TITLE: Inexpressible
Author: Mish
Email: mish_rose@yahoo.com
Distribution: Gossamer okay. Anywhere else,
just let me know.
Classification: MSR, angst, other POV
Rating: PG-13, for language
Spoilers: Through Per Manum, TINH; speculation
on future ep
Disclaimer: Short and sweet - they don't belong
to me.

Summary: After silence, that which comes
nearest to expressing the inexpressible is
music. - Aldous Huxley 

Note: In this universe, "En Ami" takes place
after HAD.

Fifth in the "Intuitive Reasoning" series. 
References in this story made to previous parts,
which, thanks to Mistress Galia, can be found
at:

http://sf.exit.mytoday.de/visionsoftruth/mishfic
.htm


Inexpressible
Part One


Much as I hate funerals, the rites of the dead
empower me.

Rather supercilious of me to think this, but
it's true. I don't feed off of the sadness of
others, by any means. I don't search the obits
for the names of acquaintances - like my mother
does - just to make an appearance and catch up
on the latest gossip. And I don't smirk at the
body and whisper, "Better you than me." Believe
me, I know people like that.

Strange as it may sound, I think of a funeral as
a chance to prove my mettle. I still cringe at
the prospect of having to go to one; but if I
do, I go with armor intact. Granted, it's
thirty-year-old armor, dotted with brown spots
of rust and a creak or two that puts my
arthritic knee to shame. But it still does the
job. Still helps me show the world that I can
be strong.

From the looks of her ramrod straight back, I'd
say that Dana's armor isn't quite as rusty as
mine. She polishes it every day, I imagine. 
Dons it like an invisible body glove under her
merciless black.

Will it withstand today's onslaught? I know
mine will. After all, it hasn't failed me since
my eighteenth year. Since Granny's funeral.

I tried, I really did, to hold it together that
gray, dismal winter day. And I almost did...
until my Aunt Josie stood at Granny's grave side
and sang... something. To this day I can't
recall it.

But I do remember that they had to carry me
away. I hated myself for the spectacle I made. 
It was embarrassing, it was uncalled for. Worst
of all, it was disrespectful to Granny. This
wonderful, loving, special woman deserved to be
the center of attention one last time and I
created a scene.

From that day forward, I vowed never to lose
control like that again. And I haven't, instead
busying myself with details and supportive
presence. After all, someone has to coordinate
the food for the reception and pick up the
sympathy cards from the wreaths. My armor may
slow me down at the actual service, but it packs
away quickly once I'm in the car and away from
the armor-piercing power of "Going Home."

Thank God the service today was music-free. No
organ wailing in the choir loft... no soloist
lamenting "Jesus, Remember Me."

It's so unnecessary, I think. Just as my tears
are futile. I consider the service to be a
final show of respect for the individual. It
would be somehow irreverent to carry on as if
*my* world has ended.

So I become the rock. Taking my strength from
within. Weeping after the fact, when I'm alone
in my car, or in the shower. It's only when I
allow myself to think about what I've lost that
I crumble. When I let the memories and feelings
creep through the weakened iron that covers my
chest. The armor over the heart takes the worst
beatings, you know.

So I don't allow myself to think. Neither does
Dana. Oh, she's a master of logic and reason...
there's no one better, in my opinion. But this
time, when she needs to think most, needs to let
that suit crack at the seams, she won't let
herself. She'll keep oiling that armor and
soldering the cracks until its weight will
suffocate her.

I don't have to guess about this... I *know*
it. She's opened herself to me in ways I doubt
she's done for anyone but Mulder.

But this time, she will shut herself off from
me... from everyone. Forever. When she needs
to let go the most.


**********


A year earlier


"Dana, what's up?"

It's been weeks since I last saw her; the fiasco
in Los Angeles has made us all avoid each other
with embarrassment. She looks well, happiness
lurking beneath the serious facade. Her skin is
glowing, her smile - if she'd let it go - would
be radiant. It's there though, twitching at her
jaw and cheeks with barely suppressed
exuberance.

"Karen, I'm sorry for the urgency of the phone
call, but I needed to talk to someone," she
says, her voice shaky with excitement.

Obviously, there will be a difference to this
session. If we could even call it that; she
asked me to meet her at the Reflecting Pool,
told me she'd bring lunch for the both of us. 
But since I saw her walk up fifteen minutes ago
with Subways in tow, I knew we weren't here to
discuss anything work related.

The months since her coming to terms with
Pfaster's attack have been blissfully peaceful
for all of us. Having heard of no other
traumatic episode pertaining to Dana or Mulder,
I assume she doesn't need *that* kind of
counseling. Of course, I could be wrong...
wouldn't be the first time.

But her fingers tell me I'm on the right track. 
Dana fidgets with the turkey sub in her lap,
picking apart the sandwich a piece at a time,
barely eating a quarter of it. She's nervous,
but in a good way, I think.

Oh my God. Did Mulder pop the question? Could
be, but I think it's more likely he'd wait for
her to ask *him.* He respects her boundaries so
completely; I've always suspected their sexual
relationship was initiated by Dana. Not that he
didn't want it as badly... he just waited for
her to want it, too.

"Dana, you can tell me anything, you know that." 
I bring my hand to tap her forearm, stilling her
movements for a moment. She needs control and
sometimes, a simple touch gives it to her.

She stops picking at the sandwich, eyeing the
slice of pickle between her thumb and forefinger
like it holds the secrets of the universe. The
corners of her mouth turn up in the beginnings
of that smile, though she keeps her chin
lowered, fascinated by the little round circle
of dilled cucumber.

"It may be possible after all... for me to have
children."

Her soft words create a gasp of surprise in my
throat. Not what I expected, but it explains
the happy shine of the blue eyes that now squint
at me in the sunshine.

My smile is instantaneous; I feel it break from
me to surround her. "You can conceive?" A
breathless question; I'm surprised I can tamp
down my joy enough to speak. "But how... when
did you - ?"

Laughing nervously, she leans her shoulder into
mine. "Calm down, Karen. Take a deep breath."

My chuckle joins hers, flying away on the cool
spring breeze. Doing as she suggests, I fill my
lungs with the sweet scent of cherry blossoms
and plunge ahead. "I assume you've told Mulder. 
What did he say? God, he's got to be
thrilled...."

I falter at the momentary dimming of her face. 
"No, I haven't told Mulder. Not yet. There are
issues to be dealt with."

How stupid of me. We're not speaking of the
potential children of two suburban professionals
with a mortgage on the colonial and a Labrador
in the back yard... this is Scully and Mulder. 
Two people more suited to one another than I've
ever seen, yet two people burdened with personal
and professional baggage that would overwhelm
lesser individuals.

"But this is something you want, something
you've wanted for a long time," I point out. 
"You *will* tell him, won't you?"

Sighing, she looks away and tucks an errant
strand of hair behind her ear. "I can't
conceive normally, Karen. It would have to be
IVF."

"So?" What's the big deal? Unless... God,
sometimes I'm *so* dense. This woman has had
her body violated in ways I can't begin to
imagine. By unseen faces in hidden away
places... the stuff nightmares are made of. It
would not surprise me if she couldn't bring
herself to undergo yet another 'procedure,' even
if it meant fulfilling one of her greatest
dreams. "I'm sorry, Dana. I didn't think
before I spoke."

Her eyes widen at my distress and she quickly
says, "It's not that, Karen. I trust my
doctors. I'm comfortable with the clinical
aspect, believe me." She takes my hand in
reassurance, squeezes once, then lets it fall
away again.

"Then I don't understand your hesitation." And
she *is* hesitating; it's obvious from the
clouds gathering in her eyes to the purse of her
lips.

"That it would be IVF is a problem in itself...
the cost, the physical and mental toll, the
affect it would have on our lives, our work...."

Listening to her ramble on, it dawns on me that
she's listing all of the reasons to talk herself
out of this. Except for the one she's *not*
saying, won't bring herself to even contemplate.

"You think he'll say no." My statement is calm,
but incredulous.

Her logical spiel dwindles and she raises
concerned eyes to mine before drawing in some
springtime air of her own.

"I'm not sure," she sighs. "We... Mulder and
I... we've been apart for a few weeks... I - I
did something he considered incredibly stupid. 
An opportunity presented itself to me and I took
it, knowing full well that he wouldn't like it
one bit. It was dangerous, but I believed I was
doing the right thing. And I didn't tell him
about it until after the fact."

Oh my. *This* is the most surprising revelation
of all.

"I won't explain it to you, but suffice it to
say it's been... awkward." She looks at me,
pain etched in the lines on her face. "I've
never seen him so angry. He didn't say more
than a handful of words to me for days. He
doesn't trust me anymore."

"No," I breathe, my chest tightening with
sympathetic hurt. "Dana, I can't believe Mulder
would lose trust in you. He loves you."

"Love and trust don't necessarily go hand in
hand," she points out bitterly. "And I'm not
saying he doesn't trust me as a partner... what
I'm really saying is that he doesn't trust me to
make decisions based on my own judgment. And I
told him this."

"What did he say?"

"That based upon recent events, then no, he
didn't. He said I should have come to him,
despite the fact that if I'd told him what I was
doing, my... informant... wouldn't have given me
the time of day." She adds, "And I can't
imagine what he's going to say about *this*
decision."

"You think he'll say that you're making a
mistake?"

"I don't know what he'll say," she replies,
quiet, unsure words. "There are a lot of things
to consider here. But I can assure you that
I've given it thought; that's all I've done the
past few days. And I know it's not the best
course of action, considering my job, but it's
something I've wanted for a long time. I can
make changes, get out of field work... I can
settle down and live a more normal life...
*anything* for my child."

Grabbing her hand, I urge, "Then tell him, Dana. 
Talk to him. Make your feelings clear." A
chill makes me pause. "Unless, of course, the
breach in your relationship is so severe that
you feel you can't."

She smiles, reassuring me. "It's not... don't
worry. We're still partners and friends, and we
still love each other and want to be together. 
We're just going through a period where we need
to sit back and re-evaluate our relationship."

"You've talked about this?" God, I hope so. 
I've seen so many good relationships founder
because of simple miscommunication.

"Yes. And we're slowly making our way back to
one another, I think." A small smile graces her
face. "But it's going to take time... and
that's something I don't have the luxury of,
according to my doctor."

"Does Mulder know you've been considering this?"

"Actually, he's the one that precipitated it, in
a rather roundabout way. Apparently he'd been
harboring a secret of his own... something he
neglected to tell me years ago."

Should I ask? No. From the set of her jaw,
it's a sore subject, best left to the two of
them. But I can see that Mulder has managed to
lose a tiny bit of Dana's trust, as well.

Now what to say? I'm not that kind of
counselor; my experience with relationship
problems is very limited, mostly involving one-
sided conversations with agents on the brink of
divorce because of the stress of the job. But I
can see I'll have to give it a try; this is
obviously so very important to her.

Tentatively picking my way through the unknown
waters, I begin, "I understand, Dana, that trust
is very important to the both of you."

Nodding, she bites her lower lip and says
nothing.

"And am I right in assuming that you and Mulder
began your sexual relationship without really
*talking* about it?"

She nods again. I thought so. The high-stress
arena of the Bureau often makes intimacy between
partners a fact before they're ready to deal
with the emotional issues that come with it.

"And my guess is that you both thought that with
intimacy, trust would increase proportionally...
and you were surprised to discover that having
sex didn't mean that you abandoned yourselves to
one another in all things, including disclosure
of secrets." At the surprised loosening of her
jaw, I add, "Sex isn't the playful stuff of
dreams, Dana. I know that you and Mulder are
responsible adults, and I'm pretty sure you
entered into this relationship with your eyes
wide open... but intimacy doesn't preclude
communication. You have to talk... be
emotionally intimate as well as physically
intimate."

"That may take some time," she says with a wry
grin.

"But you're working on it?"

"Yes. We're just giving the sex a rest for
now." She sighs. "God, I miss it."

Inwardly, I commiserate. And *I* don't have a
six-foot, hazel-eyed, chocolate-voiced...
walking embodiment of sex-on-a-stick at my side
for eight hours a day. One that I'm in love
with... one that is so obviously in love with
me.

I've got to get a life.

A small and feisty wink snaps me from my pity
party. "But we'll have that again... makeup sex
is supposed to be the best."

Really, I *must* get a life. A sex life,
anyway. A vibrator is no substitute for the
real thing.

Clearing my throat, I try to get us back on
track. "Dana... all this talk of sex aside...
you *are* going to tell Mulder about this,
aren't you?"

Sobering, she knows that I've noticed her
avoidance tactics and looks away.

"I know it's the most important decision that
two people in love can make," she begins, "and I
will respect his answer, yes or no." Sighing,
she lowers her voice to a whisper and adds with
a betraying tremor, "But if he tells me no, I
think... it will... I don't know if I could...."

He won't tell her no. I am as sure of this as
the sunrise tomorrow morning. But neither will
he immediately say yes. It's my job to prepare
her for the uncertainty of her wait.

Handing her one of my unsoiled napkins, I watch
as she wipes her face into a composed mask once
again. "Dana, Mulder loves you. I think he
will make an informed decision, trusting *your*
judgment and his... but don't be alarmed if it
takes him a while."

"I would never rush him on this."

"I know you wouldn't. I'm just saying that it's
a big step. Don't be disheartened if he doesn't
say yes right away."

"I don't expect him to." She crumples the
napkin, taking her fear out on the recycled
paper. "Maybe I just wanted someone to tell me
I'm not selfish for wanting to do this."

"You're not selfish for wanting to be a mother,
Dana." More than once in my forty-plus years
I've felt the same maternal urges. And I would
be lying to myself if I just brushed them off as
a result of hormones. But I came to terms with
the fact many years ago that I just don't feel
the desire strongly enough... and I would be
most selfish to bring a child into the world
that would always come second to my own wants
and needs.

Dana, however, despite the fact that her world
is infinitely more uncertain than mine... well,
I would never say it aloud, but she was *born*
to mother children. Always close to her mother
and father. Raised in a family unit that
amazingly thrived on the constant travel of
military life. Parents who were environmentally
conditioned by their own families to love and
nurture offspring in the haphazard moments when
all you feel like is just flopping on the couch. 
Her father was a master at this, from what I've
gathered. Her memories of him have shaped her
into an excellent candidate for motherhood.

And some of what she's feeling could also be
attributed to her brother's success at
fatherhood. I don't believe she realizes just
how broad that streak of competitiveness is in
her, though in this case, it runs a distant last
to the many other reasons she wants a child.

"It's not selfish to want to love and raise a
child of your own. It's a natural, biological
urge. You know this."

"Yes, I do," she agrees. "But I'm not so sure
about Mulder. His childhood wasn't exactly a
stellar example of good family life, you know." 
She gives me a pasty grin. "And I can't help
but feel that I may be asking too much of him by
asking for this."

She has a point. Mulder isn't the poster boy
for fatherhood, that's certain. On paper,
anyway. But despite his smart-ass nature,
underneath he is a very sensitive, caring
person. If he loves Dana half as much as I
think he does, he should not have a problem with
this.

"It *is* a tremendous gift you're asking for," I
concur. "But it's also a tremendous gift you'll
be giving him, don't you think?"

Nodding, she answers with a moist sigh, "I can't
think of any other I'd rather give him."

Putting aside the doctor-patient tie for a
moment, I lean in closer, nudging her with my
elbow.

"You know what I think he'll say?"

Her eyebrows raise in hopeful anticipation and
she breathes, "What?"

"I think he'll be shocked, speechless most
likely. After a few moments of sputtering,
he'll list all the reasons it may not be a good
idea."

"Oh, I have a list of those as long as my arm,"
she murmurs. "All of which I can deal with." 
Her confidence is palpable in the fresh spring
air; I would expect nothing less from her. I
nod to re-affirm *my* confidence in her ability
to do anything she sets her mind to, then
continue.

"Thrown off a bit by your stellar responses to
his worries," I say with a wink, to which she
grins, "he'll tell you he wants to think about
it - overnight, possibly. Then you'll have
dinner while he stares at you, trying to picture
you as the mother of his child."

Her face softens, but she says nothing. She
knows his brilliant, analytical mind will
process every nuance of the ways their lives
will change.

"He may even go to work the next morning as if
nothing's on his mind. Sit at his desk all day
and pretend to do actual work, when all the
while he's *still* staring at you."

He can deny it until the cows come home, but his
eyes are always on her when they're in close
proximity to one another. A man more in love
with a woman has yet to be born.

"Then, after twenty-four hours of soul-
searching, he'll suddenly realize that none of
that really matters, because he loves you."

The corners of her mouth turn up and a sheen of
tears blossoms in her eyes. Covering her fist
full of napkin with my hand, I continue with the
one and only truth.

"He'll come rushing back to tell you yes... and
then hare off to the nearest baby store to buy
the biggest teddy bear he can get his hands on. 
One that comes equipped with a surveillance
camera, of course."

That exuberant smile that's been threatening for
half an hour? It bursts free at last, riding on
the tinkle of laughter that accompanies it.

"And he says you'll never have *his* number,
Karen."

"Dana, Mulder's number will always be unlisted." 
I let go of her hand and pop a piece of bread
into my big mouth. "I just happen to make a
living in directory assistance."

We collapse into a fit of giggles like a couple
of schoolgirls before quieting into
introspection. Dana breaks the silence with the
raising of her hand, the one still clutching the
pickle.

"To the Scully-Mulder progeny," she toasts with
a small, still jittery smile. "Blessed with two
such absurdly *not* normal parents, it can't
help but be especially exceptional."

Picking up a slice of my own, I touch it to
hers, giving her a reassuring smile. "It will
be loved. That's all that matters."

"As every child should be, Karen." Clouds worry
her eyes; is she remembering her own lost child? 
Or the horrors she's seen in her tenure as an
agent? I can't be sure; either has the power to
sadden me, so I imagine it's ten times worse for
her.

However, she lets them go as quickly as they
come, the promise of the future chasing the
shadows of the past away. "Thanks. You've
helped me out once again, just like you always
do."

"No problem, Dana," I reply, knowing that it's
much more than my job that's at work here. It's
our friendship. "One request, though?"

"Yes?"

"When Mulder is out pushing around a baby
carriage... *please* give me a call. I like to
witness the amazing sometimes, too."

Giggles threaten her voice as she replies with
mock seriousness, "Will do. Better yet - how
about when Skinner babysits?"

Oh my God. Visions of Walter Skinner changing a
messy diaper dance in my mind.

There goes my sandwich, sliding off as we
succumb to laughter again. Thank goodness I
manage to save my drink, bringing it to my lips
to chase away the choking before saying,
"Somehow I can't picture the Assistant Director
cooing baby talk."

She rises and picks up my mess, throwing it and
the rest of her sandwich into the trash can
nearby. Brushing the crumbs from her jacket,
she says with a cagey eyebrow, "Why not? I
understand he does a pretty good Bogey...
*shweetheart.*"

Shit! Diet soda through the nose is *not* very
pleasant.

Before I can ask how she knows, she's gone.


**********

End part one


Inexpressible
Part Two

Disclaimer, etc. in part one



In all the time he's been gone, she hasn't
spoken to me once.

I pick up the Hoover gossip like everyone else
does; I know of her new partner but have never
met him. He sounds like a decent enough fellow
and judging from the way he and Walter are
standing to either side of her like bulwarks, I
imagine him to be a noble, deeply committed
person.

I couldn't force Dana to see me, to assuage my
concern over her well-being, especially in light
of Mulder's disappearance. There were times
when I had to restrain myself from picking up
the telephone just to hear her voice, to know
she was okay.

But I couldn't intrude like that without her
permission. However, it didn't stop me from
poking around in my own way, trying to determine
if she was truly coping with the loss.

I think I shocked Walter the first time I called
him. We exchanged a few pleasantries, tactfully
ignoring our last conversation in Los Angeles,
then I moved in for the kill, undeterred by his
evasion. Protector to the end, Walter would not
betray her confidence.

However, I told him that flat out that I didn't
want secrets. I wanted assurances. Of her
safety, of her physical health... of her mental
health, most especially.

"She's doing okay, Karen," he finally murmured
with a sigh. "As well as can be expected. I
really can't say more."

End of revelation, as far as Walter Skinner was
concerned. He wouldn't lie to me about
something as crucial as this, would he?

"What about Agent Doggett? Is he treating her
with respect? Is he a suitable partner?" Dana
has such issues with control, it's hard to
imagine her giving an unknown Agent any kind of
leeway with her and Mulder's work.

"I believe he is, yes. He's no Mulder, but he's
a straight arrow, Karen. She will never trust
him as much...."

He trailed off for a moment. 'As much as
Mulder' hung over the line, but he refused to
give it voice. I wished at the time I could
have seen his face; it never occurred to me that
Dana's loss was Walter's, too. Rumor has it
Mulder slipped away right before his eyes. 
Knowing what little I do know about Walter, he
probably blames himself somewhat.

"But he's a good man," he finished, interrupting
my thoughts and effectively putting an end to
the subject by adding, "If she needs your help,
Doctor, I will not hesitate to call you."

"I know you will, Mr. Skinner," I replied,
falling back into more formal address. "It's my
nature to worry about my patients... to worry
about my friends." I directed the last to him
as well with pointed softness.

For a moment there was silence. I could feel
his acceptance of my concern in that black air,
as well as his firm resolve to reassure me. 
"Then don't worry. She's in good hands."

Looking back now, I see he was right. Between
Walter and Doggett, Dana is safe. Though she
would rail at me for thinking so, wanting to be
responsible for herself in every way. Not
wanting or needing the protection of others,
especially men.

A cloud passes over the sun as the minister
intones the grave side rites and, from my
position some yards away, it appears to roll
over the green hills like the hand of God,
coming to sweep up the righteous man being
buried today.

When it hits the sparse gathering directly at
the sight, she sags just a bit. It's almost
unnoticeable, her black garb blending in with
the fleeting shadow to make her quaver almost
impossible to detect.

But I see it. Just as I see the twin hands of
her protectors fly up, their faces turning
inward to her as if they are mirror images.

However, she will have none of it. Her spine
straightens as the sun blares once again to
life, illuminating her iron control for all to
see.

To all outward appearances, she is still the
same.

Will she let herself cry in the shadows, as I
do?


**********


A year earlier


The rap at my door catches me half asleep; my
caseload has been rather stiff lately, so I've
been taking the opportunity to prepare for the
annual audit of expenses by putting in a few
extra hours. I'm trying to be as thorough as
possible, with my own expense reports stacked
alongside spreadsheets of office expenditures,
cluttering my desk with a sea of boring
paperwork. Rumor has it the auditor in charge
this year is a real pain in the ass.

But I gladly jerk my head up at the knock,
calling out, "Come in."

To the last person I expect to see. "Dr.
Kosseff? Can I have a minute?" he asks,
standing in the open doorway, his eyes darting
from me to the hallway outside.

Always thinking someone is spying on him. Nice
to know some things never change.

"Agent Mulder," I say, trying to keep my
excitement to a minimum. Gesturing to the chair
across from me, I add, "Please, have a seat. 
What can I do for you?"

Help you unravel the mysteries of the universe? 
Better yet, the mysteries of your own psyche? 
Damn, what I wouldn't give for more than just
seven minutes of one-on-one with this enigma
wrapped within a conundrum.

When I counseled Dana after her bout of PTSD a
couple of months ago, Mulder was present for a
few of the sessions, at my request. In a mostly
supportive capacity, at his own insistence. He
did open up in those sessions, for Dana's
benefit, and with words designed to put her at
ease. But not with any real depth. My insight
into what makes him tick is no better now than
it was three months ago, when I first realized
they were more than partners.

But my fantasy session with the Bureau's pariah
is not to be; I know why he's here. And it's
not because of some childhood trauma, or
bureaucratic post-case stress counseling.

He looks like someone pulled the rug out from
under him, but in a charming, defenseless way. 
His face is pink under his tanned cheekbones and
he's having a hard time meeting my eyes as he
sits, gathering his black trenchcoat close
around him.

Looks like Dana's news really threw him for a
loop. Maybe my fantasy isn't that far from
becoming reality after all.

He clears his throat as I wait patiently. 
"Uh... Karen... may I call you Karen?"

"You have before," I remind him gently, a smile
flirting in my voice. I am so tempted to add
the word 'Fox,' but I feel it's not appropriate.

Remembrance of our jousting match by the
Reflecting Pool makes his eyes darken and the
pink deepens into an attractive blush as he
looks at his lap. "Sorry 'bout that," he says
with a light sigh. "I can be such a dick
sometimes. Ask Scully." He chews on his lower
lip for a second, then adds, "On second thought,
don't."

My smile breaks free; can I help it if I find
pleasure in seeing him squirm just a bit? "I
won't tell her you've been here, Agent Mulder,
if that's what you're worried about. But I must
say I'm curious as to the reason for your
visit." Knowing full well what he's
approaching, I stay the routine anyway, letting
my smile fade. "Is Dana okay? Anything I
should know about?"

That brings his chin up. "What? Uh, no... no. 
She's fine."

"Then it must be you."

Taken aback, he shifts in his chair and rubs his
palms down his pants legs. "Me? No, I'm good,"
he nods, pursing his lips and giving the room a
once-over. "Nice office."

"It must not be that nice if it's making you so
uncomfortable."

Sliding into a slouch, he folds his hands over
his stomach. "Do I look uncomfortable?" His
momentary nervousness is gone; he falls back
into self-assurance, grin in place.

I mirror his pose, right down to the grin. "You
look like you're hiding from someone. And you
ducked into my office to do it."

His jaw drops with affronted ease as he places a
hand over his chest. "Why Karen, I'm offended
that you would think -"

"I most certainly would think, Mulder," I
interrupt quietly. "Just as I think it's Dana
you're hiding from."

Which is so far from the truth it's laughable. 
Mulder wouldn't run from confrontation, but if
it helps him to think that *I* think so, then so
be it. He needed an excuse to talk to me. I
just handed it to him on a silver platter.

"Could be," he murmurs. "You mind if I chill
here for a bit?"

"Certainly not. Take all the time you need."

We sit in silence for a few moments and stare
each other down. I take the opportunity to
study him at my leisure; he really is a handsome
man, in a rather unusual way. Taken at face
value, he is not the most attractive man I've
ever met.

But he *is* one of the most intelligent, loyal
people I've ever known. Dana is very lucky to
have him at her side. Just as he is to have
her; I doubt very many women would put up with
his single-mindedness, no matter how good he
looks.

It's impossible to hide my scrutiny from him,
but he seems to ignore it. Rather, he does some
puzzle-solving of his own, his hands steepled at
his mouth in a pose worthy of Freud.

"Do you have any children, Karen?"

"No, but you already knew that, didn't you
Mulder?"

He expects the question to surprise me; that it
doesn't surprises *him.* Quickly though, he
hides his shock with a nod of concession. "I
did."

"Then why did you ask?"

He sighs and straightens, immediately tired of
the chase, though it's hardly begun. Lowering
his gaze once again, he admits, "Scully wants
children."

This is more serious to him than I originally
thought. Fully expecting a verbal match on a
par with our previous encounter, I am truly
surprised at his sudden admission. Sitting up,
I roll my chair closer to my desk, giving him my
unwavering attention.

"And you don't?" Impossible. Well, not
*impossible*... I don't know him all that well. 
But something tells me he'd be great with
children. Especially his own; he's always had a
streak of protectiveness a mile wide. Couple
that with his adventurous nature - a must with
kids - and he has the potential to shine as a
father.

His eyes fly up to mine. "I didn't say that." 
He corrects his defensive posturing with a show
of upturned palms. "She found out she could
possibly have children of her own. And I want
children... *Scully's* children... very much. "

"That's very good news," I murmur. Then I prod
gently, "So what's the problem?"

His laugh is humorless as he drops his gaze back
to his hands. "You want a list? I have them
itemized alphabetically. When I can't sleep, I
tend to compartmentalize."

Sympathy fills me; Dana must have told him the
news last night. I can imagine him tossing and
turning over the weighty decision.

"Are any of them insurmountable?"

He doesn't answer for all of one second, and
it's so fleeting I almost miss it. Sadness...
blossoming in the unfocused hazel orbs, welling
up in the blink of an eye, then gone just as
quickly.

"No," he whispers, but it's a lie.

"Mulder -"

"Well, maybe one or two."

"Maybe? You don't sound very sure."

"Oh, I'm sure."

What is this? He sits before me as if the
weight of the world rests upon his shoulders. I
was right; something is making him very sad. I
doubt he'll tell me, but he should tell Dana.

"Mulder, I know you're a very private person,
but -"

"We haven't been having an easy time of it
lately. I suspect Scully's told you this?" His
soft words stagger me; that Dana would tell me
of their rift is not unusual. That *he* would
tell me? It's monumental, to say the least.

Taking a big chance at his reaction, I reply,
"Yes, I know." I don't elaborate to the point
of disclosing my prior knowledge of the
pregnancy possibilities, but I feel he deserves
to know that Dana's just as concerned about it
as he is. "Mulder, if you'd like to schedule
some joint counseling, I'm sure we could -"

"No." As if I really thought he would. I was
lucky he came in with Dana those few times. 
"And I know you can't really discuss anything
Scully's told you with me."

"No, I can't." I pause for a moment, letting my
steady gaze try to convince him of my sincerity. 
"But you can talk to me, you know. I'm here to
listen. To Dana... and to you."

Fully expecting him to laugh in my face, I'm
shocked when he leans forward, hands clasped,
hanging between his knees. His head is bowed,
his posture almost one of confessional
conciliation, his eyes staring at my stapler,
though I doubt he's really seeing it.

"I told you... long ago...." he begins slowly,
"that Scully is the only one I trust."

"Yes," I urge. It's okay that he can't look at
me; he doesn't have to. I see everything I need
to see... from the nervous dart of his tongue
over his lips to the ways his hands worry one
another. "Has that changed?"

"No." Adamant eyes dart up to mine, then back
down. "But I got angry... felt betrayed... by
something she did. She put herself in
unnecessary danger."

"Mulder, Dana's a big girl, a seasoned agent -"

"I know all that. I know she can take care of
herself." He laughs again, this time with
disbelief. "I can't believe I'm telling you all
this."

"If not me, then who? Assistant Director
Skinner?" I ask gently.

This time the laugh is easier, more relaxed. 
"Yeah, I can see that - 'Yo, Skin Man - got a
minute? Girl troubles.'" His hands come up to
scrub at his stubbled jaw and he slumps back
into his chair. "That would go over *really*
big."

Oh, they would be surprised to learn just how
much good ole Walt already knows. Not from me,
of course. But the man has eyes in his head,
even if it did take him quite a while to catch
on.

"But we're dealing with... the incident," he
continues, breaking into my reverie. "That's
not the problem."

"Then what is it?"

"I just..." he says quietly, his anxious face
hollowing out, "I just don't want it to change
things between us."

Is that what all this worry is about? I wish I
could tell him that it wouldn't, but I know it
will. "Change is inevitable in a relationship,
especially with the introduction of a child into
the mix. I hope you realize this, Mulder."

Snorting at his own misstep, he corrects
himself. "Maybe I should have said, *come*
between us. We're already on shaky ground. I
don't want us to lose sight of each other in our
desire for a child." He gets up from the chair,
unable any longer to sit still. "We would have
to resort to unconventional means, Karen. IVF,
to be exact."

He has his back to me now, and even if he
didn't, I think he's too lost in his
rationalizations to notice that I don't comment.

"When she told me she'd found out she could have
a baby, it was like... hell, I can't begin to
describe the sheer joy on her face." The pacing
continues and his hands join in on the anxiety,
on at his hip and the other worrying the back of
his neck. "It was beautiful to see."

"I can imagine," I murmur, dropping my chin to
allow myself a small smile.

He walks back to my desk and hovers, his feet
still shuffling, though he finally looks at me
with the blandest of faces. His eyes, though,
shine with mild panic. "She wants me to be the
father."

"And what did you say?"

Looking away, he replies, "I told her I needed
time to think about it."

Score one for me!

"That's a natural reaction, Mulder. Considering
it's a life-altering decision."

"But I wanted... *want*... to say yes. I wanted
to shout it from the top of my lungs... wanted
to stop on the way to work and buy cigars...
wanted to.... Shit." He resumes his pacing,
frustration making him growl, "I wanted to jump
in with both feet, like I always do. But I
couldn't. It was just the type of thing I'd
lost my cool over two weeks ago."

"But certainly this is different."

"Is it?" he snaps back, stopping to pierce me
with his eyes. "We're just getting back to the
point where we can move past all the secrets...
and this would be one helluva secret, don't you
think?"

"It doesn't have to be," I point out. "What you
and Dana do together is none of the Bureau's
business. At the most, they could relegate her
to desk duty for a while. Maybe a temporary
separation of you as partners. You couldn't
live with that?"

Because I know damned well that Dana could. 
Anything to have this child in her arms.

He sighs and opens his mouth to argue further,
but doesn't, just turns away from me, hands on
hips.

"You're scared," I breathe, realization of the
fact making me incredulous. "What are you
afraid of, Mulder?"

His back to me, he says, "Of everything. Of
giving them something else to use against us. 
Of losing Scully in childbirth." His head sags,
the tendons in his neck stretched like knotted
ropes. "Of messing up."

A burst of sympathy at his halting words nearly
overcomes my voice, but I manage to say, "Aren't
we all, Mulder? We *are* human, you know. 
Subject to human frailties and shortcomings. 
Don't deny Dana this... don't deny *yourself*
this... because you're afraid of messing it up."

"I think I already have," he says, turning to
face me, his look one of blanched self-derision.

"Already messed it up?" I have trouble
believing that. "But all you told her was you
wanted to think about it. Have you done that?"

"Have I thought about it or messed it up? Both,
I think. I haven't said a word to her all day. 
By now she probably thinks I'm on the next plane
out, scared out of my mind at being a father. 
Which is the truth..." He pauses and his face
takes on a proud, loving, determined bloom of
color. "But as scared shitless as I am... and
that's pretty fucking scared... the only thing
that would make me as happy as holding Scully in
my arms is to hold her child... *our* child."

He gulps and looks away, embarrassed at his
zealous display of emotion.

"Mulder, can I ask you a question?" I glance at
my watch, then back at him. He walks to the
chair and grips the back with white knuckles,
hanging on my every word like I'm going to give
him the answer he craves.

"Sure," he says quickly, all thoughts of
pretense and evasion vanished in his quest for a
friendly ear. Flattered as I am that he chose
*me* to spill his guts to, it's time for him to
be the man he's capable of being.

The father he yearns so desperately to be.

"What the hell are you still doing here? It's
after five and I have work to finish before I
can go home."

The beginnings of his decision fall into place,
smoothing the worry lines in his forehead. The
brown-eyed sadness and panic slowly give way to
misty green happiness. "And I'm standing here
telling you everything I should be telling...."

Yesss, my raised brow urges.

"Why the hell I'm even *talking* to you I don't
know...."

"Because old Walt is busy?" And would probably
kick your ass from here to Sunday for dragging
your feet about this.

"I hate shrinks."

If I point out that I'm *not* a shrink, he'll go
on forever. "Mulder?"

"Yeah," he says absently. The scenes to come
begin to play out on the invisible larger-than-
life screen that just materialized in front of
his glassy eyes.

"Go home."

The most amazing smile breaks over his face like
a rolling wave, washing him clean of doubt. 
"I'm going to be a father," he says with awe. 
Just as quickly, it turns into a frown. "Fuck."

"What?" Dear God, what now? I don't think I
could stand a discussion of sperm motility
counts, or genetic abnormalities. If that's the
case, he doesn't need me. My hand inches toward
my Rolodex in a reflexive move, but I'm pretty
*damned* sure I haven't a fertility specialist
to refer him to.

He looks at his watch on the way to the door. 
"Shit. I have a report that's due on Skinner's
desk tomorrow morning and I haven't even started
it yet. I could be at Scully's in an hour, then
back here in two...."

Too busy staring at Dana all day, eh Mulder? 
"Do it right now," I suggest. But I know he
won't; his courage couldn't withstand the wait.

"I can work all night if I have to," he smiles,
telling me what I already know - that this can't
wait. Opening the door, he throws a, "thanks,
Karen," over his shoulder, then ducks back in
with a fierce glare. "I don't suppose I have to
remind you..."

"Despite your paranoia, Mulder, I am still the
consummate professional."

"Then that goes for the 'Yo, SkinMan', too,
Doctor," he adds, his wink belying his hard
stance. "No hot tub talk."

My face gets cold and numb, freezing my smile
into place. First Dana, now Mulder.

How the hell do they know? Of course, we were
in full view of the entire back side of the
fourteen story hotel. Think, Karen. Did you
say something you weren't supposed to? *Do*
something you weren't supposed to?

Jesus. Did I get naked? I *thought* I
remembered everything that happened that night,
but now I'm not so sure.

Attack, Karen. The best defense is a good
offense.

But by the time I focus, the door is shutting
behind him. Even through the closed door, I can
hear his whistle all the way through the empty
halls to the elevator.

Groaning, I bury my face in my hands. I'll
never live this down. Never.


**********


End part two

Inexpressible
Part Three

Disclaimer, etc. in part one



The wind is picking up, making my eyes sting and
blur. I've been looking so hard at Dana, using
my vantage point to pick up on her every move, I
don't think I've blinked a handful of times in
the last minute.

But she hardly moves, hardly blinks herself. 
Just stares at the coffin as if she expects him
to do a Houdini, shove it open and laugh in the
face of our misery. Defeat the odds yet again,
prove to everyone that you can't keep a good man
down.

The minister closes his Bible with a tiny
*thump* and she jumps. Slowly, she raises her
face to acknowledge that the service is coming
to an end, but it is with faint disbelief.

He's going to wake up, her wide eyes tell the
holy man. You can't end it now.

As my legs propel me forward through the
mourners, I see her chest rise and fall more
rapidly. Her head begins a side to side sway,
her denial a scream away from fruition....


**********


A year earlier


"Agent Mulder, how are you?"

This is a stroke of incredible luck, running
into him in the musty confines of Hoover Hell. 
Otherwise known as The Archives Room.

I've been dying to ask how they knew of my
little dip in the hot tub with Walter, but
haven't had a chance. It's not something I want
broadcast all over the Bureau, though I'm pretty
sure Mulder and Dana wouldn't do such a thing.

He looks up from the yellowed pages of the bound
newspapers before him and greets me with
surprise. "Doctor Kosseff? What are you doing
down here?" Removing his glasses, he rubs his
eyes with tiredness. "Don't tell me - EAP put
you in charge of their equivalent of the X-
files, and stuck you in this rathole."

"Only the most difficult personality problems
get my attention, something like that?"

"Yeah, something like that." Where's the witty
repartee? He can do better than that.

"Congratulations, Agent Mulder. You're my first
case."

Ha ha, he mouths and pulls some of his books
back toward him, making room on the rickety
table that appears to be the only useful work
area down here.

I pull out the chair across from him and flop
into it, releasing my hold on the mountain of
ancient files. They scatter, almost knocking
over his cup of coffee. He saves it at the last
second with a grimace and I tell him 'sorry'
with my eyebrow. "Actually, I'm preparing for
the auditor's visit to my office tomorrow. Just
trying to find an expense report I think I
misplaced last November."

"In the archives?" The oral fixation slash
nervous tic is out in full force as the ear
piece of his glasses suffers under the gnash of
his teeth. His eyes, while focused on me,
appear distant somehow; his mind is elsewhere.

"I know it sounds ridiculous, but I've looked
everywhere else. I remembered developing a
semi-obsession last winter with the Bureau's
files on the Rat Pack." Nodding at the labels
on the files bearing the names of Sinatra,
Martin and Davis, I amend, "Well, I liked their
music, anyway. And I may have misfiled my
expense report in one of them while mooning over
Frankie and Dean."

Mooning. *Mooning.* 

C'mon Mulder, it's the perfect opening. If I
didn't know better, I'd think I was telling my
middle-aged fantasies to that file cabinet over
there.

"Something wrong, Mulder?"

"Hmm?" The ear piece of his glasses falls out
of his mouth as he smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, I
wasn't paying attention."

"I asked if something was wrong. Are you okay? 
How's Dana?"

"Fine. We're fine." A little too quick, I'd
say. "Well, Scully is anyway. Walking on air
these days." He smiles more to himself than to
me.

Okay, so I won't ask about the hot tub. But
it's been a few weeks since I've spoken to
either of them, and I'd be lying if I didn't
admit to just a bit of curiosity about the IVF
attempt. All right, a *hell of a lot* of
curiosity. Much, *much* more about it than any
petty misadventures of mine.

"So what are you doing down here?" Though it's
a work day, he's dressed rather casually in
jeans and lightweight sweater. Not very proper
attire, even if you're stuck in this dusty room
for the day.

"Killin' time," he answers. "Actually, I'd
taken the day off today, but I got bored. 
Needed something to do."

He took a day off? Mulder? Seems to me they'd
have to pry him from his desk with a crowbar. 
His whole demeanor is one of restless energy;
something's taken hold of his mind, and it's not
anything he's reading in those old newspapers.

And it suddenly dawns on me what has him so
edgy.

"Any news?" There are eyes and ears everywhere;
I don't have to be specific. Grabbing the first
file, I start sifting through the papers within,
striving for normalcy, though my heart is
pounding with anticipation.

Sparing him a quick glance, I see he's doing the
same, glasses back on, turning the newspaper
clippings one after the other with deliberate,
excruciating slowness. "Nope," he answers. 
"Scully's busy on a consult today. So I'm just
sitting here alone for the afternoon."

At that, I pick my chin up to give him the full
stare. Though the glare from the overhead light
shines off his glasses, I can see the unspoken
in the hopeful glint of his eyes.

You find out today? I mouth. You know, I never
realized how hard it was to mouth words around a
smile. At his grin, I say aloud, "Poring over
these old texts can get tedious, you know. Why
aren't you with her?"

I can't believe he isn't in there with her,
hovering and wearing a hole in the waiting room
carpet.

"I offered my help with her... *case,*" he
replies, his smile fading into worry, "but she
said she was fine on her own. We're supposed to
meet about it after work, bounce around a few
ideas."

"I see." He knows as well as I that Dana is a
strong person and it's very much like her to
want to do this alone. Wonder if he realizes
that she's softening a possible blow to him by
giving him the news herself?

"She says I have enough on my mind already."

Damn, I'm good.

He pushes away from the dusty book and walks
around the corner to the next aisle of cabinets,
his voice drifting back to me. "Did you know
there are newspapers in some of these racks that
are a hundred years old?"

"No, I didn't." What is he doing? I turn
around in my seat and see him emerge at the far
end, walking around with hands on hips, looking
about the cavernous room with eagle eyes.

"And that I found a photo of an alien in one of
them a couple of years ago?" He disappears down
the opposite aisle; I hear his slow footsteps
getting closer as he approaches, completing his
rectangle... his sweep.

Shit, if I'm good, then he's ... really,
*really* good.

"You did?" I reply, turning back around in my
chair to await his reappearance.

"Yep. *Two* aliens, actually." His head peeks
around the corner, then looks both ways as
insurance before he steps back to the table. 
"I'll show it to you sometime."

"I'd like that," I say truthfully, watching him
sit once again.

Leaning forward, his long, tanned arms fold
under his chest. "I'm about to go nuts down
here," he whispers fiercely. "How am I supposed
to stand the wait? Hell, I've already waited
two fucking weeks!"

He sighs and drops his head, bringing his hands
to his face. "Sorry. I'm just a little on
edge," he murmurs.

"You're worried, Mulder. Worry does that to
people."

His hands fall away and I almost gasp at the
pain in his eyes. "What if it doesn't work? 
She's lost so much, Karen. You and I both know
just how much." His words become halting. "I
can't bear to see her... lose again."

"But there will be other chances -"

"No," he interrupts me, "there won't. I don't
have time to explain it, but this is it. One
chance and one chance only."

My God. It hurts physically in my bones, the
dread at just how bad the news can be for
them... for her. I cannot imagine what they
must be feeling.

"But there's adoption, foster care...." My voice
dwindles at his expression. That was stupid. 
There's not a judge in the world that would hand
over a child to them, given their histories. It
would all look so bad on paper; the gunshot
wounds, Dana's abduction, Mulder's psychiatric
hospitalization. And that's just the tip of the
iceberg.

"Ah, she gets the picture at last," he mutters,
standing again and reaching for his leather
jacket. "Look, Karen... Scully's a strong
person, but even the strongest can collapse
under too much stress and grief, you know what I
mean?"

Of course I do; the memory of that night not so
long ago when she attacked Mulder still cuts
into my chest like shards of glass. It was the
only time I've ever seen Dana tumble over the
edge and I hope I never see that again. I've
never been so frightened for one of my patients
in all my professional life.

"I understand," I say quietly, going back to my
files before I make an even bigger fool of
myself. "You have my number. Call anytime, day
or night."

"Thanks." He takes off his glasses and pockets
them, then pauses. I see his fingers move
around in there and watch the myriad of emotions
roll over his face. There's that sadness
again... I'm about to tell him that I'm here for
him too, when he pulls his hand from his pocket,
his glasses tangled in something tiny.

"Silly, isn't it? I wanted something special to
commemorate the occasion. And I'm lost in the
baby aisle of a department store."

I can't tell what it is, but it's caught in the
nose pad of his glasses, maybe damaged beyond
repair.

"Shit," he growls, wrapping his too-large
fingers around the mangled mess. "If I could,
I'd give her the universe... but all I can seem
to do is mess up a simple gift."

"Let me," I offer, "my hands are smaller."

To my surprise, he hands it over.

Oh, my. Riotous emotion wells up in my chest,
threatening to make me dissolve into tears. But
I take a deep breath and say without looking up,
"This is...." I want to say 'precious', but I
find I can't form the 'p' through my trembling
lips.

"They don't make those anymore, at least not
that I know of. I found it in a box I took from
my mother's attic after she...."

Passed away, I know. I nod, still unable to
look away from Dana's first baby gift.

"It was labeled 'Fox.'" Laughing, he adds wryly,
"Thank goodness the hospital didn't use my first
name."

It's a baby bracelet, the kind that hospitals
used to put on newborns years ago. Much more
elegant than the plastic strips they use now. 
No more than three inches in length - God, is a
baby's wrist *that* small? - it's a rope of
tiny, square blue beads on a yellowed string. 
Six pearly white beads scrunch together in
identification, the black letters fateful.

M-U-L-D-E-R.

"I know it's not much, but -"

"She'll love it," I whisper, finally looking up.

He looks away, embarrassed at my obvious show of
emotion. Clearing his throat, he makes a big
production of clearing away his mess, closing
books and throwing his coffee cup into a nearby
trash can.

"Uh, well... guess I should be going." He takes
the glasses and now-free bracelet from my hand,
still not trusting himself to look at me. 
"Thanks."

"Mulder, I'd like to know one way or the other,
okay?" I ask as he turns to scurry away. "I
know it's really none of my business, but -"

Stopping, he turns back to me, fingering the
beads like a rosary. Unconsciously praying for
good news. At my glance, his hand disappears
into his pocket.

"I'll let you know as soon as I can, Karen," he
replies with a sincere smile, knowing that it's
not something he'll be able to tell me over the
telephone. He won't dare come to my office
during work hours. The most I can hope for is a
chance meeting at the water cooler... and no one
else within ear shot. "Have a good evening."

"You too," I say to his back. As the door
closes behind him, I add, "Good luck."


**********


Walter's touch stops her impending tirade, as
well as halt my shaky legs. She looks up into
his stony face, a face cracked only by the
glitter of his eyes. It's true, they tell her. 
It's time to go.

The mourners disperse quietly, a few of them
stepping close to touch her arm, her hand. 
Their murmurs do not penetrate and the others
waiting to offer condolences see this, slipping
away without comment. Her armor is now three
feet thick; a sledgehammer could not make a
dent.

I want so much to go to her, stand beside her
and tell her that my fortress is just as strong. 
I want her to stand at my lee side, to let the
fierce pellets of stinging, icy pain hit me, not
her.

You see, I can be a rock for her, too. She can
throw her whys at my head... curse the heavens
at my feet. *Anything* but stand there and
pretend that this is not happening.

Respect is good; denial is not.


**********


A year earlier


I trudge in at 8:40, woefully late for my
meeting with the auditor. I'm sure he'll
understand, though, won't he? After all, I'm
not the only one arriving more than a half hour
late. The skies were emptying by the bucketload
this morning; even though I was on schedule when
I left my apartment, traffic conspired against
me. And everyone else, from the looks of the
hallways. Mighty empty for approaching nine; a
few wet stragglers like me look to be today's
workforce.

I balance my soggy, broken-handled briefcase on
my knee to reach for my keys, out of breath and
wanting to do no more than sink into my office
and never come out again. Alas, the auditor
awaits.

But being late for the audit isn't the only
reason why I'm semi-breathless this morning. 
Quickly, I drop my briefcase and throw my coat
at the coat rack, scanning my desk for messages. 
Damn it, why the hell did I bring those files up
here from the archive?

Because after Mulder left, the room seemed very
empty. With only dust and my thoughts for
company, I thought it better to retreat to the
secure confines of my office. And I still
didn't find that expense report.

I buzz the Section secretary. Like she'd walk
six doors down to put messages on my desk. Ha! 
If I'm lucky, she'll stop flirting with the
Assistant Program Manager long enough to answer
the phone.

At her mumbled, "EAP, Darlene speaking," I
notify her of my arrival and ask for messages.

"Two." Her reply is frosty. "First from Mr.
Short, the auditor. He is very put out that
you're late for the audit. He expects you up
there as soon as you arrive."

So it's true... he *is* a real pain in the ass. 
"I called in, Darlene. Did you tell him I was
stuck in traffic?"

"I did, but it didn't seem to make any
difference."

Sighing, I brush aside this conversation. "And
the second?" Please let it be from Mulder. 
Please let it be good news. I know he won't
call, but maybe, just maybe....

"A reminder of your dental appointment, tomorrow
at 2:30."

Deflating like a balloon, I thank her, get Mr.
Short's number and dial it, stuffing the papers
I need into an expandable folder since my
briefcase is shot.

"Chesty Short."

*Chesty* Short?

'Ms. Horrible First Impression' rises to the
occasion, a snort of laughter bursting from my
lips. Coughing into his ear in an effort to
stifle my chuckle, I pray he didn't hear that. 
I think it works, but I can't tell. All I get
in return is a biting, "Yes, who is it?"

"Mr. Short, this is Karen Kosseff," I wheeze,
turning on my desk lamp. "Sorry about that, I
think I'm catching a cold."

"I expected you at 8:30, Dr. Kosseff. A waste
of time is a waste of the taxpayers' money."

God, am I in deep trouble. "I know, Mr. Short,
but I'm just running a little late this morning
-"

The futile explanation sticks in my throat. 
Because beneath the folder containing lists of
Frankie and Dean's Mafia connections, I spy
something.

Something so beautiful it shines in the blue-
white glow from the lamp. Something so
delicate, it looks like it's held together by
moonbeams. Something that almost broke when it
tangled with a pair of wire-rimmed glasses last
night.

"Dr. Kosseff? Dr. Kosseff!"

Gulping back the lump in my throat, I croak,
"Yes?"

"I don't appreciate being kept waiting."

"I'll be there in ten minutes," I whisper, then
hang up on his sputtering.

A renegade tear hits Frankie's file, smudging
the date on the surveillance transcript that
pokes out from its edge.

It's been polished since I saw it yesterday
afternoon and its sparkle winks at me as I
gently pick it up, feeling its automatic wrap
around my first two fingers like the grip of
baby's hand.

<If I could, I'd give her the universe.>

M-U-L-D-E-R.

My thumb caresses the letters as they blur
before me. I know now that the name will never
grace a baby's wrist.

Wiping my cheeks with one hand, I gently lower
Mulder's message into my bottom right desk
drawer, placing it into the shadows.


**********


I drift away with the mourners, but only to the
relative obscurity of a nearby shade tree. Dana
and Walter still stand beside Mulder's grave,
the lone mourners unwilling to give up the
fight.

He lowers his head to say something to her; at
this distance, I can't hear his words. But they
catalyze a reaction a last....

She snaps her head up and replies, her face
crumpling. He gathers her close and for a few
seconds, she cries, going limp in his arms.

I shut my eyes with relief. It's going to be
okay... she'll be okay.

I don't expect her emotional release to last
long and it doesn't. Within a few moments more,
she pulls away and straightens her jacket,
moving to the mound of dirt that waits to seal
her lover in the ground, removing him from her
forever.

Her hand reaches for it and Walter moves to her
side, doing the same. Together, they move to
the casket and drop the fists of soil on its
shiny brown surface, symbolically giving Mulder
their last goodbyes.

It is done with such respect, such love, that I
find myself filling with pride for the both of
them. They walk away slowly, side by side into
a future without Mulder.

The cemetery workers close in and I realize this
is my chance.

The bracelet slides in my pocket as I move
forward, so I curl my fingers around it. As a
final show of *my* respect, I want to give Dana
the universe he so wanted to give her. If I
hurry, I can catch up with them at the car.

They disappear over the next hill and I pick up
my pace. I should do this later, but I don't
know when or if I'll ever see Dana again.

Just as I'm almost to the top, a low hum reaches
my ears. What the -? Sounds eerily like the
hum of a low-flying aircraft. Maybe one of
Mulder's UFO's? I almost laugh at my
nonsensical turn of thoughts.

Oh no. No, no, no. Just when I was almost home
free.

Slowly, I turn to face the wind that carries the
plaintive wail of the bagpipes to my ears. It
sends me careening back to the day of my
Grandmother's funeral, back to the last time I
let myself fall apart with grief. I was
eighteen years old.

I sink to the ground, my legs no longer able to
support me.

<I once was lost, but now am found... was blind,
but now I see.>

They come in a torrent that robs me of breath.

"It's okay," I hear over my shoulder.

No it isn't, I want to scream. I'm stronger
than this.

My arms wrap around my middle so tightly, I fear
I make my gasps worse.

"Karen, take a deep breath."

I smell her before I see her crouch before me,
alive with the scent of flowers and earth. She
blocks my view of the man below who's paying his
respects to Mulder with sad dignity.

"Byers plays well, doesn't he? Though Mulder
didn't believe, I think he would have liked it,
don't you?"

Opening my eyes, I raise my soggy face to look
at her. "I'm sorry, Dana," I whisper. Sorry
for my loss of control... sorry for her having
to comfort *me* in the throes of dealing with
*her* loss. I can't believe I'm doing this to
her.

She's so calm now, her face a portrait of cool
white perfection, the startling contrast of her
eyes a brilliant reflection of the afternoon
skies. She sits beside me in the cool green
grass and takes my hand. Hers is warm and
alive, soothing my nerveless fingers into quiet.

"'Twas Grace that taught my heart to fear, And
Grace my fears relieved," she sings, slightly
off-key, "'How precious did that Grace appear
the hour I first believed.'"

The man she calls Byers repeats the familiar
tune, this time softer, letting it fade away in
the wind. Though so far away from us, I see the
shine of his cheeks as his tears mirror mine.

"I believe..." she begins, her voice a steady
strum of sanity on my tattered nerves, "that he
loved me."

She watches her friend's lament dwindle to
nothing while I watch her. Her profile is a
vision of strength and gentle acceptance. I
cannot take my eyes from her, transfusing her
warmth into me with my absorbing clasp of her
fingers. Sensing my greedy gaze, she turns to
me.

"It doesn't matter what else I believe, does
it?"

No, I don't suppose it does. Just as my hold on
my own denial isn't really all that important,
either. A fresh spurt of moisture skitters down
my cheeks. I feel so... alive. I believe I am,
for once in my buttoned-down life.

If I'd never met them, never let myself feel for
them, I'd be cold. Silence would be my music. 
And suddenly, I want music. Any kind of music.

"We're having the reception at the Mulder's old
place outside of Raleigh. Care to join us? I
could use some help with the food." She gives
me a small smile and squeezes my hand.

"Food?" I reply, sniffling away the last of my
tears into the starched handkerchief she
produces from her coat pocket. "I'm very good
at food, Dana. I can do food."

Dana stands and sways slightly, which snaps me
up from the cool grass. "You okay?"

With a small smile, she closes her eyes for a
moment. "Yeah, just a bit light-headed. It'll
pass."

I take her arm in mine, steadying us both. We
slowly walk, cresting the hill as our heels sink
into the soft earth. "Dana?"

"Yes?"

"I have something to tell you," I say, fingering
the string of beads in my pocket. They tinkle
just a bit, the notes dull but there. Music to
my ears.

The parking lot is nearly empty, except for my
rental and a couple of other vehicles. A lone
figure stands beside one of them, awaiting our
arrival with an impatient pacing that stops as
he catches sight of us.

With a small wave at a puzzled Walter Skinner,
she replies, "And I have something to tell
*you,* Karen."



END


So goes my attempt at fitting the plot of "Per
Manum" within the scope of an existing M/S
relationship. Thanks for reading!


Many thanks to my sisters at Musea... a more
talented, wise, gentle group of ladies there
will never be. They challenge me, put up with
me and always make my days a whole lot brighter. 
The answers they came up with when I asked,
"What would Mulder give Scully as their very
first baby gift?" - well, let's just say the one
I used was not the only one I cried over. I
felt really guilty, knowing that Mulder was
never going to give it to her in my story, after
all their hard work. Maybe he'll eventually
give it to her, who knows? <g>

Special thanks to Galia, as always, for being my
friend.

To mountainphile, for digging her baby bracelet
out of the attic and sniffling with me. To
Forte, for Bodacious!ness, as usual.

This one's for Diana Battis. Thanks for
everything. Especially for a final, feverish
look at that one scene. <g>

It may take me a while, but I eventually get
around to answering *all* feedback...
mish_rose@yahoo.com