Title: Fountains of Truth
Author: RocketMan
lebontrager@iname.com

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is
intended. Title and song lyrics are borrowed from Fountains of Wayne --
go buy their new CD -- Utopia Pkwy.

Summary: Mulder opts for honesty, Scully decides to be reasonable.

Rating: MSR, PG-13 

SPOILERS:::: Up to and including Field Trip, specific mention of Never
Again and Milagro

~~~~

Fountains of Truth

~~~~

Part One: One Day

~~~~

"Maybe one day soon
It'll all come out
How you dream about each other sometimes
With a memory of
How you once gave up
But you made it throught the troubled times"

--"Troubled Times" Fountains of Wayne

~~~~

Dana Scully shuffled from her bed with an ache in her limbs, a kind of
physical melancholy from sleeping too long or maybe--

maybe--

from just feeling wrong.

Wrong about Mulder, about their lives, about how the X-Files were
coming, just about everything.

She yawned and tried to stretch, but her entire body felt tight and
sore.

She managed to knock the alarm clock from the bedside table as she
walked past, but she didn't stop to pick it up, simply moved on.

She washed her face with soft soap, then pulled off her pajamas and
stepped into the shower. The water stung like droves of bees, but she
shivered and merely endured, trying to shampoo her hair without standing
under the spray too much.

Days just didn't seem appealing anymore.

She didn't even know why.
~~~~

Every morning he watched her walk into the office, her face pale and
scrubbed, with a less than healthy look, and her limbs slack.

Every morning he wanted to ask if she was all right. If she was really
all right.

Really.

But he didn't. He couldn't. It wasn't a fair question, not when his own
soul was so closely guarded.

Something had to change. He knew that.

Nothing did.
~~~~

She was earlier than usual, her hair just so, make-up on just a bit
darker than usual.

He made sure to smile brightly at her, made sure to be happy about their
new case, made sure that he put on a good show. Maybe if he were
excited, she would catch it, and it'd be like old times again.

Like young times.

She nodded in all the right places and moved her eyebrows in their
common dance, and her hands came to cross before her chest, while her
lips quirked.

It was Scully, and yet it was not.
~~~~

Their latest case over, Mulder slumped down in his desk, fingering the
lone white sheet of paper, watching it quiver and shake between his
fingers.

A conference.

He shook his head, disgusted, reading over the details.

All Agents were required to spend a week for evaluative training once a
year, and usually it was at Quantico, but this year, he and Scully were
being sent together to Atlanta, to a special group.

Something about designing a task force for the FBI to better respond to
serial killings that had cultist overtones, the kind of cases that were
appearing more and more frequently.

They wouldn't necessarily be on the task force, but they might have to
write protocol for it.

It wasn't something he was really looking forward to, sitting around
trying to insist that his fellow agents take him seriously for once.

He sighed and waited for Scully to step into the office.
~~~~


Scully pushed away her full plate, one hand propping up her chin, her
eyes moving over the warmth in the room.

Her mother smiled brightly at her younger brother, Charles, then patted
his wife's shoulder with fondness, pouring iced tea into the empty
glasses.

Something was missing for Scully, something important.

She wasn't sure what exactly was opening this emptiness in her, or why
her brother's contented smile and and her sister-in-law's adoring eyes
made her feel removed from her own family.

Her baby brother had just gotten married, eloped to Bermuda with Jacey,
and finally decided to let his family in on the secret.

Bill had been furious, but Charles had laughed him off and been
positively annoying in his happiness.

Scully could see the radiant love in Jacey's every movement, and though
the woman knew Charles wasn't perfect, he was the closest thing she'd
ever found.

Dana was proud of her brother's happiness.

But for her, something was missing.

The door buzzed and Margaret Scully was amused at the instant face lift
her daughter got at the sound.

Head up, thoughts banished, Scully's eyes darted for the door, then
uneasily slid back to the happy couple giggling at each other.

"Dana, why don't you get the door? I'll set another place," Mrs. Scully
said.

Her daughter jumped from the table, racing for the front room just as
she and her siblings had done as children, wanting to be the first to
greet the newcomer.

When her hand touched the knob, Scully realized just how childish she'd
been and peered back into the dining room, feeling sheepish.

She turned the knob and the door swung back, allowing the glow of family
and laughter to wash over the threshold and flood the man standing on
the stoop.

Her smile of pleased surprise made Mulder want to catch her up into a
huge hug, but he restrained himself, choosing instead to wink at her.

"Your Mom invited me over. She thought I might need some homecooked
food."

A smile dancing across her lips, Scully pulled him inside her mother's
house, her hands warm and heavy on his forearm.

Ambling inside, Mulder paused when his eyes caught sight of the man and
woman sitting in the dining room, looking more at place and relaxed than
he could ever hope to be.

"Mulder, this is my brother, Charles, and his wife Jacey."

Charles stood and shook hands with her partner, his eyes joyful and body
language open and without hostility.

"Nice to finally meet you, Mulder. Dana says I can't call you Fox."

A chuckle escaped Mrs. Scully's lips and Mulder gave an embarassed
shrug, glancing back to Dana's flushed face.

"Yeah, well. . ."

Charles gave his wife a wink and sat back down as his mother set a plate
before Mulder's eager eyes.

"Eat, Fox. I've got green beans if you'd rather have those. The broccoli
might be soggy after sitting out-"

"I'm sure it's perfect, Mrs. Scully. Don't worry about me. I haven't had
broccoli in about three years, so any broccoli is good broccoli."

Scully sat beside him, the entire family watching as Mulder nearly
inhaled the delicious dinner, Mrs. Scully nodding with motherly
satisfaction.

With just about the entire plate cleaned, Mulder happened to glance up
and noticed the four pairs of eyes on him. He gave a soft grin, then
looked to Scully as if for reassurance.

She didn't smile or say anything, but the subtle shift to her eyes made
him relax.

When he was finished, and had accepted Mrs. Scully's offer of seconds,
he leaned back in the chair, finally taking in the golden light of the
dining room and the easy atmosphere of this family.

"We're glad you dropped by, Mulder." 

As Charles smiled at him, Mulder shook his head. 

"I guess you and Bill don't talk much, huh?"

Scully gave a snort of derision and Charles looked bewildered.

"Actually, Bill and I can only agree to disagree."

Mulder looked so relieved that Scully had to wonder what had happened
between her partner and her brother. More, evidently, than she had been
told.

Mrs. Scully came back into the dining room then and he got the feeling
that the brothers' little fued was an unspoken thing in this family, at
least, in front of their mother.

"I heated up those green beans-"

"Oh, Mrs. Scully, you didn't have to do that. . ."

"No, no. I need to get rid of them. Leftovers anyway. Now eat, Fox."

"Mom, Mulder and I have to leave for Atlanta in the morning, remember?"

Mrs. Scully blinked, then nodded. "Right. . ."

"You don't mind?"

"You should be asking your brother, dear, not me. It doesn't bother me
quite as it used to."

Mulder looked guiltily into his plate, his appetite suddenly lost and
his stomach feeling like lead.

He felt a small hand inch onto his leg, then squeeze his knee softly,
reassuring him of his place in her life.

He gave a flicker of a smile to Scully, but still felt awful for
dragging her away from her family.

"Why don't you just stay home this time, Scully? I'm sure I can get you
out of it. It's just a conference."

Scully frowned, hating that he had put her on the spot in front of her
family.

"Mulder. . ."

"Oh, no, Dana. We don't mind at all," Jacey said suddenly, hushing her
husband as he opened his mouth to say something.

She glanced meaningfully at Charles, then looked back to Scully.

"I don't want our hastiness to interrupt your work. I know how much it
means to you."

The relief clearly flashing in her eyes, Scully smiled at Jacey.

Mrs. Scully stood again, moving for the doorway. "I'll get you both
rooms to sleep in tonight, that way you can get a good head start."

Mulder opened his mouth to protest, but Mrs. Scully shook her hand at
him.

"You're taking her away from us, least you can do is stay for awhile.
Delay the inevitable."

Mulder grinned, feeling a slight tinge of guilt, but the family's grins
and Scully's shocked look made up for it.

"Okay, thanks, Mrs. Scully. For the bed and the food. . .and your
daughter."

Scully rolled her eyes as her brother laughed, not remembering until
then just how easily he was amused.

"You're most welcome. For all three."
~~~~

The walls were dark with shadows, but the moon managed to sneak inside
and glitter along the carpet and the drapes like sparkles in the seas.

Scully moved restlessly away from the window, listening for the creaks
the old home issued when night settled over the eaves and darted inside
the brick.

She heard the television humming in the guest bedroom and knew Mulder
was biding his time until the early hours of the morning knocked him
out.

Sighing at the lateness of the clock, she slipped back into the bed,
pulling the sheets around her.

She'd think about everything tomorrow.

The warmth, the sorrow, and the guilt could wait one more night.
~~~~

It only took a moment as Mulder ran up the short flight of stairs to his
apartment, then came back down with his bags.

Scully sat in the passenger seat fiddling with the air conditioning,
hoping he wouldn't change the setting when he got back inside.

The driver's side door cracked open, then his long body slid inside,
Mulder grinning at her with a cocky smile that warmed the cold car.

"Okay, we're ready to roll."

She gave a pleased smile and he started the car, then adjusted the vents
to blow cold air across them both.

Scully shook her head, still upset over the Bureau's insistence on
cutting costs, refusing them airplane tickets to Atlanta, and forcing
them to drive.

Hours with Mulder. Driving.

He was a restless driver, never content to simply sit back and focus on
the road. He always managed to find an X-File, or create a complicated
game where they ended up fighting about the rules.

"Lets just get going, Mulder."

His grin faltered and he nodded, slowly pulling into the street, then
expertly swimming the car through the ocean of traffic, finally nosing
it onto the interstate.

He wondered what was wrong this time, why she was suddenly tense and
rigid with him again.

"I didn't mean to take you away from your family," he said softly.

She looked so surprised at his words that he knew this wasn't the reason
she was upset with him. It was something else, and she wasn't going to
tell.

"No. It's okay. I don't see Charles much, but we have that kind of
relationship that's always closer the farther away we are from each
other."

Mulder snorted. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder?"

She smiled thinly and looked out the window. "Yeah. Charles was the baby
of the family and well, he was somewhat spoiled. And before that, *I*
was the baby, and so I guess I never really got over that."

Mulder looked at her with interest, then swiftly darted his eyes back to
the road when she glanced over at him.

"You know how it is. . .Charles annoyed me to no end. Always in my room
trying to play with my toys, tagging along behind me and Bill."

"You got along with Bill?"

She gave him an ironic smile. "No. He thought *I* was annoying. .
.thought *I* tagged after him too much, was always in his room. . .And
after a few years, I came to realize that Bill was arrogant and mean,
and that I didn't like being with him."

"But I bet you still played with all his friends, didn't you?"

She smiled softly and chuckled in the cold air of the car.

"Yeah, for a while, I did. And Bill hated it. He used to lock me in my
room during the summers so I couldn't follow him outside. Mom spanked
him so hard he couldn't sit down for days. . .but I stopped trying to
follow him around and got my own friends."

Mulder nodded, seeing the pictures in his head so clear, he could have
been there. Scully with her small little nose turned up at her older
brother, fury behind her blue eyes as she snubbed Bill.

"Way to go Scully. . ." he said, winking at her.

She leaned back in the seat, shrugging.

The conversation fell off from there, and Mulder didn't try to push her,
instead letting her sit and stew, think over whatever was making her so
morose.

He wished he could make it right, make everything okay again.
~~~~

The George L. Smith II Georgia World Congress Center was sqaure and
blocky, but had a strange modern appeal that cut through the coldness of
the outside.

Scully touched a planted tree in the sidewalk as they passed, stepping
over a strip of marble that added a bit of randomness to the well-placed
convention center.

They rode the escalator to the second floor, then Mulder guided her
inside the 'L' conference room with a hand to the small of her back.

A greeter seated them on opposite sides of the room and Mulder shot her
a sorrowful, lonely look that made her shake her head and almost laugh.

She turned to the large folder before her, then focused on the men
stepping into the middle of their semi-circle.

Nine o'clock came and went, and still everyone had not come to a
conclusion on what the specifics of this conference were, and Scully was
bored to tears.

This wasn't what she wanted to be doing.

Maybe she should have stayed at home, visited with Charles and Jacey. .
.

Mulder caught her eyes and grinned like a fool in her direction, then
nodded to the door.

They had been seated in stiff backed grey chairs that were set up in a
rough circle around the room. Voices echoed off the vaulted ceiling and
hammered her throbbing head, plus the fighting was getting uncivil.

She smiled slightly and nodded her agreement, then stood discreetly and
exited the room.

After five minutes, Mulder slipped out after her and they grinned in the
reckless abandonment of ditching the nonproductive meeting, then headed
for the door.

The sun was hot and still burning through the morning haze, the humidity
already climbing the sky like a monkey in a tree.

She licked her chapped lips and waited at the entrance for Mulder to
explain what they were doing, ready to try anything to get out of the
conference and away from the loud arrogance of men and women who only
wanted their name on an official policy.

"I know. . ." he said, watching the bright sky battle its way to blue
from the greyish tint of the morning's clouds.

She glanced to him. "What?"

"The zoo. We can see the Cyclorama."

"The what?"

"It's a painting, a mural, of the Battle of Atlanta of 1864. It's 42
feet high and 358 feet wide."

She looked at him increduously.

He nodded. "Yeah, impressive huh?"

"Yeah. . .How in the world did you know that?"

Shooting her a startled look, he pulled a brochure from his pocket.

"I read the tour guide in the motel while you slept."

She gave him a wary look. "So you planned this little escape?"

"Well. . ."

He wondered if he shouldn't have, if she was going to take this the
wrong way.

"Come on then, Mulder. We can't let all your hard work go to waste.
Let's see that mural."
~~~~

The Fernbank Science Center had a huge planetarium that seemed to be
almost as grand an expanse as the night sky itself, and the show was a
special on pulsars that had them both fascinated.

As Scully attempted to explain the physics to him, Mulder watched her
lean close and whipser, her head resting on the seat and her eyes
reflecting the stars above them.

Even the false light of the neutron star slowly spinning on the ceiling
could not mask her beauty at that moment, and he had to clutch his hands
in fists to keep from touching her.

She kept her eyes on the screen overhead, watching the marvel of space
and science, thinking how right it was for them to be watching this, the
combination of her beliefs and his, the awe of the paranormal meeting
the physics of radio waves.

She wanted to turn to him and say, see, the answers really *are* there.
. .

Her gaze shifted and rested on his form, noting the way he was staring
at her as if she were the strangeness of space, as if her eyes could be
read and the entire mystery of science be discovered in those short
words.

He lifted a hand and it hovered just over her cheek, the magnetic
attraction between their skin like a fire that pulled them closer and
closer.

She watched in silence, waiting for him to stop.

He didn't this time.

His thumb landed on her cheekbone, a fairy touching down on her face,
then his lips danced along her mouth, brushing back and forth as if
seeking something.

She only breathed.

He leaned away, stunned with his own actions, unsure why he had even
felt the need to claim her like that, when the world seemed right around
them, and nothing was crashing or burning.

She was healthy, alive, living next to him. 

Why had he leaned down to kiss her then? She was staying, she was here,
she was even getting along with him.

But he couldn't understand himself, and he didn't know if he wanted to.

"I love you," he said gently, breathing the words like pure oxygen.

She blinked but didn't grimace. She sighed but didn't push him away.

He let himself hope.

"I. . .I know. I know," she said softly, taking his hand.

He wanted to kiss her again, but she turned her face and looked back to
the stars, her hand tight in his grip.

She said nothing more, and Mulder didn't push it.

~~~~

They stuck with the conference for two days, throwing in their own
thoughts about how the actual protocol should be worded, attempting to
hurry things along so everyone could get started.

One morning Scully woke up and found Mulder in her motel room, dressed
in jeans and a green T-shirt, his hair still wet from the shower and one
hand resting on her suitcase.

She blinked and glanced to the alarm clock.

It was ten in the morning.

"Why didn't you wake me?" she muttered, throwing off the heavy comforter
and struggling to untangle her legs from the sheet.

"I just got up myself. . .I think we should skip the conference today. .
."

She glared at him for a moment. "Did you tell them not to call and wake
me up?"

He gave her a mock wounded look, trying not to laugh.

"Scully. . .why on earth would I do that?"

She grumbled, then shoved him aside so she could get to the bathroom.

"Well, then, you can be thinking of what we're going to do while I take
a shower."

He caught her wrist and gave her a knowing look, then pouted.

"Am I in trouble?"

She scowled fiercely, but shook her finger at him. "No, but don't do it
again. Frankly, I was getting tired of the yelling."

He grinned as she closed the bathroom door, then sat down to plan out
just how he was going to seduce her.

He'd make her see just how good they could be. He'd make her understand
that this was real.

She felt it too, he knew she did.
~~~~

He just wouldn't stop.

Every day he somehow managed to distract her, keep her away from the
conference. They weren't missed anyway, but it still felt wrong for them
to skip out every day.

She tried to push him away, but he kept insinuating himself into
everything she did, and except when she went to the bathroom, he was
always there, being kind and considerate, and well, not himself.

She wanted him to stop acting like everything had changed.

Nothing had changed. Love didn't make it different, didn't make Atlanta
a cooler climate or her motel room any larger.

Love didn't make her want to suddenly jump in his arms or make love to
him all night, and love didn't let her mind see him as anything but
Mulder.

Mulder. He was her partner. Just Mulder.

She'd accept that love, but she wouldn't change herself for it.

She just couldn't do that to herself, no matter how much Mulder meant to
her.

She knew that as soon as aliens or UFO's came along, he'd be back to his
old self, mistrusting of her when she was the only one he ought to be
trusting, but placing his unprecented faith in those who were only out
to hurt him.

He'd given up before, and the memory of that was still bitter and sharp
in her soul, like a thorn on the rose of their partnership, a painful
digging that bled her dry.

She never thought she'd see the day when Fox Mulder gave up, gave in to
the powers that had controlled his life from the time he was twelve.

But he had, even called her and wanted to make her come with him, come
with him to a certain death, whether by fire or by the destruction of
her own fight, her pride.

How could he have ever thought she'd go along with that?

That one sleight had left her numb and cold, feeling as if she had to
fight to prove herself again, fight to keep him from plunging back into
that same melancholy after the X-Files were taken.

She wouldn't encourage his acts, but she was sure he'd understand that
not only could *he* not ever change, neither could she. Not for him, 
not for something that was as fragile and shifting as the wind.

Somehow, though, he wasn't picking up on that. She wasn't about to hurt
him either.

As they ate out at a small blues club, listening to an old man crowing
on stage and smelling the spicey fragrance of their Cajun dinner, she
told herself that it was okay to let him keep doing this.

It was really okay to let him think more than it actually was. . .to let
him wine and dine her. . .to bask in the glow he spread over her. . .to
let him lift her spirits after such a long time of feeling far away from
the world and from him.

It was okay.

She wasn't about to hurt him; she wouldn't crush his heart like so many
people had in his life. She did care for him, completely and in a way
that sexual love couldn't even touch on.

He'd given her more of his heart every night, still removed from his
past, but there nonetheless, listening to her and paying attention.

She was going to keep it safe inside her, locked tight away, never let
him down again.

Everything would be normal again when they went back to DC. . .he'd come
to his senses and stop acting like they were the last people on earth.

Work would start, cases would demand his attention, and it'd be back to
the same old thing.

She resolved herself to enjoying these brief days of lavish attention,
knowing she'd store away the memories for the times when his insensitive
behavior or his caustic closed-mouth hurt her.

Some part of her wished it didn't have to change, but she knew it would.

He was Mulder. He would always put work before anything else.
~~~~

~~~~

Part Two:  Red Dragon

~~~~

"Red dragon tattoo
It's just about on me
I got it for you
So now do you want me
Wth nothing to prove
Will you be my honey, oh yeah
In you I confide
Red dragon tattoo
I'm fit to be dyed
Am I fit to have you (?)"

--"Red Dragon Tattoo" Fountains of Wayne

~~~~

She was going to kill Fox Mulder.

If he looked over at her with those moonstruck eyes and the soft
expression one more time, she would kill him.

Right there in the basement office.

Couldn't he just stop already?

They'd been back from the Atlanta Conference for weeks now, and all he
did was stare at her unabashedly and come over to her apartment every
weekend, like a puppy begging for table scraps.

She liked being with him, yes, but she didn't know how to do this
anymore.

Not without hurting him, and she had promised herself she wouldn't do
that.

This had to stop though. Mulder needed to focus his energy back on the
X-Files, start plunging into the work like usual. They needed his
intensity, not his distraction.

How could she fix it between them?

He didn't think anything was wrong, really, but they had already
received two cases, and both times, Mulder had showed no enthusiasm for
the work, nor had he even once attempted to come up with a paranormal
theory.

Scully missed the old Mulder. She wanted him back.

Not the fool sitting with her down here, biding his time until five
o'clock came so they could both leave and he could sit next to her on
her couch and try to pry her life from her.

He brought wine, he wanted to talk, he rented movies like "Up Close and
Personal", he slept on her couch, he touched her hand every chance he
got, and he wasn't himself.

She couldn't stand it. She was going to seriously hurt him, injure him,
if he didn't stop.

Driving home that evening after leaving later than Mulder because of an
autopsy she'd been asked to perform, Scully prayed that her partner had
simply gone on home and curled himself into his couch and stayed there.

She wanted a long hot bath and no more Mulder.

When she pulled into her parking space, she noticed a grey Geo parked in
the Visitor's lot, the dark interior muffled by a man sitting inside.

It was Mulder.

She pretended not to see and walked quickly up the path to her apartment
building, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn't hear him follow.

Just as she got to the outside door, she heard breathing at her shoulder
and turned in surprise, reaching for her gun.

Mulder held her wrist easily, keeping her from drawing her weapon, and
letting her know it was only him.

She still wanted to open fire.

"Mulder. . ."

"Wanna watch the Knicks tonight, Scully?"

She counted to ten slowly in her head, seeing her perfect night ruined
and spoiled by Mulder's very unMulderlike behavior.

"No, Mulder. . .I don't."

Surprising herself with her own honesty, she turned back to her door,
fitting the key in the lock.

He touched her elbow. "Scully?"

She managed to struggle with the door long enough to open it, then
turned back to him, regretting her words but knowing they had to be
said.

"I just want some time to myself, Mulder. I'm taking a bath and going to
bed."

The look on her face added the rest -- 'and you can't come up either.'

His eyes betrayed the deep sense of pain at her weary look, but he
blamed himself, realizing in that instant just how stupid and foolish
he'd been, how selfish of him to want her all for himself when she had
just done an autopsy and was probably exhausted.

"Okay," he said softly, and his face shuttered away from her.

She felt the loss immediately, like someone had just taken a warm
blanket from around her body, leaving her struggling in the cold wind
alone.

She reached for his hand and smiled softly, never forgetting those words
he had breathed to her in Atlanta, a repitition of another night, when
she thought he was still caught in the aftermath of his hallucination.

"I'll see you Monday," she said emphatically, the not so subtle message
reaching him loud and clear.

She didn't want him over this weekend, and she wasn't going to let him
in if he did come.

Closing down on the shock of pain her words were pulsing through him,
Mulder nodded and shook free of her hand, walking back down the path.

She watched him leave and felt her heart ache, wishing she had simply
told him in the beginning.

--Mulder this will never work--

Selfishly, she had allowed herself to be caught up in his attention, in
the frenzy of his intensity, revelling in it even though she knew it
could never last.

As soon as he got over this, as soon as a case came along that would
have him off running again, she would be left in the dust to gather the
pieces of their partnership, Mulder oblivious to the damage.

But she should have stopped it in the beginning.

She should have told him she didn't love him back.
~~~~

The bathroom was shrouded in shadow and a golden candlelight, her towels
placed on an old wooden chair off to the side, and the claw feet of the
tub blending into the speckled tile of the floor.

She toed off the faucet and sunk deeper into the white clouds of
bubbles, feeling each tiny pocket of air explode against her skin.

Her feet throbbed from standing all day in the autopsy suite, and the
hot water worked deep into those sore muscles and aching joints like a
massage.

A tiny flicker of thought illuminated the dusky haze of her mind, and
she wondered if Mulder was okay, if he was taking care of himself and
heading home.

Usually, she didn't really worry about him, or even try and track him
down over the weekends. He'd call her from some motel claiming he had no
idea what day it was, and she'd go drive up there to find him in trouble
and bail him out.

But now, she was afraid he'd turn away from her, foolishly try to prove
something when he had nothing to prove to her.

She hoped he went home.

Please, Mulder, just let me have one weekend without trouble. . .without
confusion.
~~~~

She jerked, suddenly awake, the room dark and filled with midnight
shadows, her bed shaking from her violent start.

She paused, then heard the phone again, the insistent ring that spiked
into her consciousness like a needle.

Stumbling from her sleep, she pushed away the cobwebs, her body naked
and silver in the moonlight, the towel from her bath still at the foot
of the bed.

She must have fallen asleep.

The phone lay beside the white caller ID box, and she glanced to the
number as she picked it up.

With a groan, she shook her head.

Mulder.

"What's wrong?" she said.

"Who is this?"

"Who is this?" Scully replied, fear prickling along her skin and raising
the hair on the back of her neck.

"Oh. Sorry. This is Raid from 'Engravings' and I-"

"Who? What?" she sputtered, still unsure if this was a dream or reality.

"Raid. From 'Engravings.' It's a Body Piercing and Tatto Parlor. . .who
are you?"

"Dana Scully. . .how'd you get this phone?"

"Oh, you're gonna have to come pick up your boyfriend. He's knocked out
cold on my chair here and I need it in a half hour."

"Mulder?"

"Yeah, that's his name. He's in no condition to drive home."

"Where is this again?"

Scully listened intently as Raid gave her directions to his place on
Vance, then hung up, numb.

Mulder.

This had to stop.
~~~~

She pushed open the glass door, which was papered over in black poster
board that displayed the different tattoos available, and found the
darkness blinding.

Soon her eyes adjusted and she noticed a skinny man coming toward her,
his glasses thick and black, his jeans baggy and wide-legged.

She pegged him as a skater, then waited until she could see the entire
shop before moving further inside.

She immediately saw the curtained area and Mulder's unconscious form
sprawled on a padded chair.

"Dana Scully?" the booming voice inquired.

She glanced to the thin man in surprise, then nodded.

"He's back here. I can get some of the guys to help you carry him out. .
."

"Thanks. . .let me see if I can get him up first."

The man nodded, then reached out to shake her hand. "I'm Raid, by the
way. Sorry 'bout your boyfriend."

"He's not. . .thanks for calling me."

Scully simply shook her head and moved behind the curtain, looking
carefully over his body.

"Mulder?" she whispered, kneeling next to his prone form.

His green T-shirt was hung on the rack beside his chair, and his skin
was dusted with freckles, as if he'd been outside recently, working.

She ran a hand down his back, feeling the heat of his skin through her
fingers, and softly calling his name.

Raid had followed her inside, and he watched her for a moment, then
said, "He got plastered. I'm not sure how he got here, but once he was
inside, he drank a bottle of scotch and paid me up front to tattoo him."

Scully's brow rose and she glanced up at the man. "A tattoo?"

Raid nodded and pointed to the small of his back, saying, "Yup. Stylized
dragon, right there. He went out about halfway through, so I finished it
up and called you."

"He was drinking?"

"Yeah. That happens a lot here. Some guys can't take the pain."

Scully shook her head and peered at his back, looking for the dragon.

It was black and slithering along his spine like a branching disease,
yet it somehow looked dangerous and alluring.

She wondered why he'd gotten a tattoo.

"Mulder?"

There was a moan, and his head lifted from the chair, the plastic
peeling off his face.

"Scully. . ."

"Mulder, what have you done?"

"I got it for you, Scully. . ." he mumbled, his eyes still closed, head
pounding.

She sighed. "We need to get you home, Mulder. Can you walk out with me?"

"I got it for you. Same place as yours. . .just to show you."

"You certainly showed me, Mulder. Now can you get up?"

"Mmm. . ."

He pushed himself off the chair, his arms trembling slightly, then
managed to tumble off onto the floor.

She helped him up, biting back a laugh, amazed at herself for not
feeling put out, or even angry at him.

He fumbled against her for a moment, then his eyes cleared. "My shirt. .
."

"It's right here Mulder. Let's get it over your head."

He nodded and she sat him down on the stool beside the dentist chair,
keeping him upright with a soft hand on his chest, grabbing his shirt
from the peg.

Raid helped her get his arms through the holes as he mumbled about
dragons dancing through his brain, and Scully gratefully thanked the
skinny man before she shuffled Mulder out the door.

She opened her passenger car door, then pushed him through and pulled on
his seatbelt.

He groaned and held his head in his hands, his body jerking.

Suddenly, he pushed her fingers away and shoved her hard.

She stumbled back as he jumped from the car and soon, the contents of
his stomach were sprayed in the garbage can out front.

Scully wiped his mouth on the edge of his T-shirt, then patted his
shoulder as he trembled.

"Oh, Mulder. Why did you do this to yourself?" she sighed, not expecting
an answer.

"Just like you, Scully. This time, it's all about you."

She frowned, feeling the prick of guilt starting in her gut, and trapped
his face between her hands to look in his eyes.

"Mulder, you've got to stop acting like this."

He shrugged and his eyes unfocused, so she helped him back to the car,
this time able to strap him in and get inside herself.

She drove slowly, trying not to make any sudden stops or turn too
sharply.

He fell back into sleep on the way.
~~~~

Scully let him tumble into the couch, knowing that the walk from her car
and up the stairs to her apartment had exhausted him.

She watched his breath skirting along her throw pillows, then leaned
down next to him, resting her chin on the cushion.

He looked beautiful, she had to admit. Even drunk and mumbling, his lips
looked slick and inviting, and his fingers curled tightly into fists.

She wished he wouldn't do this. Especially not for her.

Tattoos weren't something that made him better in her eyes, and his
little escapade had only proved to her that she had to do something.

Had to make him understand.

But how could she let him down without crushing him? She knew he would
get over his love for her, or at least look past it, but that initial
pain, that sick feeling that came when you knew you couldn't have the
one thing you wanted most, at least the thing you wanted right then.

She needed him, she depended upon him, but the things that she needed
and depended upon were things she had without his love.

She needed his strength, his conviction, his belief. She needed that
unending trust that he so elaborately bestowed upon her. Or had at one
point.

The thought made her freeze and she shifted to look at his sleeping
face.

His trust.

More important to her than his love. . .his trust.

If she denied him his feelings, if she cast it away, she'd lose his
trust.

She knew that without a doubt.

With Diana and everything, their trust was already on shaky ground, his
frustration at her inability to believe and her own suspicions about his
loyalty clouding an already delicate issue.

She clutched a fist to her stomach, finding it hard to breathe.

How could she continue without his trust?

She would throw away her entire life if she told Mulder she didn't love
him, she would effectively destroy the best relationship she'd ever had.
Mulder meant more to her than her family, and while she was somewhat
abashed to find it true, she was not ashamed.

She didn't want to do this without Mulder.

It would be so awful and difficult and restraining if they were always
tiptoeing around each other, trying not to appear too involved.

She liked where they were now, she liked the comfort and ease between
them.

Lately, they hadn't had it, but that was because of his whispered words
in Atlanta.

Words that, for however brief a moment, had made her feel special,
desired, alive again.

Burying her head in the couch, she could smell his body, the sweat and
the cologne, plus the bitter remnants of the scotch.

Saying nothing could be worse than telling him no. Saying nothing caused
events like this. . .

Scully reached out and pushed back the lock of hair falling into his
eyes, feeling that odd rush of tenderness and concern envelope her.

Would it be so bad to simply give in to this man?
~~~~

When Mulder woke again, he immediately knew he'd done something very
stupid.

Or maybe not.

She was watching him with a look of utmost tenderness, her hands gentle
along his back.

"What. . .what're you doing?" he muttered, writhing a bit in her grip.

"You don't want this to get infected, Mulder."

He frowned, then remembered the tattoo.

His smile broke the darkness in her living room and she shook her head.

"Doesn't it look cool?"

She sighed. "Mulder, you haven't even seen it yet."

He shrugged. "So?"

"Mulder, why'd you do this?"

He grew quiet, remembering clearly his leaps of logic that led him to
stumbling into a tattoo parlor at eleven-thirty that night.

But there was no way he was going to tell her those reasons.

They were crazy and had no basis in reality.

How would a tattoo make her want him? She didn't. There was nothing more
to say, nothing else to do.

He'd seen the look in her eyes as she'd begged for a weekend without
him.

"I'll leave, Scully. You probably have to. . .do something."

Pushing up, Mulder left the couch to grab his shirt again, ignoring the
shocked look on her face.

"You said you did this because of me," she said.

Back turned to her, Mulder grimaced.

Shoot. He was a gabby drunk.

"Mulder."

He shook off her words and moved for the door, stumbling over his feet
with the pounding in his head.

"Mulder, stop."

Her little body was suddenly in front of his, blocking him from getting
out the door unless he shoved her aside.

He might be hung-over, but he wasn't stupid.

She watched him for a moment, then, certain he would stay, she moved in
closer, touching his arm lightly.

"Why'd you get a dragon tattoo, Mulder?"

"Because they're viscious."

She crossed her arms and furrowed her brow, clearly not going to accept
that as an answer.

"Scully, it really doesn't make any sense now that I think about it. I
was drunk. . ."

"Raid told me you weren't drunk until after you had decided to get it.
Some kind of logical thought went into this."

He growled and collapsed back into her chair, knowing that it didn't
matter anymore, she already knew his darkest, deepest secret.

"You got a tattoo on your back. I guess I thought that if I did it too,
I could understand you, find some kind of connection. . .Are you happy
now? I really ought to go."

"Mulder. Sit back down."

He complied, not looking in her eyes, knowing there'd be such pity and
pathetic sympathy for him in her face. Maybe he *was* that pathetic, but
he didn't need her to confirm it for him.

"Mulder. . .this has to stop."

He shrugged. "What? There's nothing here. You made that perfectly
obvious."

She shook her head at his anger. "No, Mulder, you made it perfectly
obvious that there is."

Mulder wasn't going to look at her. No way. It'd kill him to have to
watch her put him down gently.

He wasn't about to let that happen.

Standing quickly, Mulder pushed away from her outstretched hand, making
it to the doorway without tripping over his feet.

The tattoo ached and burned. She'd probably put alcohol on it to keep it
from getting infected.

Trust Scully to hurt him under the guise of protecting him.

He wasn't going to sit in her apartment and let her make him more and
more uncomfortable. He wasn't going to let her tell him that he couldn't
possibly love her-

"Mulder. I think we should get married."

He froze, hand a talon on the door knob, his body stiff with rage and
hope.

"What?" he said harshly, and spun to face her.
~~~~

~~~~

Part Three:  Never Do

~~~~

"Sitting there watching time fly past you
Why do tomorrow
What you could never do
How she loved you
All you imagined
All the shit you put her through"

--"Troubled Times" Fountains of Wayne

~~~~

Scully licked her lips and ran all the arguments and effects and ideas
through her head quickly, not watching Mulder.

He gaped at her, then came forward, roughly taking her by the arms.

"Why did you say?"

It was the only way. . .

"We ought to get married."

He stared at her still, face pressed into shock and suspicion, fingers
bruising her shoulders.

"We ought to?"

She nodded and let her eyes flicker over his face, feeling her breath
catch and her heart pound.

Convenience. This was for convenience, for *him* because he needed her
and she needed him. She needed him in the same house with her, tied to
her somehow, in case something happened, in case he closed himself off
and pushed her away. He couldn't shut her out if he was her husband. . .
right?

"Why should we?" he said suddenly.

She blinked, feeling a stark coldness empty her of life.

She'd been wrong. He didn't love her. Even though he had said it, he
hadn't known what he meant, and now she was being stupid, trying to act
all rational and calm and here he was glowering at her. . .

He saw the sudden black steal over her eyes and realized he'd said the
wrong thing.

"Scully, why would you ever want to marry me?"

His words were in the same whisper as the 'I love you' but she refused
to believe their sincerity, instead she closed her eyes and refused to
acknowledge how deep the pain in her went.

"Can we do it now?"

She jerked in his arms, her eyes flying wide open to stare into his.

He was clutching to her desperately, afraid his thoughtless words had
hurt them beyond salvage.

She was always giving him a second chance.

"Now?" she whispered, stunned.

She had to keep repeating the reason for this in her head. . .Mulder,
Mulder, Mulder. . .

She needed his trust, needed the old Mulder.

"Let's fly to some casino strip and get married."

She wrinkled her nose. "Casino?"

Mulder quickly glanced to his watch, rubbing her elbows with his thumbs.

She was catching fire.

"A casino is the only place open at three in the morning, Scully."

Why was she doing this? Scully, Scully, Scully. . . .trust.

"I trust you, Mulder."

He grinned and swooped down, bathing her mouth with his tongue and teeth
and lips, scalding her pure and clean.

She writhed under him and pushed her tongue between his lips, pressing
for entrance.

He broke away gruffly, surprised at her aggressiveness, at the way her
lips were thick and ripe, and her cheeks flushed with heady desire.

If he was surprised, she was shocked.

She'd never known this kind of passion was dormant in her blood, passion
for him.

Lust.

Trust.

She shook her head and raised an eyebrow at him.

"You coming?"

He laughed in relief and grabbed her hand, not sure if this had been his
idea or hers, but liking it anyway.

She was going to be his wife. His.

He'd have her forever. 

He needed her, loved her, maybe sometimes forgot about her, or dismissed
her. . .

It didn't make this between them any less.

And he knew he'd have to prove that to her. Knew that this sudden jump
was some twisted way of hers to keep him from going off the deep end.

He told himself it didn't matter, that she loved him anyway, even if she
couldn't recognize it.

But there was an ache slithering around in his heart, like that black
dragon hooking its claws into his back and spine.

He squeezed her hand and ignored it.
~~~~

They hadn't needed to fly to a casino strip, instead they'd driven
around all morning in silence, sort of delaying the change while they
could.

She wondered if he was getting over loving her already, and she didn't
know if she wanted that, not with the taste of him still on her tongue.

She sat still, clutching the seat in white knuckled hands, wishing she
hadn't said anything and wishing he'd speak about it.

But when he finally spoke, the sun was breaking through the windshield
and assaulting her eyes with the morning. He had pulled into a parking
lot behind some old building; she didn't quite know where they were.

"Why do you think we ought to get married?"

She whipped her head around to look at him, the white gold of the sun
casting her hair in silvers and pale yellows, like a painting.

"Why? Because. . ."

She shrugged, but she knew why.

Because I don't want you to leave me, because I need you in my life,
because somehow, someway, you're the most important thing to me.

Because I can't hurt you.

"Because of love?" he asked.

She nodded mutely, not able to lie, but not willing to let go of him.

"Scully. . .if you don't love me, don't do this to me."

Flames of fear and shame caught her face, and she turned away from him,
struggling between two demons, knowing that whatever she said in this
car was going to damage something.

Someone.

"Do what to you? Give you what you want? Give you myself?"

His eyes drilled into hers like coals, and she stared back, trying not
to look away.

"I want you Scully. But not if you don't."

She smiled and shook her head, glad to know the truth on this one and be
able to tell it.

"Oh, I do, Mulder."

He twitched in surprise, his hands clutching the steering wheel, his
eyes jumping away from hers.

She did? She did.

She . . . did.

"You do?" he asked, glancing back to her.

She nodded.

She was telling him the absolute truth, he could see it.

He remembered tasting it.

Mulder shook his head. "I don't want you to settle, Scully."

She sighed. "Mulder. . .you'd be the one settling. I. . .maybe I don't
love you like you need me to. Maybe this is an awful idea."

She felt the tears choking her words despite telling herself it was only
the truth, only the right thing to do.

It felt like she was giving away her soul.

"I think that maybe any love you have is good enough for me."

She turned her head to him, blinking away the tears, not going to let
them fall.

"What?"

"Maybe you just don't understand what you want, Scully. Or maybe your
heart is trying to tell you exactly what you need and you're finally
listening to it."

She was crying. The wet tracks coated her cheeks with salty proof of her
pain, and she shook her head, trying not to look at him.

He caught her head in his hand and cupped her cheeks, rubbing his thumb
down to her lips.

"Don't cry. I want you with me any way I can get it, Scully. Your
choice."

He pulled her into his arms, letting her cheek rest along his chest, her
tears dried by the smooth cotten. She slipped her arms around his waist,
blocking out all thoughts except for the feeling of him against her.

"Just once, I want something to go good for us."

He chuckled against her hair, and stroked her neck with two fingers,
smelling her shampoo and faint perfume.

When he suddenly winced, she remembered his tattoo and pulled back.

"Does it hurt?"

He grimaced. "A bit. Not enough for you to leave. . ."

She was given a sly wink and couldn't help smiling.

"Where are we at?"

"Behind the house of a justice of the peace. A friend of my father's. .
.he's actually honest."

She looked at the tall stately home jutting out from behind a wrought
iron fence and jungle garden.

She turned back to him and shook her head. "Why don't we go in there and
wake him up?"

His mouth dropped open and he blinked, sure he'd heard her wrong.

"What?"

She remained silent, one hand on the door, one flat on the seat. She was
unconsciously telling him it was his choice.

His choice.

"He's not going to be too happy," Mulder warned.

"He'll get over it."

She smiled and waited.

Mulder laughed to himself and yanked open his door, hurrying around the
front to meet her at the hood of the car, breathless.

She turned up her face and kissed his Adam's apple, a blush creeping up
her cheeks.

Mulder took her hand and led her through the trees and around to the
front porch.
~~~~

They sat in the library of the ancient home, content with reading titles
of books, heads tilted just so, mouths parted as they silently took in
the air of the place.

Mulder straightened up and regarded her carefully, the play of her
fingers in nervous circles along her leg as she thought about what they
were going to do.

The justice of the peace was presently getting ready, collecting his
things, finding the various memebers of his household to act as
witnesses, getting dressed himself.

They hadn't woken him, because, as usual, he was up and moving about
this morning.

Mulder touched her hand and cocked his head.

"Why are you doing this?"

Her head swivelled to look at him, but her eyes were tight and shuttered
against his invading inquiry. He wished he could pull down those old
walls, crash and burn them to nothing.

He'd put her through some awful times.

Shaking his head, Mulder took her hand in his and squeezed it tightly.

"Please, just explain it to me, Scully."

He wanted her to say, because I love you, but this was Scully, and she
never acted on emotions.

"I just want it to be right again. . ."

His surprise tinted the air with a trace of bitterness, but she ignored
it and took a deep breath.

"What do you mean?" he hissed, pulling closer to her on the couch.

"Like it used to be, before. . .before everything."

He wanted to laugh in desperation. "There *was* no before. Scully,
before everything was you walking in that office door saying you were
looking forward to working with me."

She didn't deny it, didn't answer, and he had the sudden, giddy,
impression that she'd been in love with him back *then* but didn't want
to say.

"How did it use to be?"

She looked up to him, realizing that, somehow, her proposal had gone
from being selfless to very selfish. This wasn't for Mulder, wasn't to
keep the focus on the X-Files, wasn't  to make things all right between
them. . .

"It used to be just us," she said finally, expelling her breath in one
long gust that breathed out all her worry and frustration and emptiness.

"Just us. . .It's always just us, Scully. Never could it be anything
else."

She shook her head, certain he'd never understand.

"Scully. . .Scully, don't *marry* me because you're feeling posessive,"
he said, angry and confused and feeling more than a little hurt.

But her eyes turned to his with shame and bright fire, something that
might have been love, if he could accept that.

"I'm not looking to own you, Mulder. I want . . ." 

She stopped, her breath hitching as she realized exactly what she did
want.

"What? What do you want?"

She shook her head and looked away from him, feeling ridiculous.

Normal. Ha.

She wanted normal.

Just then, the elderly gentleman walked into the library, carrying a
bunch of papers and some notes, showing them the legal sections of their
contract.

Bloodwork was forgone because their blood was permanently on file at the
Bureau, and Mulder held his hand out to her, rising.

She looked thoughtful for a moment, but took his hand, letting him pull
her up.

For whatever the reasons, they were going through with it.
~~~~

It wasn't at all like she had imagined, in those brief few seconds where
she knew she would go through with it and wanted it to be special. . .it
wasn't like that at all.

The man had a grizzled voice that spoke of his years as a POW in World
War II, totured to the point where his vocal cords had ripped from
screaming. It made her sad to hear him speak, and she had to keep
focusing her mind on the content, not the sound.

Mulder didn't even hold her hand, and she was somewhat grateful, since
her own palms were slick with nervousness, but she kept wishing he
would.

They said 'yes' at the pauses and signed their names together and then
stood there awkwardly as he pronounced them man and wife.

Then Mulder turned to her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, close
enough that his lips brushed the corner of her mouth and reminded her of
how much his taste lingered.

They left the study and followed the justice down the hallway to the
back door, his grin of amusement not lost on Scully.

As they walked through the jungled remains of spring's beauty, Scully
felt his hand come to the small of her back, burning a brand into her
skin, and she could feel the afterimage of his lips on her cheek, close
to her mouth.

When they slipped inside the car, neither could think of something to
say to break the sudden awkwardness that engulfed them like an icey
wave, crashing them back to the shore of uncertainty.

"So. . ."

Mulder gave her a funny look, then decided to plunge back into the
water.

"So. . .you gonna let me take you to a nice place for a honeymoon?"

Her face reddened, but the heat was more from sudden desire than
embarassment. He didn't know that, and he drummed the steering wheel as
his confidence left him.

"I. . .we can just. . ." His words were lost in his confusion.

"No. . .no, that's okay. You can. . ."

It took him a moment to understand what she meant, and even then, he was
reluctant to make that conclusion. This was Scully, she wasn't usually.
. .

He paused, licked his lips, and shook his head. Usual Scully had left
town a while ago, and here was this. . .this person who made his lips
tingle when he touched hers, and whose presence made him feel like
liquid.

"I can?"

She gave him a hesitant smile. "Yes."

He wasted no time in starting up the car and feeling it shudder out of
the parking lot behind the man's house, and then smooth out onto the
street.

"You mean it?" he said again.

She snorted. "Mulder, just drive."

He nodded and let the silence deepen.
~~~~

When it came down to it, she didn't want to go to a hotel, so they ended
up driving to his apartment, walking in the door like they did it every
day.

Scully dropped her purse into his couch and looked around, asessing it
as if she were going to claim his living room as her own.

He felt a flash of annoyance that was followed quickly by a sudden awe.

She was going to claim his apartment, claim *him* in a way that was old
as time, right here, today.

Mulder walked in behind her and pushed his hands into his jean pockets,
watching her stand silently in the room. He realized suddenly that she
was nervous.

Nervous about him.

"Scully, why don't we get some lunch first?"

She shivered. First. As if there was something *else* to do, something
second or third.

"Okay. Lunch."

He grinned and pulled his hands from his pockets, taking her elbows with
his long, warm fingers. She looked up, her eyes blue and small, and took
a deep breath.

"Where do you want to go?"

He hadn't about that yet. "Um. . .I'm ashamed to discover I have no clue
what kind of place you like. Besides that tofu and honey stuff."

She smiled and relaxed immediately, somehow finding comfort in his
discomfort.

"Anything when I'm hungry."

He nodded and took her hand, leading her to his kitchen. "Then let's eat
here. . .I'll even make your sandwich for you."

She sat down on the bar stool he offered and smiled at his wink, picking
up scattered coupons and a few napkins which had notes scraweled on
them.

He watched her place them in a pile, neatly organizing them as she did,
and felt an odd surge of tenderness because he knew he'd grow to hate
that. It was bewildering, knowing that something like that, just odd
habits and pet peeves, would be so unknown to him, so strange.

How well did he know her? Enough for them to live together and not get
on each other's nerves?

"What kind do you want? I've got peanut butter and jelly, or deli meat."

"Peanut butter and jelly is good."

He was surprised. "You like peanut butter and jelly?"

She nodded and smiled. "It's good with chips. Put the chips inside the
sandwich and eat it all together."

He laughed. "I haven't done that since I was a kid."

She shrugged. "What can I say?"

He smiled again and thought about her little quirks. What did it matter?

"I have an idea. . ." he said.

She glanced up from her piles and looked to his intense stare, his hands
busy twisting off the peanut butter top.

"Let's make a date."

Her eyebrow rose and she folded her hands in her lap. "Little late for
that, wouldn't you say?"

His eyes flashed humor at her and he looked down to smooth the peanut
butter on two slices of bread.

"I'm serious. Something fancy, so I can take you out. We can talk and
catch up on everything we somehow missed. How about it?"

She felt honored he was making the effort, but the more reasonable part
of her mind told her there was no way he'd actually talk to her, no way
they'd be normal.

"Okay. When?"

He frowned. "How about next Thursday? That way wherever we go, it won't
be crowded too badly, and we shouldn't have any new cases start up."

Scully fingered the cross on her necklace, and nodded enthusiastically,
feeling a thrill of excitement despite the warnings in her head.

He was committed to this; he was trying.

Mulder interrupted her reverie to set a plate down in front of her, the
peanut butter sandwich and some plain Lays chips set out in its creamy
blue surface.

"Thanks, Mulder."

They ate in relative silence, the munch of chips or the sip at a glass
of water the only disturbances to the peacefulness. Scully felt her body
relaxing and she managed to push her nervousness away.

Mulder watched her eat with a certain sexuality he hadn't known before,
and now he wondered about. Her tongue pushed through her lips to touch
the rim of the cup before the glass met flush with her mouth. Her eyes
scattered brilliant blue light across the kitchen like the sky on
intense summer days. Her fingers were gentle and practiced, holding
confidently to the bread or dabbing her napkin on her mouth.

She finished before him, but he quickly scarffed down the rest of his
own sandwich and took their plates to the sink, saying, "Now for
dessert."

She was wondering what he could possibly have in his freezer for dessert
(she'd seen his freezer before) and picking at the placemat on the
counter, listening to the plates clink in the sink.

That's why she missed his movements until she suddenly felt his heat
near her, his breath tickling the top of her head.

Dessert.

Her heart twisted like a trapped raccoon and she unconsciously parted
her mouth to slide her tongue along her chapped lips.

His breath caught and she could feel his body lurch into her, his arms
coming around to cradle her body. The chair was caught between them, but
she could feel his warmth like a blanket.

He pulled her up and away from the counter, into his arms as his lips
sought hers.

She sighed and fit into him snugly, pressing her nose to his chest and
letting his hands stroke her back.

There was a short moment of comfort, and then her body began to respond
to his; she arched into him and stood on her tiptoes to meet his mouth
in a heady kiss.
~~~~

She lay in his bed watching him breathe and wondered if this day made it
her bed now.

If so, maybe she could convince him to get the waterbed back; she
thought a waterbed sounded somewhat romantic, even though that was kind
of a silly idea.

He let out a long breath and murmured in his sleep, like a child having
a dream.

Scully was on her stomach, her face pressed to the pillow, Mulder's body
laying an arm's length away. She reached out and touched his chin,
smiling a bit with the oddness of it.

Mulder and her.

Together like this, in a way she'd never seriously thought before, not
without a hint of disbelief.

Her thumb stroked down his chin as if she were wiping away traces of
their lunch, and she scooted in closer to him, resting her forehead
against his nose.

Mulder grunted and his eye dragged open sleepily to look at her.

She gave him a small hesitant smile, and he pulled his arm from under
his body and snaked it around her shoulders.

"Mm. . ." he muttered, and his eyes closed again.

She pushed her chilled skin against his warmth, hiding herself in his
embrace.

Before he drifted off to sleep again, he placed a gentle kiss to her
hairline, reminiscent of her days in the hospital, and a comforting
connection to what they used to be.

She put a hand to his waist and rubbed her thumb along his ribs.

Surprising her with a sudden growl, Mulder drew her in closer to him.

"We shoulda done this a long time ago," he muttered.

She muffled a laugh into his arm and closed her eyes to fall back
asleep, relaxed again.
~~~~

~~~~

Part Four: You've Got a Lot of Nerve

~~~~

"And it takes a lot of nerve to ask how she is doing
Start with a weak foundation you will end in ruins"

--"Troubled Times" Fountains of Wayne

~~~~

She couldn't help it.

She was excited, really looking forward to Thursday, the date they had
all planned out.

Sunday morning she got up early and made herself breakfast, being
careful not to wake him, unsure just exactly what his morning routine
would be. Using the skillet to make an omlette, Scully fought the waves
of confusion that rode through her.

For a week they had gone to work, done the background research for a few
cases, argued over theories and semantics, been the same two people they
had always been.

She was thrilled. It had been the same as always, his intensity, his
focus, his incredible determination about the X-Files. She had found
herself being caught up in the whirlwind of his new energy, breathless
in the enthusiasm.

But when they got home. . .Mulder crashed on the couch and she curled up
beside him, while the television spouted commercials and late night
comedy.

She wondered about her apartment, if they went back there, would it be
the same? Every night they went to his, and while she enjoyed it, she
felt somewhat out of place, somewhat disassociated. Mulder promised her
they'd alternate between the two until they could decide on a new
apartment.

As she went scrounging for shredded cheese, her bare feet sticking to
the cold linoleum, she heard Mulder come shuffling into the kitchen.

His arms came around her waist and she shivered in the sudden warmth,
pushing him away as she pulled out the cheese from the fridge.

As she straightened up, Scully brushed a strand of hair back, tucking it
behind an ear and smiling at him.

"Did I wake you?"

He grinned. "Yup," he said.

She didn't apologize; he didn't seem upset.

Moving over to the stove, she sprinkled cheese liberally into the
skillet, feeling him settle behind her on the counter.

"You making breakfast?" he asked.

She nodded. "Want some?"

"Oh yeah. I wouldn't have thought you'd approve of omlettes."

She snorted. "I indulge on Sundays," she said.

He hoisted himself onto the counter, swinging his legs and watching her
cook in his kitchen.

"Well, I'm thinking that's good for me. . ." he said finally, throwing
her a look.

She ignored his sexual banter, as always, and flipped the omlette over,
mashing it down with the spatula.

"Can I do anything?" he asked.

"Um, yeah. Get us something to drink," she said, looking over her
shoulder to him.

He grinned and jumped off the counter to stride over to his fridge.
Sticking his head inside, he muttered, "Looks like we have. . .orange
juice. . .and. . ."

His head popped up to look at her; she waited.

"Orange juice. Which would you prefer?" he said.

She grinned. "I'll try the orange juice."

He nodded. "Good choice. It's a good year."

"I hope it's *this* year," she said, scooping out half the omlette onto
a plate, then the other half onto another.

He frowned. "I think so. Not too sure."

She shook her head and grabbed forks from the right hand drawer next to
the stove. Mulder led them to the counter and they sat on the bar
stools, comfortable in their silence.

After a few minutes, Mulder poked her arm and licked his fork clean.
"That was great. What are we going to do today?"

Scully glanced down at her plate for a minute and finished chewing her
bite of food.

"Well, I'm going to church in about thirty minutes. . ." she said
finally.

Mulder looked at her in shock for a long time, then nodded. "Okay."

For some reason, Scully felt relieved he had agreed so easily, but a
sense of fury directed at herself rose after the relief: This was her
life. Her decision to make. If she wanted to go to church, she shouldn't
have to feel she needed Mulder's approval.

Nonetheless, she felt better for it.

"Is a work suit okay?" he asked.

She glanced over to him, confused. "What?"

He pushed off the stool and took her plate with his, then placed them in
the sink.

"If you don't mind that is. . ."

"You want to come with me?" she said, eyebrow raising.

"I want to be with you," he answered, looking embarassed.

Her heart flipped crazily and she fiddled with her napkin a moment
before looking up at him.

"Suit's great," she said finally.
~~~~

They had to speed to her apartment so she could get dressed and put on
make-up. Mulder stayed in the living room, unsure of his place in her
life here, frustrated because he really didn't want to be going to
church the first weekend of their marriage.

She floated from the back bedroom and into his view, the combination of
beige and blue in riots of small flowers making her seem otherworldly to
him, almost ethereal. She was putting on an earring, and with her head
tilted just so, and her lips parted, he became very glad he'd decided to
come along.

"Are you sure, Mulder? I'm helping with the nursery this morning."

His sense of danger went up a few notches, but Mulder resolutely
demanded to go, still wondering exactly what she meant by nursery.

Grabbing an old Bible that had been laid in a table drawer, Scully
walked over to her kitchen, rooting around in the cabinets.

"What're you looking for?" he said.

When she glanced over to look at him, her face held such obvious delight
at his company, such open acceptance of this new role in their lives,
that he felt the warmth shiver through his spine and down to his toes.

"I washed some of the toys from last Sunday. . ." she mumbled.

Eyebrow rising in triumph, she then pulled a bag of toddler toys down
from the shelf, then tucked her Bible under one arm and grabbed his
hand.

"Ready?" she said.

He nodded and swallowed hard, then followed her out the door.
~~~~

They walked the two blocks to the community church while she spoke
sparingly about the buildiing and the people there, hinting at a side of
her he hadn't even known existed.

She needed family around her, support, and she hadn't been getting that
from him. Mulder saw this very clearly as she talked, her face
cautiously expressive, wanting to share the beauty she found there, yet
zealously guarding it from his religious intolerance.

The truth was, Mulder respected Scully and her faith more than she knew,
and while he was dreading a long winded sermon about the evils of the
world, he was looking forward to seeing her here, anxious to have every
layer of her soul bared before him.

She was quiet when they walked inside, and the air took on a slightly
musty smell from the concrete walls and boxes of clothes lining the
walls. A rickety table was set up at the back, and Scully motioned for
him to stand still while she grabbed one of the leaflets from its
surface.

Mulder watched her move through the crowd, stopping to drop her shielded
look for one of pure joy as she was halted by one member after another.
The congregation was a mixture of black and white, and it held a certain
harmony that was incongruent with a lot of his preconceived ideas.

Scully drifted back to his side, then glanced at his closed off face
with a smile.

"Mulder, don't worry. No hellfire and brimstone sermons this time," she
whispered.

He ducked his head to smell the traces of her perfume he could catch
hints of, and rubbed his jaw.

"Oh. . ."

"I'm working in the nursery during services."

He was confused, assualted with the words and phrases of the churched
and cut out of the loop. She was talking openly and smoothly with the
elderly couple who had just arrived, her small smile almost infectious.

She introduced him, then added, "He's my husband."

The couple gushed over him, shaking his hand and making jokes about 'no
time like the present' and seemed so genuinely happy that he had come.

Mulder stared after them for a moment, then glanced to Scully.

Her husband.

It even sounded strange from her lips. 

"That news will be all over church in about five minutes," she said,
giving him a tight grin.

He took her hand softly and shrugged, "I want it to be. When you walked
through this crowd, I saw those heads turn."

She rolled her eyes at him, obviously not believing his words, but they
hadn't been lies.

He let her lead through the short halls, then along to the nursery,
asking questions as she smiled and waved at friends and older couples.

"What were those clothes doing at the front?" he said, waiting for her
to look his way.

She licked her lips and the gloss seemed to shine and glow in the bright
sunshine spilling in through the windows.

"We have a Clothes Closet at the church for the poorer people in the
neighborhood. This allows them to get clothes they really need for free.
It's especially important in the winter, so we try to stock up during
the summer months."

He was impressed, and she continued to calmly explain some of the bigger
projects this church was doing for the community, like painting homes,
fixing things, supplying food and clothes, even school supplies.

She hushed when they reached a large set of double Dutch doors, the top
half pushed aside so one could see inside, kind of like a stable. Mulder
peeked in as she opened the bottom half and saw a soft blue sky painted
mural-fashion along the walls, with cribs and baby swings set up.

Scully flipped on the light and placed her things in a cubby hole, her
shirt twisting and sliding along her skin like a snake twining around a
branch. Mulder spread his palms on her back and smoothed it free of
wrinkles, not missing the shiver that passed through her body.

Irked with the momentary feeling of shame as he touched her, Mulder
moved in closer to kiss her neck, his thumbs heavy and posessive on her
skin.

She didn't turn into him, but he could feel her heart thudding through
her body, and he wondered idily if it was painful, wracking her like
that.

"Do you have many kids?"

She shook her head. "This is the six to twelve months. . .maybe one or
two. Sometimes they take them in to the service."

"So we could be alone for awhile?" he murmured, brushing her hair away
from her neck and feeling an odd sense of challenge, a need to make her
voice unstable, shake her calm.

She murmured something back, then moved away, practically panting with
the sudden onslaught, her dress swirling about her legs like a breeze.

He smiled and moved to one of the rocking chairs, then dropped into it,
feeling drained.

She frowned. "Did you get any sleep, Mulder?"

He shrugged. "Some."

He'd been up thinking about her, wishing he could wake her up and kiss
her, but knowing that the line he walked with her was thin and unsteady,
and he wasn't about to tip the balance.

She moved to stand beside him, her hands coming to his hair to comb it
into place, her thumbs brushing his forehead.

He closed his eyes and relaxed into her touch, easing at the gentleness
her very skin seemed to bathe him in. She pulled him to rest against her
stomach, and he sighed, sneaking his arms around her waist.

He mumbled into her belly, his eyes closed, lips electric against the
thin fabric of her dress.

She threaded her hands through his hair, rubbing one finger along his
ear, remembering a little too late that the movement made him fall
asleep.

He was slumped and breathing slowly before she could escape his grip, so
she gently cradled his head in her hands and let him fall back against
the rocker, tucking one of the baby blankets around his shoulders.

She heard a noise in the hall and went to the door to greet a mother,
smiling and making soothing noises to a baby girl.

The mother glanced over at Mulder and gave Scully a wink. "You've got a
touch," she whispered, and handed the child over to her.

Scully instantly smiled, feeling an odd sense of pride and posession
wash over her, then took the diaper bag from the woman.

"Well, it's easy when they're tired."

"Ah. This is Gracie. She shouldn't be any trouble. . .nap time is in
about thirty minutes too."

"We should be fine. Right Gracie?"

The woman nodded and waved at her baby, then backed away slowly, hoping
she wouldn't scream this time.

The little girl only gave a half-sob and sighed in Scully's arms. 

Gracie turned and watched Mulder breathing for a moment, and then her
little blue eyes met Scully's bigger ones.

Scully smiled at her look of incredulity, then moved to sit in the other
rocker, slowly slipping into the rhythms of mothering.
~~~~

Mulder woke suddenly to the disorienting cries of an infant, the screams
of discomfort echoing off his skull and reverberating in a deep part of
him that winced at the child's cries.

Scully was rocking back and forth in the other chair, trying to soothe
the baby with all of the trick techniques she knew, but as the girl
continued to fuss, she finally rose and began walking.

Mulder watched her blaze a trail around the room, bouncing a bit as they
traversed, Scully's face a knot of concentration. He stood and planted
himself directly in their path, standing with his arms open.

Scully's brow raised and he shrugged.

Dutifully, she handed the baby over to him, watching in awe as the child
issued only a few whimpers, then settled back down into sleep.

"How'd you do that?" she asked, whispering as he walked gently back to
the rockers.

A soft smile touched his face and he indicated for her to sit down.

"I was required to take a Child Psych class at Oxford."

Scully gave an exaggerated shrug, as if to say, so what?

"Well, it was hands on, I guess you could say. The one thing I remember
the most is that you communicate your mood to children. If you're tense,
they feel that and take it on. So if a parent's upset and frazzled, it's
best for all if they just calm down and let someone else take over."

Scully gave him a bemused look and watched Grace and Mulder rock back
and forth in the chair, its broad cherry back stretched above even
Mulder's head.

She wanted to say he'd make a good father, but the words stuck in her
throat, and while her infertility was there, just on the fringes of her
thoughts, it wasn't the reason she hesitated.

Their marriage was such a strange, mixed up gamut of emotion and sex and
posessiveness; she wondered at times if she hadn't married him because
he was simply there.

Thoughts like that made her hurt, and she resolutely put them away,
unsure of what Mulder exactly wanted in this relationship, whether he
was looking for family or merely a warm bed.

She didn't think it was the latter, but again, she couldn't imagine it
being the former. A family?

For Mulder?

And yet, watching him now, she could see how great a Daddy he'd make,
smiling down at the eight month old in his arms and hushing her with
gentle strokes of his finger along her cheek.

What a giving and accepting father he'd be.
~~~~

Mulder handed Grace over to her mother rather reluctantly, while Scully
explained they'd only had one little fit and then she'd nodded off. The
woman looked mystified and admitted that Grace hardly went down without
a fight.

"Would you ever like to baby-sit, Dana?" she asked, winking.

Mulder looked eagerly at Scully, stepping in close to put pressure on
her calf, a discreet signal.

"Actually, if you ever need us, we'd love to."

The woman's eyes travelled to Mulder and she looked surprised. "Sure! If
your husband doesn't mind Grace. . ."

"Oh, Mulder's the one who got her to calm down," Scully said, casting a
look to see his beaming face.

"Wow. Great job. Yeah. I'll call your apartment Dana. . .or, uh, should
I get your new number maybe?"

Scully gave the woman a smile. "Same place. I'll be there for awhile
yet."

Mulder's body grew an edge she hadn't felt before, and the woman seemed
to sense it too, because she quickly left, bouncing Grace in her arms
and cooing at her.

"What's the matter, Mulder?"

He cast her a dark look, shaking his head. "You'll be there for awhile?
How long are we going to be doing this, Scully?"

"What?"

He threw a hand in a broad gesture of the room, indicating some grand
sweeping thing.

"This. Shuttling back and forth between your life and my life. When is
it going to be *our* life."

She gaped at him in shock, her thoughts so closely paralleling his own
that she wanted to laugh, but didn't dare.

"Whenever you're ready, Mulder."

He dropped the ice in his tone and his hands fell to her shoulders,
thumbs working like mad over her collar bone.

"I'm ready, Scully."

"Then I guess. . .I guess we need to figure out where we're going to
live. . ."

"Somewhere near here, huh?"

She glanced into his eyes, distracted by his thumbs along her skin,
still stunned by his physical proximity, something she could never get
used to, never get over her reaction to him like this.

It was a sharp, feral need that clawed through her at times, and then,
it could be subtle and sweet, like honey spilling through her veins.
Now, standing inside the nursery with the sound of voices filtered by a
length of hallway, his touch was pouring fire into her at those places
on her clavicle, the liquid magma of it replacing her bones with flame.

"Near here?"

"For church. So you can walk."

She was slightly disappointed he'd said 'you' and not 'we' but the
thought caught her and she stood there, shoved from her desire-induced
haze.

"You. . .really?"

"Of course. My apartment has some bad memories attached. Not to mention
your blood staining the hardwood."

She felt panic slide through her at the mention of that horror-filled
day, but she clutched his elbows and fought through the feeling. It was
fast becoming less tender, but still, it caught her by surprise, a
casual mention could level her like a green agent.

"Ah. . .sorry. That was kind of. . ."

She shook her head and gave him a smile. "No hurt. I'm okay. It doesn't
dizzy me anymore."

He nodded, then grabbed her purse and the bag she had brought earlier
that morning.

Scully took the bag from him and walked to an empty cabinet sitting at
floor level, then dumped the toys into a green bin on the top shelf. The
bag she folded carefully and left it sitting beside the toys.

She took the hand he offered and they strolled out of the room, pausing
to lock it up, then moving on through the crowds and back to the
sidewalk.

"You think you'll ever come again?"

"Do you take care of the nursery every Sunday?"

She shaded her eyes with a hand, squinting in the eleven o'clock
sunlight, her hair a halo of fire.

"No," she answered honsetly. "Only once a month. To help out."

He nodded. "I might come then."

She smiled, pleased with that answer, and allowed his seeking hand to
wrap around hers, despite the heat slithering like slime through the
streets.

"Okay. I don't want you to feel like you ought to, Mulder."

He gave her an amused look. "I don't."

She nodded. "Good."

They began walking through the rumble of city lunch-traffic, Mulder's
hands constantly questing for her body, touching and touching as if he
couldn't satisfy himself with holding her hand. 

She had noticed it quickly, his touchiness, the abillity of his to find
her in a crowd with just his two fingers and a thumb, tugging gently at
her. He would snake his hand into her hair, or place a hot palm to her
back, most times now it was a hand to her neck, light and massaging. 

In any other instance, she'd feel like a trapped animal, collared and
contained, but his constant need for affection, or rather, constant need
to give and show affection, was reassuring and longed for.

In the morning, if she woke and his body was sprawled away from her,
nothing touching hers, she felt just a bit bereft. Mulder would wake and
reach out for her hand, or her toe, and tug, and she'd feel relieved.

As they walked the last block to her apartment, he leaned in close and
kissed her hairline hesitantly.

His lips were just about the only hesitant part of him. He could touch,
but he couldn't kiss.

Strange.

She smiled up at him and waited, knowing there was a reason for his soft
lips.

"Let's stay at your place for awhile," he said.

"Okay."

He was put at ease by her readiness to agree with him, and he loped an
arm around her shoulder and rubbed the back of her neck with a thumb,
reminding himself again how precious her life was.

All it took was cancer, some strange disease, even a man writing a book,
and she could be taken from him.

This, taken from him.

He shivered and followed her inside.
~~~~

~~~~~~

Part Five: Leaving 

~~~~~

"And we're leaving all the road for dead
We're getting tired of the twists and turns
You gotta go when human nature calls. . ."
--valley of malls, fountains of wayne

~~~~~~

She glanced back down to her watch, a frown riding through her concern.

Six o'clock.

Maybe they would have a late dinner?

She tapped her fingers against the kitchen counter, wondering if she
should call his apartment. Maybe he had gone to his place to get dressed
for their date, and was coming over soon.

Maybe he thought she would be coming to meet him there.

Scully picked up her phone and quickly dialed his number, her tongue
flicking over her top lip unconsciously as she waited.

It just rang and rang. His machine wasn't even on.

She still wasn't *really* worried about him. He would make it, but
somehow their communication had gotten messed up and she had thought
dinner was at six-thirty. He had probably gotten a later reservation.

Scully ignored the voice telling her that this Mulder, that she knew
this had been coming.

So she decided to relax, take a long hot bath and forget about all the
stress she was encountering at work. Stress directly related to Mulder
and stress not having anything to do with him at all.

Four autopsies in one week, plus a new hint of a case that they had done
a lot of perliminary work on but hadn't gotten very far on. They'd had a
huge argument about how to proceed and she had closed down on him,
shutting him away, trying to ignore his remarks as he pestered her.

He wanted to go ahead and take the case on, forge right ahead without
even the most basic background checks. When people sent in requests,
they usually did a lot of heavy research before taking a case on. They'd
weeded out a lot of cracks that way.

Mulder didn't want to wait; he was convinced it was honest.

Scully sighed as she remembered their conversation and his insistence
that this was the case, this was the turning point in their search for
the truth.

She had told him, quite acidly, that he would have to get some proof of
its validity before she would go off with him.

He was hurt, she was frustrated.

He thought that their marriage would mean she would give in more, admit
some basic truths to him, while she thought it meant he would stop
running around, start paying attention to trust.

Everything was the same.

Wasn't that what she had wanted in the beginning, wasn't that why she
had married him?

Maybe at first, she had wanted the continuity, the stability, but now,
she was trying to create a new life between them, a place for their love
within the context of their work.

It was challenging and difficult, but it was worth it.

She pulled her soft cotton shirt from her pants and toed off her shoes.
The water was loud and thundering in her ears, and she licked her lips
as she added strawberry smelling bubbles. Mulder had bought them for her
as a kind of wedding present.

She froze, thinking about that.

Wedding presents.

She had yet to call the rest of her family. Her mother had been stunned
with the news, but Scully had begged for her not to say anything to her
brothers. The call had been so easy to make, received with such grace
and acceptance, that Scully had forgotten she had not told everyone
else.

Soon.

She would tell Bill and Charlie soon. Maybe Charlie sooner than Bill.

With that decided, Scully pulled off her suit and slipped into her bath,
shutting off the faucet with her foot, and sighed softly.

It felt good to relax for a bit, to stop running around and simply have
time to be. 

And it felt good to be alone.

Alone for a little bit anyway.
~~~~

She jerked suddenly, her body violent in the cold water.

Where am I?

Her toes and fingertips were pruned and she shivered violently.

She must have fallen asleep, and meanwhile, all the bubbles were gone
and the candle she had lighted was dark. The room was stifling in its
silence.

Mulder.

She slipped out of the tub, trying to gain purchase on the soapy tiles,
then wrapped a large towel around her body, fumbling.

Mulder.

She rushed into her bedroom, noting the silence, the stillness of the
dark.

Her clock made her shiver, noting it the ten o'clock face, and she
padded softly into her closet, pulling on black dress pants and a short
sleeved cotton sweater. It was strange how she was noticing all the
little details, each small thing.

She felt strange, like the old lady who had swallowed a fly in the
children's song.

I don't know why, she swallowed the fly. . .I guess she'll die.

She jumped at her thoughts and rubbed her hair dry with the towel,
pulling on her socks and low heeled boots, wondering at the infinite
slowness in her actions.

She was preparing herself, cataloging each movement and second in case.
. .

In case what?

She knew, in her heart, that she was remembering so that she could
report her actions later, go over them in detail to nitpick, find
mistakes.

In case he never came back.

Her eyes grew rough and scratchy, and she rubbed them hard, trying to
rid herself of her foolish thoughts.

In case he never came back.
~~~~

She stepped into the hallway of Mulder's apartment building, her fingers
nervous in the hem of her shirt, and her keys clutched in one hand.

His door was easy to unlock, but as she pushed against it, the heavy
wood did not give way.

Instead, she heard a groan and dropped to her knees beside the door.

"Mulder?"

But the moaning didn't sound like him, and she shoved hard, pushing her
way in with her gun drawn.

A man was covered in blood on Mulder's floor, his breath bubbling from
his chest and the wound covered by a makeshift bandage.

She stood there shocked for a moment, then cuffed his wrists and applied
first aid, grabbing a plastic bag from the kitchen to place over his
wound.

Her thoughts were racing, and she dialled 911 quickly, more concerned
about Mulder than the man on the floor.

She was so lost, she didn't even know where to start.
~~~~

The detectives were brisk with her, rough, as if it had been her fault.

She bit her lip, wondering at how much truth to tell them, and realized
that her marriage to Mulder had nothing to do with this case.

Tears were close to her eyes, but she didn't let them loose. Here, she
was an FBI agent, a woman in control of the situation, with all the
facts.

She had nothing.

She went home trying to understand what had happened, and keeping her
relationship with Mulder a complete secret. Not because she was afraid
of the repercussions, but because it was private, and the moments were
precious to her.

She slid to the floor with exhaustion, her head against the door, her
fear redoubling as she wondered and wondered. She had to know what was
going on, but she was afraid to know.

Scully pulled herself up and tried to find some coherence to her
thoughts, pushing away the fear and the worries and the questions.

But really, what could she do? 

She had already called his cell phone repeatedly, and searched his
apartment building for any sign of him. His living room was remarkably
empty, mainly because he'd been living with her for the past week, and
offered no clues.

All she could do was wait. 

Wait for him to call, or wait for the police to call.
~~~~

She was angry now. Furious that he would forget.

She remembered now why she'd felt so strangely, why his words had seemed
off that day.

He had wanted to leave immediately for the case, take off and follow
some lead he'd gotten in the mail without even investigating its
legitimacy. She  was remembering her moment of confusion, hadn't he said
that they would do to dinner Thursday? Hadn't he promised a chance to
get to know one another better?

And now. . .he had probably left, covering his tracks with a big police
matter to make her stop looking for him, to make her stay behind. . .

She shivered.

She was getting crazy with this. He wouldn't leave a man dying on his
floor jut to escape her. That was ridiculous, and so unlike him. How
could she even think that of him?

She was still angry, mad at whatever had interrupted them, furious that
her thoughts could turn so much against him when one small thing
happened.

Scully walked a circle from her window to the couch and then to the
door, wearing down her wooden floors with her worry.

As she glanced again from her second floor view, she noticed a figure,
limping down the street, a man in pain.

Her heart thundered, but it was not Mulder.

She watched the man stumble through the parked cars and clutch his side,
then he looked straight up at her window, his eyes cloudy but piercing.

Scully backed away, then grabbed her weapon and headed downstairs.

Deep in her gut, she knew this was something about Mulder.
~~~~

The man had a shifty look to his eyes, and his large thick body dwarfed
hers uncomfortably. Blonde hair framed a thin face with a double chin,
and wire rimmed glasses perched on the end of an aristocratic nose. 

In all, the effect was rather disconcerting.

His tattered, blood stained clothes, and wavering glance, clashed with
his preppy style so that she was unsure of her own reactions.

Was he someone to trust or not?

"You have to come. He's hurt."

"Who are you?"

"Jeff. Doesn't matter. He's bleeding."

She blanched. "Is that his blood all. . .all over you?"

Jeff nodded, his hands shaking. "He said you wouldn't come. He laughed
when I said I'd come get you."

"Who are you?"

Jeff shook his head, running bloody hands through his hair, trying to
convince himself that this would work, he could make her come.

"I've been working with Agent Mulder for about three months now on some
information. . ."

"You're going to have to tell me more than that."

"I work for certain people that have been skimming the government. I
came to Mulder and he asked that you not be involved."

"Mulder asked that?"

Jeff's eyes shifted and he nodded, biting his lip.

"That I not be involved?"

Was she going to believe him now?

"That sounds like Mulder. . ."

Jeff sighed in relief. "You've got to come now."

Scully grabbed his arm and pulled him up the stairs and away from the
light.

"Have you been followed?"

He shook his head and wiped what he thought was sweat from his forehead,
instead smeared blood over his skin. Scully motioned for him to follow
and they went into her apartment.

"Get yourself cleaned up while I get some medical supplies together. Can
you tell me the extent of his injuries?"

"He was shot."

"What?"

Her eyes snapped up to meet the man's, heart thudding painfully as she
contemplated this.

"Not badly. I got the bleeding under control. It all went sour on us.
The man came. . .it's my fault. I thought we could trust him, I thought
he understood."

"So you were getting someone else in on your deal, is that it?" she
said, grabbing things and throwing them in a back pack.

"Yeah. He was working for them."

"Them?"

"Yeah. . .you know. Mulder said you'd dealt with them before."

Scully sighed. Why hadn't he told her about this?

"I had to do it tonight. He kept saying he couldn't, but tonight was the
only time. I should have let it go, maybe Mulder would be okay."

"Who is it that I found in his apartment?"

"The one working for them. He came with a gun, shot at Mulder. Mulder
got off a shot and then he went down. All I could think was to get him
out of there. What if the police came? I'd be in trouble, maybe Mulder
too."

Scully shook her head. How old was this guy? Twenty-six?

"You probably didn't do the smartest thing. . ."

Jeff sighed. "I know. I panicked."

Scully came out of her bedroom, her bag on her shoulders, anxiety on her
face.

"Lead the way," she said.
~~~~

The room was dark and Mulder licked his lips again, praying that she
wouldn't come.

God, don't let her believe it. Let her know me better than that. . .

He coughed and a hand prodded him forcefully, keeping him quiet.

God, please, don't let her believe it.

His side was numb with pain, but he had not been shot, merely kicked
into submission. A nasty cut ran the length of his forehead, and spiked
into his eyebrow, and the blood kept creeping down to stain his eyes. It
was hard for him to see.

She should know, right? know that he was planning on taking her out to
dinner at six, know that this was not him.

He hadn't been in touch with anyone, not a single person, and she had
been with him for the past three months to know.

Well, at least she ought to know. Two weeks of marriage, and already,
they couldn't hide anything from each other.

He gripped the edges of the bed with weak fists, trying to keep his
breathing under control. If he coughed again, they'd prod his bruised
side again.

When he heard her voice, he wanted to cry.

"Run!" he screamed, and a swift kick to the ribs left him moaning and
gasping for breath.

He heard a scuffle, and the discharge of her weapon, and a long moment
when fear pounded him worse than the pain.

Then her still body was shoved into the little room and the man next to
him pulled her inside.

Mulder pushed forward to her side, ignoring the man who tried to knock
him away.

"Get away," he growled, causing the man to think it over and move away.

He pulled her gently to him, trying to keep his body as still as
possible, and trying not to aggrevate any wounds she might have.

Carefully, he probed her skin for bullet holes, and found nothing
bleeding. He sighed in relief and cradled her head to his chest,
stroking her hair away from her face.

"Scully," he whispered, trying to beat away the emotions pooling in him.

She turned her head away and then her eyes opened, seeing him.

"Sorry. . ." she whispered, her eyes knitting together and her head
dipped to his chest, trying to stay awake.

"Are you okay?" he said, leaning close to her, trying to keep their
moments private from the man in the corner.

"Dazed. . ."

She caught hold of his shirt and dragged herself up, trying to blink
away the darkness threatening.

"What happened Mulder? Are you okay?"

"Bruised, but doing okay. They came for me. I was getting ready to come
pick you up. . ."

She looked at his clothes, saw the nice dark grey suit pants and the
French blue dress shirt.

"Why?" she whispered.

"I think they're just terrorists. Somehow, with all our publicity on the
X-Files, they think they have some leverage with us."

Scully shivered. "What will they do when they find out we're nothing?"

He didn't know; he merely shook his head. Mulder let her hang on him,
until she could sit up straight without feeling faint, then pulled her
to the bed, sitting them both down.

"Crazy," she whispered. 

He rubbed his hand over her knee, then carefully pulled away, trying not
to slouch and pain his side.

"The one day we set aside to be normal, and this happens."

"I thought you had run off on that case. . ."

He looked down at her, frown creasing his face.

"I know. . ." she said, sighing. "I'm sorry."

"No. . .I almost did. That's the funny thing. I was going to take you
out and then maybe convince you to leave."

"And if you didn't?"

"I was going to leave. . ."

He looked properly ashamed, and she somehow wasn't that angry with him.

Instead, she pressed her lips into a quick smile and wished they were
alone. She wanted to be held for a moment.

The blonde guy that had brought her here stepped into their cell for a
moment, gesturing quickly to the man guarding them.

"Look, how long is this going to go on, Scott? I don't think I can-"

Scott grabbed Jeff's shirtfront and bashed him against the rough
concrete, his head hitting with a sickening crunch that made Mulder
wince. Jeff slowly slid to the floor and the man who had been guarding
them pulled his body outside.

"I take it Jeff was the expendable decoy?" Scully said grimly.

Mulder sighed. "Jeff's an agent, Scully."

Her stunned face swivelled to meet his bleak eyes, and she put a hand
over her mouth.

"How could he?"

"He's down in the paperwork-business end of things. He's never really
been in the field. I don't think he understands what's at stake here. He
thinks the government's screwy, which it is, but he expects to change
it."

"Which you can't," Scully added softly.

"As we've come to discover."

"Are you sure this is just some local terrorism, Mulder? Even terrorists
are worried about killing FBI agents, right?"

"I don't think so. If anything, we're more likely to be killed."

"That's not funny," she said dryly, her eyebrows raised.

"I'm not trying to be funny."

She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes in bitterness, her fingers
clenching tightly around the edges of the thin cot.

"Scully?"

"Hm?"

"I wish we could have gone out before this. . ."

Her eyes opened slowly into the pools of light radiating from his pained
expression. She took his hand in hers and kissed his knuckles.

"It's okay, Mulder. We know each other when it counts. . ."

"Not well enough, obviously, if you fell for whatever story Jeff cooked
up."

"He said you and he were in a deal, for information. You didn't want me
to know."

Mulder grinned weakly. "Okay, never mind. That *is* me."

She nodded and leaned into his shoulder, closing her eyes tightly.

"Are you sure you're okay, Mulder?"

He noded, but his head dipped forward like a puppet with its strings
cut, and she gripped him hard to keep him upright.

"Mulder?"

--Mulder?

--

Her vision skewed and dropped and she felt someone shaking her roughly,
a hand on her shoulder, a deep chill in her bones.

"Scully?"

She woke to the tiled ceiling and the sharply cold edges of the tub, and
saw Mulder's eyes peering into her face.

"Scully? I tried to call. . ."

"What? Terrorists. . ."

Mulder gripped her upper arm hard in his fingers. "What? Terrorists?
Scully. . ."

She shook her head and sat up in the cold water, shivering. "Nothing. I
was dreaming, I could feel you but as you, not me, and . . .and. . ."

She stopped and shrugged her shoulders to get the circulation going.

Mulder helped her out of the bathtub, pulling a towel around her
trembling body, rubbing briskly to warm her up. His eyes held concern
and she leaned gratefully into his arms, feeling far away.

Her dream had been so vivid, so strange. As if she were reading a story
almost, maybe watching a movie, but could around in each of the parts,
feeling what everyone felt, feeling the fear and the sweat and the
death.

"Are you okay, Scully?"

She nodded and glanced to the alarm clock as they passed the bed.

"Where've you been?" she asked, frowning at him.

"I got stuck in traffic; there was a wreck on the Beltway. . .did you
fall asleep waiting for me?"

She shrugged. "I. . .I got worried. But I figured you had left. . ."

"Left? For the case? Scully. . ."

"I know. I jumped to conclusions. . .and you didn't. I see that."

He shook his head and sat her down on the bed. "We're still going out to
dinner. Our reservations are gone, but we could go get something."

She smiled and took his hand, squeezing tightly.

"Sure. Let me get dressed."

When he didn't leave, Scully blinked and watched him for a moment, then
stood up and shrugged, letting the towel drop to the floor.

Husband, she had to keep that in mind. Strange how it could be so
present and tangible one moment, and then be as far from her mind as
possible the next.
~~~~

~~~~

Part Six -- Holding On

~~~~

"When you think you've found something worth holding onto
Were you reaching for attention hoping she would notice you
Collecting botles and thrown-away cans
Like she was returnable, 
One day would refill your hands
How she loved you, all you imagined
Fit so well into your plans"
--"Troubled Times" Fountains of Wayne

~~~~

They walked slowly down the street, her thin black sundress shifting in
the gentle breeze, his ever-present grey T-shirt moving as he breathed.
She liked the comfort of their night, the way the heat was simply a
blanket that wrapped around them, keeping them close and sure.

She wanted to take his hand, and as she thought it, Mulder wrapped his
long fingers around her wrist, pulling her with a soft tug.

The stores were open and loud with music and people, busy even for a
Thursday night. The neighborhood housed mom and pop stores and little
cafes, with red checkered tablecloths and fountain drinks from a silver
handled spigot.

They opened the glass door to one of these cafes, a place called Pasta
Lora, and seated themselves in a booth on the same side, their hands
still joined.

The smooth length of his fingers met the short warmth of her own, and
she felt nervous, trying to be normal.

Mulder was looking at their hands, rubbing his thumb along her palm.

"You need a wedding band," he said softly.

She glanced down to her left hand, joined with his right, plain and free
of ornamentation.

"So do you," she answered, squeezing his hand gently.

He grunted. "Guess so. Are you in a hurry?"

She smiled. "Nah."

A waitress approached them at that point and conversation, such as it
was, fell off. Mulder ordered spaghetti with thick meatballs, and she
asked for fettucine alfredo with a green salad. They both ordered sweet
tea to drink. 

"I can cook spaghetti," she said, thinking that this was exactly the
kind of thing they didn't know about each other.

"From scratch or bottled sauce?"

"Scratch."

His smile spread to his eyes and he leaned back in the booth, propping
his feet up on the bench across from them.

"I knew I married you for a reason," he said softly.

She snorted and poked his side, eyebrows raised. "As I recall, you
promised to cook for me."

His eyes shot up in mock surprise, remembering the night clearly, almost
two days after their small ceremony, telling her he'd even cook dinner
for her sometime.

"I don't think I did," he replied, moving his fingers from hers and
spreading his arm on the back of the seat.

She pursed her lips and shook her head. "No way. I'm not letting you off
the hook, Mulder."

He sighed. "All right. Tomorrow night, okay? And then Saturday, you have
to make spaghetti."

She smiled and leaned onto the table. "Deal."

His fingers could just touch her, with her leaning on the table like
that, and he rubbed his hand along her back, feeling the hard ridge of
her spine and the soft brush of cotton at his fingertips.

Soft rock was playing over the speakers and the change in song drew his
attention for a moment, and when he looked back at her, she was staring
off into space, lost in her own thoughts.

At that moment, it was like he could see right through those tough
walls, to where every emotion was like a ripple on the surface of the
calm water of her face, but the thoughts behind them were distant as the
bottom of the ocean.

Mulder played his fingers over her back and watched her eyes shift from
blue to grey as the lights in the cafe dimmed slowly for a more romantic
atmosphere. She seemed to relax into the mood, her lids drooping with
the lazy fever of the Pasta Lora.

He wanted to peer inside her head, find out what she thought about when
she got that look on her face, to understand what made her go quiet at
times.

"Where are you at?" he whispered in her ear.

She jumped and shivered. "Far away. I was thinking about my dream."

"When I came in tonight?" he said, rubbing his fingertips along the
tabletop.

Scully leaned her chin onto her hands, biting her lip. "Yeah. I got that
gut feeling again."

"Dana Scully -- having a gut feeling?" he said, amusement glinting in
his eyes.

He was trying to get her to relax, but instead she clammed up, moving
her head so that he couldn't see her eyes.

"Scully. . ." he said, feeling frustrated.

She watched the others in the dining room, ignoring his seeking hand and
wounded voice.

"Scully,  not tonight. Don't do this now. I didn't mean it like you took
it."

She turned back, but her eyes were not hard with anger, instead soft
with something that could have been tears.

"That dream. I couldn't find you and this man came to your apartment
looking for me. He said you had been shot and I followed him to this
abandoned building, but it was a trap and we were captured by
terrorists. . ."

Mulder stopped trying to lighten her mood, and took her hand in his
again, pressing it tightly.

"You dreamed we were captured by terrorists. . ."

"But. . .but that's not the part that was so frightening. . .I could
feel each emotion, like it was mine, but they weren't."

"What do you mean?" he said, listening now.

"I was you, and I was me, and I was the terrorist, and. . .and. . ."

"That's not that bad, Scully."

"*Being* other people?" she said, frowning.

"Yes. Not everyone has dreams like that, but they're more than dreams.
When you profile a killer, you find yourself putting on their
characterisitics, delving into their personalities. You get dreams.
They're almost visions."

"You mean it's going to happen?" 

Her head came around to see him, fear lurking in her eyes. 

He shrugged. "I wouldn't think so."

She didn't feel very relaxed anymore, and her appetite was gone. "That's
not so comforting, Mulder."

"Oh, forget it, Scully. Have fun with me tonight. We'll worry about it
tomorrow, okay?"

He leaned in and gave her a quick hug, feeling unnatural doing it, but
trying to make the effort.

She smiled into his shirt and pulled back, her mouth dancing, but the
humor still didn't reach her eyes.

"All right then. I'd rather not think about it anyway."

Mulder winked. "That's the spirit, and here comes our food."

She glanced up and saw their waitress making her way through the tables
with a serving platter over her shoulder, balancing three dishes and two
drinks with ease.

Scully watched the woman set their food in front of them, each dish
making a hard clatter against the table so that the sounds of the place
brought her mood up again.

Mulder was respectfully silent while she prayed a quick thanks, then
began eating with her, each bite a new explosion of taste and delight.

"This is good," she said, alternating her fettucine wth bites of salad.

"I'm glad you like it," he replied and offered her a forkful of
spaghetti. She took it gratefully and chewed thoughtfully.

"Spicey, but good."

"You don't make it spicey?" he asked, the fork halfway to his mouth.

"No. . ."

"That's okay," he said. "I won't hold it against you."

She nudged his side, frowning and bringing a bite to her lips.

He snagged her fork before she could eat it, then popped it in his
mouth, grinning at her. 

She glared at him and quickly grabbed his fork, stealing a bite of his
spaghetti and chewing it slowly in front of him.

His mouth dropped open in mock horror and he made a move to snatch his
fork back, but she dodged and laughed, bringing the utensil close to her
chest.

After a few moments of wrestling for his fork, the waitress came back to
their table, a look of bewildered concern on her features.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, standing carefully away.

Scully sat rigid with embarassment with Mulder draped halfway over her
lap and the fork clutched by them both.

"No, we're just fine," Mulder said calmly, staying in Scully's lap and
tickling her knees with his fingers. He was trying to make her squirm.

"O-okay."

The woman turned and left, shaking her head. Scully pushed at Mulder,
anger in her eyes, relinquishing the fork and ignoring his eyes.

"Sheesh. Come on, Scully. That was funny. You should have seen your
face."

She frowned at him, but couldn't keep it up, instead cracked a smile and
pushed away his grinning face.

"Shut up. It was your fault."

He kissed her lightly on the nose and took his fork back, the glint in
his eyes like copper pennies shining in water, and she liked seeing him
teasing and at ease.

"Eat, Scully." he said and shovelled the food in his mouth like a
starving man.

She watched him for a moment, then slowly began to eat, feeling the
strange intensity of their silence like a shock of electricity. Whatever
had just happened, they were not so tense, not so awkward with each
other.

The word 'husband' seemed appropriate now, not some foreign taste in her
mouth, but sweet wine that grew better with age.

She finished the meal in the wonderful silence of love, pausing only to
throw a clusmy smile in his direction as he waited on her, watching her
with his dark eyes.
~~~~

They walked down the street holding hands, content without words while
the street hummed and rushed around them. The clubs and bars were open
and throbbing with music and rhythm, the party crowd drunk and exciting
and flowing.

She watched everything with curious eyes, following the movement of
fighters and lovers and friends as if the entire scene were a movie. She
had never been much a part of this night life, the crazy hours, the
wildness, the music. For some reason, everything had been low key and
subtle, her life a series of detached encounters.

She was hardly the designated driver every night, mainly because she
just didn't go. Her friends weren't drunkards, and they hadn't been much
on the mainstream culture. When they got together, it was intellectual
and spirited, but it had never been like this.

Never been like this.

Mulder liked watching her watch the crowd. She seemed fascinated by it
all; nothing was too crass to witness. Couples embracing, making love in
the street with the smell of wine coolers in their hair, and leers and
catcalls that floated in the air like confetti.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked, dropping her hand to touch the small of
her back.

"It's different. . .interesting. Do you do this every weekend?"

"Go out like this?" he asked, looking to the crowd.

"Yeah."

"Never. Maybe once I did, during college. Oxford was much different. .
.way more Greenwich Village kind of people. You know, the sulky crowd."

"Sulky?" she said, laughing.

"Yeah. Morose martyrs."

She smiled. "I know the type," she said, poking him.

"I'm not morose. . .Want some ice cream?"

"Yeah. . .Sure you are. . .at times."

"Was I morose tonight?"

"No. . .decidely not. Very. . ."

He took her hand again and moved through the crowd at the entrance to
the ice cream store, finding the inside a shocking cold after the heat
of the street.

"Very what?"

She shrugged. "UnMulder. . .or maybe a side of you I always knew was
there. . ."

"That was the pre-Samantha me. . ." 

Mulder stepped up to the counter and ordered mint chocolate chip for
himself, then turned to her for her order.

She was standing there with her mouth open, stunned by the casual remark
he'd tossed off.

"Scully?" he said, nudging her.

"Oh. Um, peanut butter chocolate."

The teenager behind the curved glass counter nodded and pressed the keys
on his register, looking harried and nervous.

Mulder leaned in close to her while the boy fumbled. "First day. . ."

Scully burst out in laughter, then clapped her hand over her mouth,
snickering.

The kid looked up at him, then mumbled the price, which Mulder paid
unhesitatingly.

While they waited, trying to fend off the pushes from the line, Mulder
managed to manuever them so that she was pressed into the counter, away
from the shoves of the impatient people behind them.

When she recognized what he had done, she realized that he did this all
the time. Small things to protect her, things she would have protested
years ago, but now let slide. 

The ice cream was cold in the little plastic cups, and the pink spoons
reminded her of Baskin Robbins, and childhood summer days.

"Mmm, good."

He glanced to her from the corner of his eye and pushed them back
through the filled ice cream parlor and to the street. The heat of the
night met the cold of the mint chocolate chip and he shivered, pressing
closer to Scully.

She found a park bench in a more deserted area of the street, the
playground a dark behemoth in the bright overhead lights. Two kids
huddled over a basketball, breathing hard from a game of one on one.

Scully pulled Mulder down on the bench next to her and they ate slowly,
watching the people pass by and the basketball kids start up another
game.

"Hey, Scully. Let's play basketball tomorrow."

She looked over at him, her eyebrows raised.

"Basketball? Mulder, if you thought my feet were too short to reach the
pedals, how in the world could you think I could play *basketball*?"

He gave her a quick grin, shaking his head. "I'll go easy on you."

"There's no way you're getting me to play basketball. I'm no good. And
besides, you have an unfair advantage."

"My height?"

She shook her head, eyes twinkling. "No. You got to practice almost
every day before we got the X-Files back."

He looked properly ashamed at her pointed comment and gave her his puppy
look.

"Mulder, if you start whimpering, I'm getting you a kennel."

He grunted and tossed his empty ice cream cup in the trash can a few
feet from them, then took hers from her nerveless fingers and threw it
away too.

"Very funny, Scully. You know you like it."

"Right. And you manage to always get whatever you want when you give me
that look. When you give *any* woman that look."

He shrugged and grinned. "I'm just that good."

"Okay. One game."

He grinned. "All right."

They sat on the bench in silence, watching the kids playing basketball
and the street filling and emptying as the crowd went in and out of
clubs along the way.

"Mulder?" she said eventually.

He turned his head to her slowly, eyes as dark and heavy as the night
around them.

"Let's go home."

He took her hand and they stood, walking slowly and surely from the
park.
~~~~

Home turned out to be his apartment, a path they took naturally, walking
until they caught a taxi then sitting in the backseat in the dark.

Mulder had his keys out before they even got to the front door, and as
they took the elevator to his floor, she settled deeply into her own
thoughts, her eyebrows meeting.

"You okay, Scully?"

"Hm? Oh. Just thinking about that dream. . ."

He shook his head and they stepped off the elevator and into his hall,
walking to his door with an easy, unhurried gait. She was trying to put
the memory of her dream out of her mind, but the flash of darkness
before coming to in the little room, and the blood trailing down
Mulder's forehead as he held her. . .it all was too vivid. Too real.

Suddenly, Mulder tense beside her, then grabbed her roughly and shoved
her back down the hallway, ducking into the stairwell, breathing fast.

She looked up at him, dazed and shaking, watching his lips tremble.

"Mulder?" she hissed, instinctively knowing she had to keep quiet.

"Someone in my apartment, Scully. I heard a voice, and my furniture
moving."

She froze, then yanked on his arm. "Let's not wait around in the
stairwell then, Mulder!"

He moved with her, taking the steps two by two, holding her hand
tightly. They moved faster when the heavy steel door at the second floor
banged open and they heard footsteps behind on the stairs.

When they reached the street, Mulder hesitated at the parking lot,
trying to think fast.

"We can't hail a taxi, Scully. Whoever's up there might see us. . ."

She nodded. "Let's start walking, then get a taxi a few blocks down."

"We can cut through the yards. . .make sure that no one on the street is
looking out for us."

"Wouldn't they have seen us getting out of the taxi?"

"Maybe not. We were dropped right off at the door."

As he talked, he pushed her into the row of hedges beside the apartment
building, and they carefully stepped through.

The yards were dark and they skirted through the bushes and small
stunted trees, making their way to the next block and the street lights
there.

Breathing fast, Scully put a hand out to stop him, shaking her head and
pointing.

"Let's get a hotel room, Mulder. It might not be safe to go back to my
apartment either."

"What were they doing?"

"If. . .if those men we pursue. . .if they found out we were married, or
if they suspected it. . .would they try. . ."

She trailed off, biting her lip and shifting from foot to foot under the
pale yellow street light.

"I. . .I never thought about that," he admitted.

For a moment, they were silent, thinking dangerous thoughts under the
darkness of the nights events.

Then he took her shoulders and shook his head. "Scully. . .Scully, what
else could they do to us?"

She smiled bitterly. "Not much."

He sighed heavily and leaned into her until their foreheads touched,
then let his eyes slip close for just an instant.

"Let's find a motel, Mulder."

He nodded. 
~~~~

~~~~

Part Seven -- Floating 

~~~~

"I'm floating away
On oceans of grey-blue water
I'm rising above
I'm falling in love. . ."

--"The Senator's Daughter" Fountains of Wayne

~~~~

Mulder's eyes opened to the oceans of Scully's, his body slow and heavy
with sleep.

She pushed closer to him on the small bed, then sighed.

"You think it's safe to go back?" she whispered.

"Yeah. We'll check for bugs. Bombs. The usual."

She tensed suddenly and glanced up at him. "Bombs? You think they would
do that?"

"Who knows. Maybe we should call the bomb squad."

"Maybe we shouldn't even go back. Maybe we should leave. . .leave
forever."

He rubbed the soft skin of her arm, smelling the sharp oils of her body
beside him and tasting the lingering night between them.

"You really want to leave?" he asked, a panicked feeling clutching his
guts.

She sighed. "No."

He breathed in relief and was glad that decision had been stalled. How
could he choose between her and the X-Files? Both were so important, and
for so long, the X-Files had been his life.

Maybe eventually, he would quit, take her to Hawaii, her and her mother,
and they'd live out their days on the beach, sipping orange juice and
watching the surfers.

Maybe.

It sounded nice.

It sounded boring too.

"I wouldn't want to make that kind of choice," she said finally.

"What?"

"I don't know if I could choose between the X-Files and you, Mulder. I
don't know if that's awful-"

"No. It couldn't be. Because I don't think I could choose either," he
said, smiling at her.

She tightened her grip around his waist and smiled into his chest. "We
could never be married to anyone else. We're married to our work."

He brushed a kiss into her hair. "And since you're a part of the work,
I'm married to you."

Scully swatted his arm. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Mulder."

He grinned. "I had a feeling. . ."

She smiled and leaned in to kiss him.
~~~~

They decided against the bomb squad, but nevertheless, were extremely
cautious as they opened Mulder's apartment door.

Nothing exploded and he let out a shakey breath before moving on to the
living room.

Talking randomly about everday things, like the weather and a made up
baseball game, Scully and Mulder searched his apartment, carefully
checking for video cameras first, then for listening devices.

In all, they found three. Mulder was pretty sure they'd gotten them all,
so he flushed them down the toilet.

"Now," he said, "Let's go sweep your apartment."

They only found one in her place, under the table behind the couch, and
he was afraid to say anything, thinking there had to be more they
couldn't find.

Walking back into her hallway, they sat down on the wooden floor.
thinking.

Then Scully took his hand and tugged.

He looked over at her, a question in his eyes.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"I think it's time we got wedding bands. And our own apartment."

His eyebrows met along his forehead and he glanced back to the closed
door of her place, frowning.

"But-"

"What would they do to us, Mulder? Abduct you, or me? Give me a life
threatening disease?"

The sarcasm was heavy in her words, tinted with bitterness and sorrow. 

"Kill our family?" he added.

She shook her head. "This is ridiculous Mulder. . .hiding out, sneaking
around. I feel almost like I shouldn't be with you, like it's not legal
or something."

He laughed weakly, then dropped his head down, sighing.

He carefully and precisely took her palm between his two hands, cradling
her fingers in his own. Slowly he traced the veins running blue beneath
her skin, and connected the freckles on her knuckles.

She closed her eyes and her lips parted. "How could they keep us apart,
Mulder?"

Her words were a whisper, and his answer was a breath.

"By making us afraid to be together. . ."

She rolled her head to look at him, his eyes dark and serious, his lips
tugged into a frown.

"I'm not afraid," she said.

He nodded. "It's time we started shopping then. Rings first or
apartment?"

She grinned. "Rings. Then let's see what we can afford. . ."
~~~~

Margaret Scully glanced once more to Fox, her eyes sparkling with a
certain joy and surprise. The changes in this man were remarkable, and
the changes he had brought in her daughter were wonderful.

He hadn't really changed her, simply allowed her to be the Dana that her
mother always remembered. The happy child with love in those rich blue
eyes, and a certain amount of perpetual innocence. 

Loving Fox Mulder was good for her.

Even Charlie and Bill could see it.

Mrs. Scully quietly shook her head. They could see it, but she was glad
she hadn't invited Bill to this dinner. It was nice to have a quiet,
non-hostile meal for once. A meal where the tension wasn't broiling
through the room.

She knew that Charlie and Bill didn't get along, and she knew that Bill
liked Mulder even less.

Her kids didn't think she saw it, but she wasn't blind and she *was*
their mother.

It was nice just having her daughter and new son-in-law. She was glad
that the family was finally being added to, instead of taken away from.

"Fox, have some more mashed potatoes," she prodded, nudging the bowl in
his direction.

It was always so wonderful to cook for a man, such a treat. Men always
enjoyed food.

Mulder gave her a wink. "Since you insist. . ."

He heaped a huge pile onto his already emptying plate, then took a bite,
closing his eyes in mock pleasure.

Mrs. Scully chuckled and patted his hand, beaming.

When he had finished his bite, he licked his lips. 

"Thanks for letting us spend the night, Mrs. Scully. I didn't think I'd
have to be out of my place so soon. And we sold Scully's a month ago. .
.we're kinda homeless right now."

"Oh, Fox. It's a pleasure. Call me Mom, all right?"

Scully glanced quickly to Mulder, then smoothly bailed him out.

"Mom, he calls me Scully. . .I'm not sure he'll ever get over the last
name thing."

But her mother would have none of it.

"I call him Fox. So why can't he call me Mom?"

She looked to Mulder with a baleful glare, as if daring him to challenge
her.

He shrugged, looking rather delighted. "Okay. Mom it is."

She smiled and nodded, pleased with herself.

Scully was surprised, but she gave him a bemused look and sipped her
milk. Her mother always served her kids milk at dinner; she said they
could have tea or water later. Milk first.

Drink your milk. 

Scully remembered the familiar saying from just about every dinner she'd
ever participated in. It was almost a joke in the family.

Mulder finished his milk and grinned at her. "Beat you."

She rolled her eyes and took her time with the ice cold skim milk,
purposefully making him wait.

When they were done, Mrs. Scully cleaned up the kitchen, pushing them
out when they tried to help. So they headed down the hall to the den,
sinking into the couch.

Mulder pulled her down into his arms and rested her head against his
chest, then clicked on the television with the remote control.

She stilled his hand when his channel surfing came to a movie, something
with Meg Ryan, and they settled in to watch it.

Scully fell asleep halfway into the movie, and Mulder placed a gentle
hand to her head and muted the television, watching her by the flicker
of blue and grey from the screen.

His wedding ring, a plain gold band, flashed in the light and seemed to
shine as he stroked her hair, running a finger along her cheekbone, and
then brushing her lashes.

She stirred and opened her eyes.

"Sorry, I must be sleepier than I thought."

"It's okay, Scully. Go back to sleep."

She smiled and closed her eyes, taking in a long breath of contentment.

"I love this," she whispered.

"Mm, what?"

"The silence."

He stroked his hand down her back, then back up to her head, feeling
sleepy himself.

"Why the silence?"

"It's nice to just. . .just *be* with somebody. To know that I don't
have to say anything and you know I love you anyway."

He smiled. He did know it. 

"It's comfortable," she added.

"I understand," he replied.

She sat up, pushing off from his chest.

"Let's go to bed, Mulder. We've got a lot to do tomorrow."

He clicked off the television and they fumbled their way through the
dark to the stairs, holding hands and laughing as they bumped into
furniture and each other.

Finally, lying in bed and ready to fall asleep, Mulder turned to her,
placing his fingertips lightly at her elbow.

"I love you too, Scully."

She smiled in the darkness and held out her hand.

He kissed it silently and they both closed their eyes.
~~~~

end all
adios
RM