for her benefit, glad that she didn't really know him well enough yet to recognize a fake Mulder smile when she saw one. Scully, however, saw right through him. She pinned him with her blue eyes, leaving him no room for denial. When Mrs. Scully led Samantha and Preston back to the rooms she'd set aside for them, Scully crossed the room and looked up at him, her gaze uncomfortably sharp. "You're not losing a sister, Mulder, you're gaining a brother-in-law." He grimaced. "Thank you, Scully. That makes me feel much better." Her chuckle went a long way toward easing his tension, however. "Have I ever told you that you're the most obsessive man I've ever known?" "Not in the last hour or so." "Must be slipping." He tapped the knuckle of his forefinger against her pointed chin. "Not you, Scully." There was that look again. Her cool facade seemed to melt a little, her eyes softened. Though the look was gone in a heartbeat, the memory lingered, setting a series of little fires all along his spine. How long had she been looking at him that way? Months? Years? He remembered the first time he'd seen it. In a Baltimore police station. Without thinking about it, he'd reached out to straighten her necklace, and the backs of his fingers had brushed against her breasts. Even in the fog of his free-wheeling ponderings about the case at hand, he hadn't missed the look she'd given him. He'd made himself ignore it, of course, assuming that she'd allowed herself a passing fancy as he had from time to time. And there hadn't been all that many times when she'd let her professional facade fall after that, had there? She'd taken his comfort after the Pfaster case. She'd given him her comfort after his father's death. She'd refused the nasty liquid concoction that might have kept her alive longer when they were dying of premature old age in the Norwegian sea--had that been nobility as he'd always thought or something more? Maybe an admission that without him, she didn't want to live? No. That couldn't be. Scully had never really thought about him that way. If anything, she was the wall keeper, careful to preserve their professional distance whenever things between them got too intense. But as he watched her turn from him and start lighting the logs in the fireplace, he found his photographic memory clicking like a slide projector, showing him snippets of the past six years. A motel room in Oregon and Dana Scully standing in front of him, clad only in skimpy underwear. Trembling as his fingers brushed the base of her spine to determine that the bumps on her silky skin were only mosquito bites. Scully kneeling next to him in the woods near Lake Okobogee as he frantically tried to uncover a shallow grave, sympathetic anguish in her blue eyes as she stilled his trembling hands with her own. Her voice, low and intense in the darkness of his car outside the place where Tooms was living. (Mulder, I wouldn't put myself on the line for anyone but you...) Time after time, she'd shielded him with herself. Covered his ass, covered his tracks, put herself in the path of the speeding car or the flying bullet. She'd lost Melissa to their pursuit of the Truth. Lost three months of her life. Lost her innocence and some portion of her faith in her fellow man. Why hadn't she walked away from him a long time ago? "Mulder?" He looked across the room and found her gaze on him, a little quizzical. She took a couple of steps in his direction, and he moved toward her, helping her close the distance. As they approached each other, silence hung between them, thick but not uncomfortable. In the quiet, he could hear the soft sound of her breathing, the brush of her shoes against the carpet. He heard the pounding cadence of his own pulse in his ears. He didn't know what he was going to do or say when the distance between them closed to nothing. He knew only that he had to touch her. "This is a wonderful house, Mrs. Scully!" Samantha's enthusiastic voice sliced through the silence, and Mulder faltered. Scully looked away from him and turned to straighten the pictures on the mantle. Were we about to do what I think? Mulder wondered, his gaze lingering for a moment on the fluid curve of Scully's spine beneath her soft sweater. Margaret Scully hooked her arm through Samantha's like they were old friends. Mulder noted the familiarity with a hidden smile. Leave it to Mrs. Scully to bring his sister right into the fold. He'd felt the same sense of homecoming from Scully's mother when they'd first met in Scully's trashed apartment--despite the horror of the circumstances. "When Bill was on active duty, we had to move from town to town every year or two," Mrs. Scully said. "So when he retired, we wanted the kids to have a place they could really call home." Mulder's chest clenched at the soft undercurrent of sorrow in Margaret Scully's voice. Her family was almost gone now. Capt. Scully had passed away five years ago. Missy had died a year and a half later. Her sons were never home, following their father's path out to sea. Only Dana remained. And her career choice had kept her on the road and in danger for years now. Mrs. Scully looked up at him at that moment, her blue eyes filled with love and quiet joy, and Mulder felt his breath catch in his throat. Just when he let himself feel sorry for her, she surprised him with the breadth and depth of her inner strength. He felt a fierce, abiding gratitude that this remarkable woman had opened her heart to include him. Those amazing Scully women... "Okay, Mom, what do we need to do?" Scully turned from the mantle and put her hands on her hips. "I told Skinner to be here at 6:30." "Just about everything's done. Caroline and I weren't lazy while you two were gone." Margaret smiled at her daughter. "Since you and Fox have already freshened up, why don't you two pick out some music to get us all in the holiday mood? I could use a quick shower and some fresh clothes." "So could I," Caroline agreed. "I think I'd like to get unpacked and settled in." Samantha caught Preston's hand and pulled him down the hall behind her, leaving Mulder and Scully alone in her mother's living room. Conspiracy if I've ever seen one, Mulder thought. And I've seen plenty. Not that he was upset. Curious, yes. A bit aroused, yes. But not upset. "Hmm, wonder what constitutes 'holiday mood,'" Scully murmured as she crossed to the walnut cabinet holding her mother's stereo system. She looked through a neat stack of CD's. "Think we should go with Handel's MESSIAH or Patsy and Elmo's GRANDMA GOT RUN OVER BY A REINDEER?" Mulder chuckled. "Come on, Scully. Your mother doesn't really have the MESSIAH, does she?" Scully's answering laugh sent a little shiver through him. "We've got Nat King Cole singing all your Christmas favorites, Bing Crosby singing all your Christmas favorites..." "Mel Torme scatting all your Channukah favorites..." "Oh, this is a good one." Scully pulled out a disc and put it in the machine. She punched the select button and a moody, dark sound came from the speakers. Definitely not Christmas music, Mulder thought. But familiar. "Thursday afternoon you cast a shadow 'round my room The breeze moved the curtains and lifted my perfume Into the air--and danced with with lazy curls in your hair. The sun was in the sky like pink champagne, And it glistened in your eyes all day I remember you put a chill across my face like the Air of December--I swear I remember it that way. I swear I remember it-- Where are you now?" Mulder recognized the raspy female voice. Edie Brickell. "That's not a Christmas song, Scully." "It's called AIR OF DECEMBER, Mulder. Close enough." He didn't think this was what her mother had in mind-- although he had to admit it was doing a great job of setting a mood. Not the mood Mrs. Scully had in mind, perhaps, but... "You stood by the lake--I wanted to take you for granted The grass was thin and high The water mirrored tiny sparkles to the sky I remember you put a chill across my face like the Air of December--I swear I remember it that way. I swear I remember it-- Where are you now?" His heart pounded, compelling him to move closer to her. As he drew near, he smelled the fresh soap and water scent that said "Scully" to him. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with her essence. When he opened his eyes again, she was looking up at him, her blue eyes wide and darkened. "In the by myself mornings the birds windchime The tree limbs crackle and the sunshine climbs up the sky Like pink champagne that glistened in your eyes all day I remember you put a chill across my face like the Air of December--I swear I remember it that way. I swear I remember it-- Where are you now?" He took a step closer to her, his hands clenching and unclenching by his side as he contemplated the next move he would make... The sound of the doorbell hit his spine like a jolt of electricity. He jerked back, his body thrumming with reaction. Scully released a little sigh and walked past him to the door. Walter Skinner stood in the doorway, dressed in a pair of dark gray chinos and a thick blue and gray sweater topped with a well-worn brown leather jacket. He held a beautiful white leafed poinsettia in front of him. Mulder's eyebrows rose, an involuntary response to seeing his former boss looking so casual and ill at ease at the same time. Skinner flashed Scully a tight, somewhat uncomfortable smile. "I'm a little early--" "No, you're right on time." Scully waved him in. He handed her the poinsettia. "Merry Christmas, Agent Scully." Mulder hid a smile at the A.D.'s obvious nervousness. Really, Skinner, you ought to get out more... "Dana, was that the door?" Margaret Scully emerged from the back of the house. She was barefoot, her hair hanging loose and a little touseled. But she didn't seem the least bit self-conscious as she looked up at Walter Skinner and smiled with genuine pleasure. "Mr. Skinner, I'm so glad you could join us." Skinner's smile widened a bit. "It was very kind of you to invite me, Mrs. Scully. I'm afraid I'm a little early." "Not at all. Why don't you have a seat while I check on dinner?" Mrs. Scully went into the kitchen. Skinner nodded to Mulder as if he'd just realized he was in the room, too. "Agent Mulder." "Sir." They looked at each other for a moment. Mulder contemplated asking the man to call him...well, Mulder... Nah. "Can I take your coat?" Scully held out her hand. Skinner shrugged off his jacket and gave it to her. "This is a lovely house, Dana." Dana again, Mulder thought with a frown. "Thank you, sir." "Just Skinner tonight, all right?" She gave the Assistant Director one of her pretty smiles, and Mulder's frown deepened. "Fox, do you remember if I packed the gift for--" Mulder's mother emerged from the hallway next. She stopped short at the sight of Walter Skinner. As Mulder watched, his mother seemed to shrink a little. Her expression hardened to a brittle mask. Mulder glanced at Scully to see if she'd noticed. Scully's gaze met his, slightly quizzical. "Mrs. Mulder, it's nice to see you again under more pleasant circumstances." Scully's eyebrows lifted. "I didn't realize you two had met," Mulder said. He looked from his mother's stiff face to Skinner's. The A.D. looked a bit--embarrassed? "I was the one who told your mother about your disappearance a few years ago." Caroline's voice was cool. "You told me my son was dead." Skinner looked at the carpet. "That's what I believed at the time." "Fortunately, Dana believed otherwise." Caroline lifted her chin. Skinner looked at Scully, his expression unreadable. "I'm afraid Mr. Skinner had no reason to believe that Mulder was alive," Scully said to Caroline, her voice gentle. "I believed he was dead at first, too." "Could we not talk about my death while I'm standing here?" Mulder asked, eager to diffuse the tension. "Sir--Skinner, I don't believe you've met my sister Samantha. I'll go get her." Skinner's dark eyes gleamed with something like amusement as Mulder passed him. He lowered his voice slightly. "The real thing this time, Mulder?" Mulder could barely smile even now, years after the cruel hoax that had almost cost him his sanity--and his life. "Pretty sure, sir." He went down the hall to the bedroom Mrs. Scully had set aside for Samantha. Just inside the doorway, he found his sister in a passionate clinch with her fiance. "Ahem." Samantha turned her head and glared at him. "Go get a life, butt munch." "My former boss is here and would like to meet you, twerp, though God only knows why." He flashed Preston an unrepentant big brother glare. "You can come too, I suppose." Preston's chuckle was disproportionately irritating to Mulder. Laugh now, you big egg-sucking jerk, but if you so much as piss off my sister, your ass is mine, he thought as he followed them out to the living room. "So, you're Assistant Director Skinner," Samantha said, smiling brightly and shaking his hand. "Fox has told me SO MUCH about you." Mulder shot her a glare. She dimpled and hooked her arm through Skinner's beefy one as they all headed toward the dining room, where Margaret Scully had already set the table with her holiday finest. Mulder's bad feeling swiftly escalated to panic with his sister's next words. "So, tell me, Mr. Skinner, did you really make him bend over and grab his ankles?" * * * * * Despite the little sibling war threatening to break out between Mulder and his sister, Scully couldn't remember a happier Christmas in years. Certainly not since the Christmas right before her father died. But having those she loved most around her, sharing in good food and good conversation--it was so right. So perfect. She found herself watching Mulder to see if he was experiencing the same feelings of contentment. He looked relaxed, smiling more than she could ever remember. He even joked with Skinner--who joked back, to Scully's delight and surprise. Skinner was a bit of a revelation, himself. Once he relaxed, his dry humor rivalled Mulder's, and he had the story-telling skills of a professional raconteur. His tales of his days in the Marines bordered on salty, but he kept the table entertained, even Mrs. Mulder, who after her initial iciness had warmed to his good-natured off-duty persona. People at the Bureau would never believe her if she told them about this side of Walter Skinner. But, of course, she'd never tell. A man had a right to his secrets. Her mother seemed to like him, she noted. Perhaps it was his inescapable military bearing--straight posture, commanding presence. Her father had been like that, very much Captain Scully even when lounging around the house in shorts and a t-shirt. Maybe that was part of Scully's own feeling of kinship to the Assistant Director. He was a bit younger than her father, but Skinner and Ahab were both military to the core. That thought made her glance at Mulder again. No soldier, her pal Mulder. At least, not in the conventional sense. But he was as dedicated to his own agenda, his search for truth, as any gung-ho leatherneck. Just as willing to sacrifice all. Special ops, she thought with a secret smile. Mulder was special ops. Deep cover. Underneath the paisley nightmare ties beat the heart of a warrior. He turned to look at her, as if sensing her gaze on him. She ventured a small smile. To her delight, he smiled back, his face lighting up like a joyful child's. Her breath snagged in her chest at the sight. When they finished dinner, Mulder insisted that Margaret and the others retire to the living room while he and Scully cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. "Are you having a good time?" Scully took the plate he handed her and put it in the lower rack of the dishwasher. He hunkered down next to her to look in her eyes. "Yes." She smiled again. "I'm glad." "You worry about me too much, Scully." "Well, you're usually so depressed around the holidays." She looked down at her hands. "I guess having Samantha back changes things, though." "Yeah." He lay his hand on her shoulder briefly, then stood up. "And it's good to be here with you and your mom." She stood and closed the dishwasher. Punching the power button, she murmured. "You don't have to go to Mass with us tonight, you know." "I know. But I want to come." She glanced at him, remembering a little boy in Ohio who'd helped her redefine her own feelings about God and faith. For once, she had been the believer and Mulder the skeptic. It had been an odd feeling, arguing for the existence of miracles and hearing Mulder refute her in an eerie echo of her own usual logic. "I'll understand if you don't." "I want to come with you," he repeated. She smiled. "Okay." When they joined the others in the living room, Scully found that the others were having a similar discussion. "It's a Scully family tradition, going to Midnight Mass," Margaret said softly. "Even though only Dana and I are here to keep the tradition alive these days." Scully went to her mother, slipping her hand into her mother's strong grip. "It's still a good tradition." "I'm going, too." Mulder joined Scully, putting his hand on Margaret's shoulder. "I'd like to go, too, Margaret." Caroline smiled. "We haven't had enough traditions in the Mulder family, I'm afraid." Scully saw the little flash of pain dart across Mulder's face. She slipped her free hand into his, and he squeezed her fingers gently. "Well, if you all are going, so are we," Samantha declared. "Mr. Skinner?" Margaret looked at Skinner. "I would be honored to be included in your family tradition, Mrs. Scully." His smile for Scully's mother was warm. "I'd like to change clothes first--" She nodded, then smiled. "But first, it's time to open presents." She glanced over her shoulder at Mulder. "Would you play Santa, Fox?" "Santa Fox," Samantha said with a strange little catch in her voice. Scully felt Mulder's body twitch. She looked up to find him close to tears. He met her questioning gaze, unable to speak. "I called you that, didn't I?" Samantha stood and crossed to her brother, staring up at him. "One Christmas when I was maybe six years old. You were playing Santa Claus in a school play, and I followed you around the house for a month, calling you Santa Fox until you were ready to kill me! I'd forgotten about that." Mulder nodded. "I'd almost forgotten, too." Scully looked down at her mom. "I'll play Santa," she murmured. Her mother nodded. She started with a box. "This is for Preston from Mulder." She handed the gift to Samantha's fiance. Preston darted a wary look toward Mulder, then began opening the box. Inside was a scrapbook. He flipped it open, then looked up at Mulder, a look of surprise on his handsome face. "Thanks, Fox. This is wonderful." "I thought you should get to know the Samantha I knew. So I got duplicates made of her childhood photos and other things we kept to remember her by." Mulder ran his hands through his hair, lifting it into spikes. Scully hid a smile and ran her hand down his arm on her way back to the Christmas tree for the next present. "Hmm, to Dana from Samantha." She arched her eyebrows at Mulder's sister. Samantha's grin was reminiscent of Mulder at his most playful. She didn't know if she dared open the gift in front of the whole group. "Open it," Mulder urged. The expression in his eyes was utterly wicked, and Scully nibbled her bottom lip, more sure than ever that she shouldn't open it in front of everyone. Okay, she thought. I'm a big girl. I'll take a quick peek and if it's too embarrassing-- She ripped open the paper and opened the flat box. Inside was the most exquisite blue silk nightgown she'd ever seen. She released a shaky breath and turned to Samantha. "It's beautiful. Thank you." "Don't suppose I could talk you into modeling it?" Mulder looked over her shoulder, so close she could feel his breath against her neck. A little shiver darted through her. "Fox!" His mother's admonishing tone was only half serious. But he desisted like a good son. "I'll get the next one." He picked up a small box and looked at the tag. "Oh. This is to 'Mr. Skinner' from 'Maggie Scully.'" * * * * * Scully looked at her mother, surprised. She'd thought the invitation for Christmas dinner was a spur of the moment thing. So when had her mother gotten Skinner a present? Skinner looked a little disconcerted. But he had enough presence of mind to take the gift with a gracious nod toward Margaret. Scully leaned over her mother's chair, watching with curiosity as he unwrapped the present. It was a book of poetry, Scully noted with surprise. Skinner looked up at Margaret, a puzzled expression on his dark face. Scully's mother smiled. "I ran into an old colleague of my husband's who knows you, Mr. Skinner. Colonel March." "Mick March? He was in town and didn't look me up?" Margaret shook her head. "No, I was down in Norfolk, visiting friends. Anyway, Mick tells me that at one time you were the poet laureate of your Marine unit." "Unbelievable," Mulder murmured. Scully glanced at him, her own amusement unhidden. "And he seemed to think you were fond of Robert Frost, so I picked that up. I hope you like it." "It's wonderful. Thank you very much, Mrs. Scully." He smiled, and the transformation of his face was breathtaking. Scully shook her head in amazement. Now, she thought, I've REALLY seen a miracle. "Next?" Margaret asked, when the silence threatened to become uncomfortable. Scully watched Mulder pull himself out of his bemused stupor and pick up the next present. It was his mother's gift to Margaret, a very pretty crystal picture frame. Scully could tell her mother really liked it. Margaret, in turn, had bought a small silver jewelry box for Caroline Mulder. Scully's gift to Samantha, a pearl drop necklace to match the earrings she'd given her for her birthday in November, made Mulder's sister smile. Mulder's gift to his sister made her cry. "Stratego." Samantha sniffled as she looked at the travel sized version of the game she and her brother had been playing the night she disappeared. And underneath the game in the same box was a Dr. Seuss book. "Green Eggs and Ham." "Would you eat them with a fox?" Mulder murmured. Samantha shoved the box into her fiance's hands and flung her arms around her brother. "Thank you, Fox." Scully hid her own tears and went to get the next present. "Mrs. Mulder, this is from Mulder and Samantha." She carried the box to Caroline Mulder. "Oh, my goodness gracious." Caroline stared at the framed photograph lying amid the tissue paper. She lifted it out, tears spilling down her cheeks, and showed it to everyone else. It was a recent photo of Mulder and Samantha, obviously professionally done. Scully remembered Mulder's anxiety when he called her the night before the photo shoot back in September. "Is it too stupid? I don't really take a good picture." "Nonsense," she'd assured him. "Mothers love pictures of their children, and you're very photogenic." She had the candid photos to prove it. Next came Mulder's gift to Scully's mother. Scully bent over the chair as her mother opened the large, flat gift. Her own soft gasp of surprise echoed her mother's. Inside lay a framed charcoal portrait of Scully. Margaret looked up at Mulder, tears in her eyes. "Fox, this is beautiful." He grinned with pleasure. "One of the guys I work with in Boston is married to an artist. I gave her a photo of Scully to work from. It's one I really liked--" He looked at Scully. "One of the candids we divvied up last September, remember?" She nodded. "Glad you picked that one instead of the one that where I look like a drowned rat." His smile took a decidedly wicked turn. "Oh, I put that one under my sofa to scare away the monsters." She rolled her eyes for old times' sake. Finally, there were just two presents left. Scully's gift to Mulder and his to her. Scully wondered if he'd held them back on purpose. He grabbed her gift to him before she could preempt him. "To Mulder from Scully." He shot her a half-leer and gently shook the package. He lowered his voice so that only she could hear him. "Hmm, no rattling sound, so I guess I can rule out fur-lined handcuffs." She met his teasing with a placid expression she'd perfected over the years. But inside, her stomach was turning anxious little flips. Just open it already, Mulder, before the suspense kills me. He opened the box. And gaped. "Scully, how did you--" She smiled, relieved that he looked pleased. "I know a guy who knows a guy..." He withdrew the baseball card. It was a vintage Sandy Koufax baseball card, in excellent condition. Scully had called in dozens of favors to locate the card and wheedle the price down to something she could afford. But she knew Mulder was a closet Dodgers fan, and that Koufax had been his father's favorite player. She wanted to give him something that had sentimental meaning. "This is so--" He stared at her, at a loss for words. "Merry Christmas, Mulder." He looked at her for another long moment, his eyes telling her a thousand amazing, scary, exhilarating things. Then he turned and looked over his shoulder at his gift to her. She could tell by the crease of his brow that he was worried his gift wouldn't measure up. Nonsense, she thought. That look you just gave me was the best Christmas present I've ever gotten. Anything else is just icing. She went to the tree and picked up her gift. It wasn't very large, but it was heavy. And she felt something shift and slide inside. When she looked at Mulder, he was still struggling to regain his composure, so she mercifully lightened the moment. "Well, it's not ticking..." His chuckle had a sort of watery sound, but it seemed to calm him down. He watched like a hawk as she tore the paper and opened the box underneath. Inside, was a smaller box, also wrapped, and a book. She pulled out the smaller box and put it on the coffee table, then withdrew the book. It was an old book, in excellent condition. MOBY DICK--her father's favorite and hers as well. She flipped open to the date page and was stunned to find it was a first edition. "My God, Mulder, where did you ever find this?" "I know a guy who knows a guy..." He looked so relieved. He gestured at the other box. "One to go." She opened the smaller box. Inside was a small box of perfume--called BEYOND THE SEA. She looked at her mother, saw her reading the name on the box. Tears sparkled in Margaret's blue eyes, but they were happy tears. Happy memories of her father. Mulder crossed to Scully's side. "I had planned to just get the book," he said, his voice so soft she doubted anyone else could hear him. "But I was walking through the fragrance aisle and some pert little blonde made me come take a sniff--" Scully arched her eyebrows. "Of the perfume or her?" He grinned down at her. "It reminded me of you--" "The perfume or her?" Scully repeated. "--and when I saw the name, I knew I had to get it." He opened the little vial and waved it under her nose. "So?" The fragrance was delicate and clean, with just a hint of crisp sea scent. If this fragrance reminds Mulder of me, she thought, I must be doing SOMETHING right. "I like it." He looked so ridiculously pleased with himself she wanted to tug him down by his ears and kiss him silly, but of course she couldn't, not with everyone else here. But what if everyone else wasn't here, Dana? What about then? * * * * * Margaret Scully sat in the heart of the small church, listening to the recitation of the Christmas Mass, and let the sense of peace and well-being flow over her. Her daughter sat to her left, with Fox to Dana's left. Walter Skinner sat to her right, his solid bulk pleasantly warm next to her. He had changed into a suit to attend Mass, just as Fox had done. Two good men who had both taken good care of her daughter at very dangerous times in her life. Margaret added a prayer of protection for both men, grateful for the blessings in her life. As the Mass came to a close and they rose to leave the church, Margaret allowed herself a moment to watch her daughter and Fox. They didn't touch as they walked down the aisle of the church toward the door at the back, but Margaret saw the connection between them with a mother's heart. She had known for a long time how much Dana and Fox loved each other. The depth of their devotion was plainly evident in their actions if not in their words. But since their separation, a subtle change had taken place. They were finally beginning to see what had been evident to everyone else all along. And maybe--finally--they were considering what to do about it. Margaret tugged her coat more tightly around her as she stepped into the cold night air. Suddenly, she felt a hand on her back, lightly guiding her toward the sidewalk. She looked up in surprise at the touch and found Walter Skinner's dark gaze meeting hers. She saw the question in his eyes, felt the hesitation in his touch. In a split second, she realized that she was facing a turning point of her own. Maybe not with this man, but-- Can you ever love another, Maggie? The warmth of his hand felt good. Comforting and enervating at the same time. She released a small breath and ventured a smile. Walter's lips curved slightly in response. He doesn't smile much, Margaret realized, sad and curious at the same time. Then his hand pressed gently against her back, and she let him lead her to the car. * * * * * Around nine o'clock Christmas morning, Samantha and Preston left for Charleston to spend the rest of the holiday with his parents. Margaret Scully and Caroline Mulder decided to do some baking for a church-sponsored dinner for the homeless. Scully and Mulder spent most of the day in a cold, dank morgue at Quantico. The body sent by the Pittsburgh office looked achingly familiar to Scully, who'd watched Mulder lie at death's door looking very much like the corpse before her. Mulder stood in the corner, observing the autopsy until she pulled out the saw to open the cranium. He made a quick retreat, waiting another couple of hours before venturing back into the autopsy room. "Well?" "It definitely looks like the retrovirus." She pulled a cover over the corpse she'd just finished stitching closed for burial. "The pathology's the same, the blood tests look conclusive." "Damn it. What does it mean? Are they back?" Considering that Scully didn't really know who--or what--"they" were, she didn't comment. "Did you try subduing it with cold?" She nodded. "Went dormant right on time." "Hold onto at least part of that virus sample, Scully." She looked at him, alarmed. "Mulder, I can't--" "The sample you took at the Boston office last month disappeared." She lifted one red eyebrow. "You didn't tell me that." "I didn't know until just before I left town to come here." "Could it be a paper work mix up?" He shrugged. "I doubt it. We never found that virus sample from your autopsy of Agent Weiss during the Gregor case, either. I just don't think it's a coincidence." That's because you're a bona fide paranoiac, as you're so fond of reminding me. She bit back her usual skeptical retort. She and Mulder had so little real time together these days, she didn't want anything to spoil it. "What, no logical, no-nonsense comeback?" Mulder's hazel eyes met hers, half-amused, half-wary. "It's Christmas." He smiled slightly. "Well, only because it's Christmas. But don't go soft on me, Scully." He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice in that intimate way that always made her spine tingle. "I depend on you to keep me from going too far." Maybe we haven't been going far enough, she thought, staring up at his face, so close that she could feel his breath against her forehead. "Are you finished here?" he asked, drawing away slightly. She took a step back and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "Yes. I'll wash up and then we can go back to Mom's." He waited for her outside. When she emerged from the examining room, freshly changed from her scrubs back into her jeans and gray sweater, he had found a cup of coffee for her. Cream, no sugar. She sipped gratefully, letting the hot liquid drive away the chill of the morgue. "Did you hold onto a sample of the retrovirus?" He kept his voice low as they walked toward the elevators. "Yes." She didn't tell him that she'd hidden the vial inside her bra. Not that she thought he'd go searching for it--damn it. Okay, okay, calm down, Dana, she thought, not nearly as surprised by the dangerous notion as she should have been. She'd been contemplating a lot of dangerous notions over the past day or so. And she had a distinct feeling that Mulder had been doing the same. * * * * * As they were pulling out of the Quantico parking lot, Mulder pulled out his cell phone. "Hey, Frohike, it's me. I've got something for safekeeping. Can you meet me at the archive?" After he hung up, he started to give her directions, but she waved her hand at him. "Been there, Mulder." He arched one eyebrow. "You HAVE been hanging with the guys a bit too much if they let you in on all their little secrets." She shrugged. "Well, my favorite paranoiac was 400 miles away." She drove to a small, non-descript apartment building in Alexandria, not too far from Mulder's old apartment. He sighed softly as they passed the street where he used to live. "I hope my transfer request doesn't take forever." She smiled as she pulled up in front of the apartment complex housing the LONE GUNMAN archive. So he HAD put in for a transfer back to D.C. "Missing the Beltway that much, huh?" He shrugged and unfolded himself from the passenger seat. "I guess I miss that smell of pork in the air every time I pass the halls of Congress. The sound of automatic weapon fire on the White House lawn." "The aroma of Morley's fouling up Skinner's office?" Mulder grimaced. "No, not that." Scully pocketed the car keys and followed him up the sidewalk. They buzzed into the building using a variable code that involved the day of the week, the weather and the date. Scully knew the code, but she decided to let Mulder have the honor. He, in turn, let her precede him up the two flights of stairs to the apartment where the guys at the LONE GUNMAN archived some of their more sensitive information. Frohike and Byers met them at the door, eyes darting around the hallway as they hurried Mulder and Scully inside. "Whatcha got?" Frohike asked. "A sample of a retro-virus that may be extraterrestrial in nature." Mulder turned to Scully and held out his hand. She frowned slightly. "Um, Mulder..." She glanced at the other men. "What?" She sighed and turned her back to them, trying to get to the vial through the neck of her sweater. But she couldn't get her hand down far enough. "What's the problem?" Mulder asked. "I can't get it--" She sighed. "I'll be right back." She headed down the hall to the small bathroom. She pulled the door closed behind her and started to pull up her sweater. Then she stopped, thinking about where she was. No way, she thought. There's got to be a camera in this bathroom somewhere, and I am NOT going to let Frohike get his hands on a tape of me in my underwear. She opened the door. "Mulder?" He came down the hall. "Yeah?" "Come here." She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the bathroom with her. He came willingly enough, although his forehead wrinkled slightly with confusion. "I put the vial in my bra," she said softly, knowing that her voice couldn't possibly be soft enough to escape the kind of listening equipment these guys had access to. "I'm sure there's a camera in here somewhere, so I need you to be my dressing room. Now, hold your coat open." His lips curved slightly, but he obeyed. She shrugged out of her own coat and put the edge of either lapel in his fingers, creating a sort of trench coat tent for herself. "Got it?" she asked. He nodded. "Now, just in case there's a camera in the ceiling, I need you to put your chin on top of my head so that an overhead shot is blocked, too." She heard a soft rumble of laughter run through him as he rested his chin on her head. "I think I played a game of Twister like this once." She quickly stuck her hand under her sweater and retrieved the vial. "There." She started to pull away, but he held her pinned by her own coat. "You are DEFINITELY spending way too much time with these guys," he murmured, his eyes more green than gray as he smiled down at her. "And whose fault is that?" She arched her eyebrows at him, in no hurry to escape his trap. "I have to keep my skepticism honed to razor edge, Mulder, and since you're not here to do it for me..." "I would be if I could, Scully." She nodded. "I know." He let her go and took the vial from her. "Mmm," he murmured in a sexy drawl, "it's nice and warm. Will the virus wake back up?" She nodded, trying to control a little ripple of awareness darting through her at his soft, intimate words. "The retrovirus has to be exposed to continual cold for 72 hours before it dies. That's why I put it in that bio- hazard vial--virtually unbreakable." She watched as he held up the small vial of contaminated blood. Though it retained the vivid red of arterial blood, it had the consistency of cottage cheese. She shuddered, remembering that Mulder's blood had begun to look like that once, in Alaska. Only hypothermia and her radical prescription of blood thinners, transfusions, and a plethora of anti-viral agents had been able to save his life. She saw a little shiver run through him, too. "Damn," he muttered. She took the vial back from him and went back out to the main room of the apartment. "Okay, guys, it has to be refrigerated for at least 72 hours. You may want to store it indefinitely in the cold." She bypassed Frohike and handed the sample to Byers. "Treat this like you would alien blood." Byers smiled slightly and promptly handed the vial to Frohike. Scully sighed and motioned for Mulder to follow her to the door. "By the way, Agent Scully--" Frohike's voice made her pause in the open doorway. "There's a camera hidden in a floor tile, too." She glared at him, and he grinned, unrepentant. Mulder put his arm around her and guided her safely out the door. * * * * * Margaret Scully and his mother were getting along far better than Mulder expected. Not that he had thought Mrs. Scully would be anything but kind and gracious. But he knew his mother didn't socialize well. Not since Samantha's abduction. She kept to herself, much like he did, and she'd never found it easy to make friends. Trust Mrs. Scully to bulldoze right through all those hard-built walls, Mulder thought, watching with a smile as his mother and Margaret laughed easily as they discussed their children over a cup of hot tea. "I think your mother's having a good time." Scully came up behind him, resting her hand on the small of his back. He closed his eyes for a minute, affected by her soft touch. "Yeah." He opened his eyes and nodded toward the living room, where soft music and a crackling fire beckoned. Scully followed, curling up on the couch next to him. She was in her "trouble" mode again--no make-up, messy hair, bare feet. In the flickering light from the hearth, her hair looked like candlelight, and he was tempted to touch the fiery strands to see if they burned his fingers. He restrained himself, searching for a safe subject. "Samantha called while we were gone to let us know they got to Charleston safely." She nodded. "Mom told me. "Mom wants to get an early start in the morning so we can stop by her sister's place in Dover." Scully looked down at her hands. She was trying to hide her disappointment, but she wasn't a good dissembler. He could always see through her rare attempts at lying--and she knew it. Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes luminous. "I never realized how much of my life is missing when you're not around to drive me crazy." He chuckled. "I miss you, too." "Where's one of your time-space anomolies when we need it, Mulder? Something to make time stand still?" This is getting really dangerous, he thought as he fought to drag his gaze away from her radiant face. He turned and stood, crossing to the bay window overlooking the front lawn. Outside, he saw, snow had begun to lightly fall. By morning, there might be enough to cover the ground but not enough to keep him snowed in at the Scullys. Damn it. He felt more than heard Scully's approach. He looked at the window and saw her reflection superimposed over the fluttering snowflakes. "It's snowing." She knelt on the window seat and pressed her face to the window panes for a better look. "Hmm, remember the '96 blizzard?" How could he forget being snowed in with Scully not once but twice in a ten-day period? He sighed, looking out at the light, half-hearted flurries falling outside. "I'm afraid we'll be lucky to have an inch with this snowfall." "Spoilsport." She turned to look at him, her eyes full of warm memories. Damn it, Scully, don't do this to me. He tried not to stare at her upturned face, her shining eyes and pretty pink mouth. Then her head tilted back, giving him a good view of her sleek white throat, and she smiled. "So that's what happened to Frohike's mistletoe." He looked up and saw the little sprig of green hanging by its red ribbon in the bay window alcove, right above their heads. He looked back down at Scully, saw the teasing light in her eyes, and realized there was no escape. She rested her hands on his shoulders, pushing herself to her feet. Standing on the low window seat, she stood about eight inches taller than he, forcing him to look up at her. This is different, he thought. Then she gently pressed her palms against his cheeks, holding his head still as she bent and touched her mouth to his. The kiss was soft, brief, undemanding. But the gentle pressure of her lips parted his, and her warm, sweet breath filled his mouth, sending a dizzy sensation rocketing through him. His knees wobbled, his head spun, and he realized with surprise that her strong hands were the only thing holding him upright. "Merry Christmas, Mulder." As she spoke, her lips moved against his. Then she pulled back and released him. He managed to keep his feet as she stepped down from the window seat and crossed to the sofa. He followed slowly, trying to force his breathing into some semblance of regularity. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. To his relief, Scully didn't say anything, either. She just smiled her most enigmatic Dana Scully smile and rested her head against the sofa cushions, staring into the fire. End of 4 Disclaimer: All characters seen or mentioned on the X-FILES belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Production, FOX network, DD, GA, etc. and are used without permission. The song UNTOLD STORIES by Kathy Mattea is also used without permission. The characters of Kelvin and Virginia Thacker, Mark Lacey, Ray and Linda Chandler belong to me. If I had any money, somebody might want to sue me for this...but since I don't... This is part 5 of a 12 part series, a sequel to TWELVE RITES OF PASSAGE. If you haven't read that story, you may want to read it first. No sex, light romance...for now... TWELVE DEGREES OF SEPARATION No. 5: January Untold Stories by Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com At the ripe old age of 37, Fox Mulder was experiencing a bout of very childish self-pity. If Scully were here, he thought, she'd punch my arm and tell me to get over it. But Scully wasn't there, so Mulder indulged the urge to feel sorry for himself. After all, the sister he'd sacrificed the greater part of his life to find had just told him he wasn't going to walk her down the aisle at her upcoming wedding. "Fox, I'm sorry." She lay her hand on his arm, her hazel eyes apologetic. "But Ray Chandler has been my father since I was twelve. He's been good to me, and I owe him this much." The anguish in his sister's eyes pulled him out of the worst of his hurt. "I understand, Samantha. I really do. I just--" She hugged him fiercely. "I know. And I want you to be a groomsman. Preston does, too." She looked up at him, smiling slightly. "You know, the groomsmen will be escorting the bridesmaids down the aisle. If you're really nice to me, I can arrange your pick of the bridesmaids." Mulder smiled. "Well, when you put it that way...." "So, you going to sit out here in the cold all night?" She released him and pulled her jacket more tightly around her. "Just a few more minutes." He managed a smile. "Go on back in; I'll be there soon." She left him alone on the veranda of his mother's Greenwich cottage. Mulder slouched a little deeper into the Adirondack chair, propping his feet up on the cedar railing that circled the porch. The mid-January night was icy cold, but he felt better out here than he did inside that warm room, watching his sister laugh and talk with the Chandlers, the people who spent all those years with his sister while he was going out of his mind trying to find out where she was. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. They'd had her all along. It was his turn. The door opened and shut behind him, and he heard light, limping footsteps approach. The soft, floral scent of his mother's perfume filled his nostrils, and he felt her hand in his hair. "It's cold out here, Fox." "I'm okay." She continued to stroke his hair, reminding him of so many times so long ago when her hands had been able to wipe away the tears and the hurts. "I feel terrible for being jealous, Fox. I can see what good care the Chandlers took of Samantha. But I should have been the one--" He leaned his head back against his mother's stomach. "I know." "I thought if we ever found her again, we would just pick up from where we left off. I never really thought about her having another life, another family." The wistfulness in his mother's voice made him unutterably sad. He sighed. "I thought that when I found her, everything would be like it was before. I guess I convinced myself that finding her would bring my family back together again." "I'm so sorry, son." She shifted behind him, and he felt her lips against his temple. "I have been such a bad mother to you, haven't I?' He stood and hugged her tightly. "No. I haven't been a good son." "You have. I'm so proud of you, Fox. I've never told you that enough, but I want to start now." She looked up at him, her hazel eyes like mirrors of his own. "Maggie Scully told me about the time when Dana was missing. How you helped her cope with the fear, with not knowing. I never let you do that for me. My anger and grief shut me off from you when you needed me--and when I needed you. But I won't do that anymore. I love you, Fox. I want you to know that you've always been in my heart since the day I found out that I was expecting, and that you will be in my heart until the day I die." He hugged her again, fighting the urge to cry like a baby. "I love you, too, Mom." Caroline stepped back after a moment, laughing softly through her tears. "Look at us, Fox. This isn't a typical Mulder family moment, is it?" He threw back his head and laughed, feeling a lot better. When their laughter subsided, Caroline put her hand on his arm. "Coming back inside?" "In a minute. I'm going to make a phone call, then I'll be right in. I need to check on some unfinished business I left in Boston." "All right." Caroline squeezed his arm and went back into the house. Mulder pulled out his cellular phone and dialled Kelvin Thacker's home phone. Thacker's wife Virginia answered. "Hi, Ginny, it's Mulder. Is Kelvin around?" "Sure, just a minute." A moment later, Thacker's velvety voice greeted him. "How's Connecticut?" "Cold. Did the report from Concord ever get there?" "Yeah. It was a false alarm. Cause of death was anaphylactic shock from a spider bite." Mulder frowned, unconvinced. The body found that morning in Concord, New Hampshire, had shown all the signs of the retrovirus. "Who was the M.E.?" "They called in an FBI pathologist, Mulder. Somebody you might know--a Dr. Dana Scully?" Thacker's voice rippled with laughter. Mulder relaxed. "Then it was a spider bite. Did you get to talk to her?" "No. Apparently they just flew her in for the post mortem-- she'd sent out an advisory to all the field offices on the East Coast, asking for a consult when bodies showed symptoms like the ones that turned up here back in November. I think she was supposed to be heading back to D.C. tonight." Damn, Mulder thought. Concord was less than two hours drive from Boston. If he were home, she might have been tempted to visit. But Scully knew this was the weekend he and his mother were meeting Samantha's adoptive family. "Well, okay, Thacker. I guess I'll see you Monday." He hung up the phone and tucked it in his jacket pocket. The night sky was clear and sprinkled with stars; he leaned over the railing to get a better look. He'd always been fascinated by space, by the utter infinity of it. Though the past few years had made him aware that extraterrestrial lifeforms were not responsible for a great many of the activities he'd always thought, he remained convinced that life existed beyond this small planet in the vast universe. He'd seen far too much to go back now. The truth was out there. He missed the X-Files more than he expected. Having Samantha back hadn't quenched his thirst for answers, only whetted his appetite to know more. He wanted to know exactly who had taken her from him in the first place--that question had never been answered fully. He wanted to know what had happened to Scully. What they had done to her. Whether she was really all right or if there was some time bomb ticking away inside of her, waiting... waiting. He shivered. God, what would he do if something happened to Scully? The telephone in his pocket burred softly. He answered. "Mulder." "Hi, it's me." "Scully." Her voice, tired and soft, warmed him nevertheless. "I was just thinking about you." "Good thoughts or bad thoughts?" "Depends on how you define 'bad,'" he answered, leering with his voice. He could almost hear her eyes rolling. "How are things in Greenwich?" "Um, interesting. I'll tell you about it later. Are you still in Concord?" "How'd you know I was in Concord?" "I talked to Thacker. We heard about the body in Concord and thought the indications were--interesting. But just a spider bite?" "Well, it was no ordinary spider, Mulder. It was a glass viper spider--extremely rare and not indiginous to the Northern Hemisphere, so I wouldn't rule out murder." "How'd you figure it out?" "The glass viper burrows into its victim, lays eggs and dies. Then the larvae feed off the dead flesh after the poison kills the victim." "Mmm, nice." "I found the spider still there under the victim's arm. I've passed things along to the Concord P.D. and it's up to them to figure out who'd import a rare spider just to kill a pickpocket." Mulder sat in the Adirondack chair again, frowning. Something was wrong. "Are you okay, Scully? You sound strange." "Just tired. I'm fine, Mulder." Scully's three favorite words, he thought. "Are you about to fly back to D.C.?" "Actually, I'm about twenty minutes out of Boston. I thought I'd catch a plane out of Logan tomorrow. That's why I'm calling--would you mind if I stayed at your place tonight? I could get a motel, but--" "Sure, Scully, mi casa es su casa. But are you sure everything's okay?" "I just--" She sighed softly. The sound made Mulder's stomach curl into a knot. "I met Mark Lacey today." Mulder searched his memory. "The guy who sent the Christmas card to Melissa last month?" "I wrote him back after Christmas to tell him what happened to Melissa. He called me a couple of days ago. He said if I ever got up to New Hampshire to give him a call. The Concord consult seemed almost like an omen--if I believed in such things, of course." Her self-deprecating tone of voice calmed him a little. At least she was feeling well enough to make fun of herself. "So you saw him." "Yeah. We had a good visit." So why didn't it sound that way? Mulder wondered. "Scully, you want me to drive back to Boston tonight and meet you there?" "No, Mulder. I'm fine. I'll tell you all about our visit later, okay? Stay. Have a good time at your mom's. I'll even clean up your place when I get there. Call it my rental fee." "Ha ha. It's in halfway decent shape, lucky for you. Don't shave your legs with my razor or anything." She chuckled softly. "Thanks, Mulder. I owe you." Not in a million years, he thought. He was so far ahead of her in the favor-owing game that she'd never catch up. "Make yourself at home. And call me if you need anything." "I'm fine, Mulder." He rolled his eyes. "You always are, Scully." He hung up the phone and went back inside his mother's house. Samantha sat on the couch, sandwiched between her adoptive parents. Their animated conversation made him feel like an interloper. He caught his mother's worried glance and wiped the grim expression from his face as he retreated into the kitchen. Caroline followed him, her eyes still concerned. "Is something wrong, Fox?" He shook his head. "No. I just talked to Scully and--" He shook his head again. "She had to go to Concord today for an autopsy consult, and she's staying at my place tonight and catching a plane out of Logan in the morning." "And you wish you were there instead of here?" Mulder looked at his mother, expecting a guilt-trip, only to find gentle understanding and acceptance in her expression. Where is my real mother, he thought with a hidden smile, and who is this alien taking her place? "I guess--yeah. I wish I were there." "Why don't you drive back to Boston? You're not comfortable here--" "Mom, it's not you--" She nodded. "I know. It's hard for me to see Samantha and her--her parents, too." "I feel like a selfish ass. The Chandlers are good people, and half of me feels like kissing their feet for taking such good care of her." "And the other half wants to ask why they didn't try harder to find out who she was and where she really belonged." He nodded. "I know that's not fair. I assume they tried." "She wasn't supposed to be found, Fox. THEY made sure of that." Caroline's voice took on a hard edge that surprised him. For a second, she sounded like Scully at her toughest. "We're lucky that she found us." "We can thank Scully for that," Mulder murmured, remembering his partner's fierce race to save Samantha from the burning warehouse in Baltimore once she'd figured out who the mystery woman really was. "I think I have a lot to thank Dana for." Caroline smiled. "You know, she's not what I expected. When I found out you had given up the woman we thought was Samantha for your partner--" Caroline's eyes clouded. "I didn't know how you could have done that. What could make you choose your partner over your sister." "It wasn't supposed to be a choice. I thought I could save them both." Caroline put her hand on his arm. "I know that. And now that I know Dana, I can understand why you took such risks. She's special." He nodded. "She kept me going, Mom, all those years. When things were so bad--I was so alone, but Scully was there for me when I had no one else--" He stopped, seeing the stricken look in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean--" She blinked back tears. "No, Fox. We've all hidden from the truth for too long. Maybe it's time we stopped. I know I wasn't there for you when you needed me. But I'm here for you now. I hope you know that." He hugged her fiercely. "I do." "So forgive me for a little motherly meddling, but why are you still here? Shouldn't you be on the road back to Boston?" He looked down at her. "Think Samantha will be upset?" "I'll tell her Dana's waiting for you," Caroline said. Yeah, knowing Samantha, she'd fetch his coat and start the car for him. "Are you sure? This weekend will be hard enough without me ditching you." "Do you think Dana needs you?" Not as much as I need her, he thought. "She sounded upset." "Then go to her." He kissed his mother's cheek and went to pack. * * * * * The journal was small, bound with floral print muslin, and smelled like cedar. Mark must have stored it in a chest. Scully ran her fingers down the spine of the book, trying to find the courage to open it and read the darkest secrets of her sister's soul. "I wouldn't give you this if I didn't think she'd want you to read it," Mark had told her. At first glance, he'd been exactly what Scully expected--tall, lean, long hair the color of wheat, honey-gold eyes, tanned and weathered by outdoor work. He was a laborer by day, a painter by night, and the shimmery white crystal around his neck indicated his spiritual leanings. But he was more than that, she'd found out. He was a kind man, an intelligent man. And a lost man. Lost without Melissa. He was grieving her death as if she'd walked out of his life yesterday instead of six years ago. Knowing now what had driven the wedge between them, Scully could understand why they had had no contact in that time. But being apart from Melissa had done nothing to quench his love for her. The strength of his devotion made Scully's breath catch in her throat. For it was familiar. Achingly familiar. "What we lost is what lay between us, in the end. It ripped a hole in the middle of us, and in the end, Mel and I couldn't build a bridge across it." Mark's eyes were old and tired, even though he wasn't too much older than Scully. Something about the look reminded her of Mulder, who'd seen too much pain in his life, too. Mark had gestured at the journal. "She'd want you to have that." Scully had protested. "She didn't even tell us--" "She was going to wait until afterwards. And then afterwards--" Mark shook his head. "Then she couldn't talk about it. But she'd want you to know." Scully tucked her legs under her, settling deeper into the leather cushions of Mulder's sofa. She could almost feel his presence here, giving her courage, as she took a deep breath and opened the journal. * * * * * Mulder glanced as his watch as he neared the I-395 interchange south of Worchester. Almost ten o'clock and he was still well over an hour out of Boston. He thought about calling Scully to let her know he was on the way, but he knew she'd try to talk him into turning around and heading back to Greenwich. Better to just present her with a fait accompli and deal with the fall out in person. He didn't like the way she'd sounded on the phone. Sad and tired. She hadn't sounded so discouraged since-- Since Melissa's death. She'd gone to see Melissa's friend in New Hampshire. She'd said the visit was a good one, but he didn't really believe her. Something was wrong. He'd known Scully too long for her to be able to fool him. Of course, the flip side of that was that he couldn't fool her, either. Before the night was over, he'd have to spill his own sad story, admit his feelings of jealousy and listen to her calm refutation of his irrationality. He couldn't wait to get home. * * * * * Tears slipped down Scully's cheeks as she read her sister's journal. All Missy's hopes and dreams for the future, she'd put in this book as a keepsake for the child she was carrying. The child Scully had never known about. August 6th, 1992 "I saw you today, little spirit. So tiny, just a little seed growing inside me. But I know you will be beautiful and strong and good. Scully women are like tigresses, you know. And you will be another, the doctors say. Another Scully woman. Will you have red hair, too? September 15, 1992 "Your daddy and I have such plans for you, my love. And we laugh about them as we speak, for we know that you'll have to make your own way, just as we did. I suspect that like our parents before us, we'll want to shape you to fit ourselves, but I promise, little spirit, that I will let you follow your own path. Your daddy calls you Daisy because he knows that daisies are my favorite flowers. But I think I want to name you after two people who will come to love you as I do. I think I want to call you Dana Margaret, after your aunt and your grandmother. They are formidable women, sweet spirit. From your grandmother may you inherit her passion and love, and from your Aunt Dana, her strength and intelligence. And from me, my love, may you learn to always embrace the light." December 24, 1992 "I talked to your grandmother Margaret and your Aunt Dana today. I haven't told them about you yet. I almost did, but I want to wait, to present you to them whole and beautiful. On your birthday I'll call and tell them. The doctors say February. Maybe you'll share your birthday with your Aunt Dana." January 29th, 1993 "Soon, my love. The doctor tells me that you will be here soon. I can hardly wait. I think I will call your Aunt Dana when I go into labor with you. She's a doctor, and I think she'd want to be here. She'd tell everyone what to do and make them all crazy, but I know she would take good care of you, and that's all I care about." That was the last entry. Scully closed the journal and tucked her knees up to her chin, tears streaming down her cheeks. Two days after that entry, Mark Lacey told her, Melissa had begun to bleed profusely, and the doctors had induced labor. The baby was full term but fatally flawed; a hole in her aorta and a perforated colon proved too much for even the best doctors. After two emergency surgeries and a valiant two week struggle, Dana Margaret Scully-Lacey had exhausted all her strength. The doctors could do nothing more. And Melissa had taken her baby home to die. "After that," Mark had told Scully, "things between Mel and me fell apart. She couldn't bear to talk to me, to touch me. She had locked up so much grief that I feared for her. Then one day, she left. I never heard from her again." Somehow, Missy had been able to pull herself back together. When she'd told Scully to stop running from her fears and grief after she'd thought that Mulder had been killed, Missy had been speaking from her own experience. She'd found the strength to fight her own demons and reclaim herself. That was what she'd wanted Scully to do, too. The tea pot on the stove whistled, and Scully unfolded herself from the couch and poured herself a cup. She carried the tea over to Mulder's couch and curled up against one arm, listening to the soft strains of the song on the CD, one of several Mark had given her. Melissa's favorites, he'd told her. "All those untold stories All those silent lies We'll never know each other Keeping them deep inside Let's wash away the troubles Keeping us apart Tell those untold stories Let the healing start It's been so long ago that We went our separate ways Now maybe time has changed us And worn the hurt away You look the same as ever I'm glad you're here with me Take a look into my eyes and Tell me what you see. Mark must've held onto this CD in the hopes that one day, Melissa would return to him. Thinking about her sister, about the sadness she'd sometimes seen in the depths of Missy's eyes, Scully wondered if Missy might have found her way back to him in time--if she'd only had more time? Guilt filled her heart with a bitter ache. Scully curled into a tighter ball, enveloped in the softness of Mulder's Patriots jersey. Though it was clean, she imagined she could smell his warm, unique essence clinging to the fibers. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel his strong arms around her, reminding her that she wasn't alone. A soft, furtive sound danced at the edge of her consciousness. For a second, she considered ignoring it. Then her training kicked in and she snapped her eyes open and listened. Someone was outside the door. She heard the softest of footfalls, saw a shadow break the faint thread of light coming from under the door. Heart racing, Scully reached for her gun. She pulled the Sig Sauer from the holster and held it steady in front of her. The door knob rattled, and she cocked the gun. * * * * * Mulder turned the door key as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake Scully if she was already asleep. It was almost 11:00 pm, and Scully's day had probably been tiring. But as he cracked the door, he heard the soft click of a gun cocking. He froze. "It's me, Scully. Don't shoot!" He heard the faint bumping noise that told him she'd put her gun on the coffee table. "Mulder, what are you doing here?" Her soft voice was tense. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him. Scully stood in front of the sofa, her hands on her hips, curvy form outlined by light from the lamp on the table behind her. Mulder's breath caught in his throat as he saw what she was wearing. His Pats jersey. His black silk boxers. They'd never looked better. "Over the phone you sounded like you could use some company." He tore his gaze away from her and turned to lock the door behind him. "I told you to stay at your mom's." "I needed some company." "You had company." "Not your company." She sighed, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She sat down on the sofa and tucked her feet up under her. Mulder had seen Scully emerge from an elevator like a Valkyrie, sweeping to his rescue when he was inches from certain death. He'd seen her face down Army generals and gun-wielding crazies without batting an eye. He'd known for a long time just what a formidable woman Dana Scully was. But looking at her now, curled up on his couch, wearing his clothes--his underwear!--her heart-shaped face soft and vulnerable, he knew he'd never before known just how dangerous she really was. And, in a Mulderesque display of recklessness, he ignored the warning bells in his head and crossed to sit next to her. Her solid warmth next to him felt so good. So right. Her gaze moved over his face as if trying to read his expression. Though her own pain was starkly evident in her sea-mist eyes, she wouldn't tell him what was wrong until he told her his own troubles. Scully had always been the "show me yours and I'll show you mine," type, he thought with a wry twist of his mouth. "Tough day at the old homestead?" she murmured. He sighed. "Nothing like meeting the people who had your sister all those years you spent tearing your gut out looking for her." She touched his arm. "You didn't like them?" "No, I did like them. That's the problem. I can't properly resent them because they're such nice people and they were so good to Samantha." He grimaced. "Hell, considering what a whacked-out family I came from, she was much better off being raised as Sarah Chandler." "You don't mean that, Mulder." He raked his fingers through his hair. "I don't. Not really. No matter how nice they were to her, it doesn't change the fact that somebody took her from us. She should've been with us." Her fingers played lightly at the base of his skull, sliding through his hair. He knew she meant the gesture to be soothing, but it was quickly becoming--not soothing. Downright inflaming. Resisting wayward feelings about Scully seemed so much harder these days. Was it the separation? Or was it the memory of her sweet Christmas kiss? He could still remember the buzz of electricity that had shot through him when her soft lips moved slowly, sweetly over his. Maybe it had just been the mistletoe. Or a potent combination of too much emotion and eggnog. He could think of a dozen perfectly plausible reasons why she'd kissed him--and why it had been nothing more than an aberration, never to be repeated. After all, Mulder wasn't a romantic man--on the contrary, his cynicism toward the idea of true love had served him quite well in the past. But when he looked at Scully, he suddenly found he wanted to believe. Now, more than ever before. * * * * * Scully took the cup of coffee Mulder offered her, knowing that neither of them was likely to sleep. With their emotions so bruised, they would both have nightmares anyway. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I know you wanted to walk Samantha down the aisle." "It makes more sense for Ray Chandler to do it." She tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling at his words. He sounded like a little boy trying very hard to be brave even though his heart was breaking. She'd always had a soft spot for little boys. "We're not talking about what makes sense, Mulder. We're talking about how you feel." He grimaced. "You know what they say, Scully." "What?" "The best way to paralyze a roomful of men is to start talking about how you feel." She chuckled. "I'll admit, I'm a lot better talking about other people's feelings than I am my own." "Speaking of your own feelings, are you ever going to tell me about meeting your sister's friend?" She looked down at her hands. She didn't want to talk about this, not even with Mulder. The pain was so raw, so new. She feared losing control in front of him, feared that he would lose respect for her. "I need to know, Scully." His voice was low and caressing. She closed her eyes and let its rough warmth wash over her. "Tell me." She took a deep breath to gather her strength. "Mark and Missy were in love. They were living together in Billings, Montana, six years ago when Missy discovered she was going to have a baby." Once she started, the whole story spilled like floodwaters through a broken dam. She bit back the tears at first, trying to relate the details as if she were reciting the contents of a casefile. But when Mulder took her hands in his, stroking her palms with his long fingers, she felt her control slip. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she choked out the last sad details of Melissa's secret life. "They buried the baby in a plot in the back of their cabin." She gently tugged her hands out of Mulder's grip and wiped the tears streaking down her cheeks. "She never told any of us about it." He touched her cheekbone, brushing away a stray tear. "I'm sorry, Scully. I'm sorry she never told you." "Was it my fault? Did I make her think that she couldn't tell me about her baby? Did she think I would be harsh or unforgiving? Is that how she saw me?" He shook his head. "Missy knew you better than that, Dana." His use of her first name caught her by surprise. Even though Mulder was her closest and dearest friend, he seldom called her by her given name. The unexpectedness was enough to make her catch her breath. He smiled, as if recognizing his slip. "Maybe the pain was too much for her to talk about. It wasn't that she couldn't trust you with it. Maybe she just didn't think she could trust herself." Scully understood. She had kept things from Mulder over the years, not because she didn't trust him but because she didn't want to add to his own emotional burdens. Missy had come back to them at a vulnerable time for the family. Ahab had been gone for such a short time, and Scully herself was in the hospital, one breath from death's door. "We WERE going through one crisis after another," she said aloud. "Dad's death, my brush with death, all the danger you and I were in--" She sipped her coffee, grimacing as she realized it had grown tepid. Mulder took the cup from her and put it on the coffee table. He turned back to her and opened his arms. "Come here." She crawled forward, curling up in the shelter of his arms. Beneath her ear, his heartbeat was loud and steady, reassuring her. "Maybe there was just never a good time to tell us. You and I were gone so much that year, on one horrible case after another. And then there was the digital tape and New Mexico--" She shuddered, and his arms tightened around her. "Maybe Mark's Christmas card wasn't a coincidence," he murmured. She lifted her head to look up at him, arching her eyebrows. He smiled. "Maybe this was Missy trying to finally tell you." She looked into his warm hazel-gray eyes, glad she'd told him everything. Instead of pitying her weakness, he merely lent her his strength, just as she'd done for him time and time again. Partners through thick and thin. The bastards may have separated us, she thought, but they haven't destroyed the bond we have. She was beginning to wonder if there were any force on earth that could. End of #5 Disclaimer: All characters seen or mentioned on the X-FILES belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Production, FOX networks, DD, GA, etc. and are used without permission. SOMETHING SO RIGHT by Paul Simon is used without permission (but it's so perfect for this I couldn't resist). The characters of Mr. and Mrs. Preston Powell Sr. and Preston Powell Jr. belong to me, and if I had as much money as the Powells do, somebody might want to sue me for this...but since I don't... This is part 6 of a 12 part series, a sequel to TWELVE RITES OF PASSAGE. If you haven't read that story, you may want to read it first. No sex but strong hints of a romance... TWELVE DEGREES OF SEPARATION No. 6: February Something So Right by Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com Dana Scully glanced at her watch as the plane circled J.F.K., waiting for the next available runway. A stewardess had calmly answered her testy question about the delay with a half-smile. "It's Valentine's Day Eve and it's New York City. Can't fight romance." Scully subsided against her seat and closed her eyes, trying to ease the tension knotting in her shoulders. Think pleasant thoughts, Scully. Breathe slowly. In. Out. Pleasant thoughts led to Fox Mulder. Most thoughts seemed to lead to Fox Mulder these days. She missed him like she'd miss an arm or a leg. Her work wasn't nearly as interesting, her evenings and weekends were downright lonely. The funny thing about that was, she and Mulder never had spent all that much downtime together while they were partners. Maybe because of spending sixty-hour weeks with each other, they respected each other's need for some time alone. But now, Scully'd had just about all the time alone she could stand. She needed some excitement. She needed a good dose of Mulder. She glanced at her watch again. Already 6:56. She was supposed to meet Mulder and his family at Milano's at 8:30 for an engagement dinner for Samantha and Preston. They'd been engaged since Christmas, but Samantha the romantic wanted to wait until Valentine's Day to celebrate. Since Valentine's Day was on Sunday that year, they decided to celebrate on Saturday, which meant that Scully could get away from D.C. to join them. She just should've flown out earlier in the day instead of hanging around to catch up on paper work. The announcement that the plane was preparing to land pulled her out of her reverie. She buckled her seat belt and looked at her watch again. 7:08. No way she was going to be able to get to her hotel, change into her dress, and meet the Mulders by 8:30. She picked up a rental car at the airport and pulled out into the Saturday evening traffic jam. Another glance at her watch made her cringe. 8:03 and counting. She pulled out her cellular phone and dialled Mulder's cell phone number. "Mulder." "Hi, it's me. I'm just now leaving the airport. I have to go check in at the hotel and change, so there's no way I'm going to make it by 8:30. I'm in a traffic jam that would make your hair stand on end--" She glanced at the rear view mirror. "Which is what mine is doing right now." Mulder's chuckle warmed her. "I'd pay money to see that!" "Please, tell everyone how sorry I am and that I'll get there as soon as possible." "I will," Mulder promised. "I'm heading out the door." "Are you sure that my green velvet dress is appropriate for Milano's?" She'd never been to the restaurant, but a colleague from Quantico had told her it was one of the finest in the city. She'd agonized over what to wear for almost a week before deciding on a simple velvet dress with long, fitted sleeves and a flaring skirt. "I've never seen your green velvet dress, Scully." Of course he hadn't. Suits and jeans, yes, but green velvet dresses, no. "Then I guess you don't know." "Frankly, I'm dying of anticipation. Am I going to recognize you without your sensible shoes?" "Mulder, my shoes have never been sensible." She had painful memories of running through the woods in heels. What she'd put up with to add a couple of inches of height! "Why don't I call Mom and tell her we'll both be late?" Mulder suggested. "I'll wait here at the hotel for you. I can even check you in, okay? So all you'll have to do is change and we can go. Or we could even skip the thing altogether." The thought was very tempting, but Scully put it aside. "No, Mulder, you shouldn't miss any of your sister's engagement dinner just because my plane was late. Go ahead. I'll meet you there. Talk to you soon." She hung up the phone. Flicking her right turn signal, she angled over in traffic and headed for the hotel. * * * * * Mulder nibbled his Chicken Divan and checked his watch. Almost nine. Scully should've been here by now. He shifted uncomfortably, wishing Preston Powell's family had a little less money and a little lower expectation in dining experiences. Like the Powell men, he had donned a tuxedo in keeping with the atmosphere of the five star restaurant. He'd warned Scully that an evening dress was warranted, but he hoped he'd properly stressed just how dressy an event this damned dinner was. Scully wasn't exactly a party animal, and he wondered if even this fabled green velvet dress would stand up to the competition. Then he shook his head and smiled at the silly thought. Dana Scully could walk into this place wearing a barley sack and outclass any woman here. He just wished she'd hurry up and get here. A soft burring sound interrupted his thoughts. He reached in his pocket for his phone. "Mulder." "It's me. I've been in the car for twenty minutes and I'm still only a mile away from the hotel. Why was I so stupid as to think renting a car in New York City would be a GOOD idea? The traffic is horrible and I don't know any of the shortcuts. I think I'm going to turn around and head back to the hotel, park the car and see if a cab will have any better luck." "Scully, why don't you just wait there at the hotel?" He lowered his voice, glancing around the table to make sure the others were safely involved in their own conversations. "Honestly, Scully, it's pretty dull here. Samantha and Thurston Howell the Third are making kissy face, my mom and Mrs. Powell are haggling over china patterns, and Papa Bear is drinking himself under the table. Stay there and I'll make an excuse to leave early." "Mulder, I didn't fly all the way to New York City to sit in my hotel room, even with you." "I think I'm insulted," he murmured. "Wait. I see a break in traffic. Hold your breath as I make my move--" He held his breath. "Ahh! I think I'm in luck. If all goes well, I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Bye." He shut off his phone and returned it to his pocket. "Was that Dana?" Samantha asked. He nodded. "Who is this Dana?" Preston Powell Sr. asked, his words slurred by the good bourbon he'd been putting away. "Dana is Fox's, um, friend." Samantha darted a sly look his way. "GOOD friend." Mulder's mother's eyes met his. The speculation he saw gleaming there made him squirm a little. Great, Samantha, get Mom all excited again. He'd confided in his mother a few months ago when he'd been contemplating taking his friendship with Scully to the next level. When things hadn't developed in that direction, she'd been deeply disappointed. He knew his mother had long despaired of his ever finding a nice woman and settling down-- with good reason. A wife and family had never been on his list of priorities. By the time he'd been old enough to think of such things, he'd known that kind of life was far, far beyond his reach. Never, even in his most foolishly romantic moments with Phoebe Green, had he given thought to marriage or babies. At least, he hadn't. Not until this past Christmas, when Dana Scully kissed him underneath the mistletoe. God, that had been a epiphany. A soft brush of her lips against his, the slightest puff of her warm breath into his mouth--he'd often tried to imagine what it would be like to kiss Scully, but his imaginings had always leaned toward an explosion of passion, where the tension that had always existed between them became too much to resist. Never in a million years would he have imagined that a sweet, chaste brush of lips could have sent him into such a reckless fantasy of endless passion and devotion. He'd already picked out their bathroom colors before he plummeted back to reality. A reality in which Dana Scully was his best friend and his loyal supporter, but nothing more. They'd had their chance to change things between them--and failed. So back into the dark recesses of his mind went the fantasy, and he made himself be happy with the reality that had somehow been enough for him before. His mother's voice stepped into the dangerous path of his thoughts. "Is she going to be able to make it?" "She's trying. She's stuck in traffic, but she thinks she just got an opening." "She's a very nice woman," Mrs. Mulder murmured to Mrs. Powell. "She and Fox worked together at the F.B.I. for several years. She's quite lovely and very smart--a doctor, as a matter of fact." Mulder could hardly stifle a smile. Every mother wants her child to marry a doctor, he thought. "What's the matter, Fox?" Samantha leaned forward. He shook his head. "Nothing." "Are you mad because I got Mom to speculating again?" He glanced at her, surprised by how she always seemed to read his mind. "I don't want her to say or do something to make Scully uncomfortable." "It'll be okay. Mom's not much of a meddler." "Scully and I don't think about each other that way." Samantha cocked one eyebrow in a Scullyesque display of skepticism. He stifled a grin. "Promise me you won't say anything, either, Samantha." "Not a word. But maybe you should." He shook his head. "I've been doing this for a long time. I see no reason to change things now." "What if Dana's just waiting for a word from you? What if she feels the same things but she's afraid to tell you?" "Scully's not afraid of anything, Samantha. If she had feelings for me, she'd tell me. We had our chance and nothing came of it." He sighed and glanced at his watch again. Where was she? * * * * * Damn, damn, damn! Traffic closed up within a quarter mile, trapping Scully in the wrong lane. She had to turn right and circle the block to catch the light a block up before she could make her way back to the correct lane. A glance at her watch made her stomach burn. 9:43. They had to be well into dessert by now. Mulder had probably given up on her and picked up some tall brunette in a slinky black dress. Somebody with a British accent and a bad habit of stomping on men's hearts. Damn it, Mulder, if I get there to find you cosied up to a Phoebe-wannabe, there's not a court in this land that would convict me for your murder. For such a smart man, he could be so incredibly stupid. She'd taken one look at Phoebe Green and summed her up. Vampire. She sucked every ounce of joy and self-esteem from her lovers, leaving the empty husks like so much detritus in her wake. Mulder himself admitted that it had taken ten years to get her out of his system. And speaking of vampires, he'd really made a huge blunder with Kristin Kilar. Protecting a suspect--SLEEPING with a suspect, for God's sake! It broke every rule of conduct, every ethic--Scully shook her head, her stomach tightening even more. It had broken her heart. Knowing that while she was missing, held by God knows who for God knows what purpose, he'd been in another woman's arms. His body buried in a stranger's flesh, his mouth probing hers, his voice calling another woman's name when he came-- Stop it, Dana. Stop it now. He had beaten himself up enough for that when he'd finally been forced to tell her what had happened. The shame, the guilt, the self-loathing had been horrible to see, and she had to pretend that it was okay, that she understood, because she sure as hell couldn't let him or anyone else see that she was dying inside. Whoever had sent her the photographs of his liaison with Kristen had WANTED her to be hurt, be angry. The anonymous packet of photos had come during a tense case, timed perfectly by men who were consummate manipulators. And it had almost worked, because she HAD been hurt. And angry. And jealous. She stared at the stalled traffic in front of her, her mind still in a cold, dark mansion in Los Angeles, watching Mulder making love to a shadow woman. There was nothing prurient in her imaginings, only sick horror at the dark desperation she saw in his face as he took his cold comfort. She realized that tears were seeping down her cheeks, no doubt smearing her careful make-up. She checked her rear view mirror, repaired the slight damage with a tissue from her hand bag. Cool blue eyes stared back at her, remarkably calm considering the turbulence she felt inside. Is this how I look to him? Like a porcelain doll, cold and untouchable? She'd always hated emotion, hated what it did to her, the way it tried to rob her of control. She fought to tamp down tears and terrors in some deep, hidden place inside her where they could do no harm. But what else had she hidden away in the process? Something precious that she should have shown to Mulder a long time ago? In the car in front of Tooms' house all those years ago, she'd had a chance to test the waters between her and Mulder. He'd given her that chance with soft, teasing words. "If there's an iced tea in that bag, could be love..." She cringed now when she thought of her response. "Must be fate, Mulder...Rootbeer." Damn it, she had almost gotten tea. She'd actually made them change the order at the sandwich shop, thinking he'd prefer the carbonation to wake him up after so many hours without sleep. If only she'd stuck with the tea... And what if you had, Dana Katherine Scully? What if you'd pulled a cup of tea from that bag? What if he'd-- Her cellular phone burred quietly. She picked it up and connected. "Scully." "Chocolate cheesecake with cherry liqueur, Scully. Mmm..." His voice rippled down her spine. "Do they let you take out doggie bags?" "I told you we should've stayed at the hotel." "You're about to leave the restaurant, aren't you?" She squeezed her cell phone, disappointed. "I'm afraid so. It's past the old folks' bedtime." In the background, she heard Mrs. Mulder. "Fox!" Scully chuckled. "Still know how to make friends and influence people, I see, Mulder." "Yeah..wait...no--" There was a scuffling sound, then Samantha's voice on the line. "Dana?" "Hi, Samantha. I'm sorry about this. I'm stuck in traffic." "Where are you?" "About two blocks past Times Square, best I can tell. On..." She squinted at a street sign. "I'm on Broadway at West 42nd Street, heading in the general direction of the Empire State Building." "Perfect! Fox will be there at the top, waiting for you." "Oh, no you don't, Samantha! I've seen AN AFFAIR TO REMEMBER, and I have no intention of being run over by a taxi just so Cary Grant can cry over me!" "Actually, I was thinking of SLEEPLESS IN SEATTLE, and that ended just fine--" After another soft scuffling sound over the phone, Mulder spoke. "Forget the Empire State Building. Every SLEEPLESS IN SEATTLE fan in America will be there. There's a little diner near Madison Square Gardens. Called the Knick. It's between W. 30th and Seventh. It's only a half-mile from here, so I may beat you there. I'm the guy in the tuxedo, eating a Dodger Dog." She chuckled again. "Okay. W. 30th and Seventh. The Knick. Got it." She hung up the phone and flicked on her right indicator, hoping somebody would let her over. Mulder was waiting for her. * * * * * "You should've stuck with the Empire State Building, Fox." Samantha hooked her arm through Mulder's as her fiance settled his parents into their car. "Much more romantic than a diner." Somehow, he didn't think so. He happened to know that the Knick had an old style jukebox and the best seafood pasta in the city. He made a regular pilgramage to New York City at least once a year to watch a Knicks game at the Gardens. About four years ago, Langley, Byers and Frohike had come along. As annoying as it was to have them constantly scanning the crowd for CIA operatives, distracting him from the game, Byers' suggested after-game trip to the Knick had made up for the irritation. The diner was the kind of 1950's tacky chrome place that Scully loved to hate. It made him think of her immediately, and he'd made the mistake of mentioning her name, sending Frohike into paroxysms of passion. Even Langley and Byers had finally told the little gnome to shut up. Mulder smiled at the thought. Scully would expect no less of him than to spend Valentine's Day eve at a tacky diner. And she was going to love the seafood pasta. * * * * * She was in sight of Madison Square Gardens when her car died. It simply chug-chugged twice and stopped. She had just enough momentum to slide it into an illegal parking place in front of a quick copy shop. After several minutes of quiet cursing which called on her memory of every sailor she'd ever met in her life-long acquaintance with sailors, she put on her emergency blinkers and pulled out her cellular phone. It burred in her ear once before Mulder answered. "Let me guess--" "My car just gave up the ghost." "Where are you? She looked up at the sign. "I'm on Seventh at West 35th. I swear, Mulder, I'd just get out and walk except these shoes are torture devices and I wouldn't make it past West 34th. Can it get any worse?" Then, of course, it did. The first splat of rain hit the windshield. "Damn it, Mulder, it's raining!" His chuckle did nothing to improve her mood. "Don't suppose you have an umbrella?" "I can't just leave the car here. I'm going to have to call AAA and at least get a tow." She glanced at her watch. 10:45. She closed her eyes. "Want me to come pick you up?" "No! Stay right where you are. Your sense of direction is worse than mine, and if you get out in this traffic, I'll have to open an X-File on you myself. Are you at the diner yet?" "Yeah. I got here about five minutes ago." A knock on her window startled Scully. A scruffy looking man leered at her through the glass, and her rigid control snapped. She jerked her Sig Sauer from her handbag, cocked it into readiness, and pressed the muzzle against the glass. "Go to hell, freak!" "Scully?" Mulder's voice over the phone sounded tense. The man backpedalled furiously, almost running into traffic. Within seconds, he was out of sight. "Scully?" "Sorry, Mulder. I just shared my joy with some poor panhandler. Listen, I'm going to call for a wrecker, then catch a cab. Are you sure you don't just want to go back to the hotel? It could be after midnight before I get away, at this rate." "This is an all night diner, Scully. I'll wait. Oh, and I've gotten six dollars in quarters for the jukebox. Any requests?" "A normal life, Mulder." "I don't think they have that here." "No, I don't suppose they do. See you in a bit." She hung up, then reconnected and called the number on her AAA card. * * * * * It was almost midnight. Fitting, really, Mulder thought as he glanced at his watch. At midnight, it would be Valentine's Day for real. He sat in the corner booth of the all-night diner, ignoring the stares of the handful of customers, and watched through the picture window for Scully to arrive. A battered cab drew up to the corner, and Mulder knew with certainty that it was her. After the rest of tonight's disaster, it made perfect sense that her chariot would be a twenty-year-old taxi. She emerged from the cab, looking like a refugee from the Titanic. Her rain-damp hair was wild and windblown; her make-up had long since vanished. Her trench coat covered only the top two-thirds of her dress, leaving the bottom part of the green velvet gown to the mercy of the rain and road grime. She caught sight of him staring at her through the picture window and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. A self-deprecating smile curved her lips, and she took a little bow. He slid out of the booth and met her at the door. "I know, I look like hell." She sighed. He shook his head. "You look great. Just perfect." She favored him with one of her rare toothy smiles, and he felt his heart ooze down into his stomach. "Nice tie." She flicked the colorful bow-tie hanging unknotted around his neck. "Well, it matched the cummerbund." He waved toward that offending piece of satin lying on the table of his booth. "So, ready to admit we should've just stayed at the hotel?" She sighed. "Mulder, we should've just stayed at the hotel." He brushed her damp hair out of her eyes. "Come on, I've already ordered for you. The best seafood pasta you've ever tasted. I told them to bring it out when a gorgeous, muddy redhead walked in." He helped her out of her damp coat. Underneath, her green velvet dress was--well--disturbing. To his equilibrium, anyway. It hugged her curves in a way that he himself had only dreamed about in his more careless moments. Though long-sleeved and high-necked, the dark green velvet was a shimmery second skin, leaving him hot and cold at the same time. "So, would this dress have been okay for Milano's?" "Yeah." That dress would've been okay any time, any place, any how, he thought. He forced his mind away from that sweet treachery and took his place across from her. She looked around the diner. He followed her gaze, trying to read her mind. He knew that classy little Georgetown pubs were more her style, but to his delight, she granted him another one of her breathtaking smiles. "So much better than the Empire State Building, Mulder." He grinned like an idiot. "Thought you'd like it. While we're waiting for your food, wanna go pick something from the jukebox?" He pushed a quarter across the table to her. She waggled one eyebrow. "I get to choose?" "Well, there's a limited selection--and no Michael Bolton. I checked." She took the quarter and crossed to the jukebox. He couldn't keep his eyes off her, studying the supple curve of her spine as she bent and pondered her selection. Her face was in profile to him; he saw a slight smile curve her lips as she inserted the quarter in the slot and pushed some buttons. A moment later, the mellow strains of an old Paul Simon song began, and Scully turned to look at him, smiling her enigmatic little smile that always made him squirm inside. "You got cool water when the fever runs high You got the look of love light in your eyes I was in crazy motion until you calmed me down It took a little time to calm me down." She crossed and took her seat without speaking. The song filled his ears and his mind. "When something goes wrong I'm the first to admit it I'm the first to admit it, the last one to know When something goes right it's likely to lose me It's apt to confuse me because its such an unusual sight I swear, I can't get used to something so right, Something so right." He reached across the table and caught her hands. He didn't know if she was trying to tell him something with the song, and he wasn't sure either of them was really ready to hear it if she was, but for the moment, he felt happier than he had in his whole life. "They got a wall in China, it's a thousand miles long To keep out the foreigners they made it strong And I've got a wall around me That you can't even see It took a little time to get next to me." Her fingers tightened on his, forcing him to look up at her. But she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were on their hands. He followed her gaze and looked at the intertwined fingers, the rippling play of their tendons and muscles as they held on to each other. This is right, he thought. However you want to define it, whatever name you want to give it, Scully and I are right together. And everything's all wrong when we're apart. Cancerman knew that. That's why the bastard had taken Scully from him in the first place. Why he had finally given her back to him so that Mulder would suffer the torture of watching her die before his own eyes. But he didn't count on you, did he, Scully? My own personal, daily miracle. She'd come back to him, giving him courage not long after that to come back to her, to acknowledge the truth that bound them together in dangerous purpose. "Some people never say the words I love It's not their style to be so bold Some people never say those words, 'I love you.' But like a child they're longing to be told." Later, he thought. We'll put words to it later. For now, he and Scully were together, and all was finally right with the world. End of #6 Disclaimer: All characters seen or mentioned on the X-FILES belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Production, FOX networks, DD, GA, etc. and are used without permission. WHERE TIME STANDS STILL by Mary Chapin Carpenter is used without permission (but I highly recommend the album STONES IN THE ROAD). I have no money, so please don't anybody sue me... This is part 7 of a 12 part series, a sequel to TWELVE RITES OF PASSAGE. If you haven't read that story, you may want to read it first.. TWELVE DEGREES OF SEPARATION No. 7: March Where Time Stands Still By Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com The tuxedo felt like a strait-jacket, and Fox Mulder, the psychologist, couldn't deny the obvious association. He found the world outside himself confining. Too many people making too many rules designed to keep too many other people helpless and voiceless. Like the tuxedo, with its impractical formality and utter lack of comfort, so many of the rules he was forced to live by in his work and life seemed useless and arbitrary. He'd bucked the "book" a long time ago. He'd even talked Scully into joining him in his anarchy from time to time. But just as he now donned the stiff white shirt and black tails despite the discomfort, Fox Mulder from time to time accepted the limits of his freedom. He'd taken the field position in Boston after the shut down of the X-Files because it was the best offer the Bureau would make him. He hadn't yet gone so far afield in his rebellion that he didn't understand that working within the system, however confining, also had some benefits he couldn't afford to forego. And being in the Bureau kept him connected to Dana Scully. Mulder knew that he and Scully would have stayed in touch no matter what. But as long as he stayed with the FBI, he could hang onto the idea of one day working with her again, clinging to the nugget of hope with the fervent faith of a true believer. His partnership with Dana Scully had been the most intense, powerful relationship in his thirty-seven years of life. He wanted it back. He wanted Scully back. He hadn't told her he was coming to Washington this weekend. He wanted to surprise her. His plan was to make an appearance at the President's 40th wedding anniversary party, kiss a few asses in the hopes of one day returning with Scully to the cold basement office at the J. Edgar Hoover building, and then drive straight to Scully's apartment. She'd let him sleep on her couch. Or maybe, tonight, she'd finally let him sleep in her arms. He couldn't kid himself anymore. He wanted Scully. He needed her. Over a year ago, sitting by Scully's bedside after she'd almost died of a gunshot wound, he'd come to the decision to explore all the possibilities that lay between him and his partner. Sidetracked by Samantha's return, he'd thought he'd lost his chance with Scully. But the last few months of enforced separation had ironically brought them closer together than ever. Stolen weekends, long phone conversations, endless ping-ponging games of e-mail tag had only intensified Mulder's longing for his former partner. Thoughts and feelings he'd never fully acknowledged during their time together haunted him now, emerging from the dark ether of his subconscious to stare him in the face deep in the night when he couldn't sleep. And ever since Scully had kissed him at Christmas, the longing had increased exponentially. Through January and the emotional weekend she'd spent at his apartment after she'd found out about Melissa's baby. Through Valentine's Day in New York City, where they'd greeted February 14th in a chrome and vinyl diner near Madison Square Gardens after traffic and car trouble had sabotaged their plans for the evening. That night, sitting in a booth listening to Paul Simon on the jukebox and holding Scully's hands, Mulder accepted a truth that had been staring him in the face for years. He was meant to spend the rest of his life with Dana Katherine Scully. Now all he had to do was make her see that it wasn't too late, after all. He smiled with secret happiness as he walked into the lobby at the Hotel St. Claire in Washington D.C. Secret Servicemen were everywhere, reminding Mulder that his "contact in Congress" had been sworn in as President of the United States over two years ago. Recently, rumors had been flying around the Boston field office concerning President Matheson's plans for the Bureau. There was talk of some major restructuring. Mulder was here to find out if Matheson had any plans of reopening the X-Files--and reinstating the Mulder/Scully partnership. Because if he was, then decisions had to be made. Decisions he and Scully needed to start thinking about now, while there was still time for rational thought. He showed his i.d. to the giant in the monkey suit guarding the entrance to the banquet hall. As the guard checked the guest manifest, Mulder glanced into the crowded room beyond. He saw Matheson right away, surrounded by sycophants and supplicants. The president looked a little weary and more than a bit tense. Mulder couldn't blame him. Tonight was supposed to be an anniversary party. The guest list was rather small for a presidential gathering, but toadies always found a way in. And being president, he supposed, meant that even people you called friend sometimes went a little nuts when they realized they were now hanging out with the prez. The guard returned his i.d. to him, nodding. "There you go, Agent Mulder." Mulder entered the fray. Most of the people in the room were strangers to him, congressmen and cabinet members who would have been shocked that they were rubbing elbows with a man who'd spent years chasing aliens and mutants for a living. But he saw a few faces that looked familiar. A couple of men who'd worked for his father at the State Department. A pretty Asian woman he and Scully had met when a case led them to the Smithsonian Institution--Dr. Amy Chan, his photographic memory supplied. Former section chief Blevins was in the corner, talking to a trim, well-dressed woman Mulder recognized as Matheson's press secretary Genevieve Nolan. Blevins was the guy who'd assigned Dana Scully to the X- Files in the hopes of discrediting the project and Mulder's career. Mulder made a mental note to shake the old man's hand before the night was over. Blevins' move had been the best thing that ever happened to Fox Mulder. Across the room, he made out the bald head of Assistant Director Walter Skinner. Mulder automatically began working his way through the crowd toward his former supervisor, glad to find an ally in the throng. As he got closer, he saw that Skinner was standing close to a woman in an almost backless black dress. Mulder couldn't see anything but occasional flashes of milk-white skin framed by folds of midnight velvet. A waiter stood between Mulder and the woman, his tray of canapes blocking Mulder's view of the woman's head and shoulders, but he saw very clearly when Skinner's hand lifted and pressed against the hollow between the woman's delicate shoulder blades. The small, stroking movement of dark fingers against pale skin spoke of affection. Or was it possession? Mulder increased his pace across the room, curious to see Skinner's mystery woman. After Sharon Skinner's death, the AD had closed himself off to almost everyone, burying his grief and his loneliness in his work. Sounds like another guy I used to know, he thought. But that was before Scully had saved him from himself. He was only fifteen feet away when the waiter finally moved, giving him full view of the petite woman by Walter Skinner's side. Mulder stopped in mid-step, swallowing convulsively. Above the pale skin of her bare back, above Skinner's possessive hand, red curls rested on a slender neck that Fox Mulder had once examined in a tiny claustrophobic room in Icy Cape, Alaska. Red curls spilling from a sleek chignon held in place by a garnet-studded hair comb that he'd bought for her just over a year ago. A light dusting of freckles on a heart-shaped face he'd seen in his nightmares every night for three long, lonely months almost five years ago as he wondered who had taken her from him, what they were doing to her and if they'd ever give her back. She lifted her head to look at Skinner, and he saw the blue- gray eyes that had seen beyond his prickly armor to find the real Fox Mulder, the one who ached and longed and loved. The same Fox Mulder who now stared at Dana Scully and Walter Skinner and wanted to shrivel up and die. * * * * * "Agent Scully is the head of the Forensics Department at the F.B.I. Academy," Skinner told the slim, gray-haired man in front of them. Scully tried to remember his name, wishing, not for the first time, that she had a photographic memory like Mulder. Thomas, she remembered. Senator Graham Thomas from Iowa. He was on the Intelligence Committee, and Skinner had wanted to make sure the good senator remembered Dana Scully. She didn't want to dwell on the Assistant Director's reason for bringing her to this party. She didn't want to get her hopes up too high. Even if there was more reason for hope now than she'd had in six long months. "I knew your father, Agent Scully," Sen. Thomas was saying. She looked up, a bittersweet smile crossing her face. "Really?" "Bill and I served together in the Navy during the Cuban Blockade. I remember, all he could talk about was getting back home to his Maggie." Her smile widened, then froze as Walter Skinner murmured, "I can understand why." She darted a glance toward the Assistant Director. His dark eyes met hers, expressionless, and she wondered if she'd heard him correctly. "I was sorry to hear he passed away. The good ones always go too soon." Sen. Thomas smiled, a hint of sadness in his dark eyes. "I also heard about your sister. You and your family had a rough couple of years." She nodded, regret piercing her heart. Two of the hardest, saddest years of her life, tempered only by the presence of Fox Mulder by her side and, increasingly, in her heart. The same day that Missy had been shot, Mulder had walked through the door of his apartment and back into her life, and they'd never really been apart since. Not even now, with four hundred miles separating them. He was still with her. Part of her. And soon, maybe, he'd be back here in Washington again, glaring at her over his wire-rimmed glasses, trying to convince her of the validity of one outlandish theory or another as they shivered in the cold, dark basement office she'd come to think of as her own little piece of heaven. Don't go there yet, Scully, she admonished herself. It's too soon. Nothing is settled yet. "Please tell your mother I said hello, Agent Scully." Sen. Thomas smiled again and took his leave. "That's a good omen if I ever saw one," Skinner commented. "I didn't know he knew your father. I'll bet we can count on his support." "Maybe." Scully took a quick sip of champagne before she set the mostly full crystal flute on a table for the waiter to retrieve. "How much more of this do I have to do? Ass kissing isn't one of my talents." "No! Really?" She looked up, surprised by Skinner's dry sarcasm. Despite the tension coiling like snakes in her belly, she chuckled. "Well, it's not a talent I had much chance to cultivate while working with Mulder." "Have you seen him yet?" She frowned slightly, confused. "Mulder?" Skinner nodded. "His name's on the guest manifest." Scully looked around her. But she was too short to see beyond the wall of tuxedos and evening gowns hemming her in like palisades around a fort. "Do you see him?" she asked Skinner, trying not to betray the eagerness shooting through her like bolts of electricity. Skinner's head swivelled, his eyes narrowing as he peered through his glasses at the crowd around him. Scully watched the A.D.'s face, looking for a flash of recognition, trying not to get too excited. Surely if Mulder had been coming to Washington, he'd have called and let her know. Wouldn't he? After Valentine's Day, she'd been certain that she and Mulder were heading for a new level in their relationship. Neither of them had said anything, but the touch of his hands on hers in the New York diner, the look in his eyes when Paul Simon sang about "something so right"--she hadn't imagined that, had she? She hadn't imagined the added warmth in his voice every time he'd called since February. Or the increased cyber-warmth of his e-mail messages, she thought with an inward smile. Then she saw the small downward twitch of Skinner's mouth. She tried to follow Skinner's eyes, but the crowd around them blocked her view. "What is it?" she asked. "Is it Mulder?" Skinner nodded. He looked down at her, his dark eyes full of something Scully didn't recognize. But whatever it was, she didn't think it was good. "What's wrong, sir?" "Did you tell Agent Mulder you were coming to this party?" "No." She didn't like the turn of this conversation, didn't like the somber tone of Skinner's voice, evident even through the ambient buzz of conversation and the soft, sparkling strains of music coming from the dance floor area. "Why do you ask?" Skinner sighed. "Because Agent Mulder...is not alone." Scully's heart plummeted. She pressed her lips together and pushed her way through the crowd, following the path she'd seen Skinner's gaze take. She emerged, finally, at the edge of the parquet dance floor, where a handful of couples swayed to the soft strains of "Someone to Watch Over Me." She spotted Mulder immediately, a lean, breathtaking vision in a black tuxedo, his long arms wrapped around the waist of a dark-haired woman Scully knew from Quantico. A handwriting analyst--Elaine Henderson. Way back in the first year of her partnership with Mulder, she'd heard--and dismissed--rumors about Mulder and the quick-witted Agent Henderson. Now, watching their bodies swaying as one to the music, seeing Mulder's hands pressed against the small of Henderson's back, she wondered how many other rumors she had dismissed might yet come back to haunt her. She took a couple of steps back, letting the crowd swallow her. Mulder never saw her. But Henderson did. * * * * * "Ah, the plot thickens." Elaine Henderson's voice was low and dry in Mulder's ear. He pulled his head back and looked down at her. "What?" "I knew your sudden passion for a romantic dance was too good to be true. So, Mulder, wanna tell your old pal Henderson what you're really doing pressing your long, lean, beautiful body against mine after all these years?" "I've missed you, Henderson. Are you accusing me of a less noble motive?" He kept his voice intentionally light. He'd had years of experience pretending to feel one thing when deep down he was feeling something entirely different. "You and your little red head have a tiff?" He blinked. "My little what?" "The Ice Queen. The Freezer Frau. Dr. Antartica." Rage shot through Mulder and he tightened his grip on Henderson until she gasped. "Always wondered what it would take to make your shell crack, Mulder." Elaine's voice was a little rueful. "Should've figured out a long time ago that it was Dana Scully." He relaxed his grip and pulled her with him off the dance floor. He grabbed a flute of champagne on his way to a secluded corner, downing the fizzy drink in two gulps. Joining the three glasses of champagne he'd already drunk on an empty stomach, the alcohol jerked through him like an earthquake. He put his hand against the wall to steady himself. "She saw us dancing, Mulder." He looked at Henderson, trying to keep his expression neutral. He wondered if he was failing as badly as he thought. "So?" He'd seen her before cosied up to Skinner. Maybe now they were even. "So she didn't look happy." He laughed. "That's funny. She looked very happy when I saw her earlier." Immediately he regretted his words, knowing what they had revealed. Henderson's smile widened. "Aha. And let me guess--the lovely Agent Scully wasn't alone earlier?" He didn't want to talk about Scully. He wanted to drink a few more glasses of champagne until he stopped aching. Then he wanted to take Elaine Henderson back to her apartment and get laid. Maybe then he would forget what a damned fool he'd been for ever thinking he had a chance with Scully. His luck with women was abysmal at best--and Scully had been his brightest hope for a real shot at happiness. Should've stopped with Phoebe. It had taken him ten years to get her out of his system. He suspected with Dana Scully, it would take the rest of his life. * * * * * Scully found Skinner near the doorway, talking to a man who looked vaguely familiar. Skinner waved her over. "Agent Scully, I want you to meet George Callahan, President Matheson's chief of staff. George, this is Special Agent Dana Scully. You might remember her work on the Wellington case last year. Best forensic work the Bureau has ever seen." Scully's head pounded as she listened to the A.D. sucking up on her behalf. She felt like he was talking about a stranger. Callahan held out his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Agent Scully." His blue eyes were warm with very masculine appreciation, and his hand held hers longer than she liked. She shot Skinner a glare, barely resisting the urge to wipe her hand on the skirt of her dress. Skinner's expression froze in a half smile, but he quickly steered her away from Callahan. "Sorry," he murmured when they were out of earshot. She shook her head. "Doesn't matter. I'm about to call a cab, sir. I have a bit of a headache, and I think I'd just like to go home." His raised eyebrow told her that he wasn't buying that story. But he had the decency not to comment. "I'll take you home." "It's not necessary--" He shook his head. "I think maybe it is." She inclined her head in silent consent and waited while he went to get their coats. He returned in a moment and helped her wrap the black velvet cape around her. He put his hand against the small of her back as he led her through the door into the lobby. The small gesture reminded her of Mulder, the way he'd always touched her, small caresses that had made her feel special and protected. Damn him for doing this to her now, when they were just beginning to get close again... She and Skinner waited just inside the door while the valet went to get Skinner's car. Scully studied the patterns of the Oriental rug beneath their feet, wanting to be anywhere but here. Behind her, through the open door to the ballroom, the buzz of the crowd hummed in her throbbing skull. Then, one voice a little louder than the others. Closer. A little slurred. Achingly familiar. "Come on, Henderson, you've always wondered, haven't you?" Scully closed her eyes. "I was hoping you'd be in a little bit better working condition when I finally found out." Henderson's dry, amused voice, even closer. "Well, well, well. Look here, Henderson. It's like old home week." Scully opened her eyes and turned to look at them. Mulder stood with his arm around Henderson's shoulder, his face flushed and his eyes too bright. He was drunk, Scully realized. Not quite messy drunk, but not completely in control, either. The Mulder she knew rarely drank and NEVER got drunk. It reminded him too much of what his father had become at the end. What the hell was going on with him? What had set him off this time? "Agent Mulder, Agent Henderson." Skinner spoke quietly. But Scully sensed a deep thread of anger beneath his words. She glanced up at him and saw the grim line of his mouth. And realized, with a little start of surprise, that he was angry for her sake. Because he knew that Mulder was hurting her. Skinner had always seen too damned much. Knew too much and told them too little. But right now, she was glad he was there by her side, an unexpected but welcome source of comfort and support. Almost unconsciously she leaned in closer to his solid bulk. "Henderson and I were about to blow this place and look for some excitement." Mulder looked at Scully, his expression hard and distant but his gaze fierce and intense. "Be careful, Henderson," Scully said softly, pleased her voice even bothered to work at all. "Mulder's dangerous when he's in a reckless mood." Mulder stepped closer to Scully, half-dragging Henderson with him. "How would you know what I'm like when I'm really reckless?" She flinched as if he'd slapped her. The contempt in his low, quiet voice certainly hurt as much. She felt Skinner's hand close over her shoulder, pulling her into the protective curve of his arm. Henderson tugged Mulder toward the door. "Come on, Mulder. I think Scully's tired of playing now." She muscled him through the door into the chilly March night. Scully bit her lower lip, angry with Mulder for being such a complete ass and with herself for letting him get to her. She knew how he was. One big quivering mass of angst and insecurity. Always had been, as long as she'd known him. Something had set him off tonight. Maybe something as simple as seeing her here with Skinner, as harmless a situation as that was. Despite Skinner's surprising show of support just now, Scully knew the older man didn't think of her as anything more than a friend and valued colleague. In fact, Scully had heard rumors that the A.D. was finally seeing someone again. And, she hoped, Mulder would figure that out, too. Probably was already figuring it out right now. He'd get Henderson to drive him to a hotel, and when Scully got home, she'd probably find his voice on her answering machine, apologizing for being such a bastard and asking her if he could see her tomorrow. After all, she knew he trusted her, if nothing else. He would surely trust her enough to know that she would never lead him on. But when she got home, there was no message waiting on her machine. And the phone didn't ring all night. She slept very little, debating what she should do. Try to find Mulder in the morning and talk through what had happened? Or just let things pass, pretend nothing had happened, and go on from there? Finally, at six o'clock Saturday morning, she picked up the phone and started calling hotels in the greater Washington D.C. area. * * * * * A noise like a jackhammer greeted Mulder, carried on a cloud of noxious air that triggered his gagging reflex. He rolled off the bed--bed? whose bed?--and stumbled toward a door-- where am I? whose room is this?--that he sincerely hoped led to a bathroom. It did, and he managed to push up the toilet seat before he lost the contents of his stomach and what he was convinced were a few pieces of his liver as well. "Good morning to you, too, lover boy." "God!" Mulder held his head in his hands and pressed himself into a knot between the toilet and the tub. "Stop shouting!" Elaine Henderson grimaced and flushed the toilet. "This is a side of you the girls in the secretarial pool never mentioned." "What am I doing here?" "Puking, from the looks of it." "No, I mean HERE." He had vague, fuzzy memories that gave him another sick feeling in his gut. "The party--" "You got your boxers in a wad because Dana Scully was there with Assistant Director Skinner. Then you got drunk and propositioned me, and I brought you here." He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, shutting out the piercing sunlight that was slicing his brain into bleeding strips. "You're not saying we--" "Not in the condition you were in, Mulder. I'm not quite that desperate." God, he was an idiot. A sorry, slobbering, puking excuse for a human being. "I'm sorry, Henderson." He braced his hand on the bath tub and pushed himself to his feet, wobbling a little. The bathroom was very cold, he thought. Then he realized he was wearing nothing but his black silk boxers. He felt incredibly naked. Because it was Henderson looking back at him instead of Scully. Scully--ah, God, he thought, Scully. Scully and Skinner. In the painfully sober light of dawn, Mulder realized that what had happened last night was inevitable. If it hadn't been Skinner, it would've been somebody else. Because Scully didn't need somebody like him. She needed a man free of scars and ghosts, somebody who'd love her the way she deserved. A guy who wasn't afraid to love her. A guy she wasn't always having to scrape up and dust off. Somebody who didn't fly off the handle and fly off on tangents. Somebody sane and dependable. Somebody who WASN'T Fox Mulder. It wasn't her fault. It was his. It was always his. A loud metallic ringing noise echoed in his head and ratcheted down his spine. He dropped his head in his hands and groaned. "Doorbell," Henderson said. She left the bathroom. Mulder groped for the bathroom cabinet, looking for aspirin or acetaminaphin or anything that would quiet the buzz saws in his brain. All he found was a bottle of Midol and some Sucrets throat lozenges. He seriously considered the Midol. Except that the muscle relaxer would serve only to muddy his already addled brain. He stumbled out of the bedroom and into the hall. Before he realized it, the hall ended and he was stepping into what must be Henderson's living room. There was a couch, a couple of chairs, a television and an open door. And in the doorway, standing next to Elaine Henderson, was Dana Scully. For a long, shattering moment, the whole scene seemed to freeze. Mulder heard nothing, felt nothing, smelled and tasted nothing. He only saw. Saw her blue eyes, wide with shock and something else. Something dark and haunting. Pain. And then he knew just how bad a mistake he'd made. * * * * * Scully dragged into her apartment, feeling as if she'd just been run over by a truck. Her eyes stung with tears she couldn't--wouldn't--allow to fall. She dropped her purse on the sofa and went to the kitchen. The coffee pot was on automatic timer and now sat full and still warming. She poured herself a cup and stirred in a teaspoon of creamer, concentrating on the strong, slightly bitter smell. She took a swallow, focusing on the hot stream of liquid burning down her throat. She pushed the play button on the small portable CD player on the kitchen counter just to hear some noise, not sure what was in the player. Mary Chapin Carpenter, it turned out. The CD Samantha Mulder had given her for her birthday. God, she thought. Samantha. Losing Mulder was more than just losing a maybe--hopefully-- someday lover. Losing him was losing a huge, irreplaceable part of herself. Like ripping off an arm or a leg or a head or a heart. It was losing Samantha and Caroline Mulder. Losing her best friend, her fondest hope for the future. Her partner. She had just lost her partner. The bastard. On the CD player, soft piano chords caressed the velvet over steel beauty of Mary Chapin Carpenter's voice. Baby, where's that place where time stands still? I remember like a lover can, I forget it like a leaver will, It's no place you can get to by yourself, You've got to love someone and they love you, Time will stop for nothing else. And memory plays tricks on us, The more we cling, the less we trust. And the less we trust, the more we hurt, And as time goes on it just gets worse, So, baby, where's that place where time stood still? Is it under glass inside a frame? Was it over when you had your fill? Scully's icy reserve crumbled and tears began to fall. End of #7 Disclaimer: All characters seen or mentioned on the X-FILES belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Production, FOX networks, DD, GA, etc. and are used without permission. THERE WILL ALWAYS BE A PLACE by Curtis Stigers, Willie Niles and F. Lee and WHERE I USED TO HAVE A HEART by Craig Bickhardt are used without permission. The character of Mark Lacey is mine but he's as poor as I, so don't bother to sue either of us... This is part 8 of a 12 part series, a sequel to TWELVE RITES OF PASSAGE. If you haven't read that story, you may want to read it first.. TWELVE DEGREES OF SEPARATION No. 8: April There Will Always Be a Place By Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com The third weekend of April was the first really beautiful weekend of Spring, and Fox Mulder planned to spend it in two different cemeteries, two different cities. It was a pact he and Dana Scully had kept for four years now, spending the third weekend in April together, remembering the ones they'd loved and lost to their noble but costly pursuit of the truth. But this year, Scully wouldn't be joining him in Boston. And though he would fly to Washington Saturday evening as planned, it was only because Margaret Scully had asked him to come there. Not Dana. Probably not ever again. He spent Saturday morning with Samantha, reading the newspaper as she worked on her wedding invitation list. Since March, he'd spent most of his spare time with his sister, comforting himself that at least one of his impossible dreams had come true, even if the other never would. But he also recognized that Samantha wasn't really the little sister he'd lost over twenty-five years ago. All the in-between time had changed her, not just physically but emotionally as well. She was much less contemplative than his brainy baby sister had been. Grown-up Samantha was impulsive, daring--even reckless. It drove him nuts, but he had to admit he found her utterly charming. Whatever her life away from them may have taken from her, it had also given her. She'd been lucky after she was returned--her foster parents had been good, loving people who'd eventually decided to adopt her. They had visited Samantha and his mother in January, and Samantha had talked him into coming to their mother's home to meet them. Mulder had liked Ray and Linda Chandler. Even his mother, who'd been reluctant to meet them, had been charmed by their openness and obvious love for Samantha. Mulder had been more than a little hurt by Samantha's decision to have her adoptive father give her away at her wedding. But he understood. The Chandlers had been a much bigger part of her life than he had. It was right, even if it was painful. Although he was no longer certain he would have the consolation of escorting Scully down the aisle. Over the past month, he and Scully hadn't completely lost contact. He'd called her to try to apologize, and though she hadn't hung up in his face, she had asked him to give her some space, and he was. But every moment they spent apart seemed more and more like forever. "Do you have Walter's address?" Samantha interrupted his thoughts. He stared at her. "Walter?" "Walter Skinner." Mulder almost laughed, but his stomach was hurting too much. "Why?" "Well, I met him at the Scullys' at Christmas, and he seemed like a very nice man. And you yourself told me how much he'd done to help you and Dana these past few years." "Yeah, he's a real pal." His voice sounded harsh even to his own ears. Samantha stared at him. "What does that mean?" He grimaced. "Remember I told you I ran into Scully with another man? How that led to--" He groaned inwardly, remembering that humiliating moment in Elaine Henderson's living room when he'd watched Dana Scully turn and walk out of his life--probably for good. Samantha's eyes widened. "You're not saying--?" "It was Skinner." Samantha shook her head. "Fox! He's almost old enough to be her father. How could you have ever thought--" "He's not that much older, and, well, Scully's always liked older men." Jack Willis had been a good ten years older than Scully, he remembered. "Honestly, Fox, you men can be so incredibly stupid sometimes." He couldn't argue with that. "How could you jump to such a ridiculous conclusion? And worse, how could you have tried to pick up another woman right there in front of her?" Because I'm a complete, total, A-1 loser. "How much longer are you going to beat me up about this, Samantha? Because you're not telling me anything I don't know. And you're not making things any better." She frowned at him. "Dana always said you had a self- destructive streak. I was hoping you'd changed." He glared at her. "Sorry I've disappointed you and the rest of the world. Again." He headed for the door, grabbing his jacket. "Fine, go!" Samantha followed him to the door. "And remember this, Fox Mulder. You're not the only one this is affecting, you know! I haven't talked to Dana in almost three weeks. It's too uncomfortable now. I might be losing one of my best friends because you're too damned insecure to hold onto the best thing that ever happened to you!" Mulder slammed the door shut behind him. Did Samantha think he didn't know what a mess his life was? Did she think he'd screwed things up on purpose? He stopped in the middle of the stairs. My God, he thought. Did I do it on purpose? Am I that afraid of loving Dana Scully? * * * * * Scully spent Saturday morning cleaning her apartment from top to bottom, using the physical labor to numb a part of herself that had been aching like a sore thumb ever since that morning in March when she'd seen Fox Mulder emerge from Elaine Henderson's bedroom wearing nothing but his black silk boxers and a guilty look. Nothing--not the icy facade she'd cultivated as a woman trying to hold her own in a man's world, not the toughened hide that came with the territory of six years as Mrs. Spooky--nothing had been able to protect her from the white hot agony that bolted through her at that moment. Damn him. Damn his stubborn pride and his reckless impulses. Damn his lean good looks and sexy smile that could get him into any bed he wanted. And damn him most of all for trying to get into Henderson's bed instead of hers. She was pretty sure she knew what had happened to make things go so terribly wrong. She hadn't told him she was going to the party because Skinner hadn't asked her to accompany him until that very afternoon. She'd barely had time to run home, shower, and find a suitable dress. And, no doubt, Mulder had seen her with Skinner and jumped to every stupid, implausible conclusion in the book. It was one of his greatest--and most frustrating--talents. From there, however, she stopped understanding and started hurting. For instead of trusting her and waiting for her perfectly rational explanation of the circumstances, he'd gone into his usual reckless mode, looking for the first willing woman to take to bed. Of course, he hadn't gone through with it. A day or so after the party, Henderson had searched her out to tell her that Mulder hadn't even really tried, but Scully had already figured that out. Mulder loved her, even if he'd never said the words. But the fact that he hadn't been able to go through with it didn't help matters that much. After all, infidelity wasn't Mulder's problem. His problem was that while he trusted Scully with his life, he still didn't trust her with his heart. And that was what hurt most of all. * * * * * Mulder drove in silence to the cemetery. An open bag of sunflower seeds sat beside him; he took one and shelled it with his teeth and tongue, spitting the shell out the open car window and eating the seed. By the time the X-Files division had been shut down this last time, he'd gotten Scully halfway addicted to the things herself. One more way he'd corrupted her. One more way she'd burrowed into his soul. In the quiet car, he could almost hear Scully's voice, a memory from last year's trip to his father's grave. "Your mom doesn't understand why you still feel the need to visit your dad's grave, does she?" Trust Scully to cut right to the heart of the matter. "He hurt her badly." "He hurt you, too." Mulder realized he was staring at the empty seat next to him, as if he could will her to materialize beside him. He looked back at the road, chewing his lower lip as he tried not to think of all the years of anguish his father had caused him, directly and indirectly. He thought, instead, of the little things. Building a model airplane together. Watching the New York Knicks on TV. Pitching a baseball with his dad one bright summer morning when Bill Mulder should've been at work and hearing him say, "On a day like today, Fox, nothing's more important than playing baseball with you." Few and far between, those days. But that just made the memories more distinct and precious. In the end, his dad was sorry. He wanted so badly to turn back the clock, to make things right. Mulder's mother wasn't there to see his father the night he died, but Mulder was. He knew his father was truly sorry, and he wouldn't deny Bill Mulder his moment of grace. His memories of the night his father died were jumbled, some clear, some murky. But one memory above all others stood stark and dominant in his mind: Scully's arms catching him as he fell through the door of her apartment, when he was so sick with fever and grief that he could barely move. Scully had always caught him, kept him moving, kept him thinking and feeling. The day she'd walked into his office that very first time, he'd thought of her as a millstone, holding him back. But in truth, she had been his cornerstone, holding him upright and strong. And as he parked his car near his father's gravesite, the full force of what he'd lost hit him like a tidal wave. He lowered his head to the steering wheel and cried. He didn't know how much time passed before he heard a soft rapping noise on the window of his car. His heart rate tripled, adrenaline shooting through him. His hand went automatically to the gun he always wore in a holster at his waist. Then he realized he was looking into the soft, sad eyes of his sister, and he relaxed. He opened the door and stepped out of the car. The bright early afternoon sunlight seared his burning eyes. "I'm sorry, Fox. I shouldn't have said those things to you." He stared at her for a moment, surprised that she'd bothered to apologize for what had been, after all, nothing but the truth. "It's okay. You didn't say anything I didn't deserve." "You didn't need the truth, Fox. You needed my comfort, and I blew it. I'm sorry." She opened her arms. He walked into her strong embrace, pressing his hot face against her neck. She held him tightly, stroking his hair with sisterly tenderness. "Oh, Fox, what am I going to do with you? You feel too much. You always did." He wrapped his arms around her waist. For a second, he imagined he could smell the soft, warm, little girl smell of his kid sister. But she wasn't a little girl anymore. He took a deep breath and released her. She looked at him, squinting against the sunlight. "Talk to Dana when you get to Washington. Maybe it's not too late." He nodded, even though he feared he knew the truth. It was too late. A lifetime too late. * * * * * Margaret Scully opened her door to Fox Mulder Saturday evening, not sure what to expect or what to say. Dana had yet to tell her anything about what happened between them, but Fox had confessed everything on the phone a week after the party. He'd sounded like a scared, guilty little boy admitting his crimes, waiting for her to scream and yell and tell him to never call her again. And while certainly she'd been disappointed in him for hurting her daughter and frustrated with his endless capacity for self-destructive behavior, she could no more turn her back on him than she could turn away one of her own children. But she hadn't seen him face to face since then. Not until now. He stood in the doorway, staring down at her, his eyes wary. Untrusting. He made Margaret think of a pet she'd had once, a beautiful, intelligent spaniel mix that had been abused as a puppy. No matter how she'd tried to make the dog see that she'd never hurt him, he'd always flinched when she first put out her hand. Eventually, he would relax and enjoy her petting, but never once, 'til the day he finally died of old age, did the dog manage not to flinch that first time she reached out to him. Fox Mulder always flinched. It was a knee-jerk reaction that had saved his life more than once. But it had cost him much, as well. Margaret was afraid that it had cost him her daughter's love and trust. "I should've gotten a hotel room," Fox said. She shook her head. "Come in, Fox." He walked through the door, his knuckles white where they gripped the handle of his overnight case. He crossed to the sofa and just stood there, looking at the mantle. At the framed photo Dana had given Margaret for Christmas. The picture of him and Dana. He dropped his suitcase and crossed to the mantle. His hand lifted slowly, traced the edges of the frame. "I messed up, Mrs. Scully." "You have to find a way to stop sabotaging yourself, Fox." "I know." "You need to talk to Dana." "I don't think she's going to forgive me." Margaret felt an overwhelming urge to put her arms around him and hold him tight, rocking him as she'd always rocked her children when they were hurt or afraid. But Fox wouldn't let her. She knew that. So she rocked him in her heart and hoped he could feel how much she loved him. * * * * * Dana Scully sat in her immaculately clean apartment and stared at the spotless walls, wishing she had the guts to call her mother and make sure Mulder had gotten there safely. Not that she was ready to tell him all was forgiven. She had yet to decide what she was going to do. But she wanted to know he was okay. After the silence started to get to her, she flipped through her assortment of CD's, looking for something that had belonged to Melissa, as if the music could make her feel her sister's presence. Odd, she thought, that her New Age sister would be a country music fan. But Scully had found that she rather liked her sister's brand of music. A Martina McBride album caught her eye and she put the CD into the player. The songs made her think of Missy, and she crossed to the bookshelf and pulled out her sister's journal. She curled up on the sofa and read her sisters thoughts and emotions, calling Missy to mind. What would she say about what was happening now? What would she tell her to do about Mulder? (He's only human, Dana. He's a man and he made a mistake). She shook her head. It wasn't just a mistake. It was a betrayal. He'd betrayed her trust. He's betrayed the trust she'd believed he had in her. But it was all part of what he was. She'd always known that about him. He'd been fighting demons for as long as she'd known him. She knew that when she let herself fall in love with him. (You love him, Dana. Demons and all). But she couldn't overlook the fact that he'd headed straight for another woman at the first sign of trouble, even if nothing had come of it. He'd jumped to another wild conclusion, then jumped straight into the fire. It was the tried and true Mulder M.O. Scully had been pulling him out of those fires for over six years. But this time, she didn't know if she still had the strength to do it. (Life's short, Dana. Maybe he won't make that mistake again). But she was pretty sure he would. At the next sign of trouble, he'd be off and running again. He'd do something crazy and dangerous. Get hurt or killed. Get her hurt or killed trying to bail him out. Could she live like that anymore? A snippet of the song playing on the CD caught her ear -- maybe because it so perfectly spoke what she was feeling. "Gone without a trace, You left a hollow place, Now there's not a stone to mark, Where I used to have a heart." Scully closed Melissa's journal and pressed the small book against her heart. I miss him, Melissa. I miss him so much. Can I really bear life without him? When the answer finally came, she grabbed her coat and left her apartment. * * * * * Mulder tightened his jacket around him, realizing with a start that his aimless wanderings had led him all the way from Margaret Scully's house to the Potomac. Their place, his and Scully's. He didn't know how long he'd been walking. An hour at least. Probably closer to two. And while he didn't think he'd planned to end up here, he knew that it was not an accident. For he saw a familiar form sitting on the bench near the Reflecting Pool across the mall from the Washington Monument. Red hair washed cherry dark by the lamplights, lifted and caressed by the cool night breeze. Small porcelain doll face in profile, staring out across the ebony ribbon of the Potomac. She looked up quickly when she heard his footsteps. Her expression went from wariness to an almost masklike serenity. "Is this seat taken?" he asked. He saw a glimmer of remembrance in her eyes. A tiny smile flirted with her lips, then retreated. "No, but I should warn you. I'm experiencing intense feelings of guilt." He cocked one eyebrow. "No problem. Guilt and I go way back." He sat next to her, tucking his hands in the pockets of his coat. "How was your flight?" she asked. "Uneventful." "You settled in at Mom's?" "Yeah." "Did you borrow her car or rent one?" "Actually, I walked." "All the way from Mom's at this time of night? You like to live dangerously." "Yeah. I decided to stop and talk to you, after all." He felt a glimmer of hope when her lips curved slightly. She turned to look at him. "I'm no danger to you, Mulder." Yes, you are, he thought. The most dangerous person in the world. "So what kind of intense guilt feelings are you harboring tonight, Agent Scully?" "I'm sorry I didn't come to Boston. We made a pact." He looked down at his hands, touched that after the way he'd hurt her, she still cared about keeping her word to him. "I understood, Scully." "I should have been there for you." "You were." She glanced at him. "I kept hearing your voice in my head. Old conversations we've had about my father," he explained. "I knew why you couldn't come." "I've been thinking a lot about that, too, Mulder." His stomach clenched into a knot. "About you and me?" She nodded. "Have you decided anything?" She nodded again. They remained silent for a long, tense moment. Then Mulder found the courage to ask. "What did you decide?" She turned to look at him, her gaze intense. "I wanted to see if I could give you up completely. But I can't." Relief shot through him. "Scully--" She held up her hand, silencing him. "I'm not through." Apprehension returned, and he swallowed with difficulty. "Your friendship has been the most significant relationship I've ever had, Mulder. It's shaped my life, defined me in ways I can't even comprehend, much less express. And I can't give that up." He thought he was beginning to understand, and the knowledge was bittersweet. "This is the old 'let's just be friends' speech, isn't it?" She shook her head. "No. I'm just telling you that if friendship is all you can give me, that's enough for me." "But you want more?" She nodded. "I want everything with you, Mulder. I want to be your lover, your confidante, your guardian angel. But I can be happy just being your friend." "So you're telling me it's up to me. What I want." "Yes. You have to decide what you want from me. You have to commit yourself to it, because I can't go on wondering when you're going to go off the deep end again. I need some assurance that I'm not going to wake up and find you gone in the morning because you can't handle the intimacy." It was a fair call, he thought. God knew he'd given her more than enough reasons to doubt him. "I'm always going to have insecurities, Scully. I can't help them. They're too much part of me now." "I know. I know you're going to get scared and get crazy sometimes. I've been through six and half years of that, Mulder. And I still want to be with you. But I need you to trust me enough to come to me with your fears, not go running off to somebody else. When you feel the need to run, I want you to run to me. Because there's nobody in the world who'll take care of you like I do, Mulder. Nobody." He felt a soft, hot ache fill his chest, spreading to his throat, filling his eyes. He didn't deserve her, and she might still end up regretting her decision, but he couldn't let her go again. "I know that, Scully. I always figure it out--maybe a little late sometimes, but I always do." She reached over and took his hand. "Look, things may be changing for us soon. Professionally, I mean. So why don't we go slow and get comfortable with each other again this weekend? Nice and easy. It'll give you room to process everything, decide what it is you want. You can tell me your decision when we take our moms down to Keystone Beach for Mother's Day, okay?" He knew what he wanted. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Dana Katherine Scully. But he also knew she needed for him to take time to think it out. She needed to know that his decision was carefully made. So he merely nodded. "Okay." "I'll drive you back to Mom's." "Why don't you come there and stay tonight? We could pick up a change of clothes at your place." He didn't want to let her go yet. "Your mom would be there, so we couldn't get into trouble." She chuckled. "Wanna bet? But I'd love to come stay." He squeezed her hand. "You're not going to regret giving me another chance, Scully." She pulled him to his feet. "Yes, I probably will. At least an hour out of every day. But that's okay. The other 23 hours will make it worthwhile." He turned to her, tempted to kiss her. He wanted to--badly. But something inside told him to wait. There would be another time. The right time. Now that he finally had time back. * * * * * Scully and Mulder got back to her mother's house around ten. Mulder took her overnight case out of the back seat and carried it up the walk for her. Scully didn't protest his gentlemanly behavior as she might have before. She knew he needed to do something for her--some sort of penance for hurting her, she supposed. So she let him. He used the key her mother had given him to open the door. He followed Scully inside and locked the door behind him. "Hi, Mom, I'm home," he called. Margaret emerged from the back of the house, dressed in her favorite green flannel robe and a pair of fuzzy slippers Scully had bought her for Christmas a couple of years ago. Her face, automatically set with a smile for Mulder, registered delighted surprise to see her daughter as well. "Look what followed me home." Mulder motioned his head toward Scully. "Hi, sweetheart!" Her mother hugged her. "Got room for another houseguest?" "Always." Margaret hooked her arm through Scully's. "So, I guess the two of you are speaking again." Scully smiled. Her mother wasn't one to beat around the bush. "Yeah." "Scully, you want your same old room?" Mulder asked. Scully nodded. Mulder took her overnight case down the hall, and she followed him with her gaze. "Is it really okay?" Margaret asked softly. "I think it will be." Scully gave her mother a reassuring smile as she pulled off her jacket and hung it on the coat tree by the door. "We're friends again. And if Mulder thinks he can handle it, maybe we'll be something more." "He does love you, Dana." "I know." "I'd tell you to be patient with him, but I guess after six years together, patience is already one of your strong suits." Mulder came back in the room. "I left the case on your bed. So, girls, the night's still young. Anybody up for Monster- Vision on Channel 8? It's a double header--THE FLY and NIGHT OF THE LEPUS." Mrs. Scully chuckled and murmured in Scully's ear, too low for Mulder to hear. "See--he IS the man for you, honey." She squeezed Scully's arm and smiled at Mulder. "I'll pass, Fox. But Dana loves scary movies. Whenever her dad was home from sea, he and Dana lived for Fright Night Theater. They'd turn off the lights and scare each other silly." Mulder arched his eyebrows at Scully as her mother retreated down the hall. "I thought you said monster movies were mind candy for the emotionally immature." Thanks a lot, Mom, she thought. Oh, well, gotta come clean sometime. She kicked off her shoes and sat on the couch, reaching for the remote on the coffee table. "I've already seen THE FLY and NIGHT OF THE LEPUS. How do you feel about Hitchcock?" He kicked off his shoes and sat by her. "I live for Hitchcock." "SHADOW OF A DOUBT comes on at 10:30." "Ooh, that's a creepy one." "Want me to pop some popcorn?" "I'll do it." He got up. More penance, she supposed. She watched him disappear into her mother's kitchen. She heard him open one cabinet, heard the sound of rustling cellophane and the click of the microwave oven door opening. He knows my mother's kitchen almost better than I do, she thought. He returned to the living room and sat next to her. She had muted the television, waiting for movie to come on. For a second, silence lingered between them, not quite comfortable. Then he nudged her with his shoulder. "I brought you something. It'll tide you over until the popcorn's ready." He reached into his pocket. She heard the sound of plastic crackling, then he pulled out a bag of sunflower seeds. "Try not to spit the hulls on your mom's carpet. She gets real pissed off about that." She took a handful of seeds from him, leaning her shoulder against his. They sank a little lower into the sofa cushions, propping their sock-clad feet on the coffee table in smooth unison. The silence was no longer uncomfortable, filled by the soft cracking noises of splitting sunflower seed shells and the muted "pop, pop" sounds coming from the kitchen. A couple of minutes later, a shrill "ding" announced that the popcorn was ready. "I'll get it," Mulder insisted when Scully started to move. She watched him unfold his lanky body and head for the kitchen. A bemused smile curled her lips. This penance thing--if I'm smart, she thought, I'll milk it for all it's worth. * * * * * The Memory Party had been Dana's idea. Knowing Melissa would've hated people in black hovering around her tombstone, Dana had decided that before all of Melissa's family and friends went to the cemetery to put flowers on her grave, they should have the biggest, loudest party known to man. Everyone brought a favorite party food and a favorite memory of Melissa. They ate, drank, laughed and remembered. And somehow, remembering Missy's joyful life made the trip to the cemetery seem less painful. Margaret Scully would forever be grateful to her younger daughter for coming up with such a wonderful way to keep Melissa alive. As the anniversary of her older daughter's death approached, Margaret found she could temper her sadness with a sense of delighted anticipation, looking forward to the annual gathering of people who loved Melissa and kept her alive in their hearts and minds. She took a moment to prepare herself in the kitchen as Fox and Dana greeted the guests at the front door. Already she could hear the chatter of voices and the sound of music, a bittersweet reminder of love and loss. "Are you about ready, Mrs. Scully?" Fox popped his head into the kitchen. He looks like a new man, she thought with a secret smile. Amazing what a little forgiveness can do. She held out her hand to him, and he took it in his, leading her out into the living room. She looked out into the faces of those gathered, recognizing the warmth and love. Oh, Missy, she thought, you'll never really be gone, will you? Not as long as we remember. "I didn't know Skinner was going to be here," Mulder murmured to Scully as he carried an empty pitcher of tea into the kitchen. She looked up at him, her eyes a little wary, and he felt a sharp pang of guilt. "I didn't know he was coming, either." She hacked open a lemon, spraying juice across the kitchen counter. He put his hand over hers, stilling her almost violent movements. "I didn't mean it to be an accusation." She sighed and put down the knife. "I'm sorry." He caught her other hand and pulled her around to face him. "I know you said I should wait until next month to give you my decision, Scully, but I know what I want. I want you." She leaned her forehead against his collarbone. "I know. I just want to take it slow. We have a lot of options to consider. Besides, we're still not really comfortable with each other. Not yet. We have to get back to where we were before we can go forward." He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. The sheer passion flowing from her vibrant blue eyes washed over him. He had trouble catching a breath. "If you keep looking at me like that, Scully, I'll be tempted to skip right past where we were before and go right to where no man has ever gone before." "What makes you think no man has ever gone 'there' before?" She pulled her hands out of his, arching her eyebrows at him. Her enigmatic little smile haunted him long after she rubbed past him and went back to the living room. He gulped down a full glass of iced tea before he trusted himself to return to the party. Despite Mulder's attempts to avoid the A.D., Skinner caught up with him a few minutes later. "Mind if I have a word with you, Agent Mulder?" He nodded toward the hallway. Mulder sighed and followed the older man. He leaned back against the wall and narrowed his eyes. "Yes, sir?" "I wanted to let you know that your application for transfer back to Washington has made it past the internal review. It'll still have to get the green light from the Director's office and the Executive Branch, but I'll do what I can to push it through." Mulder tried not to show his surprise. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate it." "Well, I was never pleased with your transfer out of the X- Files in the first place. I hope you and Agent Scully both know that." "Yes, sir." Skinner bent his head forward, lowering his voice a bit. "I realize I'm about to tread into something that's really none of my business, but I hope that I'm right in assuming that you and Agent Scully have resolved any difficulties that may have arisen between you as a result of our last encounter." Mulder felt a mixture of irritation and embarrassment. He knew that Scully had no romantic feelings for Skinner, but he couldn't forget the almost proprietorial air of Skinner at the president's anniversary party. "Everything's fine, sir." "I hope so. I didn't enjoy watching Dana suffer." Okay, Mulder thought, that was definitely a threat. And he called her Dana again, just like at Christmas. "I didn't know that you were so concerned with Dana's personal life." Skinner's tight little smile just made Mulder want to sock him. "Let's just say that Dana's happiness is important to me." "What are you trying to tell me, sir?" Mulder could almost see the cloud of testosterone billowing up between them. Alpha males, he thought, staking claim to Dana Scully. But Skinner's next words threw him for a loop. "I'm trying to tell you that if you hurt Maggie's daughter again, I'll make you very sorry." "Maggie's daughter..." Skinner took a step back. "Yeah." He frowned, as if he'd let something slip that he hadn't intended. "Oh, my God." Mulder stared. "You and Mrs. Scully?" Now the A.D. looked downright uncomfortable. "We're just friends." Mulder released a soft bark of laughter. "Where have I heard that before?" Skinner's lips twitched slightly. "Look, Dana doesn't know I'm seeing her mother, okay? Maggie wants to wait and see if things develop before she says anything." "And are things? Developing, I mean." Skinner leaned against the opposite wall. "You know, Mulder, I'm not exactly comfortable talking to you about this." "Just think of me as Mrs. Scully's son." Mulder folded his arms across his chest. "The one who actually shows up for family gatherings," he added with a wry smile. Skinner actually chuckled. The sound was so surprising, it was all Mulder could do to keep from gaping. "Do the Scully sons actually exist?" Skinner asked in a conspiratorial whisper. "Not that I can tell," Mulder answered, his voice equally low. "I've seen pictures, but..." "What are you two doing, plotting the overthrow of the FBI?" Scully stood in the hallway, hands on her hips. "We're getting ready to clean up and head for the cemetery." Skinner darted a warning look at Mulder as he pushed away from the wall. "Speaking of overthrowing the FBI, Dana, I take it you haven't told Mulder about what's happening." Mulder quirked his eyebrows at Scully, surprised to see her face redden slightly. "Not yet. I was waiting until you got confirmation," she said. "I got it today." "What's going on?" Mulder looked from Scully to Skinner, his stomach tightening. "Next week, Thomas Shea will be turning in his resignation as Director of the FBI. We've been expecting it for over a month, ever since his wife Jeanette was diagnosed with leukemia," Skinner said. "President Matheson wants Skinner to replace Shea as Director," Scully added. "And he's told Skinner that he wants a feasability study on reopening the X-Files division." Mulder leaned against the wall, his legs momentarily too wobbly to take his weight. Reopen the X-Files? "It'll have to go through channels," Skinner warned. "You know as well as I do that even as Director, I'll have people to answer to. People who aren't going to be as open to the idea as I am. But I'll do what I can--assuming I'm actually nominated and my nomination makes it past the Senate hearings." He nodded slightly, then went back into the living room. "Scully, just think--" She moved a little closer to him, her eyes slightly narrowed. "Believe me, it's all I've done since Skinner told me about it the night of the Matheson's anniversary party." So that's why she was there with Skinner, Mulder thought. He kicked himself mentally a few times just in case he hadn't already beaten himself up enough. "I can't believe you haven't told me this before." "I should have," she admitted. "I guess I was just avoiding it." "Why?" She backed away, pressing her spine flat against the wall opposite him. "Because I'm not sure I want to go back to the way things were before you left for Boston." He slumped against the wall as her words got through to him. "Oh, Scully. That's what they'd expect, isn't it?" She nodded. "It's not a written rule, Mulder, but we all know how the Bureau looks on partners getting involved." He shook his head. "The Bureau's already screwed the hell out of my professional life. I'm not going to let it dictate my personal life." "Even if it means turning our back on the X-Files?" He sighed with frustration. "Why can't we have both?" "Maybe we can." She brushed her copper hair away from her face, her expression a mirror of his own torn feelings. "But maybe we can't, either. And we need to do some long, hard thinking about that. Because it may well come down to a choice. The X-Files or being together." He shook his head, helpless to find words to express his turmoil. Six years ago, the choice would have been so simple. Six years ago, nothing else mattered. But now, something else did. Someone else did. * * * * * Walter Skinner found Margaret Scully alone in the kitchen. Safe from prying eyes, he allowed himself a swift kiss on the side of her neck. To his delight, she blushed as she turned and swatted him with a dishrag. "You're an overgrown school boy, Walter." He grinned broadly--an expression he saved for her and her alone. "Don't let that get out. I have a reputation, you know." "I know. Fox has been very forthcoming." He winced. "Ouch. That boy's delusional, you know." She chuckled. The sound reminded him of her daughter. "That's MY boy you're talking about." "I know. The one that actually shows up for family gatherings." He braced himself for her maternal wrath. But she merely laughed again. "Now who's been talking to Fox?" "I told him about Matheson's plan to make me Director." Her smile faded. "And about reopening the X-Files?" He nodded. "They both want it. I could see it in their eyes." "It just complicates things so much." "I know." She lifted her hand to his jaw, running her fingers from his ear to his chin, trailing fire along his skin. "Can't you do anything to help them?" He turned his face to press his lips into her palm. "I'll do what I can Maggie. I promise." She lowered her hand and backed away as they heard voices approaching the kitchen. By the time Mulder and Scully walked through the doorway, Maggie was several feet away, folding the dishrag and putting it on the counter by the draining rack. Skinner dragged his eyes away from her small, curvy form, knowing Maggie would kill him if her daughter caught him staring and began to put two and two together. Scully crossed to her mother, apparently misreading the slight tension in the room. "How are you holding up, Mom?" Maggie turned to smile at her daughter. "I'm fine. Ready to go?" Scully nodded and hooked her arm through her mother's. Her blue eyes sought out Mulder, and Skinner hid a smile. He'd seen this day coming for years now. He was surprised it had taken this long. Maggie met his eyes as she passed him, the warmth of her gaze filling him with an ache of happiness. After Sharon's death, he'd thought he'd never find someone to love again. But Maggie was impossible not to love. Once he'd begun to consider the possibilities, he'd been lost. Now he just had to convince her she was as madly in love with him as he was with her. * * * * * "And now I want to introduce someone who's loved Missy a long time." Scully held out her hand to the slim, long- haired man who hovered on the fringe of the crowd at Missy's gravesite. He had a guitar strapped to his back; Scully had finally talked him into sharing a favorite song of Missy's for the graveside remembrance. "This is Mark Lacey, and he and Missy shared two years of love, laughter and tears." Mark squeezed her hand, a smile curving his lips even as his eyes spoke of anguish and heartbreak. Impulsively, Scully hugged him. "You can do it," she whispered. Then she backed away, automatically seeking and finding Mulder's lean, handsome face in the crowd. She crossed to his side, stepping naturally into his embrace. His arm held her close as they listened to the soft chords of Mark's guitar. Then he started singing in a whiskey dark baritone. "There will always be a place in my heart, in my heart, No matter what I do, There will always be a place in my heart, in my heart, There's a place for you. The roads that we travel Some of them near, and some of them far We each go our own way I cling to the past, while you reach for the stars." Scully glanced up at Mulder and found his gaze on her. That's us, she thought. Sometimes going in opposite directions, but there's always something that draws us back together. Remember winter, It made you cry, Remember summer That lullaby..." Mulder's arm tightened around Scully, and she blinked back tears, remembering her sister's heartbreaking loss. Baby Dana Margaret, here and gone in two short weeks. She'd never gotten to see her little niece. Never got to say goodbye. "I will remember In the days to come You standing in the wilderness, Laughing in the sun. So wherever you may wander Wherever your restless heart decides to go, No matter the distance, I want you to know. "There will always be a place in my heart In my heart, No matter what I do, There will always be a place in my heart, In my heart, There's a place for you." Scully lifted her eyes to the clouds above, watching the puffy cummuli changing shapes. A heart, a tree, a sheep, a fat rabbit... And an angel, with wings as wide as the world. She smiled at the cloud angel. I miss you, Melissa. I love you. End of #8 Disclaimer: All characters seen or mentioned on the X-FILES belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Production, FOX networks, DD, GA, etc. and are used without permission. MUTINEER by Warren Zevon is also used without permission. Got no money, so don't sue me. This is part 9 of a 12 part series, a sequel to TWELVE RITES OF PASSAGE. If you haven't read that story, you may want to read it first.. TWELVE DEGREES OF SEPARATION No. 9: May "Mutineer" By Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com The beach house was large and airy, with a second story deck that wrapped around three sides of the house. It was on this deck, stretched out on a chaise lounge, that Fox Mulder found Dana Scully late Friday afternoon before Mother's Day. The deck faced the Atlantic, which shimmered with rubies cast by the sun setting behind the house. No East Coast sunsets over the water, he thought with a tiny niggle of disappointment. Although he suspected the sunrise would be pretty spectacular. Besides, all the beautiful colors of sunset could be found in Dana Scully--fire and saffron in her red hair, eggshell blue in her eyes, ripe apricot in her full lips. She turned her head at the sound of his footsteps and smiled one of her rare, beautiful smiles. "Don't you look nice and touristy?" He glanced down at his bright chartreuse t-shirt and baggy black shorts. He shrugged. "I've worn louder ties, Scully." She nodded, a faint smile touching her lips. "Yes, you have." "Nice drive down from D.C.?" "Yeah. It was good to spend a couple of hours just talking to Mom. We sort of caught up on everything." Not everything, he thought. He could tell by the placid expression on Scully's face that Margaret had not yet told her about her relationship with Walter Skinner. He was going to have to have a serious talk with Mrs. Scully. "How was the flight?" Scully asked. "Fine. Mom and I picked up a rental car at the airport in Norfolk and drove the rest of the way. I guess we did a little catching up, too." He pulled up one of the other lounge chairs and sat next to her. "Did you know my mom speaks Russian?" Scully cocked her eyebrow. "Neither did I," Mulder admitted. "I don't even know my mother, Scully. But I'm beginning to figure out that I'd really like to." She reached over and took his hand in hers. "I'm glad." He twined his fingers through hers, pleased when she didn't resist. "So how's work been?" "Dull without you to keep things hopping." This is real progress, he thought. A little dose of sweet talk, Scully style. It had been a while--since before that disastrous party back in March. Of course, his visit to Washington last month had smoothed over some of the hurt, but they weren't back to normal yet. And they were a long way from where he wanted them to be. He wondered how fast he could take things. He didn't want to spook her, but he'd been waiting for another Scully kiss since Christmas. That kind of patience was almost superhuman--and surely deserved some sort of reward. "So have you been thinking about what we talked about last month?" Scully asked. He darted a glance at her, surprised she'd bring up the subject so quickly. Then again, why was he surprised? Scully had never been one to tiptoe around a subject. "It's almost all I've been thinking about," he admitted. "Do you need more time?" "No." She nibbled her bottom lip, a thoughtless gesture that sent hot little shivers running through him. He imagined himself nibbling that full lip--tasting her, running his tongue over the ripeness, suckling... He shifted on the lounge chair, grateful that his shorts were loosely cut. "Well?" she asked. "The last time I saw you, I told you what I want." The little sigh of relief that spilled from her lungs made him feel a lot more confident. "And you're absolutely sure?" she asked. "I mean, with Skinner so close to confirmation--and the X-Files--" He nodded. "If we don't try to make things work, we'll spend the rest of our lives regretting it. X-Files or no X- Files. We both know that we're going to keep looking for the answers. We don't need an official seal from the FBI to do it." She tightened her grip on his hand. "You have to pull your weight, Mulder." She wasn't talking about work now, he realized. "I know." "I don't need silly romantic gestures or sweet talk. I just need to know that we're together all the way. Nobody running off or running out." "Where could I go, Scully?" He sat up so he could look into her eyes. "There's nowhere on earth I could go where you couldn't find me. You've proved that more than once." "I'm tired of having to talk my way onto Navy planes and military bases." "I'm always going to take chances, Scully. As long as the truth is out there." "I'm not asking you to stop. I'm just asking you to take me with you." He smiled at her intense expression. Isn't this exactly what he'd never thought he'd find? A woman who would willingly walk through fire with him? How, in his sad, cursed life, had he been fortunate enough to be loved by Dana Scully? He smiled at her. "Are you going to be mad at me when I try to protect you? Because I should point out that I don't get mad at you when you protect me." "You don't have time to get mad. You're too busy running for your life." He leaned across the gap between their deck chairs, hoping to tempt her the way she tempted him. He was not disappointed. She closed the gap between them, touching her lips to his. It was the first kiss since December, and it shook him to his marrow. They moved, although he couldn't remember when or how. All he knew was that they were both in his lounge chair, her body pressed firmly against his side, her arms around his waist and his around her shoulders, his hands in her hair as he held her face and deepened their kiss. Tongues dueling, fingers exploring, minds reeling--- "Ahem." Scully jerked out of his arms at the sound of his mother's quiet throat-clearing. She scrambled back into her own chair, her face red with embarrassment. Mulder made a face at his mother, surprised and secretly pleased by the amusement in her hazel eyes. Caroline's lips curved in an answering smile. "Sorry, but Maggie and I are about to go into town to buy some groceries. We thought we might first eat dinner at that little seafood place on the main highway. Don't suppose you'd like to come?" Mulder looked at Scully. She studiously avoided his eyes. His mind reeled, worked furiously to gauge the possibilities. How long would it take for Mrs. Scully and his mother to buy groceries? Long enough to do more than neck like teenagers? It all depended on how quickly things progressed-- He pulled himself up short. No. Quickies were sometimes quite satisfying, but not like this. Not their first time. The first time he made love to Dana Scully, it was going to be special. Perfect. Not a frantic race with the clock before their mothers got back to the beach house. He thought a trip into town was a smart idea. "Yeah, I think I'd like to play tourist. Scully?" She met his eyes, her expression a mixture of gratitude and disappointment. "Yeah, that would be a good idea." * * * * * Caroline Mulder sought out Dana Scully while her son was helping Margaret unload their shopping purchases after dinner that evening. "Dana?" Dana looked up, her blue eyes slightly wary, and Caroline felt a moment of guilt, knowing that Dana had every right to be cautious. Caroline was aware that Dana knew almost everything there was to know about the nightmare Caroline's own family had become twenty-seven years ago, the night Samantha had been taken. The young woman knew about the lies, about Bill's deception and treachery. Dana knew about Caroline's own guilt, the way she'd let her son carry the entire burden of pain and recrimination while she cocooned herself in the madness-spun fabric of denial. It might be easier to let that image remain, let Dana go on believing what she would. It wasn't as if Caroline and Fox had shared a particularly close mother-son relationship. She could quite easily recede to the background, go back to the days when Fox rarely showed up for a visit, called infrequently, sent cards for birthdays and holidays instead of showing up and spending the day. But the last few months had changed things for them. She'd begun to repair years of damage, becoming friends with a son she'd once feared lost to her forever. And she wasn't ready to let that go. Even if she had to deal with some unpleasant realities, including Dana Scully's obvious distrust of her. "Would you come take a walk with me on the beach?" Caroline ventured. She saw a hundred thoughts pass behind Dana's expressive eyes in the second before she answered. "Of course." "Fox, Dana and I are going for a walk," she called to her son, who was coming in the front door of the beach house, carrying a shopping bag in each arm. He looked surprised but nodded. Caroline and Dana donned jackets to ward off the coolness of the evening. Caroline let Dana lead the way down the foot path to the beach. She studied the woman's small, slim form, noted the way the rising moon, while washing Dana's fair skin to pearly porcelain, couldn't mask the fiery redness of her hair. Dana wasn't at all the kind of woman she'd expected Fox would love. And, yet, she was exactly the sort of woman Caroline herself would have chosen--a fact she suspected would surprise her son greatly. Intelligent, caring, gentle and yet steadfast, Dana matched her son's intensity with a quiet but equal strength. She alone had the power to reach through his wall of defense, and if for no other reason, Caroline would always love Dana Scully for that. "You never met Fox's father, did you?" Dana looked up, tension evident in her expression. She didn't answer for a long moment, so long that Caroline wondered if she'd understood the question. But then Dana said, "No." A volume of emotions in that one word, Caroline thought. She wasn't sure she recognized them all. "Bill was always driven. To succeed. To make money. To have power. His drive was--breathtaking. I was in complete awe of him. He knew just what he wanted and was willing to do anything, sacrifice anything to get it." Dana's expression never changed, but her eyes gave away so many of her emotions. Caroline had noticed this about Dana Scully the very first time she met the woman at the cemetery in Boston, right after Bill had been put to rest. Dana had told Caroline that she believed Fox was still alive, despite what Walter Skinner had told Caroline only a day before. As Dana had spoken, her face had been earnest, her expression placid. Her tone of voice was calm and oddly detached. But her eyes! Her eyes had told Caroline that Dana Scully loved her son more than anything else in the world. "Fox is like his father that way," Caroline continued. "He's always been willing to make sacrifices to attain his goals. Until he met you." Dana's expression did change then, a little tightening of her lips. Caroline could tell the thought disturbed her somehow. Odd, she thought, that the very thing she'd come to hate in her own husband was a quality Dana obviously loved in Fox. "I remember the first time I heard your name. Or, your last name." Caroline chuckled softly, and Dana joined her. "Fox was still recovering from that horrible gunshot wound to his leg--you were there on that case." Dana nodded, her eyes shiny. "That was right after Dad died." "I flew down to Washington to visit while he was still recuperating. I think he was quite impatient for me to leave." "I'm sure you're wrong--" Caroline shook her head and smiled. "I can hardly blame him, Dana. I haven't earned his love or trust. He's been more generous with me than I deserve. Anyway, he told me that 'Scully' had been checking up on him, and that I didn't have to worry about him. And I knew then that he wasn't alone anymore. I could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice." Dana's little half-smile transformed her face. With great clarity, Caroline could see what her son found so captivating about his former partner. Dana Scully had a deep, quiet beauty that transcended the outer trappings of attractiveness. It radiated from her, lit up the world around her. She was-- --incandescent. "I want to atone for my failures, Dana. To Fox--and to you, as well, because you love him and you must despise me for the way I've let him down." Dana put her hand on Caroline's arm. "I believe that a person is no better or worse than his last act of kindness. I don't care about what happened in the past, Mrs. Mulder. I care about what's happening now and what happens in the future." Impulsively, Caroline tucked Dana's hand in the crook of her arm, and they resumed walking. They spoke no more, sharing in a companionable silence that proved to be its own communion. * * * * * Mulder stood in front of the large picture window at the back of the beach house, his eyes following the slow approach of Scully and his mother as they walked back up the beach to the house. Thick as thieves, Mulder thought, a little surprised but glad. He was slowly but surely learning how to enjoy his mother all over again, and he was glad Scully was sharing in this journey of discovery with him. They'd been through enough bad times together. They were overdue for some good times. The sound of the phone ringing stirred him from his thoughts. He crossed to the counter. "Hello?" There was a brief, thick silence. Then Walter Skinner asked, "Mulder?" "Sir?" He glanced at Margaret Scully, who had just walked into the living room. Her dark eyebrows arched slightly. "Is Maggie Scully there?" Mulder grinned at Margaret. "Yes, sir." Skinner's voice tightened with impatience. "Well, may I speak to her?" Mulder considered giving Skinner a hard time, but the impatient set of Margaret Scully's mouth made him think better of the impulse. He handed her the phone and crossed back to the picture window, trying not to listen in on Mrs. Scully's part of the phone call. But Mrs. Scully didn't bother to keep her voice down. Skinner had obviously told her that Mulder knew about them. "Did you have a good day, Walter?" Mulder looked down at the beach. Scully and his mother were still a good ways down the beach, but he stayed on guard, ready to alert Mrs. Scully of their impending arrival. He wanted Mrs. Scully to come clean with Scully about Skinner, but he certainly didn't want Scully to find out by overhearing her mother sweet-talking Skinner over the phone. Night had fallen, the dark sky lit by the moon rising over the water. The light from the lamps behind him created a mirror image of the room in the plate glass window. He could see the reflection of Margaret Scully smiling as she spoke into the receiver. "Dana and Caroline are out walking, but Fox stayed behind to help me unpack groceries." The words were mundane, but Mulder could hear the little nuances hidden in her voice. He couldn't help but turn and stare at her. His heart seemed to stop for a moment. That's how Scully looks when she looks at me, he thought. He turned back to the window, a smile curving his mouth. His reflection revealed a madman, grinning like a fool. But a man should be forgiven his foolishness, he thought, when he's finally realized that the woman of his dreams is truly, deeply in love with him. So what if Scully'd never actually said the words? She'd been saying "I love you" with her actions and expressions for years. Following him to the ends of the earth, leading him bravely through the heart of danger, holding on and not letting him go when letting go would be the easiest thing in the world. In Margaret's soft conversation with Skinner, he heard the same silent words that passed between Scully and him in every phone call, every e-mail message, every stolen moment they found together. Words that said, "You're not here. Why aren't you here? Don't you know that your place is by my side--always?" And this silent communication wasn't something new. He could clearly remember a particular time five years ago, the first time the X-Files were shut down and he and Scully were separated. Back when Krycek had worked with him. They'd been looking for a veteran--a subject of heinous government studies into sleep eradication--who was suspected of complicity in a couple of bizarre deaths in the New York City area. But even though Krycek was his partner on the case, it was Scully whom Mulder had called with questions, theories and ideas. Not because he had instinctively distrusted Krycek but because he implicitly trusted Scully like he trusted no other. He'd been slightly taken aback when she started asking wary questions about his new partner. Her words were light, but he'd heard the wistful tone when she said, "Sounds like your new partner's working out." "Yeah, he's all right," Mulder had answered. "He could use a little more seasoning and some wardrobe advice, but he's a lot more open to extreme possibilities than--" "Than I was?" she'd interrupted. "Than I assumed he would be," he'd answered. "Must be nice not having someone questioning your every move, poking holes in all your theories." She was daring him to agree, he could tell. He couldn't help but smile at the absurdity of her little moment of self doubt. As if he could possibly be better off without her by his side. "Oh, oh yeah...it's..it's great. I...I'm surprised I put up with you for so long." The pause after his joking reply had been long and thick. He could hear her thoughts, her wishes. She wanted to be the one by his side, pursuing the wildest of possibilities no matter how they flew in the face of her long cherished beliefs. And he'd wanted her there with him, too. Always. Mrs. Scully's voice broke into his faraway thoughts. "Goodnight, Walter." She hung up the phone, her slow movements betraying her reluctance. Mulder turned around. "Are you ever going to tell Scully about you and Skinner?" Mrs. Scully looked away. "Soon." "How soon?" She raked her hands through her hair, and he could see that she dreaded telling her daughter about what was happening. "It's not going to be easy, Fox. Dana loved her father dearly. It won't be easy for her to accept that I might want to be with another man." "Scully's not heartless, Mrs. Scully. She'll be glad as long as you're happy." He reached out and took her hand. "And I can tell you're happy." She smiled. "Yes." "Then tell her." He squeezed her hand and released it as they heard footsteps on the wooden stairs outside. A moment later, Scully and his mother came into the house. Their cheeks were pink with the exertion and the cool night air, and they both looked as if the walk had been good for them--in more ways than one. Scully gave her mother a quizzical look as she kicked off her shoes and bent to pick up Clyde, who was shiveringly happy to see her. "Mom? You look flushed. You're not feeling sick, are you?" Mulder bit back a soft laugh, watching Mrs. Scully visibly struggle with the urge to burst into laughter. "I'm fine, honey. I must have gotten too much sun today." "I think I brought some burn lotion. I'll go get it." Scully and Clyde disappeared toward the back of the beach house. His mother's sharp eyes missed nothing. "What's going on, Maggie?" Margaret crossed to her, keeping her voice low. "Walter called." "Oh," Caroline said, as if that explained everything. "You're going to have to tell Scully soon," Mulder said quietly. Margaret nodded. "I will. I'll tell her tomorrow." * * * * * Scully found Mulder out on the balcony, stretched out on one of the lounge chairs. She wrapped her jacket more tightly around her and crossed to him, sitting on the edge of his lounge chair. "What are you doing out here, Mulder?" He gave her a lazy half smile. "Oh, sittin'. Thinkin'." She lifted one eyebrow. "As I recall, that usually gets you in trouble," she murmured, remembering how "sittin' and thinkin'" had led Mulder to Bambi Berenbaum and the Miller's Grove insanity. His smile widened just a bit. "Even if I'm sittin' and thinkin' about you?" "Mmm, good answer, Mulder." She bent and touched her lips to his, slipping her cold hands under his t-shirt. "Yowch! Your hands are cold!" He arched his back. She didn't let him get away. "So warm them." "Not with my back!" He pulled her hands around to the front and rubbed them vigorously between his own. "This isn't nearly as much fun," Scully noted. "Where did you get this devilish streak, Scully?" "You don't like it?" "I didn't say that." "I thought you liked bad girls. Remember, I met Phoebe." "Ouch." "And there was--" Suddenly, she pressed her mouth shut. She had almost said, "Kristen." But she couldn't tease him about Kristen the way she could about Phoebe. After all, he hadn't slept with Phoebe while Scully was missing. She started to pull away but he held her still. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Nothing." She didn't want to talk about Kristen--maybe because she knew that Mulder didn't want to talk about her. Something about that dark time in Los Angeles had burned Mulder to the core. Maybe he'd felt more for the woman than he'd admitted, to her or himself. She tried to tell herself that it didn't really matter. Regardless of what feelings he'd had for Kristen Kilar, she was gone. And Mulder was right here, right now, with her. That was all that mattered, wasn't it? Mulder reached up and fingered a coppery strand of her hair that spilled onto his chest. "Your hair's getting so long." Glad he changed the subject, she nodded. "I've been letting it grow." It was almost as long as it had been the first time she met him seven years ago. Had it really been that long? March of 1992. The single most significant moment of her life. If she lived to be a hundred, she'd never forget walking into that office and seeing Fox Mulder turn to look at her, his hazel eyes sharp and wary behind those sexy reading glasses she loved so much. She smiled. "Remember the first time I walked into the basement and bearded the Fox in his den?" Mulder's lips curved in response. "Remember? I'm the guy with the photographic memory." "Then you remember that you accused me of being a spy." "You WERE a spy." "I was not." "You were a beautiful spy, sent to drive me so out of my mind with lust that I couldn't possibly uncover all the fiendish government conspiracies surrounding me." He nuzzled her chin, sending little sparkles of sensation shooting down her spine. She arched her neck, encouraging his mouth to explore. "But you were too strong for their dastardly plot. You bravely kept me at bay for seven years, foiling their evil plans--" "But it wasn't easy." He nipped the soft flesh under her chin, eliciting a sharp gasp from her. She struggled to find her voice. "You made it look easy." "Believe me, Scully, it wasn't easy." He cradled her face between his hands, making her look at him even though her eyelids felt heavier than lead. "If things between us had been different--" "We might not be together now," she finished before he could utter the unwitting lie. She saw the silent acknowledgement of her words shining in the depths of his hazel gray eyes. He knew as well as she did that if they'd met under more normal circumstances, he'd never have let her get close enough to have any kind of effect on his heart. She had earned his trust and love through a trial of fire. And he had earned hers in much the same way. "Do you know what I love most about you, Mulder?" His eyes widened slightly at her words, and she felt a slight tearing sensation in the center of her chest as she realized how powerfully that soft, almost thoughtless declaration of love had affected him. His beautiful mouth trembled as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. She stilled his lips with her fingertips. "You're the most true person I know, Mulder. You've always told me the truth, even when you knew it wasn't what I wanted to hear. I depend on that and appreciate that more than you know." The slight frown lines that creased his face surprised her. Somehow, what she'd just told him disturbed him. Why? She traced the lines on his forehead with her fingertips. Was he still worrying about the little moment of tension that had cropped up between them? She felt guilty herself, for letting the ghost of Kristen Kilar come between them when they were just finding each other again. She gave him the sweet smile she saved for special occasions like waking up from a coma--or watching him wake up from a coma. "You just can't go a day without a frown, can you?" He smiled. "I'm one morose bastard." "But you're MY morose bastard." She slipped her hand down the side of his face, tracing the angles and planes of his cheeks and jaws. He still looked troubled, and she found herself fighting off a wave of anxiety. He pulled her onto his lap, tightening his arms around her. She lifted her face, inviting his kiss, but he merely pressed his lips against her forehead as if she were a child, then tucked her head under his chin. His heartbeat was slow and steady beneath her ear, and she soon found her own pulse matching his even rhythm. But though her body found harmony with his, her mind remained clouded by growing doubt. Mulder was hiding something from her, she realized. * * * * * Mulder dozed on the beach, the hot mid-morning sun beating down on his bare back. He had come down by himself, hoping that if he left Scully alone with her mother, Margaret would finally come clean about her budding relationship with Walter Skinner. But when Scully sat down in the sand beside him and ran her hand teasingly down his spine, he knew that Margaret must have lost her nerve. He sighed. If she didn't tell Scully the truth this weekend, he was going to tell her himself. He couldn't continue keeping this secret from her. It made him feel like a liar. Scully threaded her fingers through his hair, her touch gentle and affectionate. It occurred to him then that she'd always touched him like this--tenderly, lovingly. Had she loved him all along? He knew that he had loved her all along. Against his will, almost from the very beginning. Even knowing that she was sent to be his downfall, he'd been powerless to resist her. He opened one eye and looked up at her, expecting to see more Scully flesh than he'd seen since their first X-File case together, when she'd come into his motel room and stripped down to her underwear--a truly great moment in X- Files history.... But she was covered almost from head to foot. A wide-brimmed hat covered her coppery hair, and her arms were sheathed in a gauzy cotton beach jacket. Even her shapely legs were safely hidden from the sun in a pair of white Capri pants. Gotta protect that fair Irish skin, he thought with a niggle of disappointment. "Mulder, don't you need some more sunscreen? You're going to burn." He'd just applied a layer of lotion a few minutes earlier, but he was no fool. "Yeah. Mind rubbing it on my back?" She squirted a liberal mound of sunscreen into her palm and smoothed it over his back, her touch deft and gentle. Fire blazed everywhere she touched, warming him far beyond the heat of the day. She kneaded his flesh, worked the lotion into his skin in small, rhythmic circles. She kept up the sensual massage long after the last of the lotion absorbed into his skin. She moved over him, straddling his hips and resting her bottom on the backs of his thighs as she ran her hands up and down his back and his sides. Little devil, he thought, performing her act of seduction in public. This was a side to Dana Scully he hadn't seen nearly often enough. "Feel good?" she murmured, bending to speak in his ear. Her body was hot and soft against his back. "You're a wicked woman, Dana Scully." She made a soft sound that might have been a chuckle. He knew she tried not to laugh at his jokes--which made him try all that harder. It was a little game between them, one of many little games they played. They were like long-time lovers that way; they'd created their own private universe with its own set of rules. When they traveled together, she read the maps because he was terrible at directions. But he usually drove, because on the few occasions they rented a car without bucket seats, she had to slide the seat up so far to reach the pedals that his chin kept bumping his knees. He knew to make coffee if he beat her into the office, because she was a bear until she had that first cup. She knew to keep her distance when he was in a really black mood. They had already negotiated so much of their life together that he couldn't help but believe they could make their love last forever. It was one of the few things in his life about which he was truly optimistic. "This feels so strange," she murmured. She sat back, her hands falling away from his spine. He twisted his head, trying to look at her over his shoulder. Shaded by her hat, her eyes were luminous and dark. "Strange how?" he asked. She moved off of him and sat beside him in the sand, crossing her legs Indian style. "Like we're doing something we're not supposed to." He propped up on one elbow to face her. "Well, this IS a public beach...but we're really not doing that much--" "That's not what I mean. I guess--" She paused as if searching for the right words. "I've thought about being with you this way for a long time, Mulder. More than I've even admitted to myself. But we couldn't--not the way things were, all the danger and the struggles...and the fact that we were partners...." He nodded, understanding exactly. He'd kept his own urges sharply in check, knowing that one wrong move could bring everything crashing down around them. As much as he'd wanted her--needed her--sometimes, he didn't dare act on those feelings. "And now you're uneasy." "I just--I feel like somebody's watching us, waiting for us to go too far, and then, bam! They'll smash us like--" "Cockroaches?" She poked him lightly in the ribs. "You know, you've brought up that bug fiasco twice in twenty-four hours. Are you sure you were sittin' and thinkin' about me--or an entomologist you once knew and lusted after? Because I feel the need to point out that Dr. Berenbaum and Dr. Ivanov got married last year. I read it in a science journal." He sat up and smiled. "Dr. Beren-who?" "Another good answer!" Scully bent forward, rewarding him with a soft, sweet kiss. He threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her head steady as he deepened their kiss. She scraped her teeth gently over his tongue, suckling lightly. The sensation jolted through him, making his head spin. Breathing seemed not only impossible but unnecessary--because he was pretty sure his heart had just stopped beating. Scully drew away slightly, looking down at him with heavy- lidded eyes. Her lips were swollen and moist from his kiss, and he felt a surge of masculine power at the knowledge that he had done this to her, reduced his fierce, disciplined Scully to this soft, shivering, clinging woman. Then he felt the shuddering of his own body and knew that he wasn't the only one with power. She bent and touched her mouth to his throat, gently nibbling at his Adam's apple. Nipping, tasting, kissing all the way up his throat, over his chin, along his jaw, behind his ear. Yes, he thought, I'm sure my heart just stopped. Then he felt his pulse again, lurching and racing, and he couldn't seem to find enough air to keep up with the frantic pace. He gasped when she caught his earlobe between her teeth, panted when she suckled the little piece of flesh, groaned when she stopped. "Why did we bring our mothers along on this trip again?" she murmured in his ear, her voice soft and breathless. "Um, because it's Mother's Day?" He found the strength to grin. She nodded, chuckling weakly. "Oh, yeah. I knew there had to be a good reason." "And as such, we probably should be in there spending time with them instead of out here spending time with us." She sighed, nuzzling his jaw. "We're horrible children." "The worst." "We should be ashamed of ourselves." "I know I am," he said in mock earnestness. He watched her struggle to hold back a grin. Score one for Mulder, he thought when she didn't quite succeed. "Of course, Mulder, since they're both so obviously trying to get us married off to each other, what better Mother's Day gift could we give them than to stay right here and make out?" She caressed his cheek. "I love the way you think, Scully." "I thought you said I think too much, Mulder." He shook his head. "No, I think you TALK too much." He pulled her to him, making sure that she didn't talk again for a long, long time. Finally, Scully pulled away, breathing raggedly. As her respiration slowly returned to normal, she studied him, a little frown creasing her forehead. "What?" he asked finally when she remained silent and pensive. "Do you have something on your mind, Mulder? Something you're not telling me?" Damn it, why hadn't Mrs. Scully told her the truth? He couldn't hide things from Scully, not when she was right there to read the truth in his eyes. "There is something, isn't there? What is it, Mulder? You know you can tell me anything." She touched his face gently, the caress only succeeding in exacerbating his sense of guilt. He couldn't keep lying to her. But this particular truth wasn't his to tell. "I can't tell you, Scully." A small, hurt expression flitted over her face for just a second before she donned her favorite porcelain mask. She seemed to shrink from him, even though she didn't move a muscle. "Okay." A Scully cold shoulder was chillier than an arctic breeze, he thought. "Scully, I want to tell you what's going on. But it's not my secret." "Then whose?" He couldn't keep protecting Margaret. Not if it meant alienating Scully. He'd just spent almost two months adrift from her steadying presence, and he had no intention of going back to that cold, lonely place. Not even for Margaret Scully. He stood, dusting sand from his lotion-slick body, and held out his hand to pull her up. "Come on, Scully." "Where are we going? What's wrong?" He tightened his grip on her hand reassuringly. "It's time you had a talk with your mother." * * * * * "The children," as Margaret Scully and Caroline Mulder secretly called them behind their backs, were out on the beach, probably necking like a couple of kids. Margaret and Caroline had stayed in the beach house, taking advantage of the time to catch up on their lives. Since meeting Caroline for the first time during the Christmas weekend, Margaret had made a point of staying in touch, knowing that Caroline wouldn't make the first overture. She was glad she'd made the effort. Caroline was becoming a dear friend. They spoke weekly on the phone and filled in the blanks with letters--an old-fashioned art of communication that Margaret Scully preferred. It had seen her and her captain through many long months of separation when he had been at sea. She'd even told Caroline things she hadn't told her daughter. Like the fact that she and Walter Skinner were seeing quite a bit of each other. "So have you decided what you're going to do about Walter?" Caroline asked. "Not yet." Margaret sighed, hating herself for being so indecisive. It wasn't that she didn't care about Walter. He was a wonderful, complicated, incredibly attractive man. But he was also ten years younger than she was.... She sighed again. "Walter says the age difference doesn't bother him--" "But it bothers you?" Caroline's sharp eyes, so like her son's, searched Margaret's face. "Yes." Margaret wiped the kitchen counter even though it was already spotless, needing something to do with her restless hands. "Yes, it bothers me. I'm fifty-eight years old. Walter's not even fifty yet. He's talking about giving up any hopes of his own children--and in another ten years, he's still going to be a young, virile man, while I'm going to be--" "Sixty-eight, Maggie. You're going to be sixty-eight, not dead." Margaret looked up at Caroline, smiling in spite of herself. "Now I know where Fox gets his irritating streak." Caroline laughed softly. "Maggie, you have a man who's obviously quite smitten with you. You shouldn't worry about things like how much older you are than he. You should be asking yourself, do I love this man?" Do I? Maggie wondered. She thought about the way she felt when she and Walter were together. He was funny, smart, strong and intense. He'd shared parts of himself with her that she instinctively knew he'd never shared with another person. And he loved her. She could see it in his eyes when he looked at her, felt it in his touch when he held her close and showed her just how attractive he found her. And she felt things she hadn't felt since Bill died. No, that wasn't quite true. She felt DIFFERENT things. Different sensations--but were those sensations as powerful as the deep love and commitment she'd felt for her beloved captain? Were Walter's feelings for her as intense as what he'd felt for his beautiful (and young) wife Sharon? Walter's touch inflamed her. His words wrapped her in warmth and security. She found herself missing him mere moments after he'd left her side. She thought about him all the time. Was it love? The back door of the beach house opened, temporarily preventing her from having to answer that question. Dana and Fox entered, and from the tension in their faces, Margaret knew that her time had just run out. She had to tell Dana about Walter. * * * * * Mulder looked at the apprehensive expression on Margaret Scully s face and knew that she was finally going to tell Scully about Skinner. He was glad, of course, more than ready to rid himself of the guilt he felt because he d been keeping a secret from Scully. But another part of him shook, knowing that no matter how gently or tactfully Margaret broke the news, Scully was going to be hurt. Hurt that she'd been kept in the dark since Christmas. Hurt that he himself had known the truth since April and hadn't told her. Hurt that her mother might possibly love someone besides her father. He knew how much Scully had adored her father. In a way, Mulder loved the man himself because of what he'd meant to Scully. The man she fondly called Ahab had been a guiding force, a steadying hand, a stalwart anchor for his daughter. Captain Scully had shaped her into the incredible woman she was, and Mulder deeply regretted never having the chance to know the man. Bill Scully was the kind of father he and Samantha should have had, he thought with a mingled sense of guilt and longing. He had been one of a kind, and it was going to be hard for Scully to accept that her mother could ever love another. Especially a man like Walter Skinner, who hadn't always been a friend--or even an ally. "Dana, we need to talk." Margaret gestured toward the sofa. Scully s fingers tightened around Mulder's hand. "Is something wrong, Mom?" "Fox, why don t we go for a walk? his mother suggested, nodding her head toward the back door of the beach house. Scully didn't let go of his hand. "No, just tell me what's going on." She looked up at him, her eyes betraying her sudden fear. He tried to let his own eyes reassure her that everything would be okay, but he suspected his guilt and anxiety were all too evident. Margaret took a deep breath and began. "Honey, I've been meaning to discuss this with you for a while, but the timing never seemed quite right--and I didn't want to make a big deal out of the situation until I was sure that it was really going to come of anything--" Mulder felt the unexpected urge to shout at Margaret. Just tell her, for God's sake! Stop torturing her! "Mom, are you sick? Is there something wrong with you?" Margaret looked stricken by her daughter's anxious queries. "No, honey, I'm fine. Everything's all right. It's just--" She paused again, struggling visibly to find the right words. Mulder suspected there were no right words. It was going to come as a shock to Scully no matter what Mrs. Scully said. He caught Margaret's gaze and gave her a nod of encouragement. Margaret took another deep breath and lifted her chin. "Dana, I've been seeing someone." Scully's expression barely changed, but her fingers crushed Mulder's hand, sending shooting pains up his arm. "Seeing someone?" "Yes. For a few months now." Scully was silent a moment, her grip on Mulder's hand loosening. Mulder felt the blood rush back into his fingers. "What's his name?" she asked finally. "What do you know about him? Should I check up on him?" Mulder couldn't stifle a small huff of laughter, picturing her "checking up" on the next director of the F.B.I. Scully's head whipped around, glaring. She let go of his hand. Uh oh, he thought. Busted. She frowned. "You knew about this, Mulder?" "Don't blame Fox, Dana. He wanted us to tell you, but Walter and I wanted to wait until--" "Walter?" Scully stared at her mother. "Walter Skinner?" Margaret nodded. Scully blinked rapidly, as if trying to convince herself that she was awake and lucid. "Since when?" "After Walter joined us for Christmas, he called and asked if I'd meet him for lunch. To talk. He's a solitary man, Dana. I suppose his job has forced him to be that way-- always caught in the middle, trying to keep everything together. His wife was a buffer while she was alive, but since her death...." Mulder looked down at Scully's pale face, trying to gauge her reaction. The mask was back, but he'd gotten good at seeing through the layers of ice to the vulnerable woman beneath. Her mother's confession had shaken her more than he'd anticipated. But she was trying hard not to show it. "I had a good time at lunch," Margaret continued. "I guess it was just nice to spend time with a man, have him treat me like I was interesting and attractive. We'd both lost our spouses; we had that bond in common. We started seeing each other every couple of weeks, then every week. But I wanted to wait to tell you until I was sure Walter and I were serious about each other." A tiny, almost imperceptible quiver in Scully's lower lip sent a pang of regret through Mulder's heart. She looked away from her mother, her eyes focusing on a faraway spot through the picture window. "And you are?" Margaret sighed. "Yes." Scully lifted her chin, still staring out to sea. "Are you happy?" "Yes." Scully turned to face her. "Then that's all that matters." Margaret crossed to her daughter's side. "Are you sure?" She met her mother's worried gaze. Only Mulder saw how much effort the small action took. "Yes, Mom. I love you. I want you to be happy." Margaret hugged her, and Scully buried her face in her mother's shoulder. When she lifted her head, she was smiling, but Mulder knew that she'd been rocked by her mother's confession. Margaret released her daughter and smiled back. "I'm going to call Walter and tell him that you know. He'll be pleased. He thinks so much of you, Dana." She squeezed Scully's hand before she left the room. Mulder crossed to her side. "Scully--" She jerked her head around to look at him. "You knew and you didn't tell me." He nodded, his stomach sinking. "For how long?" "Since April." She looked away. "I feel like I'm the butt of some joke." "I know. I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I just didn't think it was my place." He put his hand on her shoulder, half- afraid she'd shrug him off. But she didn't. "Do you think she loves him?" "Yeah, I do." She was silent for a moment longer. The she looked up at him, her eyes dark and a little shiny, as if she were trying very hard not to cry. "I'm going outside for a little while." "Don't suppose you want me to come with you?" "Give me a few minutes, okay? Just to get used to the idea so I don't say or do something to upset Mom. A few minutes, and then you can come and talk me out of my bad mood." She managed a wobbly smile before she turned and walked out the back door of the beach house. He crossed to the window, watching Scully break into a slow jog. She churned through the sand toward the shoreline, stopping right at the edge. The breeze off the ocean lifted her hair, spinning it into a fiery cloud around her lowered head. She slowly sat in the sand at the edge of the water and lifted her chin, staring out across the cold gray expanse of the Atlantic. Looking for Ahab, he thought. * * * * * Oh, Daddy, Scully thought, how could she do this to you? Overhead, gulls wheeled and screamed, borne on a brisk wind that eased the midday heat. Her father had loved the sea, given a large portion of his life to it, sacrificed much to brave its dangers and tame its raw power. But as much as he'd loved the sea, he'd always loved his Maggie more. Scully had felt a daughter's envy, begrudging her father's devotion to her mother even as she rejoiced in it. She'd always believed that the kind of love her mother and father shared transcended the limits of time and space, defied even death. But in one short moment, her mother's words had shattered that illusion. Rationally, she knew that she was overreacting. Her mother was a vital attractive woman who shouldn't have to live her life alone. Ahab wouldn't have wanted her to be alone. But Scully couldn't be rational about this. Because she didn't understand. She knew what it was like to love a man with every fiber of her being. And she knew without a doubt that she'd never love another, even if Mulder were lost to her tomorrow. Even if it meant spending the next fifty or sixty years utterly alone. Because no one else would ever do. She had thought that was the way her mother had felt about her father, too. But obviously she was wrong. Did that mean she could be wrong about Mulder, too? Was forever love nothing more than smoke and mirrors? Then she felt him. The wind carried away any sounds of his approach, but she didn't need to hear him. She sensed his nearness in the smallest particles of her being. "Scully?" She turned her head slightly toward him, acknowledging his presence. "I forgot to ask you. How did you find out about Skinner and Mom?" "Skinner let it slip while we were talking at your Mom's house during the Memory Party." "So that's what you two were whispering about." She looked at him, trying to maintain some sort of objective detachment, to look at him with the eyes of a scientist rather than the eyes of a woman in love. What do I really feel about this man? Have I fooled myself into believing in a fairy tale? He frowned as if sensing her doubts. "Scully, are you all right? Do you want to talk about it?" She didn't want to talk--but she had to. Mulder had been her sounding board for a long time. She didn't know if she could see matters clearly without bouncing her thoughts off of him and seeing where they landed. "Mulder, do you believe it's really possible to love somebody forever?" "Yes." His quick, unfaltering response surprised her. She couldn't stifle the tiniest of smiles. "Since when?" "Since I met you." Tears filled her eyes, even as her heart soared. He just kept coming up with the perfect answers. "I thought my parents had that kind of love." "I believe they did." "Then how can Mom think of being with someone else?" "Because your father taught her how wonderful love can be, Scully. And having known that kind of love, she doesn't want to spend the rest of her life without it. And I don't think you want her to, either." Tears spilled down her cheeks. "No, of course I don't." "But it still hurts you, doesn't it?" She nodded, blotting her tears with her fingertips. "I know it's childish and irrational, but--" He scooted closer, draping his arm over her shoulder. "You can't help feeling what you feel, Scully. You just have to feel it. Eventually you'll figure out how to deal with it." Her chuckle sounded a little watery. "Is that Dr. Mulder speaking?" "Yeah. And that'll be $200. Pay at the front desk." She rested her head in the curve of his neck. "Put it on my tab." His arm tightened around her, and she felt his lips brush her temple with such tenderness that tears filled her eyes again. Another thing she loved about this man, she thought. He always seemed to know when to give her a kick in the ass and when to give her a kiss on the cheek. She rubbed her head against his shoulder. Unbidden, a snippet from a Warren Zevon song floated through her mind. "I was born to rock the boat, Some may sink, but we will float, Grab your coat--let's get out of here, You're my witness, I'm your mutineer." I'm his witness, she thought, and he's my mutineer. Always had been, always would be. And she wouldn't have it any other way. "It's going to be okay, isn't it?" "I trust you to do the right thing, Scully." He brushed away her tears with his knuckle. "You always do." She closed her eyes and leaned into his strength. And felt the wound begin to heal. End of #9 Disclaimer: All characters seen or mentioned on the X-FILES belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Production, FOX networks, DD, GA, etc. and are used without permission. WHEN I FALL IN LOVE by Edward Hayman and Victor Young is used without permission. If you don't recognize a character from the show, then most likely he or she belongs to me, particularly the Powells, who are rich and thus can pay all my legal bills...except they're fictional... This is part 10 of a 12 part series, a sequel to TWELVE RITES OF PASSAGE. If you haven't read that story, you may want to read it first.. TWELVE DEGREES OF SEPARATION No. 10: June When I Fall in Love By Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com The white clapboard church was quaint and small, a surprising venue for the marriage of Samantha Ann Mulder to the son of one of the wealthiest businessmen on the East Coast. But Dana Scully thought that Fox Mulder's sister had made the perfect choice. It was a friendly place, full of warmth and love, just like Samantha. "The rehearsal went well, don't you think?" Caroline Mulder slipped her arm through Scully's, joining her at the flower- decked altar. "A few flubs, but they say that if you mess up during the rehearsal, the wedding goes off without a hitch." Scully smiled up at Mulder's mother, still occasionally amazed that she and Caroline were becoming such good friends. There'd been a time when she'd have sworn that would never happen. "Fox is trying hard not to show it, but I know he's still hurt that Samantha chose her foster father to escort her down the aisle." Scully felt a glimmer of sympathetic pain for him. She of all people knew just how much Fox Mulder loved his sister. She'd watched him sacrifice every facet of his existence to his obsession with finding her, risking his life and his sanity to bring her back to her family. Her mind understood Samantha's choice. But her heart never would. Caroline released Scully's arm and smiled at her. "I'm riding to the rehearsal dinner with Samantha and Preston. I don't suppose you could get a ride with my son, could you?" Scully returned her smile. "I could probably talk him into it. We'll see you at the restaurant." As Caroline headed down the aisle to the exit at the back of the church, Scully turned back to the altar and looked up at the flower bier that would bear witness tomorrow morning to the joining of hands and hearts. Scully didn't regard herself as a romantic--and considering the man she'd fallen in love with, it was a good thing--but her eyes misted over as she looked around the hushed sanctuary, taking in the snowy white ribbons and flickering candles that cast a gleam across the dark mahogany pews flanking the center aisle. The string ensemble had left, their instruments packed up and silenced, but Scully had no difficulty bringing to mind the haunting beauty of Bach's "Air on a G String." It was a piece she'd always imagined she'd include in her own wedding someday. Lyrical and emotional, rich with hidden depths that somehow embodied everything she'd always believed love should be. She wondered if Mulder had ever mentally picked out music for his wedding day. The thought almost made her laugh aloud. Probably something like Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries" or "O Fortuna" from Orff's CARMINA BURANA. Something frantic, fast and dark to accompany him up the aisle as he ran shrieking from the church. The side door next to the organ opened, and the object of her thoughts walked through, smiling when he saw her. "Fantasizing, Scully?" "More like a waking nightmare." She graced him with the tiniest of smiles as she let him take her hand and tuck it into the crook of his elbow. "Are you a Wagner fan, Mulder?" His eyebrows twitched slightly upwards as they started walking up the aisle toward the exit. "Actually, I'm more a Bach man myself." She cocked her head slightly. "What's your favorite?" "Bach composition?" She nodded. He made a little shrugging motion. "Probably "Air on a G String." She couldn't hold back a full fledged smile that time. The way he said it, it sounded like the title of one of his infamous videos--"Air on a G-String," starring Amber Luscious. His eyebrows rose slightly, as if he didn't fully trust her when she smiled at him that way. "Was that some kind of trick question?" She just kept smiling as she led him out of the chapel into the warm June night. * * * * * Mulder slouched a bit in his chair, tuning out his mother's discussion about last minute ceremony changes with Mrs. Powell. Mr. Powell Sr. had cajoled Scully out onto the restaurant's ballroom dance floor and was currently wearing out her toes with his two--or was it three?--left feet. But the song was almost over, and as soon as Mr. Powell brought her back, Mulder had every intention of spiriting her off to some dark, quiet corner where they could be alone for a few minutes before he had to go to Preston's damned bachelor party. Scully glared at him when she returned to the table. "Thanks for coming to my rescue," she whispered in his ear as she slid into the seat next to him.. He pasted on his most innocent expression. "You hate when I'm overprotective, Scully. Don't want you to think I'm acting like the macho man or anything." The look she gave him would have killed a lesser man. "You know, Mulder, there ARE times when it's okay. Like when I'm about to lose the use of my feet because a man tanked up on expensive whiskey has mistaken my toes for the dance floor." "Oh. Well, see, I never got that addendum to the rules. You should probably repost them to avoid any more confusion." "Tell you what." She stood and held out her hand. "Come dance with me and I'll whisper all the rules in your ear." He smiled a lazy smile and took her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. They passed Samantha and Preston on their way to the dance floor, exchanging quick greetings. The bride and groom to be were too strung out to make much conversation, and Mulder was too anxious to get Scully on the dance floor and into his arms to want to linger. A small dance orchestra had been playing an eclectic set, ranging from Glenn Miller favorites to a bizarre but oddly entertaining medley of Elton John ballads. Mulder secretly wished for a slow song so he could hold Scully close in public--one of his favorite secret fantasies. His wish was granted with an old rehearsal dinner standard: WHEN I FALL IN LOVE. A small, dark-haired woman in a sequined gown came to the microphone and sang the opening lyrics in a smoky alto. "When I fall in love, It will be forever, Or I'll never fall in love...." Even in her two inch heels, Scully was too short for the arms-around-his-neck position. He didn't let that slow him down, however, tucking one hand to his heart and guiding her other hand around his waist. She leaned in toward him, fitting her small, silk-sheathed body against his. She wore the perfume he gave her for Christmas, the fresh fragrance filling his lungs with each breath he took. He closed his eyes and gave himself up to the sensation of holding her, feeling her warmth pressed firmly against his chest, hips and thighs, hearing the soft, almost imperceptible sussuration of her breathing. He'd thought that when he found Samantha, his life would be whole again. Now, holding Dana Scully in his arms on this crowded dance floor, he realized that his life would never be whole without the love of this woman. Samantha may have been the goal of all his efforts over the past decade, but Scully was the prize. "In a restless world like this is, Love is ended before it's begun, And too many moonlight kisses, Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun...." He'd thought he loved Phoebe, but he was wrong. He'd thought that Kristen Kilar would fill the gaping hole in his heart, but he'd been wrong about that, too. Bambi, that blonde detective what's her name--no one had come close to easing the ache in the center of his soul. No one but Scully. Ten months ago, when he'd gotten word that the X-Files division was being shut down again, he thought his world was about to end. But he'd been wrong. It had just begun. "When I give my heart, It will be completely, Or I'll never give my heart, And the moment I can feel that You feel that way, too, Is when I'll fall in love with you." He tightened his hold on Scully, drawing her to a darkened corner of the ballroom that had their names written all over it. Scully moved with graceful fluidity, effortlessly following his lead. When he reached the shadows, he moved his hands slowly down her back, pulling her even closer. He ran one hand over the curve of her hip, feeling her heat burn his fingers through the thin silk of her blue dress. "What are you doing, Mulder?" she murmured against his throat as his other hand joined the slow exploration of her hips and upper thighs. "Searching you for weapons," he answered softly into her hair. "Find anything?" Her voice was midnight velvet, brushing lightly across every nerve ending in his body. "I'd say you're armed, all right--and definitely dangerous." She touched her mouth to his throat, her tongue darting out to flick his Adam's apple. "Well, from where I'm standing, it feels like you're packing, too." He drew his head back, gazing down at her with a mixture of shock and amusement. "Dana Katherine Scully! Does your mother know you talk like that?" She chuckled, her eyes large and dark with desire. "What's the matter, Mulder? You can dish it out but you can't take it?" He smiled. "If I didn't have to be at a bachelor party in less than an hour, I'd show you just what I can dish out...." "Big talk, Mulder." She lifted her chin, her lips pursed just a bit, enough to make him ache with the need to kiss her until they were both breathless and shaking. "It'll give you something to dream about." He allowed himself a quick, stolen kiss before the last strains of the song ended. Reluctantly, he released her and gave her a little nudge back toward the table, where Preston Powell and his groomsmen were already starting to gather in anticipation of the traditional wedding's eve rite of male bonding. Mulder didn't particularly want to go, but he felt it was his duty to make sure that Preston didn't get wasted or laid the night before he married Samantha. "You're not going to get drunk at the bachelor party, are you?" Scully warily eyed the congregation of men surrounding the wedding party table. "I'm the designated driver," he assured her. "Just don't let Preston do anything stupid." "Oh, believe me, I won't." He grinned. "You know, I could probably sneak you in as entertainment if you want to come along. You could wow them with your gun skills." She bit back a chuckle. "No, thanks. Besides, Mom and Skinner are due to arrive any time now. I should be here to greet them." Mulder's smile faded at the apprehension he heard in Scully's voice. This would be the first time she'd seen Mrs. Scully and Skinner together since she'd learned about their relationship. "Maybe I could wait and drop in on the bachelor party later, Scully--" She shook her head firmly. "No, Mulder. I'll be fine. Go keep Preston out of trouble." She gave him a little nudge toward the group of men who were beginning to file out of the restaurant. "Besides, they're probably depending on your tape collection for the entertainment." "Why would they want to watch all my educational PBS documentaries?" Mulder asked innocently. She did chuckle that time. "Smart is sexy...." He bent and kissed her soundly. "Yes, it is." He didn't want to let her go, but she gave him another push. With a sigh of regret at leaving her behind, he followed the other men out the door. * * * * * Scully changed into a pair of black leggings and the Patriots jersey she'd borrowed from Mulder during the Mother's Day trip to Keystone Beach and never given back. Come to think of it, she'd worn this same shirt back in January, too, when she stayed at Mulder's after meeting Mark Lacey. It made her feel close to him, even when he wasn't there. She and Mulder were a whisper from becoming everything she'd secretly longed for--and never in a million years dared to hope they would be. It was scary in a wonderful way--like standing in the open door of a plane, feeling the wind whip her hair and make her heart race, and knowing that even though there was a parachute strapped to her back and all the lessons were etched in her mind, there was still that danger of something going wrong-- --but oh, if things went just right, she'd be flying, soaring, experiencing sensations no human had a right to feel and every human should have the privilege of knowing. She wanted to fly with Mulder, hand in hand, heart to heart, facing this dazzling, daring unknown just as they'd faced every other secret and shadow in their recent lives-- together, inseparable, invincible. A thought struck her, unwanted but undeniable. Was this how her mother felt about Skinner? Scully had thought a lot about what Mulder had said that day on Keystone Beach. About how her father had taught her mother how wonderful love could be, and how her mother must surely want to find that kind of love again. Maybe her mother's blossoming relationship with Skinner really was a tribute to her father, not a betrayal. In truth, Scully had no doubts that her mother had loved her father. Margaret Scully had taught her children everything there was to know about honor, integrity and loyalty-- A knock sounded on her door. Scully stood on tiptoes to look through the fisheye peephole. She saw broad shoulders, a muted gray tie and the top of her mother's dark head. And I thought Mulder and I looked like the odd couple! She couldn't suppress a little grin as she opened the door. Her mother's blue eyes betrayed a hint of apprehension. "Hi, honey." Scully held out her arms and hugged her mother tightly. "Hi, Mom. Did you have a good trip up?" Margaret nodded. "How was the rehearsal?" "Nerve-wracking for poor Samantha and Preston. I won't be a bit surprised if we wake up tomorrow and find they've eloped!" Scully released her mother and looked up at Skinner, bracing herself for the same wave of resentment that had rushed through her every time his name came up in conversation over the last few weeks. Oddly, the twinge was almost imperceptible. She nodded a greeting. "Sir." "Agent Scully." He ventured a half-smile and carried her mother's suitcase into the hotel room. "I'll leave you two to settle in--" "No, sir, why don't you stay and visit?" Scully was almost as surprised to hear those words come from her mouth as her mother and Skinner appeared to be. "Um, have you heard anything from the Senate hearings?" Skinner had just been through a week of confirmation hearings with the Senate. The opposition to his nomination had been low-key but persistent--the shadow government wielding its secret power, no doubt. However, the last Scully had heard upon leaving Washington for the wedding, Matheson's aides were saying they thought that the pro- Skinner forces had enough votes to ensure the confirmation. "The vote is supposed to take place either very late tonight or in the morning. I guess we'll know one way or the other by tomorrow afternoon." Scully nodded. "I talked to an aide to Matheson this morning before I flew up here. She said that things look promising." "I'm a little afraid to hope," Skinner admitted. Scully considered pressing him about his plans for reopening the X-Files, but she wasn't sure she wanted to hear his answer. Whatever he decided, there would be complications. "I guess Fox is at the bachelor party?" Margaret asked. Scully smiled. "I think he's there to make sure Preston behaves. And with Mulder glaring at him all night, I'll bet Preston acts like an angel." "Mulder must be feeling pretty ambivalent about tomorrow," Skinner commented. "Yes, he vacillates between happiness and depression on the subject." Scully chuckled softly. "Of course, that sort of describes his mood most of the time, doesn't it?" Skinner laughed. "Yes it does, as a matter of fact. But I suspect that if he had to choose, he'd rather be giving his sister away in marriage than still searching for her." Scully smiled at the understatement. "I suspect you're right." She waved her arm toward the chairs and table next to her bed. "Get comfortable, and I'll hunt something for us to drink." She slipped on a pair of running shoes and grabbed her room key and her change purse. She paused at the end of the hall, taking a couple of long, deep breaths. Okay, she thought, that wasn't bad at all. Matter of fact, it went really well. But if she got back to the room to find Skinner and her mother in a clinch, he'd better have hidden her gun. * * * * * So this is how rich people throw a bachelor's party, Mulder thought, scanning the room from his position in the corner. It ain't so special. A handful of groomsmen were huddled around a television showing skin flicks--seen 'em, own 'em, he thought with a hidden smile. Another, smaller group sat at the table in the center of the suite, doing tequila shooters and getting completely wasted. He hoped they weren't members of the wedding, because they'd be looking and feeling like crap in the morning. Preston and a couple of men sat away from the others, sipping beer and talking quietly. Mulder kept his eye on his future brother-in-law from time to time, almost hoping the guy would make a wrong move and give him an excuse to call a halt to the whole proceedings--party, wedding and all. But Powell was behaving like a good boy. Ah, hell, Mulder thought, I couldn't have picked a better guy for her myself. Preston was wealthy but unspoiled, smart and generous, funny and loving to Mulder's sister. And Samantha adored him. They'd known each other since she was a kid--the Powells had sent their children to the same public school Samantha had attended in South Carolina. Preston had been a couple of years ahead of Samantha. They'd never dated until they ran into each other in Boston right after Samantha had come back to Mulder and his mother. A catch-up dinner had turned into a movie the next night, lunch the day after that, and suddenly they were falling in love. They'd started out as friends, too, Mulder thought. Like Scully and I. He wondered how she was coping with her mother and Skinner. Was the Assistant Director smart enough to know to hide her gun? He grinned at the thought. "Fox, right?" He looked up, startled out of his thoughts of Scully. One of Preston's groomsmen stood in front of him. Medium height, brown hair, green eyes--David Cramer, he remembered from earlier introductions. "I usually go by Mulder." Cramer smiled. "Well, actually, I hear you usually go by 'Spooky.'" Mulder frowned. Cramer held up his hand, still smiling. "Relax, Mulder, I'm not making fun. I've been called a few weird names in my time, too. 'Starman,' comes to mind. 'Spacey.' I'm a member of MUFON--well, a fringe member. I like to maintain a semblance of normalcy. Sharing too many alien abduction stories is hell on a career as a stockbroker." "So you've been--" "Abducted?" Cramer shrugged. "Something happened to me over a twelve year period, from the age of ten 'til I graduated from college. Chronic episodes of sleep paralysis, missing time, post traumatic stress episodes." He shrugged again. "Did Reticulans do a cosmic smash and grab so they could experiment on me? I don't know. But something happened." Mulder's eyes narrowed, still not sure the man wasn't putting him on. "Do you have any evidence of your experiences?" "Just the implant." Cramer reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. From the bill flap he pulled a tiny piece of metal and held it out to Mulder. "It was in the fleshy area at the back of my neck. I hear you've seen one like it before." Mulder barely suppressed a shudder, remembering Scully's horror and the months they'd both spent wondering if her body was about to turn on her because of what those bastards--whoever they were, human or not--had done to her while she was missing. All her medical tests had come back normal over the past few years, but there was still so much room for things to go horribly wrong in the future. "Look, I know you have reason to be suspicious of everyone you meet these days. I've kept up with some of the things that have happened to you and Agent Scully. News gets around to the various groups, you know." Mulder nodded carefully. "We hear that the president's nominee for Bureau Director wants to reopen the X-Files." This guy was too smooth, Mulder thought. Too damn much like that rat bastard Krycek. "Nothing's been settled as far as I know. And he hasn't been confirmed." "Word is, he's going to have enough votes." "Word is, huh?" Cramer grinned broadly. "You ARE paranoid, aren't you?" "It's not paranoia if everybody really IS out to get you." "No, I suppose not." Cramer laughed. "Look, I'm not trying to pry the secrets of the crypt out of you here. I just have a vested interest in the truth coming out. I'd like to know what the hell's been done to me and by whom. So I really just wanted to tell you that I hope that the new director gives the X-Files back to you and Agent Scully. Not everybody thinks that you were chasing ghosts. That's all I wanted to say." Mulder nodded. "Thanks." He watched Cramer walk away, feeling uneasy. He had always embraced the idea that no one could be trusted--except Scully, of course. It had saved his life more times than he could count. But sometimes-- times like these--he wondered what it would be like to greet the world with open arms and a trusting soul. To not suspect that every kind word hid treachery, that every smile covered a lie. He'd once thought that Scully viewed the world that way, but as he'd grown to know her better, he'd realized that she was as distrusting in her own right as he had ever dreamed of being. But her distrust was in things she couldn't see, couldn't quantify. His distrust was in things he COULD see and quantify. Like deceit and misdirection, manipulations and machinations. He trusted one person--Scully. More than himself, even, because he suspected that she loved him far more than he loved himself. He was certain she found more worth in him than he found in himself. He thought about what Cramer had said about Skinner's confirmation. About reopening the X-Files. He was pretty sure Skinner would make that move. He was also pretty sure that Skinner would want Scully and him back in the basement they'd left just under a year ago. But Scully had been right about one thing. Written rule or not, the Bureau wasn't going to care much for a pair of agents who were involved romantically. The decision might well come down to what Scully had suggested before--the X- Files or each other. Mulder knew what he'd choose. But he wasn't the only one making a choice. And now that Samantha was back, Mulder knew he wasn't the partner with the most at stake. Scully had lost months out of her life. She'd lost her sister and an irrevocable portion of her innocence. And the X-Files might be her best--her ONLY--means to find justice for Melissa and the truth for herself. Could she really give them up, even for him? Could he let her? * * * * * "So, how do I look?" Samantha turned to look at her bridesmaids and her mothers. Linda Chandler sniffed back tears, while Caroline Mulder viewed her lost and found daughter with an odd mixture of bemusement and joy. As the other bridesmaids gathered around Samantha, straightening her veil and smoothing out her train, Scully crossed to Caroline's side and touched the older woman's arm. "She looks beautiful, doesn't she?" Caroline murmured, her eyes still focused on her daughter's radiant face. "Yes." Scully looked at Samantha, experiencing the same jarring sensation she'd felt over a year ago when a disoriented, hazel-eyed brunette emerged from a burning warehouse in Baltimore and Fox Mulder had uttered a low, gutteral moan that shot chills through her. She hadn't had to hear Mulder's affirmation. She'd known who she was looking at. "Sometimes, I still can't believe that I'm standing here, looking at her," she murmured to Caroline. "We looked for her so long, so many places--" Caroline looked down at Scully, her eyes bright with suppressed tears. "You did, didn't you? It was your search, too." Scully nodded, too close to tears to trust herself to speak. Caroline hooked her arm through Scully's, drawing her closer. "I haven't had a chance to tell you how glad I am that you and Fox are becoming so close." Scully stifled a little smile. She and Mulder had been "becoming close" for six years. What was emerging between them now had always been there, sometimes closer to the surface than other times, sometimes more painful than pleasant, but it had always been there. It had been there in a candlelit room in Oregon, in a car outside Eugene Tooms' house, in a dark house in Minneapolis, even in a hotel room in Comity when she'd walked in at the wrong time. Tentative, tender, trusting, even tense--it all boiled down to the same thing. She and Mulder loved each other, wanted each other, needed each other. A soft rap sounded at the door. Scully was closest; she went to see who was there. "Just the brother of the bride," Mulder answered in response to her soft query. "Can I come in?" She glanced over her shoulder. "Everybody decent?" she asked. "Spoilsport!" Mulder hissed through the closed door. She smiled because she knew he couldn't see her, then straightened her face and let him in. He bent and kissed the tip of her nose. "Hi, Scully." "Hi, Mulder." She stepped out of his way so he could go to Samantha, but he lingered for a moment, looking down at Scully, his eyes darkening slightly. His gaze swept over her, intimate as a caress, and heat blossomed deep in her belly. He touched her cheek lightly. "Nice dress." Then he tore his gaze away and crossed to his sister. Scully turned to look at him, her lips curving slightly. Nice dress, she thought. Mulder, you sweet talker, you. He looked pretty damned "nice" himself, his lean, tall body doing marvelous things for the charcoal gray morning suit he and the other groomsmen were wearing. Of course, he looked good in everything--from black silk boxers to a black tuxedo--sans Phoebe Green, of course. She started gathering up the other bridesmaids, suggesting they go ahead and get lined up at the back of the church. She managed to herd Linda Chandler and Caroline Mulder along as well, trying to give Mulder a few minutes alone with his sister before she walked down the aisle to her new life. * * * * * "That was nice of Dana to give us a few minutes alone." Samantha hooked her fingers through Mulder's. Her touch was gentle, so like the child he'd enshrined in his heart and mind for over 25 years. But she wasn't that little girl, and he wasn't that twelve-year-old who couldn't stop what was happening to his sister. "Are you happy, Samantha? Really happy?" She smiled, her eyes radiant. "Yes." He bent and kissed her forehead. "I love you, twerp. Go be happy." She wrapped her arms around him, holding him fiercely. "I know I'm not what you expected to find, Fox. I'm sorry." "Oh, no, Samantha." He shook his head, tears filling his eyes. "You're so much more than I ever expected. Don't you understand? I lived in constant fear that when I finally found you, it would be bones at the bottom of a shallow grave--or some drugged-out mental case so destroyed by what happened to her that she couldn't function in the real world." The haunted, time-worn face of Lucy Householder flashed through his mind, and he shuddered. "When you came back to me, Samantha, you were tired and haunted but you were whole, and that's something I didn't dare hope for." Oh, great, now he'd made her cry. She was messing up all her carefully applied make-up. He grabbed a tissue from the dressing table and blotted the tears threatening to paint black mascara tracks down her cheeks. She gave him a lop-sided grin and took the tissue from him. "I love you, too, Fox. More every day, and much more than I remember." If he didn't get out of here and let her compose herself, HE was going to cry. He kissed her cheek again and squeezed her hand. "Do me a favor, Samantha?" She nodded. "Anything." "When you throw the bouquet--throw it to Scully. I can use all the help I can get." He winked and slipped out of the dressing room. He wasn't surprised to find Scully waiting for him just around the corner. She slipped her arm around his waist. "Are those tears I see, Mulder?" "What, me? A manly man in full bloom of manhood?" He made a scoffing sound. "Allergies." "Funny, Mulder, in all these years I never knew you had allergies." She slanted her eyes at him. "I'll arrange for you to start taking the shots as soon as you get back to Boston." She released him and headed toward the back of the church, where the others in the bridal party were gathering in anticipation of the beginning of the ceremony. Ouch, he thought and followed her. * * * * * The wedding went off without a hitch, just as Scully had predicted. Nobody fainted, broke into giggles, or tripped over their own feet. The vocalist hit all of the high notes, and Samantha and Preston remembered the vows they'd written, as far as Scully could tell. Everybody seemed deliriously happy. Well, almost everybody. She looked out the window toward the inlet, where sunlight sprinkled blinding diamonds on the water. A breeze bent the sea grass growing on the shoreline and rippled the dark hair of the solitary man sitting atop the sea wall, gazing toward the horizon. Murmuring an excuse to her mother and Skinner, she slipped out the side door and crossed the narrow bike path, the roar of the surf and the wind swallowing the sounds of her approach. When she touched his shoulder, he jumped. "Sorry." She left her hand on his shoulder. Mulder's look of surprise turned into a contented half- smile. He held out his hand and drew her down beside him. He held onto her hand, his fingers twining through hers. She rested her head against his shoulder. "Beautiful here, isn't it?" He looked out at the rippling water, as if trying to see it through her eyes. For him, she knew, the Vineyard had always held such horrors that he'd probably long since stopped seeing its beauty. But Scully willed him to see the appeal of the saltbox houses along the sandy shoreline, the plaintive cries of wheeling seagulls, the weathered white light house on the point. He nodded and released her hand, lifting his arm around her shoulders. "Yeah." She slipped her arm around him, leaning into his body. Her cheek settled just above his heart. "See, I told you that it would be just fine." The sea breeze was cool for June, sprinkling chill bumps over her bare arms. When she couldn't hold back a little shiver, he tightened his hold on her. "I just got her back and now I've got to give her up again." "To somebody who loves her. Somebody she loves." He rested his chin atop her head, breathing deeply. He locked his arms around around her and lifted her onto his lap to hold her even closer. She moved her hands over his back, beneath his morning coat, tracing his muscles through the thin cotton shirt. She pressed her face against his neck, breathing in the warm male smell that said "Mulder." Her heart rate quickened and her voice shook when she spoke. "Samantha's about to throw the bouquet. She was looking for you." Mulder leaned his head back and looked down at her. "Looking for me? To catch the bouquet?" "Well, the garter." Scully rubbed her cheek against his chest. "I'll take my chances out here with you." He kissed her forehead. "Like to live dangerously, do you?" "Don't you?" The warm, come-hither look in his eyes, the way his mouth trembled, the husky timbre of his voice robbed Scully of coherent thought. He weaved his fingers through her hair, holding her head captive, and slanted his mouth over hers, hard and demanding. She stabbed his tongue with hers, suckled, explored. She felt a hard, wracking shudder rumble through him, and he slipped off the sea wall to the sand below, pulling her with him. He pinned her against the wall, settling himself in the cradle of her hips. She tightened her fingers on his back, digging into his muscles, and parted her thighs slightly to welcome the pressure of his growing arousal. He moved against her hips, a small sharp thrust, and she moaned deep in her throat at the answering leap of her body. He repeated the movement twice more, quick and hard. Pressure built in her head, drowning out the sound of the surf and the screaming gulls, leaving only the low keening sound of his breathing and her own soft sighs. Then she remembered where they were. In public. In full sight of the town reception hall. Where her mother, not to mention his, could see them necking like a couple of horny teenagers. * * * * * Margaret Scully walked up behind Walter Skinner, resting her hand on his back. The gentle, possessive touch shot fire through his nervous system. "What are you looking at?" she asked. He turned and smiled down at her. "Your daughter and her former partner participating in a shocking public display of affection. Shall we join them?" Her smile radiated through her entire face, lighting up her blue eyes. "What am I going to do with you, Walter Skinner? I'm too old to feel this young." He shook his head, wondering if he'd ever be able to convince her that he never thought about the ten year difference in their ages, that the laughter lines that creased her face gave her a special kind of mature beauty that no cover girl half her age could hope to approach. Walter Skinner felt years older than Maggie, aged by the horrors he'd seen and the fears he lived with every day and every night. After Sharon's death, he'd despaired of ever knowing hope or joy in his life again--until Maggie Scully smiled at him across her living room, her gentle face glowing in the golden light from the fireplace as she watched him open her Christmas gift. She gave him poetry, and he suspected that he'd given her his heart that very night. He put his arms around her, resting his chin atop her head as they looked out the window of the reception hall. Across the road, standing just beyond the sea wall, Mulder and Scully embraced with the power and passion of their love. "Have you told them about your phone call?" Maggie murmured. "Not yet." "Have you decided what you're going to do?" Except for Maggie, the phone call was all he'd thought about since it had come just moments earlier. President Matheson himself had called with the news. "The Senate vote is in, Skinner. You're the new Director." Director of the F.B.I. For years, it was a goal he longed to reach--and never dreamed he would. But now that it was his, he wished he'd never set foot in the F.B.I. Because after years of desperately foiling attempt after attempt of the shadow cabal to put an end to the X-Files and separate Mulder and Scully, Walter Skinner now held the fate of the X-Files in his hand. And the next choice he made might separate Fox Mulder and Dana Scully forever. * * * * * Mulder groaned as Scully gently pulled away from him, leaving his whole body throbbing with unassuaged need. "Not here, Mulder." She nodded toward the reception hall. "Not with an audience." He sighed. Of course, she was right. "But the inn is just around the corner." Her eyes darkened with need. An odd, quailing sensation shot through his stomach at her low, seductive words. The thought of following her to the hotel was as scary as it was tempting--and that surprised him. He'd been indulging in secret, forbidden fantasies about Scully for years--he'd have thought he'd welcome the opportunity to play out one or two of them. But when he actually tried to imagine going back to his room at the Vineyard Inn, peeling that green silk bridesmaid's gown off of her lush body, and burying himself inside her-- --his mind shut down. Why? He wanted her. His body was in a constant state of low hum, teetering on the edge of full blown arousal every time she came within sight. When she touched him, his whole body thrummed as if he were a violin string she'd just plucked. And when she kissed him--God, when she kissed him.... And yet at this moment, he couldn't fathom taking her to his bed. Not yet. Not here...maybe it was this place. All the bad memories. "Oh, God, you're self-analyzing again, aren't you?" Scully's soft murmur roused him from his dark thoughts. He cut his eyes at her, amused despite his sudden black mood. "Gotta keep in practice." "Well, you can always practice on me." She waggled her eyebrows slightly and held out her hand. "Back at the inn." He shook his head. "We can't." "Why not?" "We just can't. This isn't the time or the place, Scully." A couple of little worry lines etched across her brow. "Is there something wrong, Mulder?" He shook his head, wishing he knew how to explain what he was feeling. "Scully, this place...I just think this isn't the right place for us." She touched his hand, her fingers gently closing around his. "Too many ghosts?" He smiled slightly. "I thought you didn't believe in ghosts." "I believe in these kinds of ghosts." Tenderness eclipsed need in her eyes as she tugged his hand, pulling him back toward the sea wall. "Give me a leg up, Mulder, and let's see if you can catch that garter." He let her playfulness wash over him like a soothing balm, chasing away the shadows, at least for the moment. "I have a better idea. Why don't you come with me and see if we can exorcise some demons?" She cocked her head, a quizzical half smile on her pretty face. "I thought you just turned down my offer to do that." He chuckled, still not used to his cool, conservative ex- partner's surprising penchant for racy innuendo. It was a side to her she'd kept hidden while working the X-Files with him--a good thing, he supposed, or they'd never have gotten any work done. "I think I'd like to visit the old house in Chilmark. With you." If anyone in the world could drive the darkness from his memories of that house and this island, it was Scully. And he sensed that his life would never be able to fully go forward until he went back. * * * * * "This was Samantha's room." Mulder moved ahead, opening the curtains covering the window by the small bed. Carried on a sea of dust motes, sunlight streamed into the room and illuminated the shrine to an eight-year-old girl who'd been gone for 25 years. Nothing had been removed all those years, Mulder had told Scully on the short drive from the church to the old Chilmark house. "While Mom and I were still living here, she kept it just like Samantha left it, as if at any given moment one of us could walk into the room and there she would be. Then, after I went to school in England, she closed up the house and moved to Connecticut. Dad stayed here on the Vineyard, in West Tisbury, and took care of the house in Chilmark. I don't know why he never changed anything. Maybe, in spite of it all, he still had hopes that she'd return to us again, too. I don't know." Scully walked around the small room, taking in the little details of a child's life frozen in time. Faded blue hair ribbons hung from the edge of the dresser mirror; a flat hair-brush lay face up, strands of dark, wavy hair still tangled in the bristles. A note was taped to the bedroom door, the cellophane yellowed with age and losing its stickiness. Scully leaned closer to read the childish scrawl. "Fox William Mulder is forbidden to enter the domain of Princess Samantha without her royal permission." Scully's lips curved. "She always had an imperial streak," Mulder murmured, reading over Scully's shoulder. "I'll bet you were a pest, too." He grinned. "Where was your room?" He nodded his head toward a door in the side wall of Samantha's room. "In there." Scully crossed and opened the connecting door. This room was a little larger, a little darker. She went to the window and opened the drapes. Light poured through, spotlighting the narrow bed where Mulder had once slept as a child. She smiled a little, looking around a room that had become its own sort of shrine. A museum of lost innocence--a tattered basketball poster thumb-tacked to the wall, a dusty baseball glove on the pressboard shelf bracketed to the wall. She saw the glimmer of a pair of trophies on the shelf above; standing on tiptoe, she could just read the engraved plaques across the marble bottoms: Chilmark Little League All Stars, 1971 and 1972. "What position did you play?" she asked over her shoulder. "Right field." She nodded. "Gotta have an arm to play right field." Mulder made a soft, chuckling sound. She sat down on the bed, trying to picture him here. Trying to visualize the twelve-year-old she'd seen in the photo hanging above the mantle in the den. He was probably a smart-aleck--he couldn't have changed that much. But he was probably also a sensitive soul, kind to animals and the underdog. At twelve, he'd have been just discovering girls. She wondered what kind of girls had appealed to a pre- pubescent Fox Mulder. Tall, leggy brunettes? "What are you thinking, Scully?" He sat down next to her, his shoulder pressed to hers. "I'm not your type." He gave a short huff of laughter. "Where did that come from?" "Experience, Mulder." "What's that supposed to mean?" She ticked them off her fingers. "Phoebe, Kristen, Bambi, Det. White--" "I told you, Scully, I was fighting her off when you came into the room--" She chuckled. "You know, this is the first time I've actually believed you about that, Mulder." He cocked his head sideways, looking down at her. "Why now?" She shrugged. "I don't know. I just--do." He opened his mouth to speak, but a muted trilling sound interrupted him. Scully sighed and dug into her clutch purse, pulling out her cellular phone. "You really ARE armed and dangerous." Mulder took the purse from her and looked inside while Scully answered the phone. "Hi, Scully, it's Skinner." A little shiver of apprehension rippled through her. "Is something wrong? Is it Mom?" "No, she's fine. Everything's fine. I just thought you and Mulder would want to know that I got a call from Matheson right after you left the reception. The Senate vote is in. I was confirmed." Scully's fingers trembled on the phone, and she had to sit down. "Congratulations, sir." Mulder's eyes sought hers, his eyebrows lifting in a query. "Skinner was confirmed," she murmured. "It's too early to know exactly what will happen next," Skinner added, "but I thought you and Mulder would want to know." "Thank you, sir." She hung up the phone and handed it to Mulder, who still had her clutch purse. "Well, I guess that makes things a little more complicated." Mulder handed her purse back to her and stood, walking slowly to the window. The sunlight outlined him in gold, making him look like a magical creature who didn't belong in this ordinary world. She tried to read his posture, the look on his face, cast in stark profile against the light pouring through the dusty windowpanes. What was he thinking? He turned to her, his face now in shadow. She squinted, trying to make out his features. She thought she saw the slightest of smiles curving his beautiful mouth. "Mulder, do you want the X-Files back?" "Yes." She sighed and looked down at her hands. "At any cost?" "No." She looked up quickly. He was closer, moving slowly toward her. He held out his hand and she took it, letting him pull her to her feet and into his warm embrace. He stroked her hair and pressed his lips to her temple. "I can't go back to being just your friend, Scully," he murmured in her hair. "I don't have it in me." She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. "Neither do I. So what does that mean? Do we just say no to the X- Files if Skinner offers?" He pulled away just enough so he could look down into her uplifted face. A slow smile spread over his face. "No, Scully. It just means we have to figure out how to have our cake and eat it, too." End of #10 Disclaimer: All characters seen or mentioned on the X-FILES belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Production, FOX networks, DD, GA, etc. and are used without permission. HOPE HAS A PLACE by Roma Ryan and Enya and THINKIN' ABOUT YOU by Bob Regan and Tom Shapiro are used without permission. The characters you don't recognize from the show belong to me, and if I'm lucky, one of them will bail me out of jail in case somebody mistakenly thinks this work of fiction is infringement--I certainly intend none. This is part 11 of a 12 part series, a sequel to TWELVE RITES OF PASSAGE. If you haven't read that story, you may want to read it first.. TWELVE DEGREES OF SEPARATION No. 11: July "Hope Has a Place" By Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com "Please God please God please..." Dana Scully murmured a frantic litany as she dialled the cell phone number one more time. It rang twelve times before she disconnected the air phone with a clatter. Her stomach coiled and uncoiled, threatened to rise. She fought the panic and stared out the plane window, wondering how much longer before they landed in Boston. She picked up the air phone receiver and dialled another number. Three rings, then a recording. "Hi, you've reached Samantha and Preston Powell. We can't come to the phone right now--we ARE newlyweds, you know. Leave a message and we'll get back to you when we can." "Samantha, it's Dana. I'm trying to reach Mulder and can't get him at home or on his cell phone. I'm on a plane, but I should be in Boston any minute, so call me on my cell phone." She left her number and hung up, then reconnected and tried one more number. "Boston General Hospital." "This is Special Agent Dana Scully of the F.B.I. May I speak to Dr. Phillips, please?" "Dr. Phillips is not available." Of course he wasn't. He was up to his ears in dying F.B.I. agents. "Is there anyone there who can give me any information about the conditions of the F.B.I. agents who were brought to the hospital two hours ago?" "I'm afraid I can't give out that kind of information over the phone." "You don't understand--" "It's very busy here right now, ma'am. If you could try back later." Click. "Damn it!" Passengers around her turned and stared. She murmured a soft apology and tried one more phone number. Maybe Mulder's partner would know if he was all right. She dialled Kelvin Thacker's number. After six rings, a woman answered. "Kelvin Thacker's phone." "May I speak to him?" There was dead silence on the other end, then a soft, shivery sigh. "He's not available." "Who is this?" Scully asked. "Virginia Thacker. Who's this?" God, Scully thought. If his wife had his phone, then Thacker must be one of the agents in the hospital. Which meant that Mulder . . . She shook her head. You don't know anything yet, Dana. "I'm Agent Dana Scully of the F.B.I. I know your husband through my former partner, Fox Mulder. Is your husband ill, too?" She heard a soft, sniffling sound. "They won't tell me anything. They gave me his jacket to hold, and I heard the phone ringing. I'm in the waiting room." "I'm on a plane, Mrs. Thacker. I'm a forensic pathologist and I'm on my way there to help. I think I may know what's wrong with Kelvin." The question was, could she reverse the condition? "Mrs. Thacker, have you heard from Agent Mulder?" "No. I haven't seen him and like I said, nobody's telling me anything." "So you don't know if he's ill, too?" "I don't know." Her voice changed subtly. "Scully, you said? Mulder talks about you all the time." Scully felt tears of fear and anxiety burn the backs of her eyes. "I'll be there soon, Mrs. Thacker. You try to relax and I'll find you when I get there, see if we can't figure out what's going on, okay?" As she was disconnecting, she heard the pilot announce that the plane was preparing to land. Scully fastened her seatbelt and shut her eyes, closing her fingers over the tiny cross pendant hanging on a thin gold chain around her neck. Mulder had worn this same necklace while she was gone, like a talisman to bring her back to him. She held onto that thought, warming herself with the imagined heat of his bare skin against the cool gold. * * * * * Boston General buzzed with activity. The usual accidents, knifings, shootings, crying children and glassy eyed old people. And on the fifth floor, in the infectious diseases isolation ward, twelve F.B.I. agents dying from an unidentified but virulent toxin. Scully was torn between heading for the isolation ward in search of Mulder or going straight to Pathology, where two bodies already awaited her. She couldn't even contemplate the possibility that Mulder might be one of those two bodies. He wasn't. She would know if he were dead. She would know it in her heart. She decided the best way to help the infected agents was to do the job she'd been called in to do. She went to the basement in search of the morgue, accompanied by the three FBI lab analysts who'd accompanied her to Boston. A woman greeted them as soon as she walked through the Pathology Department doors. "Dr. Scully? I'm Ann Tolleson. Dr. Phillips asked that we suit you up and let you get right to work." "This is Agent Tuttle, Agent Morse and Agent Coleman. They'll be analyzing any trace evidence collected from the banquet room." Tolleson gestured down the hall. "Room B-12. The samples are tagged and waiting." Scully nodded at the analysts, and they headed down the hall. "Any word from the isolation ward?" she asked as Tolleson led her to a small room on the right and pointed to a Bio-Hazard suit. Scully unzipped the bulky oversuit and put it on. "We did as you suggested, lowering the temperature of all twelve patients by five degrees Farenheit and starting immediate blood transfusions." "And?" If this toxin was the mysterious retro-virus, as preliminary information indicated, the patients should be showing slow but steady recovery. "The cold seems to have slowed the progress of the virus, but it hasn't stopped it. We're having to constantly replenish their blood supplies because the toxin is continuing to thicken the blood." Damn! That hadn't happened before. Scully frowned and zipped up the suit. The hot rubber confines of the air- tight suit made her queasy. She gestured at Tolleson. "Let's go before I run out of air." She paused at the doorway of the Bio-Hazard autopsy room. "Tolleson, do you have an i.d. on the two dead agents?" Tolleson pulled a clipboard from a plastic holder on the wall by the doors and glanced at the sheets. "Agent Lloyd Lakeland and Agent Mark Grant." Scully tried to hide her relief, hoping that Tolleson didn't notice the purely selfish emotion. She walked through the doorway into a small anteroom. Air tubes hung from the ceiling; she attached the forced air tube to a nozzle in her suit and tugged the hose, uncoiling it behind her. Idly, she noticed that one of the other air hoses was unwound, disappearing from sight into the room. No doubt one of the staff pathologists, ready to assist her. She pushed through the air flaps and entered the autopsy bay. Two bodies lay on stainless steel tables. At a glance she saw the distinct red streaks around the eyes, nose and mouth. Clear symptoms of the retrovirus. So why weren't the agents upstairs responding to the prescribed treatment? Movement in the corner caught her eye. Another person, encased in a bulky Bio-Hazard suit, moved awkwardly toward her. She squinted, trying to see through the small square visor in the suit, but the glare from the overhead lights created a mirror effect. She spoke, directing her voice into the small microphone in the mask of her own suit, knowing there was a corresponding receiver in the other suit. "I'm Agent Scully." "Nice suit." For a second she froze, wondering if she was hearing what she wanted to hear. "Mulder?" "Yes?" "Thank God!" She took a quick step toward him, then realized the futility of trying to throw herself into his arms while they were wearing these damned suits. "I tried to call all the way from Washington! Nobody could tell me if--" "I'm fine. I was there, but I wasn't infected." "How? Were you out of the room?" "No. It wasn't airborne. I think it may have been ingested. There was a buffet luncheon, but I didn't get there in time to eat. I drank a cup of coffee, so I don't think it was in that, although I collected a sample of everything there was to eat or drink. I've got it packaged and ready for analysis. I assume the Bureau sent you some help?" "Yeah. They're probably on it already." Scully sighed and crossed to the closest autopsy table. "So how'd you end up being my assistant?" "Nobody else wanted the job." "Well, promise me you won't faint, okay?" He made a cross over his heart--at least, where she assumed his heart was underneath the rubber suit. She smiled slightly, cocooning herself in the warm knowledge that Fox Mulder was alive. It would get her through the next few tense hours. * * * * * She and Mulder left the autopsy bay with more questions than answers. In tacit understanding, they waited until they had left the Pathology Department and entered the elevators before they talked. Scully ruffled her sweat-dampened hair, trying to put it into some semblance of order. Mulder reached over and ran his fingers gently through the unruly strands. She closed her eyes, allowing herself a sweet moment of pleasure before she sighed and returned her mind to business. "It's the retrovirus, but I think it's mutated." "How?" "I don't know if it's natural or contrived, Mulder. You saw the effect on the adrenal glands--complete shutdown. That wasn't present in the strain that infected you in Alaska. And according to Ms. Tolleson, lowering the body temperatures of the patients is not having the expected effect." "What does that mean?" "I don't know. Maybe the analysts will know more when they finish." She reached up and smoothed his spiky hair. His slow, boyish grin broke through her professional veneer and she pressed herself against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Thank God you're okay." He stroked her hair. "I'm sorry, I should've called you, let you know what was going on. There just wasn't much time." She let him go and leaned back against the side of the elevator. "So tell me about the banquet. Nobody's told me anything. What happened?" Mulder shook his head. "It was just your basic dry chicken luncheon--the new Bureau Director in town to give his men a pep-talk--" "Skinner?" Scully looked up, alarmed. "Is he--?" Mulder nodded, frowning. "Last I looked, he wasn't in great shape. But you know he's tough as nails." Scully's stomach hurt suddenly. It had been bad enough, knowing that her fellow officers were lying up there, fighting for their lives--but Skinner was someone close. Someone she respected. She and Mulder owed him a lot. He'd taken some big risks for them. And her mother--"Has anyone called Mom?" He nodded. "I had somebody notify her." She pressed her hand to her head. "So soon after he was made Director . . ." "Makes you wonder if it's a coincidence." She'd already reached that thought on her own. "I wonder if it was a coincidence that it happened here in Boston?" She looked up at Mulder, her stomach tightening even more. "With you and Skinner out of the way--" He touched her hand. "They forgot Dr. Scully always saves the day." "I hope I can this time. This virus--it's not the same as it was before. I do think that the shut-down of the adrenal glands is significant somehow. I'm going to suggest hormone therapy to bring up the adrenaline levels." "Do you think that'll help?" "It won't hurt. I'm going to check with our analysts, see if they can figure out what's happened to the retrovirus to make it act this way. If it's what I think, somebody's deliberately introduced a mutagen to create a designer virus resistant to cold therapy." The elevator doors opened, and Scully led the way to the isolation ward. A balding man in his late forties met them at the nurses' desk. He wearily rubbed the back of his neck and nodded at her introductions. "Cliff Phillips. Nice to meet you, Dr. Scully, Agent Mulder. We've ascertained that the virus is not airborne, but I'd suggest you wear gowns and masks anyway. These guys are in fragile condition." As Scully and Mulder donned protective gear, Scully discussed her findings with Dr. Phillips. "I think we'll want to boost the adrenaline levels to three times normal to begin with, then go higher if necessary. I believe the virus was programmed to shut down the adrenal glands because adrenaline has a destructive effect on the virus. I'm hoping that by boosting the adrenaline level as well as continuing cold therapy and transfusions, we can lick the virus. Normally I'd like to do more tests, but there's no time. We have to take some chances." Phillips looked at her through narrowed eyes for a second, then nodded. "Okay." "I'm going to check on Thacker," Mulder murmured. "Oh, wait." Scully remembered Virginia Thacker. "Mulder, Mrs. Thacker is out in the waiting room. As soon as you look in on Thacker, go talk to her. Tell her what's going on, okay? She has a right to know. And see if the doctors will give her the go-ahead to visit him. If it's not airborne--" He nodded. "I will." She squeezed his hand, wishing they weren't wearing latex gloves, then continued down the hall. * * * * * Thacker looked ghastly, and Mulder thought about another time, another partner lying at the edge of death, so close to slipping over the side. But Scully had come back to him. She'd said his strength had given her the courage to return, but he knew better. Scully was the strongest person he knew. She brought herself back by the sheer force of her indomitable will. And he believed that she would bring Kelvin Thacker back, too. If anyone could save the lives of his fellow agents, it was Dana Scully. Thacker wasn't conscious. He probably hadn't been in a couple of hours, judging how the retrovirus had affected Mulder the time before. Ice packs kept his temperature at a steady 93.6 degrees, and an I.V.was steadily pumping a combination of plasma, digoxin and heparin into Thacker's veins in the hopes of thinning out his coagulating blood. Mulder knew that this kind of therapy couldn't go on indefinitely. Eventually the cold and the drugs would create problems of their own. Mulder bent a little closer to the bed, searching for signs of awareness or life. Thacker was deathly still. "Come on, Thacker, gotta stop catnapping all day. We've got bad guys to nab." Thacker was still. "Guess who's here, Kelvin? Ginny. She's out the waiting room. If you'll get off your ass and fight this thing, they'll let her come see you." He leaned in a little closer. "And Scully's here, too. I told you how she saved me from this nasty bug that time in Alaska, didn't I? Lucky you, she flew all the way here to pick your sorry butt up and get you back on your feet. But you've gotta help her out, Thacker." The respirator hissed quietly, pumping air in and out of the dying agent's lungs. "I'm going to go talk to Ginny now. Tell her you're still hanging in here. Do me a favor and don't make me a liar." He tamped down a fiery sense of despair and squeezed his partner's shoulder, then left the room. Virginia Thacker stood when she saw him enter the waiting room. He lowered his mask, letting it hang around his neck, and took the hand she stretched out to him. Her dark eyes were panic-stricken. "Mulder, is he--" "He's hanging in there, Ginny." Mulder led her back to the bench and sat next to her. "I'm not going to lie to you. It's serious. This is a deadly virus, and we're having trouble getting it to respond to prescribed therapy. But Scully's here, and if anybody in the world can figure this thing out, she can." "I talked to her on the phone. She's nice." Nice, Mulder thought. What an inadequate word to describe Dana Katherine Scully. "I''m going to try to get a doctor to let you in to see him. Are you okay, Ginny? I need to check with Scully and see what's happening, but I don't want to leave you if--" Virginia shook her head, lifting her chin. She reminded him of Scully just then, digging down to find the center of her strength. "I'm fine, Mulder. Go help Kelvin." Mulder squeezed her hands gently, then went in search of Scully. He found her in the room at the far end of the isolation ward, standing at Walter Skinner's bedside. She stared down at him, her blue eyes concerned. When she looked up at Mulder, he could see the brightness of unshed tears. "I think all of this was an attempt to kill him." Mulder thought the same thing, and it occurred to him that for once, he'd give anything in the world to disagree with Scully on this one. "Somebody knows he's thinking about reopening the X-Files." "What are they hiding, Mulder? What could possibly be so vital to them that they would kill and destroy with such impunity?" In her expressive eyes he saw her struggle with rage and sorrow. He circled the bed, closing the distance between them, and put his arm around her. "Secrets always seem to be so much bigger to the people trying to keep them than they do to anyone else." Scully accepted his comfort for a brief moment, then picked up the chart by Skinner's bed. "This isn't the retrovirus as we know it, Mulder. The external symptoms are the same, but it's not responding to the prescribed treatment. There's something I'm missing--" Starting to sound like me, Mulder thought, blaming herself for something over which she had no power. He didn't try to talk her out of it, knowing that for her, like for himself, reassurances accomplished nothing. If guilt was what drove her to find the solution she sought, then he had to let her use it. Scully lowered the chart into its slot at the end of the bed and pulled out her cellular phone. "Have you talked to Samantha?" she asked, lifting the phone to her ear. "I left a frantic message on her machine." He nodded. "Yeah." "Okay--Mom?" She spoke into the phone. "Skinner's hanging in there, Mom. He's a tough guy...Yeah, Mulder's fine. He's right here--what? On the news already? What are they saying?" Mulder saw her forehead crease with a slight frown. "No. And it's not food poisoning, either--" Scully looked down at Skinner. "He's a fighter, Mom. And we're working hard to find out what's going on--what?" She glanced up at Mulder, and he lifted his eyebrows. What? he mouthed. She frowned again. "Of course. Do you need me to meet you?" Of course, Margaret was coming up, Mulder thought. Nothing would stop her from being the man she loved in his time of need. She was just like Scully that way. "Me, too, Mom. I'll see you soon." She put the phone back in her jacket pocket. "Mom says the news is already out. The press is speculating that it's another Legionnaire's outbreak. She's on her way here, of course." "You Scully women can't stand to wait in the wings, can you?" He touched her cheek, thinking how much the Scully women meant to him--and thanking God that one particular Scully woman had refused to wait in the wings more than once when his life was in danger. * * * * * By five o'clock that afternoon, Scully had more information about the nature of the retro-virus. But what she learned was confusing. She sat in the doctors' lounge on the Isolation Ward, studying the charts in front of her, trying to make sense of the most recent test results. When Mulder came in a few minutes later, she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "Anything?" he asked. "Yeah, but it's weird, Mulder. Two of the agents are responding very well to the adrenaline therapy. Their last blood tests show that only a tiny percentage of the retro- virus remains alive in their systems, and these organisms are in the process of dying. But the other ten agents have shown little or no improvement in their conditions--in fact, a couple of them are fading." "What does that mean?" Mulder sat across the table from her. "There has to be something about the two recovering agents that's aided their response to the hormone therapy, but I don't know what. I considered age, but one of the agents is twenty-seven, the other is forty-six. One is caucasian, one is Hispanic." "Who are they?" "Laura Kemp and Dale Rodriguez." She flipped the charts. "They have different blood types, different height and weight--I can't find anything they have in common." "Well, they're both women." Scully looked up. "What?" "Kemp and Rodriguez are both women." Scully flipped the charts again, a nugget of an idea hovering at the back of her mind. "I was thinking of Dale as a masculine name--" "Well, she's a tough old bird, but she's definitely female." The idea burst into her brain in a rush that made her sit up straight, her eyes widening. "That's it, Mulder!" "What?" He leaned forward, instantly attentive. "They're women--that's why they're responding." "But a virus can't be programmed to affect only one sex, can it?" "I think this one was. Or at least, the creators didn't particularly care if it was less effective on women, because their target was the bastion of male dominance--the F.B.I." "How?" "We were on the right track with hormone therapy, Mulder. We just didn't take it far enough!" She jumped to her feet, leaning closer to Mulder. "Adrenaline is a hormone--" He stood and faced her, eyes widening. She saw the realization hit him, too. "And so is estrogen." She nodded, a smile creeping over her face. "Let's find Dr. Phillips." * * * * * By ten p.m., a new round of blood tests had yielded encouraging results. Estrogen combined with adrenaline, on top of the cold therapy and a regimen of anti-viral agents, were slowly but surely killing the retro-virus. By the time Mulder brought back Chinese take-out for a late supper, seven of the twelve F.B.I. agents had been moved off the critical list. Scully updated Mulder on the progress of the treatments. "We administered the hormone by extrapolating the normal estrogen levels necessary for a women of, say, Skinner's height and weight." Mulder shuddered . "Oooh, I just pictured that." She chuckled. "Well, it's working." As she was reaching for the box of fried rice, Dr. Phillips stuck his head into the waiting room. "Dr. Scully, I'm back for the night. Everything is finally under control. Why don't you get out of here, try to get some rest?" Mulder looked at Scully, willing her to agree. Right now, after all they'd been through, he just wanted to get her home and tuck her in bed. Okay, actually, he wanted to tuck them both in bed, but that could wait 'til another night. She looked dead tired and he wanted to pamper her. Once again, his remarkable Scully had proved his faith in her. "Come on, Scully, we can pack this up and take it to my place. You look beat." "Are you sure everything's under control?" she asked Phillips. "Just fine. One of the agents is showing signs of pneumonia due to his weakened condition, but we seem to have that under control. I've had a chance to rest, so now it's your turn." "Okay." Scully stacked up her files, tucked her glasses in her jacket pocket and followed Mulder to the elevator. Once the doors closed, she leaned against him, rubbing her cheek against his jacket. "What a day." "You were incredible, Scully. I'm so proud of you." She looked up in surprise. "Those are words I never expected to hear from you, Mulder." He was genuinely taken aback. "Surely I've said that to you before." She shook her head, her expression just a bit wistful. "No. I'd have remembered." I'm a self-absorbed son of a bitch, he thought, if I've never taken the time to tell Dana Scully just what an amazing person she is. * * * * * Scully took the shower first. Only in the privacy of the bathroom did she admit to herself that she was a little disappointed that he hadn't joined her in the shower. It was time to move to that next level. Hell, it was past time. By now they should already by married with a couple of children. They had that kind of forever love. Even in the worst times between them--and there'd been a few--she'd never seriously contemplated life without Mulder. It wasn't worth considering. There'd never be anyone else for her. There'd never be anyone else for him. They'd both tried that route and the results had been disastrous. They should've just faced the truth years ago and stopped putting walls in the way. Well, she thought as she turned off the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, tonight the walls come tumbling down, or I'm not half the woman I think I am. She put on her bathrobe and went in search of Mulder. She found him in the kitchen, scooping the Chinese take-out onto two plates. He smiled when she walked into the kitchen and held out a plate to her. "Almond chicken--mmm, microwave hot!" She returned his smile and took the food. "Thanks." "I knew you'd want to know, so I called the hospital while you were in the shower. Guess what Director of the FBI is awake and grumpy as hell?" "Already?" He nodded. She arched her eyebrows. "Wow, that Skinner must be some specimen! It took you days to wake up in Alaska." He carried his own plate of food to the table and sat across from her, giving her his best Mulder-at-play look. "Well, I clung to unconsciousness, knowing that the minute I woke up, I'd have to face you in one of your pissed-off moods. Can you blame me for wanting to sleep a while longer?" She made a face at him. "Did they let you talk to Skinner?" He nodded. "He actually sounded relieved to hear I was unaffected." Why does that surprise him? she wondered. Mulder always seemed stunned when somebody actually cared about him. Sometimes she thought she could gladly round up every person who'd ever hurt this man she loved and mow them down without batting an eye. Then she remembered her own days at the FBI Academy, when she'd joined in the laughter about "Spooky" Mulder. Goes to show how foolish I was when I was younger, she thought. Thank God I know better now. An intimate silence washed over them as they finished their late night meal. Mulder took her empty plate and washed it quickly with his own. Then he started unbuttoning his shirt. "I'm going to take a shower. Why don't you take the bed, get some sleep?" "Alone?" His hazel eyes met hers, unreadable. "You're dead on your feet, Scully." She frowned slightly. "I'm not that tired, Mulder." He looked away. "Well, at least lie down for a little while. When I get out of the shower, I'll check in on you and if you're awake, we'll talk." Talk isn't exactly what I have in mind, she thought, watching him escape down the hall to the bathroom. * * * * * Mulder leaned against the wall of the shower, letting the hot water sluice over him as he tried to figure out why the hell he was running from Scully now, after all they'd been through to be together. Why did he want to wait? He was hardly the old-fashioned type, and Scully gave no indication that she was the least bit interested in waiting until the wedding night, either. Truth was, Scully probably didn't think he was ever going to marry her, anyway. He'd always been a bit cavalier about the institution--and considering the mess his parents' marriage had become, he supposed that was understandable. But with Scully, it would be different. He wasn't his father, and Scully wasn't Phoebe or Bambi or any of those women he'd always managed to torture himself with. She was his whole life, and though he didn't need a piece of paper to prove that, he had every intention of asking her to marry him as soon as he went back to Washington for good. So why couldn't he bring himself to show her just how much he wanted and needed and adored her? Why did the thought of that final, mind-shattering act of intimacy shake him to his very center? He searched his psychology glossary for possibilities. Performance anxiety. Goddess complex. Guilt. Now there was a real possibility, he thought. Guilt was his constant companion, and he certainly had enough reasons to feel guilty when it came to Scully. He'd turned her life upside down and inside out, and then reversed the process, more than once. Maybe deep down, he just didn't believe he deserved her. He scrubbed his body vigorously, feeling dirty. He knew it wasn't just the long day and the stress and the sweat. It was years of darkness, starting with a crumbling house of cards in Chilmark, weaving through his life like a ribbon of mourning. Phoebe...Kristin...others nameless, faceless... Scully had been the light in his darkness, sometimes figuratively and sometimes quite literally. If he had a religion, it was her. He put his faith in Scully, and she never let him down. But conversely, did he bring darkness into her life? Was he the demon fouling her heaven? "Mulder?" Her voice, just beyond the shower curtain, set his nerves to jangling. "Scully, I told you to go lie down and try to get some rest." "Why should I listen to you? You never listen to me." He rinsed the last of the shampoo from his hair and turned off the water. "I need to get out now, Scully." "What's stopping you?" He frowned at the shower curtain. "At least hand me a towel." He put out his hand around the curtain. She thrust the terrycloth into his hand, and he quickly ran the towel over his dripping body. He tucked the towel safely around his waist, pushed open the shower curtain, and stepped out onto the fuzzy bath mat. Scully sat on the bathroom counter, her robe gaping slightly to reveal the shadowy curves of her breasts. Mulder swallowed hard and looked up into her eyes. Unfortunately, what he saw in their blue depths was equally disturbing. Tears. Unshed, trembling on dark lashes. "I thought--when I got the call and they told me to come to Boston, that there were two agents dead--they wouldn't tell me anything, just to get on the plane as soon as I could. And I couldn't get you on the phone." Her lower lip trembled. She tucked it against her teeth, struggling for control. "All I could think was, why did we wait so long? Life is so short--" He closed the small distance between them, covering her hands with his. "I'm okay, Scully. We're both fine. And the others--they're going to recover. You were so amazing today. I was in awe." She drew one hand out of his clasp and touched his temple where water trickled down from his damp hair. "Don't try to talk me out of this, Mulder." "Out of what?" He knew what she was talking about, but he couldn't give in to her. Especially not here, not this way. Here in the bathroom--it was too much like-- "I want you so much." She bent and covered his mouth with hers. Her tongue flicked his lips, urging them apart. He tried to resist, to be strong, but her touch was like liquid fire, searing and sealing his fate. He leaned forward and slipped his hands around her back to pull her to him. Her knees parted, her thighs pressed against his sides as she tangled her hands in his hair. His body surged in response. Then, like a plunge into ice water, a dark memory filled his mind. Another bathroom, another frantic day, another woman. Dark. Needy. Afraid. Blood on a pale fingertip; crimson lips opening to drink. His own voice. "It's not who you are. It doesn't make you happy." Mulder drew away, untangling himself from Scully's silken limbs. His stomach ached; his eyes stung. "Mulder?" The uncertainty in her voice almost killed him. He groped for the wall and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. He couldn't bring himself to look into her eyes. He still felt dirty. So dirty. She slipped down from the sink counter and came to stand in front of him. Her strong hands cradled his face, forced him to lift his chin, but he wouldn't meet her gaze. "Damn it, Mulder, don't do this to me!" Her grip tightened, and she gave his face a little shake. "What's the matter?" "Kristin," he whispered, telling her the truth because he wouldn't lie to her now that he'd stopped lying to himself. Her hands shook, fell away. She stepped back, stopping short when her back pressed into the counter. Her voice was low, a little hoarse. "The woman in L.A.?" He nodded. Silence hung between them, not the comfortable silence of their friendship and partnership but a tense quiet, thick with fear and pain. He wanted to find words to explain, to wipe away the wrong impressions he knew she was receiving, but his voice faltered. Finally, Scully broke the silence. "So which is it, Mulder? Love or guilt?" He looked up, met her sharp blue gaze, and realized that she had yet again surprised him. Cutting right to the heart, he thought. To the bone. "Guilt, I think," she added. "I slept with her, Scully--" Her nostrils flared. "I know. I saw the pictures. Not one of your smarter moves." "I was wearing your necklace when I slept with her." Her mouth trembled, and he wanted to throw himself to the ground and beg her forgiveness. He felt like the twelve- year-old he'd once been, pleading with his father to forgive him for letting Samantha be taken. But his father had known it wasn't his fault and let him suffer anyway, while Scully-- Scully knew his weakness. And chose grace over recriminations. "Why did you sleep with her?" Scully knelt in front of him, her hands on her knees. He could tell by the tremble in her fingers that she wanted to touch him, but she also understood that he couldn't bear her touch right now. He was unworthy of her. She deserved more. "You were gone. Just--gone." He shook his head, unable to look at her. He closed his eyes and relived that day in Los Angeles, when everything had gone a little crazier than usual. "I had never really considered there might be such a thing as the undead--but Kristin was convinced. She was terrified. Her whole life was a nightmare of running and running, from her inner demons and from the shadows pursuing her. Abused from her childhood, abused by those who claimed to love her, her heart shattered, her love twisted into something dirty and unnatural." He lowered his head into his hands. "God, Scully, I looked at her and saw myself. So alone. Hurting so damn bad I couldn't sleep anymore." He shuddered, remembering what she'd revealed to him during a hypnosis session less than two years ago--horrific tales of tests and tortures, a rape of a different sort. His voice broke. "I was haunted by how I'd let them take you away, by hellish nightmares of what I imagined them doing to you. What they DID do to you...." He heard her soft half-sob. His stomach recoiled. "She asked me if I was there to protect her, to take care of her. And I wanted to. If nothing else, to prove I could finally get it right." He couldn't suppress a grim laugh. The sound was the most wretched thing he'd ever heard. "My mind was numb. My heart was dead. All that remained was my body, and that's what I gave her." "Did you care for her?" He shook his head. "Not in any kind of personal way." When it was all over, when he sat on that hillside, watching the smoke rise, knowing that Kristin was dead, was nothing but ashes and bone, he'd felt only a sick, empty feeling where his heart should have been. He'd pulled out the tiny gold cross he still wore, watching sunlight shimmer on the shiny surface, and realized that his heart was somewhere far away. With Scully, wherever she was. "Kristin was dead. Intellectually, even physically, I hated the thought. But emotionally--" He finally looked up at her, searched her eyes for signs of anger or disgust, or God forbid, hatred. But he saw only sadness and a deep, fierce love that wouldn't release him. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to bury himself in her arms and never let her go. "I'm sorry." "For what?" she asked. "For being weak. For letting you down." With her ever impeccable timing, Scully reached out her hands and cradled his face. "Not once, Mulder. You've never let me down." "I should've--" "If you could have stopped what happened, you would have. I know that." She pressed her forehead to his. "You'd have taken my place, you'd have killed Duane Barry, you'd have given up the X-Files. I know that." He nodded. "You walked into that office seven years ago, Scully, and saved my life. If it weren't for you, I'd have never lived to see Samantha again. I'd have gone to my grave without knowing that she was safe." She trembled against him, and he closed his eyes. "Tell me you forgive me, Scully." She whispered in his ear. "I forgive you." Then he did crush her to him, holding her warmth close to him, thanking her for saying the words even though he knew she didn't believe she had anything to forgive. His Scully, his best friend, his forever partner, his beloved companion, his fierce protector--she knew him better than he knew himself, better, even, than she knew herself. She stood, drew him up with her. Her hands moved over his back, tracing muscles, sending shivers along his spine. He curled his fingers in her hair and gently pulled her head back. Her pink lips parted, and he slanted his mouth over hers, dipping his tongue into her sweet warmth. He felt her hands slide down his sides, beneath the towel at his waist. The cloth untwisted and fell away. His fingers fumbled at her waist, seeking the scrap of material holding her robe together, tugging without complete success. But the edges of the robe did fall open, and his bare flesh met hers in a moment of sheer magic. He urged her backwards, toward the door leading to the bedroom. Their limbs almost tangled, almost tripped them up, and he felt her soft chuckle rumble against his mouth. That would be about right, he thought with a chuckle of his own. As much time as they both spent in hospitals and emergency rooms, their first time together like this was statistically fated to end with some sort of embarrassing injury they'd have to explain away. He managed to guide them safely to the bed. She pushed him away for a second when he would have lowered her to the soft mattress. Blue eyes mingling laughter and fierce, aching need, Scully deftly unknotted the belt of her robe and let the offending garment fall to the floor, baring her body to him. For a second he couldn't catch his breath. Curves, planes, freckles, shadows, edges, dips--he wanted to touch all of her, taste all of her. She reached for him, and he walked into her arms. She was softer than he'd ever imagined. Soft and warm, her flesh yeilding to his mouth and hands as he acquainted himself with her body. He had never had a deeper relationship with a person in his life than his relationship with Scully, but as they shattered the final barrier between them, the intimacy of this moment left him shaking and stunned. She cradled his face between her hands and kissed him, a long, hard, thorough kiss that made his whole body go numb for a second. When feeling returned, it coiled in his groin. He shifted and turned so that she was beneath him on the bed, cradling him with her hips. He bent to kiss her belly. Her skin was softer than velvet, sweet with the soap and sunshine scent he'd know anywhere, anytime. He tasted her, nibbling lightly, soothing with his tongue, sliding slowly up her body. He closed his mouth over her breast and suckled lightly. Fire shot through him at the sound of her faint, involuntary whimper. He felt like the most powerful man on earth--and it was HER doing. Her need for him, her desire, her trust. She made him better than he was, better than he'd ever hoped to be, and it was so damned good, so much more the he deserved. Scully clutched his shoulders. "Mulder...please..." She shifted, parting her thighs in silent invitation. He trembled, staring down into her passion-drugged eyes. "You're so beautiful." Then he entered her in one long, slow stroke. Scully made a soft, soughing sound. He held his breath, letting her body adjust to the unaccustomed fullness. He realized that she hadn't been with many men in her life, and not for a long time. In a rare rush of sentiment, he was glad, honored that she trusted him with something she obviously regarded highly. In that moment, all thought of his own pleasure vanished, and he knew only Scully. Her needs, her desires, her heart. He loved her with his body, his mind, his soul, gently leading her beyond need into sweet madness. Beneath him, she shuddered, spasmed, held him in her silken snare, gasped his name. Even her voice caressed him. Emotions hurtled through his heart and mind, wheeled and screamed like a thousand starlings, soared like hawks, flitted like hummingbirds, plunged like eagles. His body tightened, gathered for a final onslaught, and then he shattered and spilled, weeping at the wonder and the miracle of loving Dana Scully. * * * * * Scully awoke wrapped in a cocoon of heat, lulled gently to consciousness by the soft rhythm of deep breathing and the slow, steady thud of a heartbeat beneath her ear. She opened her eyes slowly, noted with wonder the rosy streaks painting the wall of the bedroom. Mulder's spare bedroom, where she'd stayed the other times she'd visited Boston. But this morning, she wasn't alone. He shifted in his sleep, tightening his arm over her stomach. The movement left her utterly aware of their nakedness, the feel of his hot skin against her back. The intimacy of his embrace brought tears to her eyes. She turned her head to watch him sleep. It wasn't the first time she'd indulged herself in the secret pleasure of watching him when he wasn't watching her back. Most of the other times, though, he'd either been lost in his own little world of thought--or he'd been unconscious. He slept less frequently and for shorter lengths of time than she did, which meant he was much more likely to be watching her sleep than vice versa. She wondered if he ever watched her sleep. Probably. He was such a mother hen sometimes. And other times... She smiled a secret smile, her aching muscles reminding her of last night's passion. Other times, he wasn't. She turned over, careful not to jostle him too much, and pressed her lips lightly against his collarbone. Allowed herself a small taste. Warm, a little salty. Essence of Mulder. When she looked up at his face again, his sleepy hazel eyes stared back. "Taste good?" She slipped her arms around his waist, kneading his back muscles. His chest hair rasped against her breasts, shooting lovely little sparks down her spine. "Mmm-hmm." He touched his mouth to hers. "What time is it?" Scully realized that the room was quite light. She looked over his shoulder at her travel alarm--which she'd forgotten to set. 6:12 a.m. "Mulder, it's morning!" She disentangled herself from his grasp and clambored over him, chased by his warm chuckle. He rolled onto his side and watched her as she dialled the hospital. "Dr. Phillips, please. This is Dr. Dana Scully." "*Enigmatic* Dr. Scully," Mulder whispered. She shot him an amused warning glance. Phillips answered. "Dr. Scully, did you rest well?" She felt a flush rise in her cheeks. Mulder's eyebrows rose. "Fine," she assured the doctor. "How are the patients doing?" "Their recoveries are absolutely phenomenal, Dr. Scully!" Phillips' enthusiasm buzzed over the phone. "All but Agent Parmeter are out of ICU, and he's only in there because he developed pneumonia, and even he's responding very well to antibiotics. The last three blood tests on all twelve patients have revealed nothing but dead viral organisms. I'd say we killed it, Dr. Scully. Excellent work!" Scully realized she was grinning like a fool. "I'll be there in thirty minutes." Mulder frowned. "Don't rush, Agent Scully. Not much for you to do but take a bow at this point. Why don't we just plan to convene in the war room at nine and gather all our notes for your report?" "Nine sounds fine." Scully waggled one eyebrow at Mulder. He just stared at her like she was on his menu for breakfast. "See you then." She hung up the phone. "Nine? Almost three whole hours?" Mulder's leer was exaggerated. "Shouldn't you be at work?" "I don't have anything until ten." She narrowed her eyes, realizing by his tone of voice that he was keeping something from her, but she also sensed it was nothing important. And the way he was looking at her was swiftly driving out any extraneous thoughts. So she put down the phone and pushed him over, sliding beneath the sheets next to him. "Are you sure you're up to it, Mulder?" He paused, considering the question. A slow grin spread across his face. "Yeah, I'm up to it." * * * * * Mulder ran the razor over his stubbly chin, watching Scully out of the corner of his eye. She sat on the sink counter, studying him as he shaved, making him feel like a bug under her microscope. Finally he put down the razor and looked her straight in the eye. It didn't take much deduction to figure out what she was thinking. She'd seen the photographs of Mulder and Kristin. in the bathroom with no mirror. She'd seen how she'd shaved him, how the razor had nicked him, how she'd almost tasted his blood. The question was there, big as the world, in Scully's eyes. He picked up the razor and handed it to her. "Scully?" Her hand trembled a little when she took the razor. "You don't have to, Mulder." But he did. Demons had to be exorcised. Scully had to know. She licked her lips and lifted the razor to his jaw. Slowly, her touch soft and deft, she ran the razor over his skin. It rasped lightly, the sensation sending a pleasant shiver down his back. She was gentle, careful, her pretty face taut with concentration as she finished shaving him. No nicks, he thought. No pain. She lowered the razor to the sink and picked up the wet washcloth next to her. She tenderly wiped the leftover shaving cream from his face as if bathing a child. He closed his eyes, stunned at how arousing that simple touch could be. He felt her lips brush his, soft and sweet. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him still for her exploration. He felt bereft when she drew away. He opened his eyes. She was looking at him, her expression soft and her eyes bright with tears. "What?" he asked. "I've just wanted this for so long." He rubbed the tops of her thighs through her robe. "So did I, Scully." "Mulder, I can't stand living in D.C. while you're here." He nodded. "We can't go on like this." "I'll turn in my resignation and come back here if Skinner doesn't make a move soon. I think I could get a job with the Medical Examiner's office. Or even with the state crime lab." He shook his head quickly. "No, Scully. You love your job. I want to come back to D.C." "But Samantha--" "--has a husband she's crazy about. My life isn't about Samantha, Scully. My life's about you." He made her cry, he realized with a niggle of guilt. His Scully didn't cry about just anything. She cradled his face in her hands and pressed her forehead to his. "I'll talk to Skinner. He owes me--and besides, he's crazy about my mom. That should be worth something." "What if he offers us the X-Files?" They stared at each other for a long, aching moment. He could see the tempations, the memories, the longing in her eyes. He felt them in his own soul. He and Scully had been a single organism in those days, working in complete harmony. Knowing each other's hearts, minds, instincts. He'd never felt more alive in his life. Until now. Her blue eyes met his in complete understanding. "We agreed, Mulder. We won't give this up, Mulder. We can't go back to how we were before." "I feel the same way, Scully. What we have now is--" "--complete," she finished for him. He nodded. "You could take the X-Files by yourself, " she suggested. "No." He shook his head. "I can't do it alone, and I won't have another partner. Not on the X-Files." "You can bring home your work." "Speaking of work, I'm supposed to meet your old buddy Colton at ten." "Tom Colton?" Her eyebrows rose. "Why?" Mulder grinned. "Because he's been temporarily reassigned to this investigation since the poisonings left us so shorthanded. And guess who's been assigned acting ASAC for the Boston Field Office while Parmeter is recovering?" Her eyes widened. "Mulder, you didn't tell me." "We were busy with other--pursuits." A splash of crimson invaded her cheeks, and he marvelled at the fact that Dana Scully, after all she had seen over the past years, still had the capacity to blush. "I wish I could be at that meeting." "Especially since nobody's told Colton who the acting ASAC is," Mulder added. "I definitely wish I could be at that meeting." She bent and kissed him lightly, then slid off the counter. "Better get dressed." "Don't forget to call in your chips with Skinner. I don't want to wake up without you for another year." She turned in the doorway, her blue eyes glittering. "Believe me, Mulder. I won't let that happen." * * * * * By the time Scully reached the hospital, John Parmeter had been moved out of ICU to a room. Dr. Phillips was a bundle of sheer exuberance when he greeted her at the nurse's desk. "I don't suppose we can talk your superiors into allowing us to write an article for the JOURNAL OF MEDICINE?" Scully sighed. "I'm afraid not. This toxin qualifies as a man-made biological toxin--a weapon of war. The government will demand that all of our work be strictly classified." Phillips smiled wanly. "So much for wishful thinking." She smiled and nodded toward the desk nurse. "Ms. Lehman tells me that Agent Parmeter is out of ICU." "Their recovery is amazing. I suppose it helped considerably that most of them were in excellent physical condition." She nodded. "I'm going to check on all of them, then I'll meet you in the lounge and we can go over the paperwork." She headed down the hall, stopping in at each room in the isolation ward. When she reached Agent Laura Kemp's room, she found the woman up and dressed in street clothes. "They said if you found no further signs of toxins, I could get sprung today." Scully's lifted one eyebrow. "You still have to go through a month's quarantine. " Kemp grinned. "It's not really quarantine, you know. I can have visitors whenever I want. Dr. Phillips says y'all believe the toxin isn't contagious in its current form." Scully checked the woman's charts. "Your bloodwork is almost back to normal. Your vitals are good, and you're obviously feeling well. It's my opinion that you're well enough to get out of here." "Yes!" Kemp laughed. Scully smiled in response. She continued her rounds, saving Thacker and Skinner for last. She checked in on Thacker first. To her surprise, he looked tense and worried. "They're talking about letting my wife stay with me at the recovery facility." She put his chart down and sat on the end of his bed. "Shouldn't that make you happy?" "What if this virus--?" "It's dead, Kelvin. And this strain is apparently communicable only by ingestion or blood contamination. We know the buffet food was spiked. And now that the virus in your blood is dead, you can't infect anyone, not even by exchange of bodily fluids." He relaxed as her words sank in. She smiled and patted his hand briefly. "So, how's Mulder?" he asked. She felt an untimely blush flood her cheeks. "Oh, fine. He's been made temporary acting ASAC." Thacker chuckled. "Now that, I'd like to see!" Scully joined his laughter. "Me, too." * * * * * Mulder was really enjoying himself. Really, REALLY enjoying himself. He sat on the edge of the ASAC's desk, listening to Tom Colton's faltering recital of the investigation to date. "What do you mean, the virus appears to be extraterrestrial in nature, Agent Colton?" Mulder folded his arms across his chest. "That explanation--why, it sounds a little...spooky." Colton squirmed, giving Mulder immense satisfaction. "And where did you get this 'spooky' idea, Agent Colton?" "Agent Scully's preliminary report indicates--" "You're listening to what Agent Scully has to say now, Agent Colton? I seem to recall a time when you couldn't wash your hands of her fast enough." Colton's jaw tightened. Come on, Colton, take a swing. I dare you. Mulder leaned forward, getting in the agent's face. "She told me how you treated her, Colton. The things you said to her." Now the agent looked scared. Good. "Don't worry, Tom." He leaned even closer. "See, I know Dana Scully is more than capable of picking her own fights. And she's far more dangerous than I." He leaned back. "Thank you for the report, Agent Colton. That'll be all." God, he thought as Colton left, I sounded just like Skinner. * * * * * Scully wasn't surprised to find her mother by Skinner's bedside when she walked in. Now that she'd had a couple of months to get used to the idea, the sight of her mother and her boss together was getting to be almost--normal. She looked again and hastily revised that thought. No, not normal. Weird as hell, maybe. "Any idea when I can get the hell out of here?" Skinner asked without preamble. "Nice to see you, too, sir." She sat in the other chair by his bed. "And probably tomorrow." "Do I have to go to the rehab center?" "Yes, sir." "I can countermand your orders, Scully--" "You can't countermand mine, Walter," Margaret Scully said firmly. "If Dana believes you need to go to the recuperation facility, you're going." Scully glanced from Skinner's scowl to her mother's calm, unflappable expression, and stifled a grin. Very weird, she thought--but not without its peculiar rewards. Like watching her tiny, soft-spoken mother giving orders to one of the most powerful men in America--and watching him wracking his brain for a way to regain the upper hand. Crossing her legs, she sat back to enjoy the show. * * * * * Mulder beat Scully back to his apartment. So he quickly took charge of making their evening special, shamelessly roping his sister into his plot. "So you and Dana finally--?" Samantha paused in the middle of lighting a candle on the table and tossed a teasing look over her shoulder. He was flipping through the CD's she'd brought along, looking for the right kind of mood music. He stopped long enough to murmur, "None of your business, twerp," before he continued his search. He bypassed Michael Bolton and Richard Marx, but plucked out one by Enya. MEMORY OF TREES. She was Irish. Scully was Irish. Must be fate. "But you ARE together, right?" He sighed and pulled another CD from the small stack. Trisha Yearwood, THINKIN' ABOUT YOU. He liked the look of the CD cover and some of the song titles. "Yeah, we're together." "For good?" He couldn't stifle a smile. "I don't know if it's for good, but as far as I'm concerned, it's forever." Samantha's grin was electric, her eyes mischievous. "Why, Fox Mulder, what a romantic thing to say! Are you sure you're not an alien clone posing as my oaf of a brother?" "Bite me." She laughed. "Okay, the Chicken Marsala is warming in the oven, the wine is chilling, you're picking out romantic music, and the Sea Splash bubble bath is sitting on the bathroom counter--" He put his musical selections in the CD player's three CD rotator and pushed play. Trisha Yearwood's voice filled the room, clear and pure as a mountain spring. "I'm not quite sure what's goin' on But all day through and all night long, I've been thinkin' about you, I've been thinkin' about you." "Mmm, good choice!" Samantha winked as she crossed to his side. She hugged him affectionately. "Have a great evening." He tightened his arm around her, filled with a surge of love. Despite the time apart, despite all the things that had changed her, made her into a person he didn't know and might never fully know again, she was still his sister, and she was alive, safe and happy. And so was Scully. Safe, happy and in love with him. He was a lucky man. * * * * * The warm, appetizing smell of chicken and spices led Scully into Mulder's apartment. Accompanying the heavenly aroma was a soft, haunting Gaelic air. Enya, she recognized. "You're becoming quite a workaholic, Scully." Mulder turned from the stove, holding a long rectangular dish with two oven mitts. Scully followed her nose to the table. "You didn't cook." It wasn't a question. "You wound me, Scully." "No, your COOKING would wound you." "Okay, I'll admit, Samantha helped." She held in a little smile. "Did she help with this table, too?" She beheld the small table, adorned with breakable plates, cloth napkins and burning candles. "I picked the music by myself." A new song had come on. In English now, though the tune was just as haunting as the previous Gaelic ones. "Whispering world, A sigh of sighs, The ebb and the flow Of the ocean tides, One breath, one word May end or may start A hope in a place of the lover's heart, Hope has a place in a lover's heart." "Since when do you have an Enya album?" Scully asked. "Okay, they were Samantha's CDs, but I picked which ones to play." He dished a chicken breast onto each plate, ladling spicy white wine sauce over the top. Chicken Marsala, she thought. "At least you got her to fix my favorite." He smiled. "Am I good or what?" "Oh, you're a keeper. Definitely." She followed him to the kitchen and ran her hand down his back, almost making him drop the pan of chicken. He lowered the dish to the counter and turned to her. "A keeper?" She nodded, leaning in to press her mouth gently against the bare skin peeking from the open collar of his dark gray shirt. She nibbled lightly at his clavicle, savoring the little hiss of air that escaped his throat at her touch. The music wrapped around them like a warm cloak. "Under the heavens We journey far, On roads of life We're the wanderers, So let love rise, So let love depart, Let hope have a place in the lover's heart, Hope has a place in a lover's heart." "How much longer are you going to be able to stay here in Boston?" Mulder's breath lifted the hair on top of her head. She closed her eyes and breathed the warm, spicy smell of his masculinity. "I have to leave in the morning. The NSA is clamoring for an update, and Skinner wants me to brief them in Washington tomorrow at 11:00 a.m." "Damn." He wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her tightly to him. "I'm tired of saying goodbye, Scully." She nuzzled his neck. "So am I." She closed her eyes and drank in his nearness, drowned in the seduction of Enya's haunting voice. "Look to love, And you may dream, And if it should leave, Then give it wings, But if such a love Is meant to be, Hope is home, and the heart is free. Hope is home, and the heart is free." His hand lifted to thread through her hair. He drew her head back and looked into her eyes. "Are you hungry?" Not for food, she thought. He read her mind. A slow smile curved his beautiful mouth, sending tremors rumbling through her body. He turned and pulled her along with him, stopping only long enough to blow out the candles before he led her to the bedroom. * * * * * Mulder lay his head against Scully's breast and listened to her heartbeat slowly returning to a normal speed. His own pulse thundered in his ears in counterpoint to the lazy thrumming of his body. Her fingers played at the hair on his temple, gentle as a whisper. Lifting his hand to her throat, he slid his fingers under the thin gold chain of her cross pendant. He remembered wearing it, remembered how the cool gold had warmed against his skin, reminding him that she was out there, somewhere. Waiting for him to come find her. Only he hadn't found her. They'd brought her back to him so he could watch her die. He shifted as a bone-deep ache sliced through his haze of contentment. So close, he thought. So close to never knowing a moment like this moment, his skin to her skin, his heart beating with hers. "What's wrong, Mulder?" "Nothing." Her silence told him she knew he was lying. "Okay, just thinking about how lucky I am." She chuckled. The sound buzzed in his ear. "Is that so?" He lifted his head slightly so he could look into her face. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her expression liquid and warm. He loved her so much in that moment he thought he would surely weep. He didn't trust himself to speak. She sat up, drawing him up with her. With an endearing show of modesty, considering her recent enthusiastic pursuit of pleasure, she tucked the sheets firmly around her breasts and curled under his arm. "You know, I'm hungry." "I thought we just took care of that little problem." "I mean for food." "Oh." He smiled. "You know, I've always dreamed about having dinner in bed, fed to me by a handsome, sexy man." He arched one eyebrow. "Really?" She smiled her kitten in the cream smile. "But since there isn't one of those around, I guess you'll have to do." He clapped one hand to his chest, feigning a mortal blow. "Ouch." He slid his legs over the edge of the bed and plucked his boxer shorts from the floor where she'd tossed them. "Well, O queen, wait here and I'll be right back." The chicken was cold by now. He put the contents of his plate onto hers and stuck it in the microwave, then searched his cabinet for a tray. Did he even own a tray? What's a tray? He found a long flat cookie sheet in the drawer under the oven. It wasn't fancy, but it would work, he decided. He put the plate of warmed chicken and two glasses of white wine on the cookie sheet and carried it carefully back to the bedroom. Scully had slipped on her panties and his shirt. The combination was potent, and he almost dropped the food onto the bed. Carefully he set the makeshift tray on the bedside table, then sat down on the side of the bed next to her. "Do you want me to cut your chicken for you, madame?" "I think I recall saying I wanted to be FED by you." "No, you said you wanted to be fed by a handsome, sexy man." "Exactly." There was that look again. That barbecue-iced tea-"kiss me, Mulder" look. He was fairly sure he'd deciphered its meaning by now, he thought, remembering how she'd come alive in his arms tonight, ferociously seeking his pleasure as well as her own. He cut a piece of tender chicken breast, speared it with a fork and lifted it to her mouth. Her lips, pink and swollen from his kisses, parted to accept the bite. God, he thought, this is so erotic. Why haven't I ever done this before? Then he realized he was glad he'd never done it before. It was something that was special between him and Scully. A reminder that this was the woman he'd been waiting for his whole life. His Scully, fierce and brilliant and loving. "I love you." The words erupted from him, soft and hoarse. She looked up, tears springing to her blue eyes, and he realized he'd never actually said the words to her before. How can that be? he wondered. He'd felt the emotion, in one form or another, for years now. He'd loved her as a friend, a confidante, a partner--and now as a lover. Each facet of the emotion seemed equally strong and sure, making him realize how deep and complex his bond to Scully really was. It would never be enough to be just her lover, just her friend, just her partner. He needed every part of what she was to him. He wasn't whole without it. "You really know how to get to a girl, don't you?" She touched the tip of her finger to his chin, tracing the small cleft. Even that small caress sent a shudder of need through his body. "How am I going to let you get on that plane tomorrow, Scully?" She stroked his jaw. "I talked to Skinner about your transfer. He's going to push it through when he gets back to D.C. It's just a matter of time." "We've already lost too much time." He thought about three long, unspeakably wretched months he'd spent without her, not knowing if she was all right, not knowing if someone was hurting her, torturing her--or worse.... She cradled his face in her hands for a moment, her eyes searching his expression. She could always read him like a book, he thought as her features softened and her eyes pooled. She released his face and reached behind her neck, unfastening the clasp on her cross pendant. "This has gotten you through before, Mulder. Maybe it'll help this time." She put the pendant around his neck, her small, deft fingers fastening the clasp behind his head. She left her hands at the nape of his neck and bent forward to kiss him. Once more, all thoughts of food vanished, and they came together again to slake a different sort of hunger. End of #11 Disclaimer: All characters seen or mentioned on the X-FILES belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Production, FOX networks, DD, GA, etc. and are used without permission. TRUE COMPANION by Mark Cohn (I think) is used without permission. The characters you don't recognize from the show belong to me, and if I'm lucky one of them--Preston Powell, who's rich beyond my wildest imaginings--will pay my legal bills if I'm sued for infringement--which is unintended. This is part 12 of a 12 part series, a sequel to TWELVE RITES OF PASSAGE. If you haven't read that story, you may want to read it first.. TWELVE DEGREES OF SEPARATION No. 12: August "True Companion" By Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com #12, part 1.... Dana Scully stared at the e-mail message on her computer screen Monday afternoon. It was from Director Skinner. Short and bittersweet. Agent Scully, Please be in my office at 10:00 a.m. Tuesday morning to discuss new assignment. Walter S. Skinner Here it comes, she thought, her stomach curling into a hard, hot knot of anxiety and anticipation. When her cellular phone burred, she knew who it would be. She hit the answer button. "Scully." "Hey, it's me. Guess where I am." Fox Mulder's voice was taut, despite the soft, teasing tone. "On a plane to D.C.?" "Almost. I board in ten minutes." "Skinner wants me in his office at ten in the morning, Mulder." "Me, too. Don't suppose he's got his appointment book messed up?" She sighed. "He's reopening the X-Files and wants us on them." "That's my guess. Listen, I'll be in D. C. in about an hour. Any chance you can pick me up at National?" "I can get away." She was just sorting through paper work this afternoon anyway. "I'll see you then." * * * * * The flight from Boston arrived on time, a small miracle of sorts. Mulder had brought only carry-on luggage so he wouldn't have to await the luggage carousel. He followed the crowd down the narrow corridor toward the waiting room. It took less than a second to spot Scully, with her flame- red hair and big blue eyes. He dropped the carry-on at his feet and opened his arms. Flinging her arms around his neck, she pressed her face against his throat in an uncharacteristic public display of affection. "I've missed you." He chuckled, disentangling himself from her. "I can tell." "Sorry." She smoothed back her hair, struggling to turn back into the cool, professional F.B.I. agent instead of his beautiful, passionate lover. He hid a smile, knowing that as soon as he got her back to her apartment, she'd change back. At least, she would if he was half the man he thought he was. He tucked his hand in his jacket pocket, closing his fingers around the small velvet box hidden inside. He'd debated during the whole hour's plane trip from Boston about what he planned to do first--take her home and make love to her until they were both exhausted, or ask her to marry him and then make love to her until they were both exhausted. He still hadn't decided when Scully parked in front of her apartment building. They walked up the footpath to the door, their bodies close but barely touching. Anyone watching would think the scene familiar: Agent Dana Scully and her partner Agent Mulder, on their way to her apartment to hash out the conclusion of their latest case. He couldn't count the number of times he'd been here with her, sat on her couch, eaten at her kitchen table, typed up reports on her computer. He'd even slept in her bed. But he'd never slept in her bed with her. Until tonight. He waited impatiently while she unlocked the door. He could swear he heard every single tumbler in the lock being thrown. The wait was maddening, and he almost pushed her out of the way to break down the door himself. But just in time, the doorknob turned in her hand and she pushed the door open. He pushed her forward with his hand against her back. Barely taking time to kick the door shut behind them, he reached for her. She laughed, the sound low and rich. Her throat vibrated against his exploring mouth. "Mulder..." "Shh." He fumbled at the buttons of her suit jacket and removed it with a quick flick of his wrists. Her blouse was a one-piece shell, so he bypassed it, not ready to stop kissing her long enough to pull the offending garment over her head. He found the button of her trousers and tugged. She pushed his hands away gently. "Slow down, Mulder." She pushed off his jacket, then pulled the tails of his shirt out of his jeans and made short work of the buttons, her fingers nimble and purposeful. Thank God she's a doctor, he thought. She was a lot better at undressing people than he was. Of course, he'd given her plenty of practice--for different reasons, of course. Blood and pain were usually involved. She unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans as she led him deeper into her apartment, her hands warm against his bare skin. He was so aroused he could barely draw a breath, and her light caresses only made his condition more urgent and unbearable. He half-lifted, half-pushed her through the door of her bedroom. He'd managed to unfasten her trousers, and she stepped out of them as they stumbled to the bed. He let her go at the edge of the bed long enough to shove his jeans and boxer shorts down over his hips in one movement. He was panting like he'd run a race, but he knew his exertions had hardly begun. While he was removing his pants, she'd tugged her silk shell over her head and tossed it to the floor. Somehow that one careless act--Scully throwing her clothes on the floor?--almost destroyed what little control hadn't been shattered by the touch of her hands on his bare stomach. He trembled, waiting, as she unfastened her bra and stepped out of her panties. Then she lifted her arms to him and he walked into her hot, sweet embrace. * * * * * Scully stroked Mulder's hair, listening to the soft, even sound of his breathing as he slept. His head lay on her breasts, his hand tucked possessively around her bare hip. She smiled in the darkness, her body still buzzing with pleasure. She'd always assumed Mulder was a far more experienced lover than she, but he made love with all the wonder and enthusiasm of a beginner, eager to please and be pleased. He was astoundingly selfless, stubbornly intent on making her writhe beneath his touch, hungry for her release. He took as much pleasure in her satisfaction as he did his own. And, of course, she made very sure she returned every favor. She knew better than to let Mulder get one up on her. He shifted a little in his sleep, loosening his grip on her as he settled deeper into dreams. She lay still for a few moments, reassuring herself that his dreams weren't nightmares this time. His soft murmur of contentment made her smile. Gently, slowly to keep from waking him, she eased herself out of his grasp and slipped out of the bed. Living for the moment was fine and dandy, but she couldn't let their clothes stay strewn across her apartment all night. If Mulder awoke to find her straightening up, he'd laugh, but she just couldn't help it. She started with her silk shell, straightening it and folding it over the back of the chair by the bed. Her underwear next, then Mulder's jeans and boxers. They were still a little warm from his body, she realized, allowing herself the secret pleasure of running her fingers over the soft cotton underwear, remembering the intense, intimate moments she and Mulder had just shared. She followed the trail of clothes into the hall. Mulder's shirt lay in the center of the hallway; she picked it up and slipped it on to protect her naked body from the slight chill of the air conditioner. She could smell his warm, masculine scent on the collar; the fragrance made her feel lightheaded, and she leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. "If I'd known how good that looked on you, I'd have let you wear it a long time ago." She looked up to see Mulder silhouetted in her bedroom doorway. His face was in shadow, but she knew him well enough to fill in the details of his features in her mind. He'd donned his boxer shorts, his only concession to modesty. Moonlight pouring through her bedroom window caressed his lean swimmer's body. She saw the little glimmer of her cross necklace lying against his breastbone. She took a shaky breath, need surging through her. Her nipples tightened and her stomach quivered. "I was just--" "Straightening up." She caught a glimpse of his teeth shimmering in the low light. "Hungry?" She nodded, taking a step toward him. He chuckled. "For food, Scully." "I have leftover cashew chicken in the fridge." "And chopsticks?" "You always make a mess with chopsticks, Mulder." He moved closer. "So you can clean me up. In any way you see fit." The thoughts that ran through her head at that moment would've shocked even Mulder. She laughed softly. He caught her hand, pulling her behind him as he moved through her darkened apartment unerringly. Photographic memory, she thought. He knew where everything was after a brief glance. "You get the chicken. I'll be right back." He went into the living room. She glanced over her shoulder as she flicked on the kitchen light, noting that he was looking through the pockets of his jacket. She opened the refrigerator and sniffed the box of Chinese takeout carefully. It smelled okay, so she spooned the mixture of vegetables, cashews and chicken over the rice that had come in another container. "Want it hot or cold?" His voice was in her ear, startling her. "You have to ask?" She flashed him a saucy grin. "The chicken, Mulder." "Cold is fine. In a minute. Come, sit down for a second." He took her hand and led her to the table. He held out one chair for her, then took the chair next to hers. His hazel eyes were suddenly serious, and she tried not to laugh at the incongruity of his intense expression framed by hair that spiked in a thousand different directions. "Scully, one way or another, I'm going to be back here for good before this month is over." She nodded. "And if I haven't told you before, I'm very happy about that." He managed a lop-sided smile before he went serious again. "Now, I know we haven't really talked about what happens then, and maybe I'm making some big assumptions--" He was trying to propose, she realized in a swift flash. It was written all over his panic-stricken face. "Church or justice of the peace?" His mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. "Scully, could you ever just let me finish--" "A thought?" She chuckled, teasing him now. "No, Mulder. You're way too long-winded. Yes, I'll marry you, any time, any place, any way you want. As long as it's soon." "Thursday?" She was surprised this time. "That soon?" "Unless you'd prefer a big wedding?" She shook her head. "No. Thursday's fine. We'll have to get blood tests in the morning before we go to meet with Skinner." "I think I can get a judge to perform the ceremony by Thursday." He covered her hand with his. "I don't need a piece of paper to tell me what we are to each other. But I want the rest of the world to know. I don't want anyone to have any doubts, any questions." She smiled. "Since when do you care what other people think?" "I don't. Not about me. But I care what they think and say about you." That sweet, gentlemanly sentiment brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them away rapidly, not wanting Mulder to see. Like most men, he didn't like to see a woman cry. "You're a redwood among mere sprouts," she murmured. He looked at her quizzically. "Actually, Frohike said that about you," she added. "When we thought you were dead." "He wouldn't have talked that nicely about me if he thought I was alive." "You should ask him to stand up for you at the wedding." "He'll be too busy sobbing his heart out over losing you. Although I suppose I'll have to invite those guys or they'll never let me through the door again." "And this would be a bad thing?" she teased. "We'll have to invite Alan Pendrell. He's been a good friend to us." "Talk about sobbing his heart out--" "He's over that now, Mulder. I think he's got an eye on one of the fingerprint analysts in SciCrime." "Well, take it from me, Scully--a guy doesn't ever really get over a woman like you." She blinked as tears welled up in her eyes. Sweet talker, she thought. He brushed away the teardrops with his forefinger, his lips curving in a half smile. "I know my mother will drop everything to be here, and Samantha's not in school this summer, so she can come." "My mother, of course. I can call my brothers, but--" "You still persist in the fantasy that you have brothers?" "One of these days, Mulder, Bill and Charlie are going to show up and whip your ass." "Why?" "Because you're sleeping with their sister. And Scully men don't need much provocation to give a guy a good ass- whipping." He chuckled. "By the time they ever show up--if they exist at all--we'll be an old married couple. I'll send our sons out to protect their old man." Our sons. The words sent a delicious shiver through Scully. She could almost see them--tall, handsome boys with their father's dark hair and intense hazel eyes. "I was thinking--I'd like to ask Skinner to stand up for me," Mulder said. She lifted her eyebrows. "If my mother's coming, you can bet Skinner will be there." "No accounting for taste among you Scully women." He grinned at her. "Well, this is probably an anti-climax, since we're practically planning your mom's wedding at this point, but...." He put his left hand on the table, palm up. A small velvet box lay in the center of his hand. She picked up the little box and opened it. A small, delicate ring lay inside, an intricately crafted braid of silver and copper. Not the traditional diamond solitaire, not even the traditional metal. But it was perfect. She looked into his eyes, unable to hold back the tears this time. He took her left hand in his, lifted her fingers to his lips for a kiss, then slipped the band on her left ring finger. She held it up to the kitchen light, watched the interplay of the disparate metals. Fire and ice, hot and cold. Like Mulder and me. Method and madness, science and fancy, fear and faith, logic and intuition. Neither of them static, sometimes arguing one side, sometimes arguing the other, but always arriving together at the truth. If she ever had a doubt that she belonged with Fox Mulder, she didn't doubt it now. "When I showed it to Samantha, she suggested painting the inside of the ring with nail enamel so the copper won't turn." Mulder looked at the ring on her finger, a little frown on his face. "I wasn't thinking practicalities when I bought it. Maybe I should've bought a more traditional ring--" "Traditional? Us?" She lifted her hand to his lean jaw, sliding the cool twist of metal against his skin. "This is the most beautiful, perfect ring you could have bought." "I suppose I owe you the difference in price between this one and a solitaire. About seven thousand dollars by my best estimation." "Well, I could use a new laptop with a CD ROM...." He quirked his eyebrows. "Not going to let it slide, huh?" She glanced at her watch. "Tell you what. If you forget about the chicken and come back to bed with me, we can call it even." He bent forward and kissed the tip of her nose. "Mmm, sounds like a deal to me." She jumped up from the chair and darted toward the hallway. "Catch me if you can!" And, of course, she let him. * * * * * For a woman who sliced open cadavers for fun and profit, Scully was really obsessing over a little finger prick, Mulder thought. He watched her worry at the little round bandage on the tip of her finger. "Your finger's not going to fall off, Scully." "I'd rather have a needle in my arm than a finger prick." "I always sensed that about you." He tried to lighten her mood with a grin, but she was too tense. "Come on, Scully, it's not the inquisition. Just think of Skinner as your mom's main squeeze." She rolled her eyes. "Thanks, Mulder. That really helped." "He's going to offer us the X-Files, and we're going to say yes--but only if he agrees not to give us grief about getting married. Plain and simple." "What if he won't agree? What if he won't transfer you back to D.C. if we refuse the X-Files?" "He's not going to do that. And if he does, you'll threaten to introduce your mother to a man with hair." She chuckled that time. "I'm getting uptight for nothing, right?" He nodded. "Right." "But so much of our lives are wrapped up in those files. Aren't you the least bit worried?" Of course he was. More than a little worried. He wanted the X-Files back. But not if it meant putting any more obstacles between him and Scully. "Scully, nothing's worth risking what we have." "So we tell him we're getting married and the Bureau will just have to live with it?" "And if that means we can't have the X-Files back, then we'll live with that." He smiled slightly, thinking how easy those words were to say now that something--someone-- else mattered more. Eleanore Brennan emerged from the Director's office and smiled at them. "So, Eleanore, I see you made the move up to the big house with Skinner," Mulder commented. Her smile widened. "He'll see you now." Mulder took Scully's hand and gave it a little squeeze. Then he held the door open and let her precede him inside. Walter Skinner rose as they entered. The sign of respect gave Mulder a surprisingly warm feeling. Skinner motioned for them to sit and took his own seat. Then he leaned forward. "I assume you have some idea why I've called you in this morning." "Yes sir," Scully said, "and before we go any further--" "Wait, Agent Scully." Skinner held up his hand. "I want you to hear everything I have to say before you make any decisions." "Agent Scully and I have talked about this," Mulder said. "We're sure of what we want to do." "You don't know what I'm offering you, Agent Mulder. You think you do, but you don't. Now, will you listen--without interrupting?" Scully glanced at Mulder. He gave a little shrug, then turned to Skinner and nodded. Skinner settled back in his chair and removed his glasses. "This afternoon at three o'clock, I'll be speaking at a press conference announcing the restructuring the Violent Crimes Section to incorporate the X-Files division." Mulder released a soft sigh. Scully shifted next to him, and he fought the urge to take her hand. In a few minutes, they would tell Skinner about their engagement, but not yet. Not until he finished. "I want you, Agent Mulder, to head the X-Files division." "Sir, there's something--" "You told me you'd hear me out without interruption." The gentle amusement in Skinner's dark eyes softened his stern expression. "You would be the head of the division. You would have two full time field agents working under your supervision, as well as access to four full time clerical staff members. The X-Files would be included in the VCS budget and have the full support given to that section, but you will not be subject to supervision by the VCS section head. All reports from the X-Files division come directly to me." Mulder looked at Scully, whose blue eyes were wide with surprise. With the kind of support and autonomy Skinner was talking about, he and Scully could make serious inroads into the tangled web of lies spun over the past fifty years. It was almost worth considering no matter what the cost. Almost.... "You would have input into the selection of the agents under your supervision," Skinner continued. "But I should warn you up front. Agent Scully will not be one of those agents." Scully sat forward, her expression betraying her angry surprise. "Sir?" "I have no intention of allowing you and Agent Mulder to return to partner status, Agent Scully." Mulder felt a chill. "What are you saying? You don't think you can separate us again, do you? You can't. We're not slaves to this bureau and we're not slaves to the X-Files." Skinner gestured impatiently. "For God's sake, Mulder, would you please let me finish?" Mulder chewed his bottom lip furiously. He'd believed Skinner to be his ally. His friend. And here he was, trying to manipulate Scully and him, all over again. No better than Cancerman or Mr. X-- "Agent Scully will not be available because I'm creating a second division under the VCS umbrella. The Abnormal Forensic Pathology division. Agent Scully will be division head, with two full time medical examiners under her supervision. She will share the four clerical workers with the X-Files division." Realization dawned. Mulder looked at Scully and saw the light of understanding in her eyes. "Share the clerks?" "Does that mean--" Scully's voice trembled with hope. "Your divisions are separate entities, but you will share a suite on the fourth floor. Your divisions will be, in essence, two halves of a whole. The X-Files division will deal directly with field investigations, while the AFP will deal with the forensic data gathered." Skinner sat back, steepling his hands over his stomach. "Of course, as division heads, you'll be free to take whatever investigative steps you deem necessary. Neither of you would be confined to desk work--not by any means. And you would doubtless be working in tandem on virtually all cases. But not as partners. As--colleagues of equal status. Which is an entirely different relationship in the eyes of the Bureau." Mulder would swear the Director's eyes were twinkling. Right now, he felt like kissing the man right on top of his bald head. Then that swift thought sank in and he had to swallow convulsively to keep from laughing. Scully found her voice first. "Sir, I believe I speak for Agent Mulder when I say we'll take the jobs." Skinner's mouth curved slightly. "I had no doubts." "When do we start?" "You're both to take the rest of this week off. That should give you plenty of time to get moved from Boston back to D.C., Agent Mulder, before you report to your new positions bright and early Monday morning." Perfect, Mulder thought. That would give them all the time they needed to finalize the plans for their wedding Thursday morning--and a nice long weekend for a honeymoon. If, that is, they could get him moved from Boston to D.C. between now and Thursday. "That's the extent of my news," Skinner said. He leaned forward. "So don't you think it's time you two told me yours?" Scully chuckled. "I guess they didn't make you Director of the FBI for nothing." "When's the wedding?" "Thursday at 10:00 a.m.," Mulder answered. He'd already confirmed the time with Judge Lambert. "I'm assuming you haven't told your mother yet, Dana." Scully frowned. "Why, because she hasn't called to tell YOU yet?" Skinner seemed unfazed by her scowl. "Exactly. I won't tell her you told me before you told her." "May I speak freely, sir?" Scully asked. Uh-oh, Mulder thought. He knew that tone of voice. Skinner's eyebrows rose. "As an agent or as Maggie's daughter?" Damn, Mulder thought, you've got balls of titanium, Skinner. "Where is this thing between you and Mom going?" Skinner's lips twitched. "Are you asking my intentions, Agent Scully?" "Yes." "Your mother is a remarkable woman, Dana. I love and respect her. And I believe, as I know you do, that she deserves a great deal of happiness in her life." "And that would be you?" Scully asked. Mulder closed his eyes and sighed. "That would be a matter between your mother and me." Good answer, Mulder thought. He opened his eyes. Time to change the subject. "Sir, I hope you'll be able to attend the ceremony." "I'll be there." "Would you stand up for me?" Skinner seemed truly taken aback. "I'd be honored." "Good. Well, gotta go." Mulder stood and grabbed Scully's hand. "See you Thursday. A suit and tie will be fine. Bye-bye." He guided his tense fiancee out the door. "I'm still acting like an immature idiot, aren't I?" Scully asked as they waited for the elevator. "Do you think I'm stupid enough to answer that?" She smiled. "No." "He's a good guy, Scully. And your mom deserves all the happiness she can stand." The elevator doors opened and Mulder guided her inside, his hand against her back. When the doors shut, she turned and melted in his arms. "Can you believe the last twenty-four hours?" She rubbed her face against his tie. "We got engaged, we got the X- Files back--" "We had some pretty incredible sex," he added. She punched his ribs lightly. "Mulder, this elevator's probably bugged." "Then maybe we should go into detail. Give the grunts something fun to think about while they're transcribing the tapes." Scully looked at him. The devilish gleam in her eyes caught him by surprise once again. "Okay. I'll start." And to his amazement, she did. * * * * * The judge's chambers were far too small for the group gathered to witness the wedding of Special Agents Dana Scully and Fox Mulder, but the attendees just squeezed closer, no one willing to miss one of the most momentous-- and long-awaited--event in their personal memories. By mutual agreement, Scully and Mulder spoke the traditional vows, neither comfortable with the idea of writing their own. "Too sappy," had been Scully's succinct summation, and Mulder had readily concurred. Samantha was Scully's matron of honor, but Scully, for all her skepticism, strongly felt her sister Melissa's spirit close by, smiling down at them. In small concessions to tradition, she'd worn a cream silk dress with sheer lace trimming, a frilly blue garter around her thigh and carried a small spray of salmon colored tea roses. When she tossed the bouquet, Frohike caught it. For his part, Mulder simply handed the frilly blue garter to Walter Skinner and winked at Margaret Scully, delighted to find that she, like her daughter, still had the capacity to blush. Then they'd all gathered at Margaret Scully's house to celebrate the wedding and toast the bride and groom. Even Skinner came, blowing off work for the afternoon. "Considering what you two have been through to get here, I should classify this whole day as an X-File," he murmured to Mulder while waiting in line behind Pendrell and Byers to kiss the bride. Mulder smiled. He knew the feeling would pass, since he was fundamentally a morose bastard, but for the moment, he was the happiest man on earth. "So, Fox, how's it feel to be an old married man?" Samantha hugged him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. He turned and gave her a brotherly squeeze. "Pretty damn terrific." "Sure took you two a long time to get together. Maggie swears she's known you two were in love for five years now. Ever since Dana disappeared." He didn't like to think about those times anymore, especially since they still knew so little about what had happened to her--and how it might affect their future. Just last night, he'd had to talk Scully through a little panic attack. "What if they did something to me that could hurt you? Or what if I can't have babies--" "I'm not marrying you for babies, Scully," he'd tried to reassure her. "If we have children, that'll be wonderful, but if we don't, I'll still be the luckiest man in the world. And no matter what happens in the future, as long as we stick together, we'll be okay." At least today, her fears seemed to be leaving her alone. And he refused to let his own fears haunt this memorable day. "I'm going to put on some special music I brought just for you." Samantha winked at him, and he grimaced. Probably something by Michael Bolton or somebody similar, knowing his little sister's irritating taste in music. Moments later, he was pleasantly surprised to hear a gentle guitar intro led into Marc Cohn's raspy voice. "Baby I've been searching like everybody else, Can't say nothing different about myself, Sometimes I'm an angel and sometimes I'm cruel, And when it comes to love I'm just another fool." "Dance, dance!" called Preston from across the room. Mulder turned to Scully and found her looking up at him with such love in her eyes, he knew he could die happy right now. He held out his arms. She gave him her hand and walked into his embrace. The others cleared a space for them, and they danced together for the first time as husband and wife. But not for the last, Mulder knew as he stared into the radiant face of his wife. "Here's to the next fifty years," he murmured. "Just fifty, Mulder?" She rubbed her head against his chin. "I thought you'd probably want to reevaluate by that time." He kissed her hair and pulled her close, looking forward to the future as he and Scully swayed to the soft music. "When the years have done irreparable harm, I can see us walking slowly arm in arm, Just like that couple on the corner do 'Cause girl I will always be in love with you, And when I look in your eyes, I'll still see that spark, Until the shadows fall, until the room grows dark. Then when I leave this Earth I'll be with the angels standin' I'll be out there waiting for my true companion, For my true companion." * * * * * The man in the gray suit sat behind the wheel of a nondescript sedan parked a few houses down from Margaret Scully's home. With the window rolled down, he could hear the sounds of music and laughter. He lit another Morley and took a deep draw. The people inside that house might be surprised to discover that he begrudged them none of their happiness. He didn't. Hell, he felt like a matchmaker. He'd helped bring them together, after all. He couldn't say that he'd anticipated their emotional union. On the contrary, choosing Dana Scully as the consortium's weapon against Fox Mulder had been one of his few glaring miscalculations. But he was nothing if not resourceful. He found ways to turn their growing bond to his advantage. More than once. Down the street, the door of Margaret Scully's house opened and the happy couple spilled out, followed by joyous well-wishers. He watched as the lovers paused in the middle of the walkway for a kiss. A faint smile curved his lips. He hoped that they were supremely happy together. Deliriously happy. So happy that the single-minded quest they'd shared for the past seven years lost its power over them. He sincerely hoped that Fox Mulder and Dana Scully were too busy being happy to ever get in his way again. The truth was still out there. Buried beneath years of subterfuge. It was his job to make sure it was never unearthed. And, fortunately, he still had more than one weapon left to him. He lifted the Morley to his lips and drew. Smoke filled his lungs. He released the breath, obscuring his face in a veil of smoke. When the smoke cleared, he saw Mulder's car pulling away from the curb. He waited until it was almost out of sight before he cranked his own car. He drove off in the opposite direction, smoke trailing behind him out the open window. THE END That's all, folks! Hope you enjoyed it! Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com