Title: As - Book I

Author: Dri

Classification: WIP, MSR

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: Everything through the movie and 
some elements from season six that came in 
hand for some closure in this work.

Archive: Sure, I need shelter :) Just let 
me know where so I can visit it.

Disclaimer: The ones you don't recognize 
are my own; the ones you do belong to The 
Guy.

Summary: 
 
                as around the sun the earth knows                       
 
                she's revolving
                and the rosebuds know to bloom in 
                early may
                just as hate knows love is the 
                cure
                you can rest your mind assured
                that i'll be loving you always 
                    
                         Stevie Wonder, As 

Feedback: Send your comments to 
marmalad@zaz.com.br   

Authors Notes: I'll use this space to say 
thanks to two groups of nice ladies that 
helped me beyond reason with this fic: My 
three cousins - Ana, Rosi and Li - who are
supporting me through all this like writing 
a work of fiction with which I'll make no 
money and may be send to jail was the most 
natural thing in the world; and to my Beta 
Reader Team - Alicia K, who taught me 
everything about point of view;  Mish, who 
attended to my despairingly plea of help 
in the message board even without having a 
clue about the story, just by blind faith; 
and Georgia, who always found the time and 
the space during her proofing to send me 
encouraging notes that always make my 
day brighter - the Three Musketeers to my 
awkwardly and inexperienced Dartagnan. 
Cocadas and quindims to all of you, 
honeys.      


More author's notes in the end of the story


***************

Prologue


It was past eleven p.m. and the street 
lights were on. It made a vast difference 
on that warm August night because even the 
starry night couldn't provide enough light 
for the standard FBI automobiles to slip 
silently along the quiet avenue. It was an 
unusually calm night considering it was 
Friday: the whispering wind blew softly, 
its hissing notes lulling to sleep the 
residents of Baltimore.  The bubble lights 
on the police cars were turned off and the 
sirens were silenced, in order to not 
disturb the residents, as well as not to 
tip off the UNSUBs they were tracking.

Assistant Director Walter Skinner looked 
intently to the car ahead of him, not 
wanting to cause an unwanted and awkward 
situation by sleeping right in the middle 
of a bust this important. 

Someone had made an anonymous call to the 
FBI Headquarters and given the exact 
location where a large shipment of cocaine 
was to be traded for arms and, from there, 
to be spread all over the State of 
Maryland. That was the reason why the 
three Ford Tauruses and five unmarked vans 
were moving silently along the road. 
Nobody wanted to call attention to the 
caravan of cars. And no one wanted to make 
a wrong move and ruin the whole operation.

A. D. Skinner knew the agents assigned to 
this bust were not just doing this out of 
a sense of duty. Yes, they were FBI agents 
who were conscious of their role in  
society; they had to protect and serve 
those who needed them. But they were also 
human, and as human beings they were 
ambitious. They knew that by making things 
right this one time they would be able to 
create a new path within  the FBI - the 
path to success and honor. The 
acknowledgement of a job well done would 
not come just from Skinner and the other 
four A. D.s taking part in the operation; 
it would also come from Edmund Trajan, the 
man who helped rule the J. Edgar Hoover 
building with tough hands and a good 
heart.  He may have been hard to work for, 
but he was also very respectful and fair 
to his subordinates. If an agent was good 
and by the book, Trajan would be the first 
one to acknowledge it and greet the man or 
woman, shaking hands in the corridors and 
distributing friendly taps on the agent's 
shoulder.

The call had come when Supervisor Trajan, 
of Operational block, was in the bimonthly 
meeting with the A. D.s under his 
supervision at the Bureau. As all of them 
wanted to  show their loyalty and remain 
in the supervisor's good graces, it hadn't 
been a problem to put together a team of 
twenty agents and quickly meet the 
Annapolis Police Department Force already 
on the job, hiding in the shadows and 
waiting for a sign from the Feds to start 
the show. Normally, a bust was not the 
place  for A. D.s or Supervisors, but 
wherever Trajan was concerned...

Skinner pressed the tips of his fingers 
firmly against his eye sockets to dispel 
the sleep and fatigue advancing through 
his body. It had been a long day and he 
was tired, mentally exhausted. He wanted 
nothing more than go home and sleep the 
sleep of the dead through the weekend to 
rebuild his strength and be able to face 
another week of work and another bunch of 
problems. But it was useless to crave such 
simple things in life, so he just decided 
to close his eyes and enjoy the few 
minutes of peace he had to spare until the 
action began. 

And close his eyes he did.

A. D. Sanders shook his shoulder to 
announce they had arrived, half teasing, 
half accusing him of sleeping on job.

"My shift was over hours ago," Skinner 
replied, a little ashamed for being caught 
in the act.

"If you say so..." Sanders replied, 
getting out of the car.

Skinner sighed and opened the car door, 
his tall frame distinguished in the 
darkness, surrounded by the light coming 
from the street lamps. James Washington, 
chief of the Baltimore PD, walked in the 
direction of the party, his confident 
steps soundless on the pavement. 
Determination was written all over his 
dark skinned face. Confidently, he held 
out his hand to the FBI Supervisor and 
introduced himself.

"Thanks for coming ASAP. The call caught 
us by surprise, even though we were 
expecting something like this to happen 
here. A few weeks ago, we received a call 
from the Annapolis PD warning us of a huge 
shipment of arms that had been smuggled 
into town and that it could be delivered 
and distributed in the outskirts, so we've 
been on the alert to any kind of trouble 
like this. But I have to admit that I 
hadn't considered that the armament might 
be used to trade for drugs. It's a shame," 
he concluded sincerely. 

"Any clues about who made the call?" the 
supervisor asked, placing a reassuring 
hand on his shoulder as a signal of 
understanding.

"No, sir. It was really pretty fast. The 
man just told us it would be delivered 
here at this motel, room 15. He gave us 
the license number of the truck that would 
be used for the delivery and we had it 
checked. It isn't on our records. It 
doesn't exist." He paused for a moment. 
"But the truck is the one parked over 
there."  He pointed to the other side of 
the street, where a red and black truck 
was parked between a red Taurus and a 
Suzuki Jeep. "It fits the description he 
gave us."

"Sir," said A. D. Anderson, "the phone 
call we received was like this one and we 
were able to have it traced. It came from 
one of Agent Harold's informants." The A. 
D. gestured to the bald, bulky man beside 
him. "This is not the first time the man 
has helped us in cases such as this one." 

"That's fine, Anderson. Chief Washington, 
thanks." Trajan shook hands with 
Washington again. "Where are DEA and ATF 
Forces? They should be here already."

Right at that moment, a man that Skinner 
identified as Thomas Danson from ATF, came in 
their direction. 

"Trajan. We need to stop meeting each 
other like this."

Both men shook hands quickly yet firmly 
and got back to the action. "We've got 
something big here, my friend."

"We've got another big shit, that what it 
is. Where are your men?"

"Already positioned behind the building 
with Gary's men. We've got the back 
covered. The SOBs have no place to run."

Trajan turned to his agents as well as 
Washington's. "So that's what we'll do: 
Chief Washington, your men will cover us 
from here. The UNSUBs will probably resist 
and may try to get away through one of the 
rear exits." He pointed to the ground plan 
of the motel Washington had faxed them 
about two hours before. "Washington, I 
just want two of your men to come inside 
with us. My men will go inside and catch 
them unprepared. Sanders, you and ten men 
will cover the other exits. Robertson, you 
are in charge of the group going inside." 
Sanders and Robertson nodded in agreement 
and went to put their men together. "Has 
the building already been evacuated?" 
Trajan asked Washington.

"There was no need to, sir. Slow night. 
Besides, we didn't want to draw their 
attention by doing so."

"Good. We don't need any kind of 
distraction now. Agents, let's go."

Skinner pondered why the use of *we* if 
the closest Trajan would get to the 
building was to make sure his radio would 
work well, so he could communicate with 
the men in charge.  

The following minutes were filled by the 
sound of kevlar vests being adjusted and 
the click of loading ammunition. Skinner 
made a last inspection of the surroundings 
and followed the group into the motel. 
Adrenaline pumped high in Skinner's veins, 
dissipating the clouds of sleep remaining 
in his eyes from a few minutes ago.

They slipped silently through the 
corridors, checking the golden numbers on 
the doors.

12, 13, 14, 15. Skinner, AD Robertson, and 
ten more agents stopped in front of the 
door, guns and flashlights in hands, in 
position to attack. Looking at the agents 
with a grim nod of reminder, Robertson 
held up three fingers and started to silently 
count backwards, bending down one finger 
at a time.

3,2,1

"FREEZE! FBI!"

"What?" It was a sleepy and confused 
woman's voice, awakened by the loud pop of 
the door hitting the wall.

Skinner had heard that voice before, but 
he didn't dare put it on the face he was 
picturing in his mind.

All the guns and flashlights were pointed 
to the bed, where a man and a woman were 
laying on their sides, most likely naked, 
the man's torso serving as an improvised 
shield for the woman behind him. An old 
quilt rested on his hips, and a glimpse of 
red and a glint of blue eyes were visible 
behind his shoulder. 

"What the fuck is going on here?" shouted 
the man, pressing his bare back firmly 
against the woman's chest. 

Some of the agents exchanged glances, 
possibly recognizing the arrogant man's 
voice, too. 

Skinner approached the bed, looking 
intently at the couple and their current 
position on the bed. 

The scene before him made him feel like 
the betrayed husband in the old, bad 
movies he used to watch once in a while, 
during the late nights he couldn't find 
sleep. The only difference was that the 
enormity of real life couldn't be put on a 
TV screen.

Skinner had the presence of mind to walk 
to the police officer pointing his pistol 
right between the man's eyes.  He made the 
officer lower the gun, his mouth open in 
disbelief.

All the agents stopped their actions, but 
were too shocked to do anything else other 
than stare at the couple.

"Radio Trajan now," someone shouted.

"Shit," both men murmured in unison. The 
woman finally acknowledged their situation 
and pulled the soft red quilt over them to 
cover their nudity. She closed her eyes, 
her head resting on the man's back, and 
made a fervent prayer to God.

"AD Skinner, what the fuck is going on 
here?" demanded a very reddish, very angry 
and very frustrated Supervisor Trajan, 
storming into the room, followed by Danson 
and the men posted outside, all of them 
still carrying their loaded guns. What 
Trajan didn't know was that the question 
had already been asked by the man propped 
up on one elbow in the bed with both hands 
raised in surrender. "Do you know these 
people?" he asked Skinner, as angrily as 
his previous question.

"Yes," responded Skinner, biting his lip 
and not taking his eyes off of the man and 
the woman in the bed. "They're Special 
Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully." 

******************************************

Chapter 1 


For a civilian, life in DC had it advantages. The 
streets were as clean they could be, public 
transportation and health service worked just fine, 
people living there were polite, and usually it wasn't 
difficult to find a suitable entertainment in the area, 
whether cultural or not.

What Skinner knew was that the darkest side of 
Washington, D. C. resided in what should be the two most 
respectful institutions of the country: The White House 
- whose pristine walls were marred with sexual scandals; 
and the old J. Edgar Hoover building with the secret 
agenda planted by those ones who were supposed to 
protect their people. 

Years ago, if he had been told the secrets that now he 
recognized as the truth, he would have laughed.

He was an ex-Marine, he knew the meaning of protection 
and honour. That was why he had joined the FBI in the 
first place. And now, years later, to discover that he 
had been an active toy in the plot armed by men that 
judge themselves God, deciding whether five billion 
people all over the world would die or not... he got 
sick. He was disappointed with a system that was aware 
of the dirt swept under the carpet, and yet smoothed its 
surface to hide its existence.

Mulder had seen their mess. And Skinner had a vague 
idea of what he would find under the carpet as well. 

But he needed to be sure. 

That was why he was sitting in his car, in front of the 
FBI building, waiting for two of his best agents to 
arrive. If they had been set up, he would discover it.

He would help.

*****
   
In the distance, he saw Mulder's car approaching and 
straightened behind the steering wheel of his car. Even 
though they were off duty, he needed to exhibit some 
kind of authority over his two agents. Mulder had 
already caught sight of him and was pulling his red Ford 
Taurus beside his. When the agent's car finally stopped, 
he was able to carefully consider the appearance of the 
two lovers inside the automobile.

They looked like two people whose sleep hours had been 
robbed from them the previous night.

Mulder was wearing sunglasses, but if the dark shadows 
surrounding Scully's eyes served him as a tip, he would 
bet his money that the ones around Mulder's would be 
even worse.

When Mulder killed the engine, Scully did not look in 
his direction, choosing instead to purse her lips and 
stare out her window. He couldn't blame her. The night 
before, her body had been exposed to at least twenty men 
at once, robbing her of her dignity and of the right to 
enjoy the intimacy she had shared with her partner the 
night before. And as for Mulder...

Mulder was looking in his direction, but his sunglasses 
were still on. Skinner couldn't tell if the stubble on 
his face was due to the lack of time to shave or just 
the energy to do so. But it didn't matter. The man had a 
lot of things to consider right now, such as their 
futures and their jobs. To shave or not to shave would 
have been the least of his concerns if he was in such 
situation.

They remained in silence for a few more moments until 
the younger man spoke for the first time since arriving.

"So," he said, taking a sunflower seed out of a bag in 
the dashboard. "What now?"

Skinner watched him put the salty substitute for the 
cigarettes he used to smoke a few years ago in his mouth 
and crack it with his teeth before sucking on the shell.

"I thought we could go somewhere quiet and have some 
breakfast" Skinner said, checking his watch. "I mean 
brunch, and talk about..."  He made a nervous circle 
with his hand in the interior of the car and fixed his 
eyes once again on a point in the distance ahead of him.

"I see." Mulder nodded almost imperceptibly. "That's 
fine. Where?"

Starting the car, he put down the hand brake. "Follow 
me," he ordered his agent and pushed down the gas pedal. 
Looking in the rear-view mirror, he saw Mulder saying 
something to Scully before following him.

***********

His two agents met him at Betty's a few minutes after he 
had entered the diner. It was a small restaurant, with 
yellow, daisy-covered paper on the walls. There were few 
tables available at that time of the morning - almost 
noon - which validated his choice of place even more. He 
was starved, and Betty was famous for her brunches. The 
woman could cook almost anything. Once he had asked her 
why she deprived other DC citizens of her delicious 
meals. She answered him by telling him that the secret 
of her recipes was that they were made for a select 
portion of the public.

He felt privileged for being part of her small and 
special public.

When he entered the charming place and took a seat at 
his usual table, a plump and healthy black woman went 
straight to him, smiling and carrying a steamy pot of 
coffee.

"If it's not my old friend. Long time no see."

"Hi, Betty," he greeted her.

"Don't remember seeing you here on a Saturday for a long 
time," she said, batting a beautiful hazel eye at him. 

"Missed your special, so here I am."

The bell on the front door rang, announcing two more 
customers, his guests.

"Those two are new here," she said, gesturing to the 
beautiful couple. The man's hand gripped possessively 
the tiny woman's hip as he scanned the room. 

"Yeah, they're with me." 

"Oh! I'll bring them to you."

When Betty approached the couple, a smile adorning her 
beautiful face, Skinner noticed that Mulder pulled 
Scully more firmly to his side, as if to protect her 
from any more harm. It seemed that Betty too had noticed 
Mulder's uneasiness and held both her hands in front of 
her. He couldn't hear what she was telling them, but she 
had managed to get a tiny smile from Scully, which made 
Mulder a little more comfortable. She gestured to 
Skinner's table and they looked at him. He kept a 
neutral expression - eyes, mouth and any other muscle in 
his face frozen in place. The couple thanked Betty for 
her help and headed towards him, Scully ahead of Mulder, 
his hand on the small of her back to guide her through 
the tables covered with yellow tablecloths. Skinner 
gestured at the chairs in front of him and Mulder pulled 
one out for her to sit. When she was settled, he sat 
down and stared at his boss. He had taken off his 
sunglasses. Had Skinner made a bet with himself, he 
would have won; Mulder's eyes were baggy and dark, deep 
and doubtful. And Scully just wasn't herself; she would 
not look at him.

For a couple of minutes, nobody said a word and Skinner 
started to think that this was not going to help any of 
them if silence was all they were going to share. They 
were running out of time and he was sure both Mulder and 
Scully knew that.

So why did they keep silent?

"Well," he said, figuring that he would have to be the 
one to start the conversation. "Do the two of you have 
something to tell me?"

They kept their silence, but at least now Scully was 
looking at him. Her fierce look was a shadow of her real 
potential, compared to the one she saved for the bad 
guys, but the message was clear: she was daring him to 
condemn them, their feelings, their acts. He moved his 
eyes to Mulder and saw the same look on the other 
agent's face. No help there. And then he could really 
tell; they were in more trouble than he imagined.

Betty chose that moment to make her reappearance and 
hand them the menus.

"Do you want to order now, hon?"

Skinner looked up at her, unsure whether to be grateful 
by the interruption or not. Betty was a nice woman and 
her timing was totally awful that morning, but there 
were so many awful things happening by then that he 
decided to ignore the whole thing.

"We'll start with coffee and toast, Betty. Do you want 
something else?" he asked his agents. 

"Not right now, sir," Mulder replied. 

Betty frowned and Skinner thought it would be better to 
introduce them.

"By the way, Betty, these are two friends of mine, Fox 
Mulder and Dana Scully. Mulder, Scully, meet Betty, the 
owner of this place and the best cook around DC." His 
last comment carried a trace of kindness not usual at 
all of his behavior as an AD. Mulder and Scully once 
again just smiled at the woman. As if sensing that 
something hot was up, Betty muttered something about 
getting their order and went off to the kitchen.

Skinner's features became grave again as he turned his 
attention back to the two determined faces looking at 
him.

"So, would the two of you care to explain to me what the 
hell is going on?" he asked again.

"Sir," Scully started hesitantly before being cut off by 
him again.

"Don't 'Sir' me, Agent Scully. I want answers and I want 
answers now."

"With due respect, sir."   Fierce blue eyes pierced 
through him, the 'Sir' too emphasized for his liking. 
"What Mulder and I do when we're off duty concerns just 
the two of us."

"Sure, what the two of you do on your free time is no 
one's business, Agent Scully," he hissed back at her, 
his body advancing on the table as his index finger 
stabbed at the little white circles on the yellow cloth, 
"but when the damn Bureau tries to reach both of you and 
gets no answer, it's my damn business as well."

"Watch out, Skinner." Mulder's tone was as menacing as 
their boss's. Even though Mulder didn't move an inch 
from his place on the chair, his eyes flamed like the 
ones of a man who would take the matter into his own 
hands.

Scully snapped her eyes to his. 

"The Bureau tried to reach us?" she asked, traces of her 
own personality once again displayed in the still yet 
passionate tone of her voice, her blue eyes watching him 
askance.

"Nobody tried to reach us last night," Mulder retorted. 
"We had our cell phones on. Nobody tried to reach us."

Skinner was opening his mouth to speak when he saw Betty 
coming in their directions with their coffees and toast. 
However, to her credit, the small woman just put their 
mugs and plates on the table and made her way back to 
the kitchen.

"Nobody called us last night," Mulder insisted.

"Sir," Scully said in her cool way, rising to their 
defense, "Agent Mulder and I were in the basement until 
seven o'clock and nobody called us at the office." At 
that, her voice lowered as well as her eyes, but just 
for a moment. "And nobody called us in our room, later."

Skinner was considering his agents' words. Yeah, it was 
true they were troubled and that sometimes they suffered 
from lack of reason - especially Mulder. But they would 
not do something so stupid as turn off their cell phones 
just to fuck each other senseless. They had been doing 
this for years, hadn't they? And they had never played 
hooky to do so. 

And now, to lie about something of this importance, it 
would be a very stupid thing to do, even for them . No. 
He knew his agents and knew their methods. They would 
omit information, break into military bases, fake death, 
go to jail or go to Antarctica.

But they would not jeopardize everything they had fought 
for during the last five years with this. They were so 
close to getting the X-Files back, Mulder's life's work. 
All the answers, all the meanings. Everything was almost 
back in their hands. They would not throw everything 
away.

He looked into Scully's eyes.

They were dark, mirroring Mulder's.

"Okay," he said, smoothing the stress-wrinkled flesh of 
his forehead. "Okay. So nobody called you. This is 
something I'm going to check out first thing Monday 
morning." He stared at them intently and spoke very 
seriously. "But this doesn't change the fact that the 
two of you were caught in bed together in front of 
Supervisor Trajan. At least fifteen other agents 
witnessed this. And it's no secret to anybody that you 
two are not the most popular agents we have in the 
Bureau." Mulder started in defense of his partner.

"What we did... our being together, it doesn't go 
against the Bureau's policy, Sir, and you know that. 
Besides, Agent Scully has nothing to do with my bad 
reputation. The Bureau knows how valuable an agent she 
is."

"I know how good of an agent Scully is, Mulder. But you 
are a team and this is how they're going to evaluate the 
two of you next Tuesday at that meeting - as a team. And 
the two of you being... involved... The events of last 
May are still too new, Mulder. They know that you'd do 
anything for her, even lie about an important assignment 
if that's what it would take to keep her safe."

"She is my partner. Of course I'd do whatever I could to 
keep her safe. But that doesn't mean I'd lie."

"They know you would, Mulder. Anything. Break into 
hospitals, military bases. Damn, Mulder; you faked your 
own death! They know you'd do every kind of stupid thing 
to keep her alive." 

Mulder slumped in his seat and threw the napkin he was 
holding back on the table. 

"So, what do you suggest?" 

Skinner watched Scully as he answered Mulder's question. 
"Maybe you should slow down until the hearing."

Skinner felt defeated as he saw the hazel eyes assuming 
a shade of vehemence when Mulder took Scully's hand in 
his and barked, "Forget it!"

Once again the voice of reason came to his rescue, but 
now accompanied by the intertwining of their fingers, 
their hands clasped on the table. "Mulder, he's just 
trying to help us."

Skinner could see the Adam's apple bobbing in Mulder's 
throat, but at least now her touch seemed to make him a 
bit more calm.

"Sure." The agent smirked in Skinner's direction, not 
letting go of his partner's hand.

The loud pop that echoed around the place should have 
been louder, considering the way Skinner's hands landed 
on the table. "That's it, Mulder," he said, ignoring the 
heads that had turned in their direction. "If you think 
you can pull both yourselves out from the hole you're 
in, that's fine with me. But just remember: there's a 
hearing waiting for the two of you on Tuesday morning, 
and if you thought that Cassidy was hard on you, be 
prepared to face Trajan and his troupe. I wish you good 
luck, even though I don't think it will be enough to 
save your sorry asses this time." And with that, he rose 
from his chair, ready to leave. He didn't have the 
chance.

"No, sir. Please." Mulder said, standing as well. "I 
apologize; I know your intentions are honorable. Please, 
sit down."

Mulder's eyes shone with regret and embarrassment. 
Scully remained motionless on her chair. "Please?"

They sat back down in their chairs.

"What do you want to know, sir?"

What did he want to know? He wasn't sure. There were so 
many things, such as 'was it worth it?' or 'who won the 
office pool?', but he settled on this question.

"What's going on?"

For the first time that morning, Skinner saw a genuine 
smile flirting around Mulder's lips and eyes as he took 
Scully's hand in his again.

"It's a long story, Sir. You're sure you're up to this?"

"Tell me just what you feel is relevant in your 
situation, Mulder. I don't want to pry into your 
relationship."

"We know you wouldn't commit such an indiscretion, sir," 
said Scully.

"Thanks for the confidence, Agent Scully."

He felt ashamed; that's exactly what he would like to 
do.

**********************************

Chapter 2 


One of the first lessons about discipline Mulder 
had been taught while training at the Academy, was 
that he shouldn't - by any means - use his FBI 
credentials in self benefit. 

Aside from the many times he had flashed his badge 
to obtain information from non-official channels, 
or to pursue some lead concerning his missing 
sister, he hadn't had too many reasons to pull 
rank in his life as an ordinary civilian. 

Actually, he remembered doing that just once.

He and Scully had been stranded in 'God-knows-
where, USA' chasing 'God-knows-which-monster' for 
over a week. Normally, it wouldn't have been a 
problem to him; he loved doing that. But, that 
week, the Knicks were playing the Pacers and there 
wasn't a single hotel in the whole area that had 
cable. It had been useless to ask about his 
beloved team. 'New York  who, sir?,' had been the 
gentle clerk's response when he had asked about 
the game's score. So, after wrapping up a case 
that didn't exist, enduring a two hour drive on a 
road  resembling the lumps of the motel's mattress 
he had slept on, a three hour turbulent flight, 
and leaving a  pissed Scully at her apartment, 
there were only two things he had wanted the most 
in life. One of them had been his bed; the other - 
and most important - had been the game's score. 
That was why he had opened Mr. Hank's DC News 
laying on the bottom of the mail box. Of course 
Mr. Hank had to catch him peeking through his 
correspondence and made a fuss. Result: he had 
spent the rest of the morning trying to convince 
his eighty-year-old neighbor, and two cops that 
happened to be surveying the neighborhood, that he 
worked with the FBI and was in the middle of an 
investigation.  Scully had made fun of him the 
entire week. And worst of all, the Knicks hadn't 
won. At least Scully's pissed mood was over.    

Mulder was about to do that again. 

He had already wandered through the aisles of 
three different grocery stores, looking for his 
partner's favorite flavour of ice cream - 
chocolate, wondering if the inhabitants of 
Georgetown had developed a fetish for the frozen 
dessert that week. And if his Scully had asked for 
chocolate, she would have it even if he had to 
make use of his ID. This could be one of the last 
opportunities to make good use of it, anyway.

A chilly sensation ran along his spine at the 
thought of losing their agents' status with the 
Bureau,  its weight making his heart sink to the 
pit of his stomach. This time it was pretty close 
to happening.

Inside the freezer's glass door, he saw a carton 
that wasn't there before. Round, frozen, brown.

Chocolate. Ben and Jerry's' chocolate. With haste, 
his trained fire hand opened the door while his 
other pulled the ice cream carton and held it 
against his chest. He completely  ignored the cold 
liquid sensation seeping through the fabric of his 
olive shirt; he wanted to protect his prize from 
covetous eyes. That was how he went to the check 
out stand and waited: clutching the way too cold 
carton against his body and thinking about his and 
Scully's fate.

They had come back from Antarctica and headed 
straight to the J. Edgar Hoover building only to 
be dismissed without payment for who knew how 
long. 

They had been in suspense; the Lion's Den Club 
members hadn't made clear what their intentions 
were regarding them. They didn't know if by the 
beginning of next week they would be ex-federal 
employees or not.

But he as sure as hell would not mull over the 
possibility of losing his job now, not on his 
Friday night with his Scully.

His Scully. It sounded so right. Despite the many 
things that had been wrong in his life recently, 
that was the one thing he was sure about: she was 
becoming his. He would not let go of her, for 
anything.

The check-out stand was not that long; soon he was 
walking through the parking lot towards his car. 
Five more minutes and he would be at her 
apartment; the grocery store was in the same block 
of the park he had taken her last weekend.  

He could not help but smile as he remembered the 
previous Saturday evening. A sunny day, hot 
weather, a sweaty Dana Scully, an absolutely 
fantastic pair of legs, a piece of ash, a ball. 
His hands discovering all the curves on his 
partner's body. Her gracious giggles every time he 
squeezed her in the right place under the false 
purpose of encouraging her moves and stimulating 
her rhythm. Every time her hips bounced against 
his middle section, a rhythm was being stimulated, 
all right, but it sure as hell hadn't been hers. 
More than once he had had to mentally placate 
little Fox's enthusiasm; he didn't want to 
frighten her with his eagerness. It seemed that he 
had succeeded: she had been the one to call, 
inviting him for the weekend. 

The five minute ride took him an eternity, but 
he finally had the red bricks of her apartment 
building before him. He grabbed his duffel bag for 
the weekend and the ice cream, locked his car's 
door, and then headed to her door. She must have
seen him coming down  the street; the building 
door automatically opened up to him.

As he climbed the steps to her apartment, the pump 
of his heart made an interesting cadence with the 
sound of his shoes hitting the tile floor. 

Anticipation.

Since their baseball lesson at the park near her 
house the previous Sunday, they had only  talked 
via phone. 

That afternoon, he had pretended to be Joe Di 
Maggio and tried to introduce to her the 
principles of the great art of hitting a ball with 
a bat. And to reach the bases. And, of course, to 
celebrate each home run. 

To feel her body pressed against his own for an 
entire evening had been extremely necessary; he 
didn't know any other way of teaching baseball 
without physical contact. Or so he had told 
himself. He hadn't made an excuse to hold her 
whenever he felt like it, or to spin her around 
every time her slim arms found their way around 
his neck.

Love had been what led him to kiss her - really 
kiss her - for the first time. 

And the second.

And the third.

There had been so many kisses, he had lost track.

He was engrossed in so many memories that he 
missed her door.

To think about her caused him so much distraction 
that he got startled when he heard her calling his 
name.

So much beauty, he was mesmerized by the sight of 
her peeking through the doorway, a mix of 
amusement and confusion sparkling in her eyes, the 
corners of her beautiful, kissable lips turned 
upwards. 

His inventory of her perfect form started with her 
hair. At first, he thought it was held in a braid. 
When his eyes got used to such perfection and he 
was no longer blinded by her presence, he noticed 
the red silky web that went from the top of her 
head to the base of her skull, a small braid alone 
almost reaching the back of her neck. 

It was the first time she had left her face so 
bare to him; there was no make up, no lipstick, no 
shadowed eyes, no powder, no artificial 
compliments to cover her natural beauty. There was 
the familiar intelligence in her eyes, the 
brightness of her smile, the wonder that made 
Scully his one of a kind.

When the signals emitted from his brain reached 
the muscles in charge to move his neck, he could 
see that she had chosen a simple dress, a green 
one, its neckline low enough for him to see her 
golden cross resting in the base of her throat and 
the curve of her shoulders. Tiny roses were 
dancing all over the fabric, matching the white 
cream color of her skin, but losing its intensity 
to the timid smile she was directing at him.

"Are you lost? "

The little voice was still there inside his head 
whispering orders to him. 'Go to her. Say 
something.'

"Mulder?"

Electric impulses were reaching his legs and, 
although awkwardly, he made it to her. Later he 
should thank the little voice directing him. 'One 
step at time,' it said.

"Hi." This was better; now he could even speak.

"Hi yourself."

Smiling, he bent down and kissed her. Softly, 
lingering, he suckled her lower lip at the same 
time as her fingers cupped his face. He tried to 
deepen the caress, but she just pecked his lips 
one more time before pulling away. 

"Come on inside," she invited, smiling at him.

And so he did. 

Once inside, he handed her the ice cream.

"You owe me big time for this. It was a struggle 
to find it."

His fingers brushed against her hands when she 
caught the carton. Even with the small contact, he 
had been able to feel it: her hands were 
trembling. There had been a time when he would 
have related such reaction to the natural 
adjustment of warm meeting cold. Now he allowed 
himself to believe that the casual encounter of 
their limbs was the natural cause for such 
reaction.

"I'll put it in the freezer." 

Before she could go to the kitchen, he reached out 
one more time and his mouth descended upon hers 
for another lingering kiss.

"Don't be long," was his almost inaudible plea 
when his arms loosened the hold he was maintaining 
on her.

"I won't," she reassured him. "Take your bag to 
the bedroom. I'll be right back." And she was off 
to the kitchen.

He did as he was told, putting his T-shirts and 
boxers in his drawer in her bureau, and hanging up 
the rest of his clothes in her closet. Now those 
spaces were his for the right reason; they were 
not to hold the pieces of clothing he would use in 
the nights he slept over there in her battle 
against cancer and, afterwards, chemotherapy. Now 
they held the clothes he would use in their 
weekend together. 

And that sofa. No more sleeping on that tiny sofa 
of hers. The weekend before they had shared her 
bed, and his chest or her breasts were used as 
each other's pillows. In the few nights he had 
slept with Scully, he had rediscovered how 
pleasant simple acts could be; how cuddling and 
spooning her without sex had been the most sensual 
experience he had had in a long time. And for him, 
there was no hurry: just sharing a bed with her 
was more than he had bargained for when he had 
first showed up at her door, a bag of popcorn in 
hand, a lot of excuses in his pockets to justify 
his presence in the sanctuary of her home on a 
Friday night, four weeks ago.

They had made it back to DC the afternoon before, 
and even though he had insisted that she stay at
her mother's house, it had been useless: she had 
held her ground and told him the infamous "I'm 
fine", daring him to say otherwise. So, what else 
could a man in love do? He relented, but decided 
to be sure she was really okay.

That first Friday night, they had been up until 
the early hours of the morning, sometimes talking, 
sometimes watching TV. Without telling him a word, 
she went to fix them some breakfast and he had 
taken his chance and asked her out for lunch. A 
quizzical light made a sudden appearance in her 
blue eyes, but soon it was gone. He sighed in 
relief when she answered him, "Yes, why not?"

For the first time in their partnership, they'd 
had lunch in a nice restaurant with a tablecloth 
on the table and a nice leather cover on the menu. 
His khakis and impeccable black shirt complimented 
her lavender sun dress that exposed the bare skin 
of her arms and just a bit of the gentle curve of 
her breasts. That also had been the first time 
people saw them as a couple and he hadn't bothered 
to correct them; he had made up his mind that he 
would make them real.

And so he did.

And there they were, in her apartment, a huge pan 
of lasagna in the oven, and a gorgeous Dana Scully 
to keep him company.

What else could a man ask for in life?

"Mulder, are you finished?" she asked from the 
kitchen.

"Be there in a minute."

He checked his duffel bag to see if he had left 
something behind before going to the kitchen.

She was standing by the counter, a white dish 
cloth thrown on her shoulder, chopping onions and 
dropping them in a bowl containing sliced lettuce.

"Do you need any help, Scully?"

She turned to him, the hand holding the knife 
gesturing to the table. "Why don't you fix the 
table? The wine is in the fridge. I'll be there in 
just a minute," she said to him. 

"No problem."

After setting the table, he went to the stereo to 
select a music that fit the mood. Jazz, 
definitely. Diana Krall's soft piano notes were 
drifting in the air when, a few moments later, 
Scully entered the room, carrying a steamy lasagna 
pan and bearing a shy smile on her lips.

"It's ready."

Looking up at her and nodding, he waited to be 
served, then pulled out her chair before sitting 
in his own. They ate in silence for several 
minutes, savoring the delicious dish. 

"Scully," he said.

"Hum?" She put her fork aside and looked at him.

"You outdid yourself this time; this is 
delicious."

She smiled sincerely at him. "Thanks. It's been a 
long time since I cooked this fancy for someone."

Images of her past lovers flickered through 
his mind, causing him to attack the lasagna 
with more force than necessary. The pictures 
varied from the little boy that he imagined giving 
her her first kiss at kindergarten, to the last 
man he knew as being her former lover. All of 
their faces were framed in the picture born from 
his insecurity and self-deprecation, that both cut 
and hurt his self-esteem. He should leave this 
irrational jealousy behind and concentrate on the 
fact that she was with him now.

"Wow!" she said awkwardly. "Did I say something 
wrong?"

"No, it's fine."   

"Are you sure?"

He took her hand in his and let his thumb caress 
her palm. "Everything is fine, Scully. How about 
you? Are you okay with this?"

"Sure." She didn't look at him.

"I mean, you would tell me if you have a problem, 
wouldn't you?"

She pushed her plate away and gave him her full 
attention. "What could possibly be wrong, Mulder?"

He shifted in his seat, pins and needles pricking 
all over his body. "I don't want to impose."

She chuckled. "Mulder, you always impose."

"This is different, Scully."

"It doesn't have to be."

"Of course it does."

Scully turned her head aside to study the flowers 
he had sent her that afternoon. His throat 
tightened.

"I invited you, Mulder. I wanted you here." 

He kissed her wrist. "I wanted to be here, 
Scully." 

She caressed his cheek before he released her 
hand. They turned their attention back to their 
plates like nothing had happened. 

"I rented 'LA Story'. We could watch it after 
dinner," she said, casually.

He handed her his empty plate. "Do I have the time 
to eat some more lasagna?" 

She served him another generous portion. "Only if 
you help me with the clean-up."

"Do I have to?"

A raised eyebrow.

"Of course, dear."

She pinched the back of his hand and smiled. Her 
blue eyes sparkled; he drowned in them.

They finished the dinner and he did the dishes.

He never complained.

    
******************************************

Chapter 3


The next morning found the two partners in the 
kitchen for breakfast. It seemed to Scully that 
nowadays most of her meals were shared with 
Mulder. She sure was spoiling him, but she 
couldn't help it. The expression on his face 
whenever she put a plate full of food before him 
was priceless, like he had never seen something 
called pancakes in his life. The wide eyes and 
watery mouth he showed her were a reminder that he 
was just a bachelor who lived on takeout food.

Disgusting.

"Mulder, there's no need to lick the plate. 
There's more on the stove, you know."

He gave her a sheepish smile and kept on 
swallowing his food.

"I can quit eating now and use my tongue in more 
worthwhile pursuits. Would you like that?"

Before her brain could process an adequate answer 
for his remark, her telephone rang and she stood 
up to answer it. As she lifted the receiver piece 
from its place, she could see a glimpse of the 
fork in his hand reaching for another pancake. 
Smiling softly at his boyish figure, she said a 
happy "hello" into the phone. It was her mother.

"Mom. Hi."

"Hi, dear. How are you doing? "

"I'm fine, Mom." She looked over at Mulder again. 
"I'm just fine."

Scully could hear contentment and relief in her 
mother's voice. "That's wonderful, dear. What are 
you up to today? Would you like to have lunch with 
me and a friend?"

Scully frowned at the word friend. Was her mother 
playing matchmaker again?

"A friend?"

Mulder made a gagging sound. She turned back to 
see that he had choked on his orange juice. When 
their eyes met, he frowned and mouthed the word 
'friend' questioningly.

"Yes, Dana. A friend of mine. We would really be 
happy if you could make it and meet us today. I 
swear to you, you're not going to be 
disappointed."

Scully spent the time of two heartbeats 
considering her mother's words. It would be fun to 
have a girl's day out and catch up, just like 
other Saturday afternoons when she was not on the 
road with Mulder chasing monsters and bad guys. 
Her mother was great company and they always 
managed to have good times together. 

So, why not? 

The answer for that one was easy.
Tall, six feet. Dark hair, hazel eyes. Sensuous 
lips.

"I missed you, honey."

Margaret must have sensed her hesitation over the 
phone; she was pulling that old trick every mother 
had that required just the right tone of voice. 
And, in Margaret Scully's case, it always worked.

Dana sighed. That was not fair. A demanding 
Margaret Scully she could deal with, because they 
were alike on that matter. But a pleading one... 
and almost crying?

Why did mothers do that?

"Sure, mom. Of course I'll have lunch with you. 
What time?"

While making arrangements with her mother, Scully 
kept her back to Mulder, but listened to his 
movements.

She heard him leave the table, the dry sound of 
metal rasping porcelain as he cleaned his plate, 
and then the clink of glass touching porcelain as 
he took his glass and mug to the sink. Fox Mulder 
doing dishes of his own volition. He was annoyed.   

"Okay, Mom. Love you too. Bye."

As she put the receiver back on the phone, Scully 
mentally prepared herself to face a very 
disappointed Fox Mulder.

And there he was.

"Sorry," she said softly.

Mulder didn't respond. She took the apron on the 
counter and tied it around his waist; he was 
rinsing the dishes without bothering to keep his 
shirt dry. 

Scully finished her orange juice and ate the last 
pancake before taking her dishes to the sink; he 
just kept cleaning. 

"It's just lunch with my mother, Mulder," she 
attempted to calm him down.

"And friend," he reminded her sarcastically. 

She sighed and touched his shoulder, feeling his 
tensed muscles through the fabric of his shirt. 
"Why don't we go to the movies tonight? You can 
even pick the movie."

"Are you sure your mother doesn't have any big 
plans for you tonight?" he snorted at her.

She should be flattered by his jealousy, but she 
was losing her patience with him. "Too bad for 
her, Mulder; I have another plans. And I want to 
know if you're in or not."

He finished cleaning the lather from the sink and 
turned to her, his well shaped arms folded across 
his broad chest and the sheep embroidered in the 
apron looking accusingly at her. He made such a 
cute picture, making it hard for her to remain 
angry with him. 

"Mulder," she said tenderly. "This is ridiculous. 
I haven't seen my mother since she visited me the 
night we came back. She misses me, that's all."

He visibly relaxed a little bit, but something in 
his eyes was not right. "I've missed you my entire 
life, Scully."

It had not been his words; it had not been his 
eyes. It had been his voice. His voice broke 
something inside of her.

Mulder was a proud man. He masked his pain to the 
world with his smart remarks and sarcasm, his 
voice always loud and clear, even when he was 
hurting, even in disgust. But now she heard fear. 
Fear of being left behind, of being dumped for 
another man. Fear of not having her mother's 
approval. Scully knew that her blessing would be 
vital to him, for with Margaret's support, Scully 
would have a hard time in leaving him. 

What he didn't know was that she would never leave 
him, not for anything, not for the world. She 
hadn't told him that yet; she was not ready.

She took his hand and laced her fingers with his. 
"The night is ours, Mulder."

With his free hand, he caressed her face. "Spend 
the night with me."

She looked very seriously into his eyes. "You know 
I will."

"At my apartment."

The red bells of alert rang inside her head, 
warning her that she was walking on thin ice.

They had been going out together for a month; 
never had they gone to his apartment. Yes, he had 
been the one who slowly changed the small pecks of 
greeting or goodbye to deep, slow kisses.  He had 
taken the first step but, in the end, she had been 
the one who wordlessly set the rules from the very 
beginning. They would spend the weekends at her 
home; it was all right to go out on weekdays, 
since they were around her neighborhood; usually 
it was she who pulled away while they were 
kissing.

Now it was his time to claim his share in the 
ball court. In accepting it, she would be making 
an enormous concession in her little world; they 
would be out of her domain, out of her area, out 
of her control. But by refusing his invitation, 
she may have been putting an end to everything 
they had shared until now: the togetherness, the 
friendship, little secrets, their new 
relationship.

His trust in her.

"Fine."

A smile born of relief spread through his face. 
She smiled too.

"I'll be waiting for you there, then. You'll have 
the time to pack some clothes and meet me there 
after your lunch. We can go to the movies, and 
then, if you're up to it, we could go to a bar, 
just relax."

"All right." 

He bent down and kissed her briefly. "You'll never know how 
much this means to me."

He was wrong; she knew. She feared that he was 
aware of how much it had cost to her. If he did, 
he would know that she was becoming too dependent 
on him.

Too dependent. 


**************************************

Chapter 4


How much junk could a person gather in ten years? 

Pounds, and pounds, and pounds.

Mulder was sitting on the floor of his living room 
considering what to do next. He had already dusted his 
bookshelves and vacuumed all his apartment. The few 
dishes he had left on the rack were once again in the 
right place inside his cupboards. Groceries were already 
in the fridge and the bottle of wine in the cooler for 
later. 

But for now he had to go through the stacks of boxes 
gathered in what would make a small yet good guest room 
if he ever built up the courage to clean up it up; 
little pieces of his life he had even chosen to forget 
sometimes, when the loneliness and guilt dwelled inside 
of him, tearing him apart. 

Those were not the happy memories of a time when his 
greatest concern was to decide whether to ditch Samantha 
by telling her he was going to chase monsters with his 
friends in a very dark, very deep, very frightening 
place, a place where little girls wearing waist length 
pig tails were not allowed to go. Or by just telling her 
he didn't want a little girl following him around on his 
vacation, words that he was sure would hurt her, but 
that would get rid of her anyway. And, besides, he could 
always make amends later, like riding his bike to the 
beach with her settled on his back seat. Or helping her 
to climb into their tree house in the backyard. 

Sometimes he would just sit with her on the porch to 
watch the sun kiss the sea down on the horizon, telling 
her stories of brave men that had defied the glaring 
sun, the furious winter, just to have their names 
printed on the pages of some history book. 

Secret, treasured places that belonged just to her and 
her alone. Memories he vowed to himself never to share 
with anyone.

Anyone. 

Places he had missed so much in his adult life. A life 
he found himself trapped in a long time ago. A place
where the monsters his boyish imagination had made 
up in order to ditch her all those years ago were 
nothing but kid's tricks.

His early years in BSU under Bill Patterson had showed 
him that real life monsters were ten times worse than 
the ones a twelve year-old boy could create. 

Pressing the tip of his fingers to his eye sockets to 
chase those memories away, he left his place on the 
floor and went into the spare room. 

All the mementos from childhood and his teen years were 
stored at his mother's house in Martha's Vineyard, and 
some from his teen years were in the summer house in 
Quonochontaug. 

In his apartment there were more recent things, such as 
his degree from Oxford, copies of all the monographs he 
had made during his stint in the VCU, photo albums of 
old faces from his recent past.

His marriage license, his golden band, the divorce 
papers. 

He took a deep gulp of air and thought about Scully. He 
had to tell her about that part of his life. Now that 
they were becoming an item, it wouldn't be fair of him 
to leave her in the dark about this piece of his past - 
that short passage in his life when he was a married man 
with a lovely wife. He couldn't predict her reaction 
when he told her he had been married to Diana Fowley, 
his partner during his first year on the X-Files.

The woman with whom he once believed he had found true 
love, just like he had believed Phoebe Green would be 
the love of his life, in England. 

He sat down on the floor and sorted through the many 
things encased in the box labeled 'Oxford'. Books, 
banners, medals. A rumpled picture of him and Phoebe 
together, smiling mischievously at the photographer.  

For many years, Phoebe had been his destruction. But at 
twenty-one he needed to have had a broken heart, didn't 
he? All his friends had fallen hard once, so why 
couldn't he too. If Phoebe had made him a fool, it had 
been because he was so eager to find real love, he 
completely mistook everything. What he had felt for 
Phoebe had been lust, pure and simple lust. Their 
relationship had been a bad version of Lord Byron's 
romance with the fringe benefits: sex, sex, sex. Yet, 
when she dumped him, he had been reduced to dust. No 
more wild sex in the morning, in the afternoon, at 
night.

He had had other girlfriends after her, none lasting 
more than two months. He was okay with that. In that 
stage of his life, all he had wanted to do was finish 
his studies, come back home and forget Phoebe. 

During his training period at Quantico, he had dated a 
recruit, Renee Taylor. This time, he didn't make the 
same mistake; he wasn't trying to achieve a serious 
commitment to her, which he had made crystal clear from 
the very beginning. As she too didn't want any real 
commitment, their relationship had been smooth and 
pleasant, later turning into a genuine friendship. They 
remained friends even after their affair was over and 
she dated and married another man.

Then came Diana.

At first she was just a pretty face and an intellectual 
mind. His first contact with her had been during a 
seminar, when he was still at the VCU . She had been the 
one to notice him first. She approached, they talked. He 
laughed, she enjoyed. Then they dated and two weeks 
later, they fell in bed together. For the first time in 
years, he felt the urge to commit more than his body to 
a woman. Diana had worshiped him like no one else ever 
had. From that day on, he accepted the unconditional 
devotion she presented him, and had done everything in 
his power to return the favor.  Two months later, they 
moved in together; in five months they were married.

A nice arrangement. That's how Mulder thought about his 
marriage now. Everything had been convenient for him: a 
woman that loved him, a brilliant career ahead of him, 
an exquisite apartment. Everything had been fine until 
he'd run into Arthur Dales and came across the X-Files, 
six months after they had been married. She had 
supported him when he had decided to dig into his 
father's past; she had held his hand during the painful 
hypnosis sections he'd gone through to uncover the night 
of his sister's abduction; she had held him while he 
cried after the confrontation with his father, breaking 
dramatically the stony silence that had hovered over 
them for years. She had willingly put her interests 
aside in order to help him with his own, down in the 
basement. 

Their fairy tale had lasted three cases, and then it was 
gone. He had been fascinated with the cases, the 
challenge, the unnatural. And with that came the 
possibility of finding his sister. For the first time 
there was hope for him, for his parents...

Mulder gulped back a guilty lump that formed in his 
throat. His indifference and absence caused her to drift 
away. She left four months after they had started 
working together. 

Mulder sighed and started to put together the boxes where
he read Fox/Diana. Past, they belonged to the past; 
there was no place for them in his apartment anymore. He 
needed room for new memories.

Scully.

After he had separated the documents and a few personal 
objects he wanted to keep, he went to the living room 
and retrieved the Yellow Pages and the phone. He dialed 
a set of numbers and waited.

"C&C Storage Service. May I help you?"

"Yes. My name is Fox Mulder and I need your service."

*************************************** 

Chapter 5


She had forgotten to send their lasagna leftover from 
the previous dinner home with Mulder and now she would 
worry; knowing the man the way she did, she was sure he 
would have hot dogs or some other junk food for lunch. 
She had been so busy putting the house together in order 
to meet her mother and that friend of hers that she had 
neglected anything else.

Actually, Mulder's behavior had started her thinking. 
That was why she had masked her uneasiness with their 
situation in domestic tasks; vacuuming the living room, 
a quick cleaning in the bathroom, changing the sheets on 
their bed. Food had not been in her list of priorities. 

Despite his vulnerable mood, he never asked her not to 
go and meet her mother. She had seen his possessiveness 
and paranoia working before, but never towards her, not 
that way. She wasn't used to being the object of his 
focus. It kind of unnerved her. 

But wasn't that what she had been craving for so long? 
To have him looking at her not just as a partner, not 
just as a friend, but as the woman who happened to be 
his partner and friend? 

He finally realized that she could be more than one of 
the guys, that she was different. There had been the 
innuendoes, the teasing, but the one time she had tried 
to act on them, he had backed off, leaving her waiting 
in a cold motel room in Florida with the promise of 
building up their own tower of furniture.

He didn't come back. She had never felt so ashamed and 
embarrassed.

But this morning, when she emerged from her bedroom 
checking her purse before going to her lunch date, she 
saw his eyes shouting the plea his voice refused to 
intone: he was terrified of having her walk out on him.   

She was his one in five billion.

But the sixty-four thousand-dollar question was, was she 
ready to carry such a responsibility? 

Scully stopped the car in the mall's parking lot unaware of 
how she made it there. After turning off the engine and 
checking her appearance in the small mirror she always 
carried in her purse, she looked at her wristwatch. She 
still had some time to kill before her mother's arrival, 
so she decided to go window shopping. Mulder's birthday 
was close and she still didn't know what to give him. 

GAP, Hugo Boss, Armani; their winter collections were 
already on display. Dark suits, black dress shoes, 
scarves; they had everything. And all the disposable 
pieces of clothing there seemed to have been made 
specially for him.

Truth be told, recently everything alive and beautiful 
and soft reminded her of Mulder. This year she wanted to 
give him a nice gift, something to remind him of her, to 
make clear his place in her life. She may have doubts 
about being ready to assume a role of this importance in 
his life, but she would fight tooth and nail any other 
woman who as much as tried to have it, to have him.

Tooth and nail.  

She could make him a scarf. It would be nice, they were 
expecting a cold winter this year and he could use it at 
work. Besides, it would be her leash. 'One false move 
and I will pull it around your neck, buddy,' she thought 
bemused.

'Hard.'

Not making an effort to wipe away the silly smile that 
suddenly appeared on her face, she checked her watch 
again. Twenty minutes had passed and she hadn't noticed. 
Going window shopping had always been a nice distraction 
to her, but now it paled if compared to the distraction 
that came from thinking about Mulder.

She took the panoramic elevator to the third floor to 
wait for her mother in the little Chinese restaurant 
they liked so much. 

"Good afternoon, Dana," Ling, the beautiful, petite 
Chinese owner of the restaurant, greeted her by the 
front door.

"Good afternoon, Ling. How have you been?"

"We're good" Ling answered, caressing her rounded belly. 
"Due any time now."

"And you're still working? You should be at home 
resting, Ling."

The woman laughed. "Resting? With my mother, Chung's 
mother, everybody hovering over me and asking how I am 
every five minutes? No, my dear. Believe me: I'm better 
right here where I am."

Scully said nothing, but kept smiling at the young 
woman. Pregnancy was still a sore spot for her. Even 
more now, with Mulder.

"Is my mother here already?" she asked changing the 
subject.

"Oh, yes, Dana. They're here." Ling gestured to the end 
of the room. "At your usual table."

Dana thanked the woman and made her way to her mother. 
And friend.

She saw her mother's flushed face first. Elegant as 
always, she was holding her rice wine cup while laughing 
her head off, her dark hair dancing around her face and 
her shoulders shaking. She spotted Dana and greeted her 
with a toothy smile, the one she hadn't seen in a long 
time. She said something to her companion and he turned 
his head in Scully's direction.

It was difficult to picture exactly when her uneasy 
steps had turned into the resolute ones she paced until 
she got to their table.

It could have been when she recognized both the short 
dark hair that glistened in the room's soft light and 
the vivid sparkles of life his blue eyes acquired as he 
saw her tiny figure getting closer and closer to them. 
Maybe it was when his tall figure stood up before her 
and opened up both his arms to greet her as he had done 
so many times before. Or when he caught her up in his 
embrace and lifted her off of the floor, their foreheads 
almost touching, her arms entwined around his neck. 

She unconsciously thanked her mother both for reserving 
a private space in the restaurant for them and for the 
lovely surprise. 

He put her back on the floor but kept her in his arms. 
She cupped his tanned, young face in her hands and her 
eyes filled with water, blurring the image of the 
handsome man she hadn't seen in so long and that she 
loved so much. 

"I'm back, Dana," his strong, deep voice told her. "For 
good."

She nodded and kissed him on the cheek, trusting him 
with the tears rolling down her face. 


********************************************


Chapter 6


Around three p.m. his stomach rumbled, telling him he 
was starved.

He had been so tied up with his domestic activity that 
lunch time had passed without his knowledge. But it had 
been worth it. Now his apartment was shining, ready to 
receive his guest for the night. Clean linen sheets on 
bed, fluffy towels folded on the bathroom's rack, the 
bathrobe he had bought her earlier this week was hanging 
beside his own on the bathroom door. Scully would be 
surprised with the arsenal of feminine stuff he had 
gotten for her.

His belly rumbled again, reminding him of why he was in 
his car making this trip back from Georgetown. When he 
took a break to put something in his complaining 
stomach, it was screaming to him 'Thai, Thai'. He 
remembered the Thai restaurant where he used to get his 
and Scully's dinner when they were working nonstop at 
her house, updating their always neglected expense 
reports.

He hadn't been thinking too much about work lately. The 
impact of having lost their files was still a great one 
in his life, but thanks to Scully he was managing. 
Sometimes when they were talking, this subject would 
come to the surface. He knew she felt the loss just as 
much as him, the answers to many questions reduced to 
dust and gray and smoke on the old basement floor. The 
Morley they had found among the ashes told him who the 
responsible party was and every time he thought about 
that, the longing for revenge that he felt was almost 
strong enough to make him cry in anger. Men with no 
identity were still running his life. Their lives. 

He wondered if they already knew about him and Scully. 
They should; nothing passed unnoticed by their watchful 
eyes. And he and his partner weren't exactly trying to 
hide the fact that they were seeing each other. At least 
the nice old lady that lived next door to Scully had 
been presenting him with sweet good mornings, afternoons 
and evenings whenever they came back from a walk, after 
his morning run or on his way back from the mail box 
downstairs.

Now it was time for his neighbours to see that he was 
not the basket case he seemed to be. A short and sexy 
redhead opening the door for him in the morning wearing 
nothing but his shirt from the pervious night, her naked 
body and a lascivious smile illuminating her gorgeous 
face would be enough to shut their mouths for the next 
couple of months. Or until, he prayed, he and Scully 
found a place to live together. 

For the first time since the beginning of his journey 
for the Truth, he was considering the idea that they 
were not going to get the X-Files back. And if it was 
the case, at least now he had someone to come home to, 
another reason to keep going, to keep living. Files or 
no files, he would keep searching for his sister, for 
the truth, for everything he had ever cared for. But his 
priority in life would be the most precious thing that 
just four weeks ago was revealed to him: that he too 
had the right to be happy. And if his happiness was 
encased in alabaster, adorned with red and blue, the 
better it would be. 

He was near Scully's building. He had to get her the 
lotion she used for bed; he had forgotten its name when 
he made his trip to the mall. It wouldn't take him more 
than five minutes to go to her apartment and take a look 
on the bottle. He checked the clock on the dashboard. It 
was almost five o'clock. If she had already come back 
from her lunch date, they could go from there to the 
movies; the food he had gotten in the restaurant could 
go to her fridge with no major problems.

Turning the car onto her block, he was so absorbed making 
plans he almost missed her car already parked by the 
front door. She was already home, probably getting ready 
to go and meet him at his place. 

He had already found a place to park his car when he saw 
her coming through the front door in the same outfit she 
had chosen to wear this morning. She had that goofy 
smile on her face, just like the one he had been wearing 
this past month and right now, inside his car. 

He had a reason to be acting this silly, and he would 
surprise this reason by sweeping her in his arms and 
giving her a kiss that would make the nice old lady 
smile, wishing to be young again. 

He was ready to open the car door and put his plan into 
action when he saw the dark figure coming through the 
door, her leather duffel bag on his hand...

And froze. 

It couldn't be.

'Take it easy, Fox.' Despite of the thin sheen of sweat 
that broke onto his brow and upper lip and the burning, 
creeping sensation in his hands and face, he was able to 
finish his thought - 'For sure it's just a neighbor 
being nice carrying her bag.'

But since when did Scully have athletic nice neighbors 
to carry her bag for her when she was going to spend the 
night with another man?

Unless... 

And then he saw the nightmare so many times pictured 
during all the lonely nights of the last five years 
becoming true. Only that the images he had created on 
those nights, when he had been lying awake on his couch, 
wondering what she must had been doing in his absence 
didn't correspond at all to the Kodak scene his eyes 
were registering now. Reality was more painful, much 
more painful.

The Friend throwing Scully's bag on the back seat of her 
car, telling her something he couldn't even begin to 
imagine what could be. She responding to the Friend's 
silliness, probably with a silliness of her own, and the 
Friend's laugh as her fist made contact with the 
Friend's abdomen. The sorry son of a bitch catching her 
in his arms and throwing her over his shoulder, and then 
spinning her around. She kicking, screaming, laughing, 
her fists making contact with his large back as she 
punched him.

And the most painful picture at all - Margaret Scully 
appearing at the building door, clapping her hands 
together and smiling in approval at the Friend.


*****************************

Chapter 7 


'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

He opened another can of Budwiser the fifth since
he settled onto his couch.

Or was it the sixth...?

His clouded eyes counted four empty cans scattered on 
the coffee table. Four divided by two...

Third. That was his third beer.

But if he had consumed just three beers, why was he 
sooooo diiiiiiizzy...? He was ready to ask the picture 
hanging on the wall when he saw two wine bottles and 
four cans of beer resting on the floor, right in front 
of the TV rack.

Two divides two... Two divides two... 

One plus four...

He had had one bottle of wine and four beers. 

He smiled proudly at the picture and waited for a 
reward. 

None came.

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

He wanted his mother. His mother would know what to tell 
him. She had known what to tell him when he showed up at 
the beach house after the fire. She would know what to 
tell him now.

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

He let his head slid along the sofa and opened his mouth 
the most he could. Neither a droplet of beer. He patted 
the can's bottom.

Nada.

'This house needs new memories, Fox.' 

He reached for another beer, but found none on the 
coffee table. Fuck. He should have brought the four 
packs he had bought into the living room. Now he would 
need to go to the kitchen to get more. This time he 
would be sure to bring the - four minus one... - three 
other packs with him.

He made an effort to concentrate all of his numb energy 
in his legs planted firmly on the carpet, and the hands 
griping the edge of the sofa, and pushed his body 
forward...

... and slumped back on the couch.

"Look what your Friend did to me Scully," he shouted, 
smiling ruefully at the picture. He whipped. "Look what 
you did to me, Scully."  

He would not cry. He would not let the tears come to the 
surface. He would be brave, he would not cry.

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

He would not cry; he would gather enough energy to push 
his sorry ass from the sofa to the kitchen and get his 
beers. He needed his beers. He wanted his beers.

He needed Scully. He wanted Scully. He loved Scully.

He couldn't have Scully; Scully was with another man.

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

He would rest for just a minute. He would close his eyes 
and think about the last time he talked to his mother, 
that led him to commit this mortal sin.

He would not think of her.

Just for a minute.

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

*****

The office had just burned down, there was nothing left. 
Scully had tried to be there for him, and he had balked 
at that. His defenses were low, it could be too 
dangerous. 

That night he had driven to the beach house. That had 
been automatic, he was on auto-pilot. Just when he saw 
the woody surroundings of the familiar shelter, he 
became aware of where he was. For hours he just sat 
there, in the car, looking at the sea. 

And he thought. 

He  had thought about his life, about what he had 
become, about what he had lost.

His family, his youth, his joy.

The only woman he had ever loved.

That night he had been sure his life with Scully was 
over. He was sure that he would never see or work with 
her again. That was what hurt the most.

When night had become day, he went to the beach for a 
walk and to clear out his mind, to consider what to do 
next. There weren't many options. Keep going, keep 
fighting, keep breathing, just by instinct. A few hours 
later, he went back to the house. There was a car parked 
in front of the woody porch, a car he had never seen 
before. He approached cautiously, cursing himself for 
leaving his weapon in his car. No need to worry, though; 
it had been his mother. 

"Mom."

She looked pale and thin, thinner than the last time he 
had seen her, over a year ago.

"Hello, Fox."

Despite her pale complexion, her eyes were clear and 
shinning. That gave him some comfort. 

"Where's the old Cadillac?" 

So much time without seeing his mother, and he had 
nothing better to say than to ask her about her old 
Cadillac. So kind of him.

She didn't look at him, just responded quietly. "I had 
to trade it, after the stroke. The Lexus is easier to 
drive."

He lowered his eyes at the pang in his conscience. His 
mother had suffered a major stroke two years ago and he 
hadn't bothered to call her or ask how she had been 
doing during the period. The only times he had come by 
had been to make questions and demand answers. What a 
son he was.

She must have sensed his discomfort, because next she 
touched his arm and looked at him, smiling. "I'm fine, 
Fox."

He smiled too, softly, shyly. They remained like that 
for a few more minutes, surrounded by green, blue and 
silence. 

"What are you doing here, mom?" There was no accusation 
nor irritation in his voice, just curiosity. 

"Why, Fox?" Sadly, he observed that her face bore the 
usual defensive look she adopted whenever he was around, 
her grey eyes filled with hurt and rejection.

"No, nothing." He stared at his lap and avoided looking 
at her. "It's just that you never come here, Mom."

"Neither do you."

"I know, but..." He shut up. She was right. He was never 
there as well. 

"I was at my sister's, looking for Daniel. I wanted him 
to fix my roof."

"Ah." 

"It's almost the rainy season. I want to prevent a 
disaster."

That got his attention. "Why? Is the roof that bad?"

"Nothing that Daniel can't fix."

"Good."

They stared at the white sand ahead of the trees. He and 
his sister used to run down there barefooted whenever 
they played a prank. He still remembered his mother 
running after them shouting pretended threats if they 
didn't come back to the house. Of course his little 
seven year-old legs and Samantha's would not go too far 
before Teena caught their arms and pulled them to her 
embrace. The three of them would end as a funny laughing 
sculpture of arms and legs entangled in the warm sand. 
He looked back at his mother to find her staring at him. 

"Fox," she had started tentatively, "what are you doing 
here?"

He diverted his eyes back to the beach. There were a few 
children there and some couples playing in the water, 
despite the drift in the air. Happy scene. He was the 
only character out of place in that picture of utopia.

"I just drove and ended up here." He shrugged, trying to 
sound normal to his mother. If she considered normal 
someone wearing a white T-shirt tinged in grey by soot, 
torn jeans and haunted look, then he had made his point.

"Is everything fine, son?"

That had been his undoing. He couldn't remember the last 
time his mother had acknowledged him as her son. 
Somewhere along the line, they had lost that intimacy, 
that warmth that made him feel like he was someone's 
child. Suddenly he felt the urge to become a fetus again 
and crawl back into the safety of her womb.

"This house is beautiful, isn't it?" He hadn't tried to 
change the subject; he just wanted his mother to talk 
about good things with him. 

"Yes, it is." A warm smile lit up her beautiful face. 
Even though life hadn't been kind to her, she was still 
a beautiful woman. "When your father brought me here for 
the first time, I fell instantly in love with this 
place." The wind was whispering in her white hair and 
her eyes were closed; she resembled an ethereal being 
recalling good times from a distant life. "Your father 
didn't like it at first. He had said that the house was 
too small, and that with two children we would barely 
have room." When she opened her eyes again, they were a 
deep shade of gray. 

"I thought I was the only child when you bought the 
house."

"Oh, you were. You were that small thing," - she 
stretched out a hand about a foot from the floor - "that 
kept running up and down on the sand." A startled 
chuckle of delight tore from his chest. "Your father and 
I, we didn't have the energy to keep up with you, Fox. 
You were terrible."

"I believe it."

"You were three and we had just discovered Sam was on 
the way. A place to get away with the family would be 
good." She sighed melancholy, but she kept talking. "But 
we bought this house because you had loved it." Surprise 
took over his face. "You repeated all the time 'beach 
house, dad' in your small voice. He bought it for you."

He had looked at the sky and enjoyed the priceless gift 
his mother had presented him; at one point of his life, 
that house had been a home.

"Do you remember how you and Sam used to have a good 
time around here?"

He had searched his mother's eyes for some trace of 
sadness or bitterness. He found none of them.

"It's okay to talk about her, Fox. I have good memories, 
too."

For the first time in over twenty years, he and his 
mother had had a pleasant talk about Samantha. They 
didn't talk about a missing sister and daughter. They 
talked about the girl who loved apple pie with whipped 
cream, about the girl who would convince Fox to play 
hopscotch with her at noon, when his friends wouldn't 
see him in their back yard, jumping on one foot in the
tiny squares. They talked about the girl that had always been 
loved, never mourned. 

The tears they had shed had been the ones caused by a good 
laugh, not by bitter words or accusation. She did have 
precious remembrances and shared them with him. 

That was why when she left the spot where she was sitting
on the porch he stood up as well and took her by the 
elbow. He had wanted her to stay, to talk some more. She 
smiled kindly at him and cupped his face.

"It was good to talk to you, Fox," she said tenderly.

His smile broadened, but deep inside of him he had been 
sad because she was leaving.

Still cupping his face, her eyes wandered again over the 
house, as if to memorize everything there. "This house 
needs new memories, Fox." Then she turned and left.

The next morning, he went to her house and woke her up 
by hammering the roof. When she saw his lean frame sitting
atop of the roof with a hammer in one hand and a book 
laying beside him, she had started to argue, trying to 
make him get down from there. He hadn't ignored her, but 
didn't interrupt his work either.

"Get down here, Fox! You'll fall!"

"No, I won't."

"Daniel can do that."

"Daniel can't see the difference between a screw and a 
nail."

"Can you?"

He pointed to the book - "I learn fast" - and kept 
hammering. 

After that, she gave up and entered the house to start 
breakfast. That morning he had eaten his mother's 
delicious oat cookies like they were his last meal in 
this life. A week later, she had called him at his 
apartment to let him know he had done a good job on her 
house.

That was when he decided to start his new memories.

*****

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

"I tried, mom," he stated, sadly, to nobody. "Scully 
doesn't love me."

He had craved for new memories with Scully. 

He should have trusted his instincts; the moment he had 
kissed her goodbye, he knew something would not go 
right. Too many blessings for an atheist like him.

The digital clock on his VCR showed him it was past six 
P.M. 

She still hadn't called him. Probably she wasn't even 
going to.

She was with another man, with the blessings of her 
mother.

What a sick bastard he was. Even though it hurt like 
hell, he kept closing his eyes to review the images of 
that afternoon: Scully in the arms of another man; 
Scully giggling with another man; Scully having a good 
time with another man.

Scully being happy with another man, as happy as she 
would never be with him.

He opened his eyes seeking solace in the walls of 
his apartment. He found nothing, nothing. There was no 
one to help him. There was no one to turn to. He was 
lost. Everything he was now, every new memory he had 
built recently had her mark, her touch on it.

Filling his lungs with a large amount of air, he rested 
his face on both his hands. Why was his head spinning 
that fast? His long fingers went all the way up to his 
forehead and then slipped down to cup his mouth. With a 
final sigh and a lot of courage to stop the world from 
spinning so fast around him, he rose up from his couch 
and looked for his kitchen. Last time he had checked, it 
was somewhere around his apartment.

The phone rang.

He stopped in his tracks and cupped his ears with 
trembling hands; his head was ringing. 

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

It didn't stop and he didn't know which button to push 
and stop the offending jiggling.

"Oha!"

He crumbled on the floor, his hands landed on something 
hard and vibrating, itching the palm of his hand. 

The telephone.

He stared at the noisy object in his hand, deciding 
whether to answer it or not. It was Scully. He was sure 
it was her, calling to dump him for good. 

He would answer it. He would prove to her that she had 
not destroyed him, that he was stronger.

Even drunk.

"Hello."

"Mulder."

His name tasted like honey when she talked to him like 
that. His lips were trembling and he breathed deeply 
before speaking to her again. 

"Scully."

That was not how he had planned on calling her name. He 
wanted it to be bitter, angry, just the way he was 
feeling two seconds ago, just the way she deserved to 
hear him talking to her. But no. All his alcohol induced 
bravery was lost under the power she held over him. 

She giggled. "Mulder, wait a minute."

He heard the sound of flesh slapping flesh. "Not now," 
she whispered hoarsely into the phone.

The salty tears he refused to shed were burning his 
eyes, his dreams for a future with her dripping red 
inside of him.

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

"Mulder, sorry. Listen, I'm afraid I'm not going to make 
it for dinner tonight."

He closed his eyes, the tip of his fingers pressed 
against his temple. "Fine, Scully."

"I'm really sorry, but mom invited me to have dinner at 
her house tonight and I couldn't say no." She became 
quiet for a few seconds as if waiting for him to say 
something, testing the waters to see if he had been 
caught in her lie. Or maybe she was considering what to 
tell him next, he wasn't sure. When she spoke again her 
timid euphoria was painful for him.

"Mulder", she said, "I want you to meet someone, but I'm 
afraid you'll get embarrassed. I don't want to create an 
awkward situation for you. Or... for him."

So she would be honest and tell him about 'him'.

The cold fingers of dread were pushing his shoulders 
down to earth and he had to sit down once again on his 
couch. A sob formed in his throat and it required a 
monumental effort to hold it back.

"Sure, Scully."

"Look, no... wait a minute"

This time she didn't cover the phone and he was able to 
distinguish little pieces of a one sided conversation, 
something like "Carol", "stop" and "father". He didn't 
know know who she was talking to and, by now, he really 
didn't care. All he wanted was a little mercy from his 
partner. If she wanted to dump him, it had better be 
soon because at this point of his life, he didn't have 
too much to lose. 

"Mulder," she called him cheerfully.

He would not let her hurt him again.

"What do you want, Scully?"

Silence. He couldn't hear her breathing. Maybe she had 
stopped breathing all together. The impact of his rage 
and lashed words  must had been too much for her. She 
wasn't expecting it. She didn't know that he would not 
be her puppet, she would not play with his life anymore. 
He would be brave. She would pay.

"Mulder, are you all right?"

The confusion and concern in her voice fuelled the anger 
in him.

She would pay.

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

"I'm fine. And I'm busy."

More silence.

Good.

"Scully?"

"I'm sorry, Mulder." He had gotten her; she was 
sputtering. Scully did not sputter. "I won't hold you. I 
have to go. My brother... Charlie... is calling me."  

Charlie?

"Who?" he whispered.

"Charlie." 

A switch flickered inside of his head. "Charlie, like 
your brother Charlie?" 

"Yes. He is here with his family," she whispered softly.

Charlie, her brother Charlie...

Finally her words broke the spell the sight of her
that afternoon had cast on him and suddenly all the 
fingers crushing his shoulders were gone. He slumped on 
his couch and released a deep, delicious sigh of relief 
and happiness.

It had been Charlie, just Charlie. 

Then it downed on him: what fucking an idiot he was! Of 
course she would never betray him. His Scully was the 
most reliable person he had ever met.

And he had hurt her.

"I won't keep you any longer, Mulder."

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

"No, Scully! Wait!" he cried anxiously to stop her from 
leaving him. 'Please, God! Make her stay!' "Please, 
wait."

He needed to think. He needed to get her back. 

"Mulder, what's wrong?"

How easily could he go from the lion to the lamb?

"Nothing, angel. Everything is fine."

He waited. 'Just stop this fucking silence, Scully.'

"Fine," she said, hesitantly.

'Talk, Mulder, talk.'  

"You were saying your brother is here?"

"Yes, he and his family. I mean, his wife and kids." The 
cadence of her voice was getting smoother and smoother 
and he relied on it. "Mom made it a surprise. I mean, he 
surprised mom as well. He just arrived in town last 
night and didn't tell her anything, the little devil." 
She chuckled softly. "He'll be in DC for the weekend, 
but they're heading home Monday night."

For a few seconds, he just enjoyed the sound of her 
breathing in the other end of the phone, and fluttered 
in the warm sensation that she was still talking to him. 

"Mulder? Mulder, are you still with me?"

He was sure she could hear the goofy grin on his face 
via phone.

"Sure, Scully." 

Her next words - "I know." - were meant only for him to 
hear. But it wasn't like that.

"Aunt Day. Want talk to Uncle Foxy, too."

He chuckled softly.

"Uncle Foxy?" 

"Mulder, stop. Don't tease me about that, it's not my 
fault."

"I know, sweetheart. I bet she had never heard you 
calling me 'Foxy' before, had she?"

He sensed that she decided it would be better to just 
ignore him and the 'sweetheart' thing.

He heard a distant voice calling her for dinner.

"I have to go. Mom is calling; dinner is ready."

"Sure, go. I'll see if I can manage to eat something, too."

"I forgot to send the lasagna," she said apologetically. 

"That's okay. I'll be okay."

"On pizza?" 

He chuckled again at the disapproval in her voice.

"No, Thai. I'll be all right, Scully. Don't worry about 
me."

She sighed. "If you say so."

"I'll miss you tonight, Scully," he said softly. "I want 
to see you tomorrow."

"I'd love that, Mulder, but I'm taking the kids on a 
kid's day out tomorrow. You know, museum, shopping, 
amusement park... kid's stuff."

He grinned. "Hey, take me with you and I'll be Uncle 
Mulder to them for a whole day. I can help you to take 
care of them..."

"I don't know, Mulder..."

"I really want to met the kids," he added softly.

He waited a moment and pouted as if she could see his 
stuffed upper lip covering his lower one in a childlike 
manner. "I promise I'll behave and be a good boy and 
uncle." 

'Say yes, Scully. Say yes.'

"Promise you'll behave? I'm not chasing after you in the 
Mall"

He mentally high fived himself and offered a silent 
thank you to the heavens.

"Deal."

They spoke for a few more minutes, making the 
arrangements for the next day. When he put the phone 
back in its place with a loud clack, Mulder launched 
himself on his knees on the carpet of his living room 
and emitted a silent thank you to whomever wanted to 
hear him.

She had stayed.

He didn't remain on the floor for much time. Unsteadily, 
he rose onto his feet and headed to the kitchen. He 
needed coffee, lots of extra strong coffee. Then he 
would push his too heavy body to the bathroom and take a 
long, cold shower. And finally, after taking two 
aspirins, he would crawl into bed for a much needed
eight hours of sleep.   

He needed to sober up and be an uncle the next morning.


**********************************

Chapter 8


Little five-year-old Caroline had her vivid, sparkling 
blue eyes glued to the back windshield of her Granny's 
car. Scully had already told her twice to not sit like 
that because it could be dangerous, and twice her 
brother Jason had to sit her back and  refasten the 
seatbelt around her.

Scully understood her niece's fascination with the 
beautiful scenery ahead of them. All those trees and 
flowers in open fields on the way from her mother's 
house to the city had once fascinated Scully as well. 
And even though her mother's neighborhood had lost some 
of its charm through the years, the sight was still 
breathtaking. Besides, Caroline was not used to seeing 
so many flowers at once. She had been asleep when 
Charlie had carried her to the car. So, when she awoke 
soon into their drive, her wonder at the color was not a 
surprise. Little girls had always loved flowers. 

Having been a navy brat herself, Scully too had missed 
flowers in her garden when she was a child, despite the 
fact that her family used to move constantly and each 
new place had presented her with new textures, colors 
and botanic surprises. 

She remembered life at the Base and its patterned, three 
bedroom houses. 

Through her entire childhood, her catapult, shotgun and 
doll collection had shared space with Melissa's exotic 
stones, crystals and the tiny ceramic vases with 
camomile, aniseed and mint her sister used to cultivate 
in their tiny bedroom. On rainy days, the sweet scent 
coming from the window sill was the quietest and most 
enjoyable alarm clock she had ever had.

But she had missed flowers; her mother would not allow 
natural flowers in their bedroom and the back yard - an 
almost non-existent area in the house - didn't have 
enough space to cultivate anything. So, when she left 
college and moved to her own apartment, in an act of 
rebellion she had filled every empty space in her home, 
sweet home with colored Tiger Lilies, Pink Perfection, 
Regale Albums, and some other specimens she didn't 
remember the names of, creating a disturbing Botanic Garden.

Thank God she had developed better taste.   

She smiled at Caroline through the rearview mirror. Louise and 
Charlie had bought a six bedroom house, surrounded by 
lots of green area. Her niece would not live a 
flowerless childhood.

"Are we close to the Smi... Smith..." Carol pouted. "I 
can't say it, Aunt Day."

Scully chuckled. "It's Smithsonian, Carol. Repeat: 
Smithsonian."

"Smiths... Smiths..."

"Smithsonian," Jason said along with her.

"That's it. Did you see? It wasn't that difficult."

"No, Aunt Day, it wasn't," Caroline clapped her hands, 
happily. "But it's close?" she asked again. 

"Yep."  

Just when a long line of yellow trees were right before 
them, Scully maneuvered the car into the large entrance 
of the Museum. Carol and Jason were studying the 
buildings surrounded by a vast green area. Earlier she 
had explained to them that the Smithsonian was a large 
group of museums, galleries and zoo, and that due to 
its size, they wouldn't be able to see everything in 
just one day. They would wait for Uncle Mulder and 
decide together which places to visit. 

"Aunt Day, Aunt Day," shouted an excited Carol from her 
place on the back seat. "What is that big stake in the 
garden?"

"Stake, Carol?" Scully looked at her niece's round face 
from the rearview mirror.

"Yeah, Aunt Day. That big one there." A chubby hand 
pointed to the stake in question.

Scully laughed softly. "That's not a stake, Carol. 
That's the Washington Monument."

As if doubting her aunt's words, Caroline turned to her 
brother. "But it is like the one Buffy uses on TV."

Jason rolled his eyes and gave an annoyed look to his 
little sister. "You silly. That's not Buffy's stake. 
It's the Washington Monument." Carol's look was still 
questioning. Her brother sighed. "The Washington 
Monument was built as a tribute to the President 
George Washington, Carol, because he was a good president,"
he explained to her.

"What's a tribute?"

He gave that some thought. "It's like a birthday. When 
it's your birthday there's a big party, isn't there?" 
She nodded. "So," he continued, "there's a party because 
Mom and Dad love you and they want everyone to know that 
they love you, so they give you a party. And everybody 
gives you presents because everybody loves you, too. 
They pay you a tribute. Isn't it, Aunt Dana?"

Once more the rearview mirror was the link between 
Scully and the kids, and she couldn't help but notice 
the proud look the little girl was showing to her big 
brother, her little mouth shaped in a big, perfect 'O'. 
Jason himself was very much conscious of his role as a 
big brother, her sister-in-law had told her. So, in order 
to not discourage her nephew in his studies, she 
congratulated him and told him that he had done a good 
thing explaining the importance of the Monument to his 
sister. 

"And what is this thing about Buffy, little guys? I 
don't believe your parents allow you to watch that kind 
of TV show."

"No, Aunt Day," Carol said in a very shushed and serious 
voice, ignoring Jason's signals for her to stop talking. 
Caroline entirely confided their secret to her aunt. 
"Mom and Dad don't know. We watch it on the VCR, right Jason?"

"Carol!"

On its own volition, the corners of her mouth moved upwards,
and Scully had to bite her tongue to suppress her laugh.
"Fine! I'll have a very serious conversation with your parents
when we get home; you'll see."

Carol and Jason looked at her with panicked faces. 

"Please, Aunt Day..."

"No please Aunt Day. If your parents don't allow you to 
watch Buffy, they must have a good reason, don't you 
think?"

The kids said nothing.

"Okay. Let's make a deal. I'll tell it to your parents.
But I'll make them promise to go easy. But you have to 
promise me not to do that again. What do you think?"

"Aunt Day..." Jason begged.

"That's it. Take it or leave it."

They sighed. "Okay."

Scully faked a stern face. "Good. Here we are." 

She found an empty space right in the back of the 
Stackler Gallery and stopped the car. The distraction of 
driving gone, Scully was forced to reconsider again - 
for what must have been the thousandth time since the 
previous night - what she was just about to do.

She was going to spend the day with her partner and her 
nephew and niece at the Smithsonian on a date.

When she had called him the evening before to let him 
know she was spending the night with her family, she 
hadn't expected his bitterness. It was like he didn't 
want to talk to her. And then, being Mulder, he just 
acted like Mulder, inviting himself along to spend the day 
with her and the children, be Uncle Mulder to them, ride 
in the Carrousel, buy hot-dogs, yadda-yadda. And she, 
the woman who could never tell him 'no', had agreed with 
that crazy idea. Mulder, Scully and two pests in the 
Mall.

Three pests, if you counted the 36 year-old one.

'God help me,' she thought as she opened her door 
indicating to the kids, "Here we are."

She opened the back door, and the two siblings jumped 
out onto the pavement. After retrieving her gear for the 
day from the passenger's seat, she looked at Jason and 
gave the boy a warm smile. He was holding his sister's 
hand and repeating their mother's recommendations for 
them to be good to Aunt Day and nice to Uncle Mulder. 
Carol just looked up at him and nodded every time her 
brother's index finger danced in front of her.

Adjusting her backpack, she called the kids and 
stretched her hand out to Carol, taking Jason's in her 
other.

"Aunt Day! This is so big!"

"Wow!" exclaimed Jason in amazement.

"Yeah, this is a very big place, so I want the two of 
you right by my side until we find Mulder, all right?" 

"And after we find him?" asked a very active Jason, 
already taking in his surroundings and considering all 
the places he would like to visit in the museum. 

"Then I'll want all the three of you by my side," Scully 
said, staring off into oblivion.

And with a firm grip on the kids' hands, she took a deep 
breath and went in search of her partner.

*************************************************

For the fifth time in the last ten minutes, he looked at 
his wristwatch. 

She was almost twenty minutes late.

She was almost never late. The first time they went out 
together, she had been almost fifteen minutes late 
because she had had problems with her hair; it wouldn't 
go straight. He was at her apartment and witnessed the 
lost battle with delight. He got to spend the day with a 
mussed-headed Scully.

Now he couldn't help but worry. He was used to 
pretending he just needed to worry about her safety at 
work; now there was no need to pretend anymore and he 
didn't know what to do.

But what if she had changed her mind about their day 
together? What if her brother had forbidden her to take 
the kids to the Mall and meet him? 

He knew she had hesitated on the phone before agreeing 
to go out with him, but she wouldn't change her mind 
now.

Would she? 

'Of course she is not going to change her mind,' he 
mentally admonished himself. 'She is the most resolute 
person you have ever met.'

But where was she?

They had agreed to meet each other on the bench of the 
Smithsonian Castle. "Carol will love their garden," she 
had told him. Despite himself, he smiled softly. Carol 
had called him 'Uncle Foxy', and he hadn't minded one 
bit. It would be a good thing having Scully's niece and 
nephew getting used to calling him uncle, because of course 
he was going to be their uncle.

He left his place on the bench to once again pace in 
front of the castle. Carol would love that place for 
sure. The castle itself was from one of the girlish 
fairy tales his mother used to tell Samantha and he when 
they were kids. Its several towers and big bay windows 
were ideal for the battle between Prince Charming and 
the Dragon that shot fireballs from its mouth and 
nostrils, the Princess screaming and waving her arms on 
the balcony above them. And then the Prince would kill 
the Dragon, the spell on the kingdom would be broken and 
he would take the Princess so they could live happily 
ever after.

But for that to happen, Scully would have to appear.

He tucked his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants 
and kept pacing the garden, his glasses reflecting the 
rays of light coming from the sunny day.

Then he found her petite figure coming in his direction 
on the already crowded garden, stunning as always.

She was wearing indigo blue slacks that hugged her hips 
nicely before the widening on her legs, the hem 
revealing just the tips on her white Ked's shoes. He 
could see she had chosen a tight, white shirt with 
neckline that was a little bit lower than the ones he 
was used to seeing on her. Not a bad thing, not a bad thing 
at all. Scully's cleavage was always a nice sight. And 
it would be even better if she took off that thin indigo 
blue jacket covering her slender arms. 

She was holding hands with the kids - a redheaded boy 
who almost reached his aunt's shoulder and a tiny, 
beautiful blond little girl who was not walking, but 
jumping and pointing out things to her aunt whenever 
something caught her attention - which was almost 
constantly. Scully didn't seem to mind the girl's 
excitement at all and just smiled, explaining the 
objects and sculptures to her. Mulder didn't even want 
to imagine what was going to happen when the little girl 
took a look at the garden. And all those flowers.

"AUNT DAY! LOOK!"

It seemed that Carol had already taken notice of the 
flowers. 

And that her aunt had taken notice of him.

**********************

He was standing in front of the fountain, all in blue 
and brown and glasses. He had been worried and 
thoughtful. She could tell because he was chewing on his 
lower lip before he saw her approaching. His shoulders 
had been losing the battle against gravity, his hands 
hanging loose at his sides. The closer she got to him, 
the more his full bloom smile was visible in the 
sunlight, the soft wind blowing his hair in all 
directions, completing the job his trembling fingers 
hadn't had the time to finish a few minutes before.

"Is that him?" 

Jason's territorial question made her smile, reminding 
her of other times when his father and Bill had assumed 
the role of her and Melissa's bodyguards. She would have 
to warn Louise about that, otherwise Carol would not be 
too pleased when she was a teenager willing to date boys.  

"Yes, it's him."

She smiled up at Mulder and rushed the kids in his 
direction. Little Carol was so entertained with the 
castle, the flowers and the colors that she only noticed 
his presence when they stopped walking and she had to 
stop jumping. 

"Hey Scully," he greeted her, not making a move to touch 
her.

She kept the tight grip on the children's hands. "Hi 
Mulder."

For a few moments they were silent until Mulder 
acknowledged the two kids looking intently at him. Jason 
with narrowed eyes, the kind of look that only a boy 
with an aunt as beautiful as Scully could manage to 
give; and Carol, who had to tilt her head at such an odd 
angle in order to look at him that Scully feared she was 
going to get a stiff neck. He'd better introduce 
himself to the guys and see how the kids would react to 
him.

"So," Mulder smiled and bent down in front of the little
girl. "You must be Carol." He stretched his right hand in her 
direction and the girl tried to hide behind Scully's
leg.

"She's shy, Mulder," said Scully, looking down at her 
niece, smoothing her curly hair.

"Oh, but I think I can fix that". He searched for 
something in his coat pocket. "Here it is." He opened 
his right hand before the girl again. 

Carol looked at the little Mickey Mouse shaped pin in 
his hand.

"WOW! It's mine?" He nodded vigorously . "Thank you 
Uncle Foxy!" All her shyness gone, she let go of her 
aunt's hand and hugged Foxy around the neck and smacked 
his cheek.

"Aunt Dana said it's Mr. Mulder, Carol."

Jason looked in disapproval at his sister. Scully knew 
that her brother and Louise had taught their kids to be 
polite with adults they had just met, just like her 
mother and Ahab had once done with her and her siblings, 
and Jason learned his lesson very well. Mulder would 
have a hard time putting her nephew at ease with him. 

"Oh," Mulder said getting on his feet again and turning 
to the boy. "Where are my good manners? I'm Fox Mulder." 
He extended his palm to shake Jason's hand.

"I'm Jason. It's nice to meet you, sir."

Mulder smiled at boy. "It's just Mulder, Jason. Or Uncle 
Mulder, if you prefer. By the way," he searched in his 
pockets again - "your aunt told me you liked baseball 
so..." From his pocket he took out another pin, a ball 
shaped one with the number 1970 on it. Jason looked 
curiously at the little piece of jewelry. "My team was 
the champion of the regional Little League that year," 
Mulder told him. "The most beautiful girl in town gave me
this pin and a little trophy." He hesitated for a moment.
"I was your age."

"You played on the Little League and won ?" Mulder nodded.
"And you want me to keep this?" He pointed to the pin and Mulder 
nodded again. Jason's expression softened and became one 
of wonder and gratitude. "WOW! Thank you, Uncle Mulder! 
It's amazing! Look at this, Aunt Dana."

"It's really beautiful, Jason," she told him, but was 
looking and smiling at her partner once Jason was too 
busy showing his gift to his little sister. "Thank you," 
she mouthed at Mulder.

"You're welcome," he mouthed back. 

As Carol and Jason were still occupied discussing who 
had the coolest pin, Mulder bent down and gently touched 
his lips to hers. Scully closed her eyes and responded 
to the smoothed caress of his mouth. When she opened her 
eyes again, two pairs of blue ones were staring at them.

"You kissed her," Jason said in disbelief.

"You're Uncle Foxy," Caroline cheered and clasped her 
hands. 

"He doesn't like Fox, Carol," Jason reminded her again.

"But I like Foxy better," she responded to him defiantly, 
looking up at her new uncle.

The partners exchanged a soft chuckle and Mulder reassured
her. "It's ok, baby. I'll tell a secret. All the important 
women in my life call me Fox. So you can call me Fox as well."
He winked at an all enthralled Carol.

"But you kissed Aunt Dana and she calls you Mulder. She 
is not important to you, Uncle Mulder?" Jason asked with 
all the innocence and confusion that come naturally on a 
eight year-old.

The smile on Scully face's disappeared as she considered 
her nephew's and her lover's words. All the important 
women in Mulder's life had called him Fox, and the one 
time she had tried to do so, he had cut her off by 
telling her to call him Mulder. They had barely known 
each other, but his words had hurt her at that time and 
still hurt every time she remembered the occasion. And 
somehow he had become Mulder to her; there was no space 
to call him Fox at this stage of their lives. But there 
was still a little sting in her heart every time she 
named all the women who had had the opportunity and 
permission to call him by his given name.

"It's true, Jason." His words brought her out of her 
reverie, his eyes intently on her even though he was 
talking to her nephew. "She calls me Mulder. But you 
know what? She is the only woman allowed to call me 
Mulder because she is the most special person in my 
life." He winked at her. "In the world."

His tender words warmed her heart and her soul, but she 
would not be carried away by those sensations. No matter 
that she was the most important person in his life, or 
the most important person in his world. The small corner 
in her brain called 'reluctance' was screaming at her 
'be careful; you're still too new.'

For now, the simple knowledge that she was important to 
him would be enough.

Enough. 

**************************************

In the end they decided to start their exploration at 
the Museum of Natural History, because it could be 
helpful to Jason at school. "You need to have other 
beliefs than UFOs and lights in the sky, Mulder," Scully 
had told him innocently.

For Mulder their exploration had another meaning 
entirely. He was astonished with Scully's behavior 
towards the children. It was difficult to associate the 
image of his all too serious 'don't-bullshit-me' partner 
with the one of the woman strolling around a room filled 
with wax-shaped ancient life forms with a curious five 
year old girl and a too eager to learn eight year old boy. 
And of course there was him, a thirty-six-year-old man 
madly in love with her, following them around like a dog 
on a leash. Bless Carol and her rapidly growing 
attachment to him, otherwise he would be doing a really 
nice job as the open-mouthed man drooling at the 
redhead's feet. The little girl kept him occupied by 
tugging at his jacket sleeve and asking questions about 
the animals in the exhibit and he... well, he was making use 
of his eidetic memory as he hadn't done in a long 
time. His science classes and lazy afternoons watching 
the Discovery channel were eons ago. And besides, he had 
missed the Jurassic Park rerun the week before.

"Uncle Foxy, look at this."

What Mulder saw was a web of fake bones, entwined in 
what must had been another specimen of yet another 
reptile that thank god had been dead for at least a 
couple of zillion years. 

"It's... impressive," he responded to the girl, biting 
the inside of his lower lip and nodding steadily. "Quite 
impressive."

"Uncle Foxy," she called again and got his attention. 
"Up." She disentangled her chubby hand from his and held 
up arms in an invitation for him to catch her up in his 
arms. 

Mulder contemplated little Caroline as if she was an 
alien form instead of the heavenly creature he was 
learning to see her as. She wanted to be held by him. He 
didn't even know if he could lift the girl up from the 
floor without breaking her. It had been almost a year 
since he had last done this. Images of a sick little 
girl were invading his memory and he blinked to send 
them away. He bent down and scooped up Caroline in his 
arms.

"What's this?"

Dear God, she wanted to know. Where was the name plate 
when you needed it?

"Let me see." Just great; an alphabet soup's name. He 
adjusted his spectacles to better discern the letters on 
the plaque. Too bad it was in the foot of the animal. He 
bent down once again and settled the girl on his thigh. 
"It's called Pachycephalosaurus."

"It's so big. More big than you, Uncle Foxy."

"You bet it is, Carol. You bet it is."

"You afraid of it?" she asked him, her thumb in her 
mouth.

Super Mulder afraid of a lifeless reptile form? The man 
that had faced Fluke Man and had eaten a melted cheese 
sandwich afterwards? 

"A little bit. What about you, little one?"

"Hmm-hmm" she said, shaking her head, her blond pigtails 
going left-right, right-left. "Dad told me they're dead 
and can't hurt me," she confided him all proud of 
herself. "I protect you, uncle," she told him, hugging 
him around his neck and making what were supposed to be 
scary faces at the dinosaur.

He chuckled, delighted, and hugged her fiercely to him, 
kissing her blonde curls. "Thank you, Angel."

*****************************

In the distance, she could see Mulder interacting with 
her niece and smiled sadly - he was going to be a good 
father someday. Patient, considerate. Lovely. He caught 
sight of her staring at him and smiled back, making his 
way to meet her and Jason. The boy was at her side, 
staring at some suspended statue held up by a thin 
steel cable in the air.

"Aunt Dana, how could have they just disappeared?" he 
asked her, mouth agape.

Carol too was open mouthed. 

"Actually, Jason, they didn't completely disappear. 
There are some species that did, but you still can see a 
lot of dinosaurs around here."

"That big one?" Carol's eyes were popping out of her 
head.

"No, Carol," Scully explained to her. "There's no more 
dinosaurs that big. Those are all dead." She patted her 
niece's back. "Yet, there are still some specimens that 
resisted all the changes the world suffered. Do you know 
the caterpillar?" Both kids nodded, Carol with her head 
nestled in the crook of Mulder's neck, Jason staring at the 
suspended flying skeleton. "So, it's one kind of dinosaur."

"So Granny Maggie has dinosaurs walking in her garden?" 
Carol asked around her thumb.

Mulder laughed and Scully nodded solemnly. "Yes, Carol. 
Sort of."

"Cool!" Jason squealed. "Wait till I tell the boys this. 
The girls will be scared," he was plotting. "You're so 
smart, Aunt Day!"

"Yeah, Aunt Day, you're so smart," Mulder mocking. Her 
response was a smirk. 

"So tell me, Scully." He kept his mocking section. "Why 
do you believe in dinosaurs wandering around your mother's 
garden and can't believe in little gray men?"

Scully's gaze at Mulder could have melted steel but she 
kept a smile on her face. "You know, Mulder," she purred.
"Life without you would be so boring." 

She kept her eyes open and brushed her lips to his. 

"Not in front of the kids, Scully," he muttered against 
her lips, smiling wickedly at her. She pinched his arm 
and settled down.

"Come on, kids," she said, including Mulder in the 
party. "Let's see the marine dinosaurs."

Kids ahead of them, Mulder slipped his arm around her 
shoulder and kissed the top of her head. She leaned on 
him and did the same, embracing him around the waist. 
Together they went to the next room to discover what the 
sea had preserved for them.

**********************************

Scully was smart, indeed.

Back to her natural environment - the sea - she was a 
show of knowledge. Every question the kids had for her 
about the sea, she had the answer right back. But they 
didn't spend too much time seeing the marine dinosaurs 
before Carol started to cry, saying that the animals 
would eat her dad and her Uncle Bill at work. So, to 
avoid any major trauma in the girl's life, they decided 
to leave the dinosaurs behind and went in search of the 
fish. Then it was time for Jason to pout, claiming that 
he wasn't afraid and that the dinosaurs were so cool and 
that he wanted to go back and finish their visit in that 
section of the Mall and that it was not fair... His 
pleas were so heartbreaking that Scully assigned Mulder 
to go back with the boy and finish their visit while she 
took Carol to see the fish and shellfish. A wise 
decision since the colored fish calmed down the girl's 
nerves and Jason had an opportunity to get to know this 
Uncle Mulder better.

An hour later they met again by the museum's door, 
starved. No wonder there, it was past twelve. On their 
way to the restaurant the kids were restless, telling 
the two adults everything they had seen and discovered. 
Both kept smiling and encouraging the kids to keep 
going. 

In the almost crowded restaurant, they found a vacant 
table near the window and sat down to wait for the 
waitress to take their orders.

An hour and a half later, after they had devoured two 
cheeseburgers, one Cesar Salad, three sodas and an iced-
tea, a big cheesesteak and three orders of french-fries,
it was time to decide where to go. 

"So," Mulder started. "What next?"

"I want to see the stars," squealed Carol.

"I want to see the stars, too," double-squealed Jason.

Scully smiled her Mona Lisa smile at Mulder. "What have 
you done to them?"

"Me?" he feigned a shocked face and placed his right 
hand on his throat.

"Yes, you," she retorted, sipping her diet soda. "They 
want to see the stars, Mulder."

"It's because he says the stars are like you, Aunt 
Dana," explained Jason. "He said that your eyes shine 
like stars Aunt Day." 

"See, Jason. They're like stars now. Look, Uncle Foxy." 
Caroline was delighted.

Scully was red. Mulder was even more so. He lowered his eyes 
and stated to trace the lines of the table cloth with 
his knife. 

Trust kids with the truth.

"How kind of him," she said tenderly.

He was seeing stars. Stars.

"Let's go to the Planetarium," he said unfocused both on 
his acts and on his words. As a smiling, dazzling zombie,
he gestured to the waitress and asked for the check.

"No, Mulder. It's on me." She tried to stop him by 
picking up her purse and pulling out her wallet. 

He ignored her and paid the bill, giving a generous tip 
to the kind waitress that complimented him on his 
beautiful kids and wife.

"Too late, Scully. Let's go?" He gestured towards the 
door.

************************

The rest of the afternoon was spent visiting the 
Planetarium not once, but twice. Jason and Carol were 
startled by the magnitude of the skies and the beauty of 
it; the stars, the constellations, the planets. New 
lives that might be out there. For once Mulder didn't 
start with his theories, but told the kids stories of 
gods that created the universe. At first he was afraid 
of interrupting any religious orientation they might be 
receiving at home, but under Scully's reassuring gaze, 
he told tales of creation and wonder, pointing to each 
constellation and revealing its origin. 

She wondered if it was possible for a person to suffer 
from permanent paralysis of the cheeks from overusing 
muscles that had been neglected for so long. That's the 
way she felt, a permanent smile on her face. 

The afternoon was coming to an end, the red rays of 
light fading on the horizon, the soft blow of the 
evening wind forcing them to pull on their sweaters 
again. She didn't want the day to come to an end, and 
yet it was inevitable. 

They were sitting on a picnic bench, Carol and Jason 
drawing pictures of everything they had seen during the 
day. 

"Why do they call you Aunt Day?" He spoke for the first
time in the last ten minutes.

She looked tenderly at her nephew. "Jason called me Day when he
was little and never changed that. Carol just kept the tradition,"
she jocked.

"It suits you," Mulder said, warmly. "Bright and beautiful as day."

She blushed but didn't look at him.

"They're beautiful, Scully," he said. 

"Yeah, they are. They're Scullys," she told him, smiling 
lovingly at the siblings. 

*******

Mulder chuckled softly and reach inside his pocket 
looking for his seeds. Chewing on seeds with Scully at 
his side, he wondered if that was what heaven was made 
of: green grass, happy kids, Scully.

Happiness.

He had been happy all day. He had been happy for an 
entire month. He turned his gaze from the kids to her 
profile. His mind sounded like a broken record, but he 
just couldn't help noticing how beautiful she was, how 
complete and special. 

He took her hand in his and squeezed it. She looked at 
him and squeezed his back. Holding hands they 
contemplated the kids for a few more minutes.

*******

"We have to go," she said, not letting go of his hand.

"Don't," he pleaded her with a dry whisper as well as his 
eyes.

Her heart melted under the warmth of his touch, of his 
gaze. Of his tenderness.

"It's a long trip back to Baltimore, Mulder. They woke 
up very early this morning and will be falling sleep 
soon."

"Then take them to your apartment. We could go there and 
have dinner, watch movies..."

"They're heading home tomorrow, Mulder. My mother wants 
to spend some quality time with them too."

"I know," he said lowering his gaze. "I really liked 
them, Scully. They're amazing kids. When are they coming 
back?"

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe by Christmas. Charlie's
going to be permanently here in the States."

"Yeah, you told me. Denver, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Her thumb absently-mindedly caressing his hand.

A comfortable silence filling the air. The kids playing 
together. Life, perpetual bliss, she had heard once. 
That was bliss. A foreign feeling to her.

She closed her eyes.

She wanted this bliss for herself. She wanted it so 
badly.

But now she needed to go home.

*******

She stood up and left him on the bench. He kept her 
hand in his, letting it slip softly through his clinging 
fingers. 

He sighed. She was retreating to her shell again, he 
observed as she helped the kids to put their things back 
together in the pack he had carried for her all day; 
resigned movements were all she was able to do.

"Uncle Foxy's coming with us, Aunt Day?"

Mulder saw her shake her head 'no'. Gear packed, Mulder
walked them to their car.

Carol laced her soft hands around his neck and kissed 
his nose. "Thank you Uncle Foxy for the pin. I'll show 
it to Mommy and Daddy. And to Granny too. Oh, and to the 
girls at home." The little girl stopped her ramblings 
when her uncle's chest started shaking with laugh. He 
kissed her cheek and squeezed her, tickling her in the 
process. She started to laugh and bounce in his arms. He 
laughed with her and set her down on the pavement. 

Jason was another matter. The boy had liked him, he was 
sure of it. But he was a boy and his charm didn't work for 
most young boys. He stretched his hand to Scully's nephew.

And was surprised when Jason hugged him around his waist. 
Mulder hugged him back, smoothing the boy's hair. 
"Thanks for the company, Jason." His words were sincere. 
Jason withdrew from his embrace and said nothing, but 
kept smiling. He had found two allies. As for the third 
one...

"You two, go to the car," she said, holding the door 
open. The kids took in the order and entered the car 
without any major fuss.

"So."

"So," she repeated.

He tucked his hands into his back pockets and looked at her.

"I had fun today. Thanks for inviting me."

"Mulder, I didn't invite you. *You* invited yourself," she 
said a little too abruptly with irritation in her voice.

He was taken aback by her words but said nothing, choosing 
instead to stare the ground under him and move 
pebbles with his foot.

She sighed again and contracted her lips, looking aside. 
Suddenly a full bloom smile parted her lips. "But I'm 
glad you invited yourself, Mulder."

Half a heartbeat later he was looking deeply into her 
eyes, searching for an explanation for her rash words. 
Finding nothing there but sincerity, he grinned back at 
her.

"Had you big time."

"No, you didn't. I saw the slight tug of the muscles 
on the corner of your mouth, Scully."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

"You didn't," she replied stubbornly.

"Yes, I did."

"You didn't." She was laughing now, but would not quit.

"Scully," he called her changing tactics.

The hoarse tone he imposed to his voice did the trick: 
he drew her into his embrace.

"Yes," she answered even more hoarsely, her voice 
lowering just an octave .

"I love you." He bent down to kiss her.

"Oh, brother," She whispered against his mouth, her gaze 
dropping to his lips.

He swallowed her last words when his lips descended completely
upon hers. This kiss resembled none of the others ones they
had shared today. Gone were the timid caresses and reverential
touches.

This kiss was meant to change her mind, to make her stay. He
completely forgot the presence of the kids in the car, the 
very public park they were in, the day of the week, his name. 

He just savored the impossible softness of her mouth, 
the sweetness of her tongue, and the special flavour of 
his saliva mingled with hers. 

And her name, always her name.  

His head was spinning when he pulled away, and she tumbled 
breathlessly against him. He pressed her head against his
chest and closed his eyes to regain his balance.

"I have to go," she said against his chest.

"Stay with me tonight. We can put the kids in bed and be 
together." He withdrew from her just enough to look into her 
eyes. "I don't want to sleep alone again, Scully."

"I can't." She shook her head. "You know that I can't. 
Not tonight"

It was hard for him, but he gave up and nodded in 
understanding. He closed his eyes again and kissed her brow.
She placed her head in the hollow of his throat. Two seconds
later she left her safe place in his arms and entered the car.
He closed the door for her and bent down beside her window to
look once again deep inside her eyes. "I love you," he said
one more time, hoping that his words would show her how 
important she was to him. She gave him a tiny smile and started 
the car. 

The last image his tired eyes captured was the two kids 
waving goodbye from the back seat.


******************************************

Chapter 9 


Scully sat in her mother's kitchen holding a warm cup of 
milk, enjoying the silence surrounding her for the first 
time since waking up that morning. Not wanting to burn 
her sensible lips, she carefully sipped the hot beverage 
in hopes that, by doing so, sleep would make her go to 
bed and rest, at last. 

As if it really would happen.

She have been having trouble to sleeping for two nights 
straight. It sure wasn't due to the narrow mattress she 
had been sleeping on or the room she was occupying: both 
were familiar to her since she was ten years old. 

Lack of physical exercise? No way, not after walking up 
and down in the Mall the whole day. Actually, her body 
felt lazy with exhaustion. Normally, she would crawl into 
bed on a daily basis and fight the alarm-clock the next 
morning.

She knew what would cure her sleepless state, and it 
wasn't the liquid she was forcing down her throat and 
into her system. It was the imperfect, rough surface of 
his chest and shoulder, and the security of his arms when 
he held her. 

She needed him, as pathetic and lame as it sounded in her 
independent life, it was the truth. She needed him.

"Dana, it's late. What are you doing up?"

She smiled wearily at her mother who had just walked into 
the room, and then glanced down at her mug. "I couldn't 
sleep, so I came down here to have some warm milk. 
There's more on the stove. Do you want some?"

Maggie let herself fall onto a chair. "Sounds good."

Scully walked to the stove and felt the jug of milk; the 
fading heat in the tin pan didn't burn her fingertips. 

"I have to warm it up again. Is that okay?"

Maggie cupped her hand over her mouth to muffle a yawn. 
"Yeah, dear."

Scully turned to the stove again and turned up the flame. 
She added more milk to the pot and put in on the fire. 
While she waited for the milk to boil, her mind wandered 
back to their arrival that evening, and Jason and Carol 
running to the kitchen to tell to their Granny and 
parents everything about the museum, the Carrousel, the 
animals and Uncle Mulder.  

'He kissed Aunt Day good bye, Daddy,' had related Carol 
in her small voice and innocence, as if that kiss had 
been the most pure and natural event her eyes had even 
seen in her five years of life. While Charlie feigned 
shock and Louise giggled, her mother hadn't even blinked, 
just stared at her waiting for a time when the two of 
them could be alone together, like now.

"Dana, the milk."

"Hum?" she looked at her mother absently.

"The milk." Maggie pointed to the jug. "I think it's 
ready."  

"Oh, sure."

She served her mother and poured some more to herself; 
her half-full mug of milk was definitely cold.

Mother and daughter sat in numb silence sipping their 
milk. They might have sat like that for ages if it wasn't 
for Maggie's constant darting looks in her direction.

The lack of sleep had loosened her tongue and she spoke 
rashly to her mother. "All right, mom. What do you want 
to know?"

Maggie looked at her indignantly. "Ah! Yesterday when you 
dashed to your bedroom there was nothing happening, and 
now there's something to be known?" her mother replied 
equally rashly. "And I don't appreciate this tone of 
voice, young lady."

Scully set her mug on the table and rubbed her tired 
face, then looked apologetically at Maggie. "I'm sorry, 
Mom." She lowered her gaze to the mug again. "But please, 
don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you didn't approve," she muttered softly.

Maggie quirked her head and her expression became softer. 
"I'm sorry, too," she said squeezing Scully's hand.

Scully's smile held Maggie's until her mother broke 
contact and took the mug to her lips. "What is this thing 
between you and Fox, anyway?"

Scully felt some sadness; she didn't know how to answer 
her mother's question. "I don't know, Mom. It's too new. 
I mean, we're seeing each other on a... personal basis. 
But it also doesn't mean we have anything established, 
yet."

Maggie's silence sent shivers through Scully's body; it 
was the way she had adopted to let her children know that 
they had a lot of questions to answer. Sometimes, if they 
were really lucky, she would just glance at them and let 
them spill their tale. Scully felt it would be better to 
just brace herself for whatever came in her direction.

"Yet," Margaret started. "So you believe that this time 
it will lead you to something, finally."

It had sounded more like a statement than a question, 
which made Scully look at her mother sternly and pleading 
at the same time. "Mom, don't. Please." Maggie held out 
her hands in acquiescence and looked aside. 

"Why can't you be happy for me, Mom?" her voice was so 
pitiful, she barely recognized it. 

"It's not that I'm not happy for you, Dana." Maggie spoke 
reluctantly, selecting her words carefully. "I just don't 
want to see you hurt again because of... this. I wish 
things were easier for you."

"For the first time in years I think they are, Mom."  

"It's good to know that, dear." She patted Scully's hand. 
"I trust your judgement on this, on him. But please, 
Dana, be careful."

Her mother's concern towards her softened something 
inside of her; insecurity, maybe. "I will."

Scully really intended that she would be fine throughout 
this relationship. But it would be good to know that she 
would be able to rely on her mother to make everything 
right if things didn't work out. She had been so afraid 
lately, afraid of him, of what he meant to her. But most 
of all, she had been afraid of losing control of her 
emotions. For years she had kept them in an armored box 
in a safe place inside her brain. In a moment of 
distraction, it took him no longer than four weeks to 
make a crack in her safe box and let its contents drip 
slowly into her heart.  

"That's good, sweetie." Her mother was smiling 
confidently at her. The right words in the right moment, 
making her feel stronger and loved. God blessed her 
mother with the ability to read her offspring so well.

Maggie raised from her chair and mussed Scully's hair. 
"Now I will sleep better, knowing that you're fine."

"Thank you, Mom."

"Don't be up too long. See you in the morning." Her 
mother kissed her hair and left. 

She rose and took her mother's mug with her. After 
rinsing the mugs and turning off the lights, she headed 
upstairs to her old bedroom, wall-papered in pastel 
tones, with teddy bears and dolls all over the place. 
Where her mother found the strength and time to keep 
everything clean and in order never dawned on her.

She brushed her teeth in her too small adjoining bathroom 
and washed her face. As she reached for the yellow towel 
that hung in the holder before her, she took a minute to 
study the woman's face staring back at her in the mirror. 

When had her eyes become so bright? Certainly it wasn't a 
trick of light or effect of the water she had splashed on 
her face. This brightness was a healthy one, the kind 
that came from inside-out and that made a person feel 
beautiful. In her case, she felt beautiful to herself and 
to the world. In Mulder's eyes, she felt exquisite, the 
most beautiful, desirable woman in the whole universe. 
Ashamed though she felt for her juvenile reaction under 
his gaze, it was impossible to shake off her joy of 
knowing she was this loved by someone, by him.

Yes, she knew she was loved. She had known that even 
before his confession in the park. But it was good to 
know that he had discovered the woman in her, that he had 
made her rediscover a sex appeal so long forgotten. 

Now her face was flushed too.

Redder lips. Their kisses or her constant biting on it 
anytime she thought about him? After some time engrossed 
in amused reflection, she decided for both. 

The yawn she had just released; the sleep that was 
beckoning her to bed. Product of the milk, the talk with 
her mother or her smiling face in the mirror? That 
discussion she decided to take to bed with her.

"You look beautiful, Dana."

The reflection of her brother in the mirror showed her 
his approval. Some things never changed, she thought. 
Like this habit her brother had of sneaking around in her 
room  without being noticed. Through the years he had 
improved a little and, by the time he was ten, he would 
knock on the door before coming in. The tiny smile she 
directed his way was intended to show him how glad she 
was for his compliment. 

"I know you're tired. I just came here to say thanks."

"Thanks? For what?"

"For letting yourself have good time with the kids. And 
with Mulder, of course."

She sighed. "What is this all about, Charlie?" she said 
as she hung the towel back in the holder.

"I don't know; you tell me."

Not again.

"It was good, Charlie. I missed the kids, and you. It's 
good to know that you'll be around here to test my 
patience."

He chuckled for a moment and then got serious. "What's 
this, Dana?" He leaned back against a wall to wait for 
her response. It seemed that she wasn't going to bed so 
soon.

Looking at her brother's beautiful face, she could see 
how little he had changed through the years; he still 
carried that infantile aura around him that made him look 
like the little boy he used to be. The best friend she 
had ever had, he would listen to her without the 
recrimination or disdain usually found between siblings 
of relatively same age. Aside from her dead sister, 
Charlie was the only person on Earth she would trust with 
almost everything.

Caressing Mulder's New York Knicks jersey she was wearing 
as an improvised nightgown, she prepared herself for the 
long round.

"We're together, Charlie," she started tentatively. "And 
I like to be with him. It makes me feel good." She 
lowered her eyes to her clasped hands.

"A lot of things can make someone feel good, Dana."

"Yes, of course. But so few things can make you feel this 
good." 

"He can," Charlie stated.

"He can," she confirmed, looking at him. "You listened to 
the kids; maybe you know what I'm talking about, this 
magic that surrounds him."

"Yes, I know." He wrinkled his nose. "All Carol and Jason 
could talk about was how smart and funny was Uncle 
Mulder, how he talked about stars and gods, how he never 
let go of your hand. They made such a good campaign for 
him that I would marry him if he was blond and I wasn't 
already married." He became serious again. "And I believe 
he is already in love with someone else, anyway."

The skin on her face burned just a little bit as she 
looked back at him. "He told me he loved me."

"Did you believe him?"

"I already knew he loved me, Charlie." She made her voice 
soft and quiet. "I think I knew that since my cancer." 
Through the corner of her eye she saw her brother flinch 
when she mentioned that period of her life, a period she 
knew he felt guilty for not being able to be there with 
her. "But to have him voice it made everything seem real. 
Does that make sense?"

"Yes, it does." he nodded slowly. "And how do you feel 
about it? About being loved?"

"I'm still getting used to this."

"That's all?"

"And I'm terrified." It was good to be able to talk about 
that with someone, since she couldn't talk with her 
mother about her fears. Maggie would never understand.  
"Mother felt it, and now she's worried too."

"I wouldn't be worried if I was her. I mean, she knows 
him, and I believe she likes him." Scully wrinkled her 
brow. "What? She doesn't like him?"

"That's not it, Charlie. I know they formed a bond while 
I was missing, but I think it's worn out through the 
years."

She remembered her mother complaining a long time ago 
about how Mulder could refuse several invitations for 
dinner at her house, but never thought twice before 
calling her at home to talk about the absence of 
information concerning her whereabouts. But the respect 
she had always felt for him hadn't vanished with their 
lack of contact. And she knew he respected her mother 
just as much. 

"But you're not backing out, are you?" Charlie took her 
out of her reveries.

"No," she whispered, not so secure about that.

One stride with his long legs and he was before her. "Can 
I give you some advice?"

"I'm all ears."  

He tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "Give 
him a chance. Don't hide yourself behind that wall of 
insecurity you build around yourself all the time."

"There is no wall, Charlie."

"There isn't?"  Charlie asked softly, placing his index 
finger on her lips when she opened her mouth to deny it 
again.  "I know you, Dana," he continued, "and I know 
you'll eventually try to push him away, thinking it's for 
the best."  His voice became soft and soothing.  "You 
deserve to be happy.  Go for it."

"There are still so many issues to be discussed..."

"There are always issues to be discussed, Dana. But I 
believe that the magic of a relationship is that you 
discover a little bit more of your companion each passing 
day." He smiled softly. "Look at me; I've been married 
for eleven years, and every day I discover something new 
about Louise." As he talked about his wife, his gaze 
became softer. "I must confess that they're not always  
good ones, but in the end they make me love her more."

"This is different. You don't know Mulder, Charlie."

"No, I don't. But I wouldn't tell you to do it if he was 
a complete stranger. I know all I have is Mom's 
information, the kids' impression of him, and Bill's 
animosity towards him. But when I measure all this up, 
the balance is positive. And above all that, there's your 
judgment about this man and his character. And I trust 
you. Unconditionally."

His image was water-blurred when she hugged him around 
the waist. "Thank you, Charlie."

He kissed her forehead and caressed her hair. "Anytime, 
little Sis." Her mock sternly glance didn't intimidate 
him. "Hey, you're little." He kissed her brow again, and 
five strides later, he was gone.

She stood there in the bathroom for just a minute, 
enjoying the blissful sensation that took possession of 
her. She would give them a chance, they deserved it. And 
the next time he told her that he loved her, she would 
respond in kind. She felt good just by thinking about 
that. 

She padded back to her room, turned down the bedcovers 
for sleep and said a small silent prayer of thanks for 
this moment of her life and a request for strength from 
God to keep it this way.   

She had already tucked herself under the soft sheets of 
her bed and turned onto her side, pretending that the 
pillow was him when her cell phone rang. She stretched 
her arm towards the bedside table and pressed the power 
button.

"Scully," she said sleepily.

"Scully, it's me. We have a meeting tomorrow at nine in 
Skinner's office."

It had been a long time since she last heard Agent 
Mulder's voice on the phone.

"At nine?" she asked in a rough voice.

"Yes. Don't be late." And he finished the call.

As she placed the phone back in the night stand and 
curled herself on a tight ball in her bed, she admonished 
herself for the stupid tears that were stinging her eyes.  
The ones she refused to shed.

His gruffness shouldn't be a surprise to her after all 
these years; she should be used to it by now. 

Agent Mulder never said hello nor goodbye.   


******************************

End Part 1/4

From: "adriana" <marmalad@zaz.com.br>
Date: Tue, 19 Sep 2000 22:24:59 -0300
Subject: As - 2/4
Source: direct

Disclaimer and everything else in Part 1

*************************************
 
 
Chapter 10 


He needed something to distract his mind from everything 
he had heard until now, which wasn't too much. The story
still wasn't finished, they had barely told him anything,
but Skinner was beginning to wonder if he hadn't heard enough.

His eyes started to sweep the contents on the table, the 
soft hubbub of voices indicating the movement in the 
little diner had increased considerably since they sat
down to talk. The toast was gone, even though the two 
agents hadn't been eating too much since they started 
their tale. Skinner moved his eyes from the spot they 
had landed - the black hole that was his coffee mug - to 
look for Betty in the room. Despite everything, he 
realized he was starved. The meeting the night before 
had deprived him of dinner, then came the bust and its 
aftermath. By the time he had gotten home, he was so 
tired that the idea of letting go of his place on the 
couch he had slumped into the minute he entered the door 
to cook something to eat at three a.m. was too much to him. He 
needed Betty's goods again.

"Yes, hon?" she asked as she reached their table.

"Some scrambled eggs would be nice now, Betty," he said, 
smiling at her.

"So that's what you'll get, Walt." She glimpsed at the 
table where Mulder and Scully's mugs were filled with 
the black liquid and said nothing. They hadn't ordered 
anything to eat yet, and she didn't offer either. She 
smiled at them and was making her escape back to the 
kitchen when Mulder called her.

"When you opened that door I could smell something 
delicious. What was it?" he asked, trying to be nice.

"Fresh pancakes," she answered hesitantly.

"Try it, Mulder," Skinner said, a slight tug on the 
corners of his mouth. "You won't be disappointed."

Mulder smiled at Betty. "I'll have them, with 
strawberries." 

She smiled back. "That's all?"

Skinner saw the question was directed to Scully. Mulder 
stretched his left arm from behind her seat and caressed 
the hair brushing the collar of her white shirt. "You 
should eat something," he told her with such tenderness 
in his voice, making Skinner extremely uncomfortable 
with the scene.

Her eyes smiled at him and she looked at Betty. "I think 
I'll have some French toast."

He saw relief in Mulder's eyes and the gentle way he 
pushed her copper head to brush his lips on her right 
temple. She closed her eyes and leaned on him. They were 
alone, back in their motel room, making love again. 

Skinner had better stop it now.

"So," he started when there were just the three of them 
again, his voice rougher than he had intended. "This 
call you were talking about. It was for our first 
meeting, wasn't it?"

To his surprise, Mulder enveloped Scully's narrow 
shoulders with his long arm, his thumb lightly rubbing 
the fabric of her shirt. His greatest surprise, 
however, was to see that she accepted his discreet 
embrace. Their countenances were all too professional 
again. Yet, the sensation that he had no right to be 
there, no right to make questions, hadn't abandoned him.

"Yes, sir. I got the message when I got home that night 
and called Scully right away. But you know what happened 
there. Nothing unusual."

Skinner had to agree with him. They had acted 
professionally, at least the way they believed to be a 
professional one. They had gone to his office and talked 
about what they were supposed to talk about: that Agent 
Fowley had recovered from her gunshot wound and had 
demonstrated interest in working on the X-Files again, 
that they would be restored in no time and that she 
would be working with them... Not exactly in this order.

"Are you sure that was all?" he asked again trying to 
hide his curiosity about the subject. 

The look he received from the couple told him he had
failed miserably. 


********************

Chapter 11


For once, Mulder decided it would be better to arrive on 
time for the meeting. He and Scully weren't in their best 
moment with the Bureau. It would be better not to push 
their luck.

The message he had gotten on his answering machine was as 
evasive as the phone call he gave Scully the night before.
They were to meet Skinner in his office at 9 o'clock and
discuss their future assignments. End of the message.

He straightened up his figure on the couch and clasped 
his hands on his lap, his thumbs playing with each 
other. The clock on the wall showed him ten more minutes 
to go before he and his partner had to face their fate 
together. To kill some time, he scanned  the waiting room 
for the tenth time, paying special attention to the 
impersonal colors adorning the space. Beige, brown, 
black. The most colorful items in the scenario were 
Kimberly's white shirt and his grey suit. 

And the two of them together could not hold a candle to 
the vibrating figure entering the room at that moment. 
She was dressed in a dark blue suit, very fitting for 
the occasion, her red hair perfectly in place, her steps 
resolute as always, her blue eyes... Cold as ice. She 
said a polite, "Good morning," to Kimberly and muttered 
something else to him before sitting down at his side.

He forced himself to swallow the smile that had been 
forming on his lips as well as the warm yet professional 
good morning he had reserved for her all at once. What 
had he done wrong between the time he had told her he 
loved her the evening before and the phone call? Eidetic 
memory be damned! When he needed it the most it failed 
him. He was opening his mouth to discreetly ask her what 
was the matter when her eyes subtly told him not to talk 
to her unless it was extremely necessary. He got the 
message and diverted his eyes from her erect figure to 
look at the clock on the wall behind Kimberly's desk. 
Two more minutes until the meeting. He was not going to 
deal with her distress right now. Priority was to make a 
good impression on Skinner and be convincing enough to 
show him they were ready to go back to work, together. 

"Good morning, Fox. Agent Scully."

Mulder was so absorbed in his thoughts that he had 
missed Diana's entrance in the room. 

"Diana," he greeted her, a smile on his face as he rose 
up to take her hand and help her to sit beside him. 
"When were you discharged? Are you coming back to work 
already?" he asked, keeping her hands in his.

"Three weeks ago. I was staying with my parents in 
Seattle, and now I'm back," she said smiling at him, 
then turning her attention to Scully. "How have you 
been, Agent Scully?" 

"Fine."

Mulder frowned. That was not good. He hadn't heard the 
fine word for quite sometime now. God, what was wrong? 

The buzz of the intercom cut off his thoughts.

"AD Skinner is ready to see you," Kimberly informed 
them.

Mulder looked at Diana not understanding what was going 
on. "All the three of us?" he heard Scully asking 
Kimberly. 

"Is there a problem, Agent Scully?" inquired Diana with 
a look Mulder could only classified as territorial.

"No. No problem at all, Agent Fowley," retorted Scully 
as she rose up and moved towards Skinner's office, 
wearing a look that Mulder feared to put a name on. 

But it was there; he couldn't just ignore it.

Betrayal. It was all stamped there, in her eyes, in her 
contracted lips and in her slightly quivering chin. She 
turned her back to them and headed for Skinner's door. 
He helped Diana to her feet and together they followed 
Scully.

"Good morning, sir," Scully said politely.

"Good morning, Agent Scully. Agents."

He and Diana said nothing, just nodded and took their 
places, Diana beside Scully, he beside Diana. Through 
the corner of his eyes he saw that Scully didn't even 
flinch when he sat beside his former partner. 

Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

He would not deal with that now. 

"Agents," Skinner started and Mulder forced his worries 
out of his mind. "I believe you're wondering why I 
invited all the three of you for this meeting. I'll get 
right to the point. The X-Files are to be reopened 
soon." At this Skinner momentarily stopped his speech 
and looked at his agents, a trace of uneasiness in his 
brown eyes. 

Mulder didn't need to use his profiler's skill to deduce 
that the AD was trying to approach a sore subject. 
Glancing in Scully's direction it became clear to him 
that she too was aware of their boss's discomfort. Diana 
was the only person at ease in the room. She knew 
something and judging by the heaviness filling the four 
walls, it couldn't be something good.

"Well," Skinner started again, Mulder turning his 
attention back to him. "As you can see, Agent Fowley is 
back at work. But her field work will be limited for 
sometime. For now she'll be working part-time with a 
desk assignment." He hesitated for a moment. "Agent 
Mulder," Skinner turned to him. "Agent Fowley showed 
interest in reassuming her work with the X-Files. For 
the time being," he added quickly.

When Mulder risked another glimpse in Scully's 
direction, the lump she forced herself to swallow and 
the large amount of air she forced inside her lungs were 
the only evidences of her feelings about this new 
situation. Evidence that only he, after having worked 
close to her for five years, could see. He himself 
didn't know what to feel right now. The timing was all 
wrong. He wanted the X-Files, he wanted Scully. That was 
all of it. But he couldn't just erase Diana from the 
picture, she was there with him in the beginning, he 
owned her something.

"Excuse me, sir," he started, his voice not as steady as 
he would like it to be. "It's not my intention to 
question Agent Fowley's ability. We've already worked 
together and I know how what a good agent she is." He was 
fighting really hard to keep his eyes on Skinner's and 
not to look at Scully. "But don't you think this is a 
hasty decision? I mean, Agent Fowley is still recovering 
from a serious injury, and Scully and I still need to 
put everything in order before coming back to work."

"Agent Mulder," Skinner interrupted his speech gently 
yet firmly. "As I was saying, the X-Files will not be 
returned to you right away. It will be another week or 
so before all the papers and authorizations to reopen 
are ready to be signed. Until then, I suggest that the 
two of you start trying to get used to the idea of 
another person working with you in the basement."

A tense silence was hovering in the room for a few 
moments until Diana spoke.

"Sir, may I?" she asked. Skinner nodded giving her 
permission to speak. "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, I 
don't want to interrupt your work or to come between the 
two of you. But I never hid from the two of you my 
interest in your work." The placating tone of her voice 
drew Mulder's attention to her, her brown eyes revealing 
more than he wanted to see. Her determination and 
persistence had not diluted with time. She wanted to 
work with them and he was sure she would get it. "My 
real intention is to work as your collaborator, doing 
research. This way we'd be a complete team: Scully's 
skills as a pathologist, yours as a profiler and mine as 
an investigator." She smiled kindly at Scully. "It would 
be like old times." 

For Mulder it was beyond comprehension why his ex-wife 
was doing this to him, creating an awkward situation for 
him and his partner before their boss. Judging from the 
way Scully was glaring at Diana, the unsteady rise and 
fall of her chest and the pale shade of her face, 
he could tell she too couldn't quite understand what
the dark-haired woman was saying. Her blue eyes turned to
Skinner, as if defying him to take a position. He took one.

"If we are all in agreement with this," his eyes 
strolled from Mulder to Scully, no reaction coming from 
them, "Agent Scully, you're to report immediately at the 
lab." He looked at her apologetically. "It's just a 
temporary assignment. Besides, they need your expertise 
there in some research they're doing right now. Look for 
Agent Anderson there and he will update you about said 
research."

"Yes, sir." Her first words since she sat down on her 
chair, her voice carrying all the professionalism Mulder 
was used to seeing in her actions. She was the professional
self again.

"And you, Agent Mulder, are expected at AD Sanders' 
department. You'll help them to profile an UNSUB on a 
kidnapping case." He paused to look at Scully then 
turned his attention back to him. "Agent Fowley will be 
there with you."

Mulder almost didn't have the time to stop the sigh he 
was about to release when his eyes followed Scully 
abruptly rising from her chair and her "Is that all, 
sir?"

Skinner started to shuffle a pile of papers resting on 
his table and avoided looking at her. "Yes, agents, 
that's all. You're dismissed."

Scully was heading straight to the door and he was ready 
to follow her when Diana put a hand on his forearm and 
whispered to him to please help her up. He hesitated for 
a moment, but helped her anyway. When his eyes went back 
to the door, he saw it closing, the soft click of the 
lock dying in the air.


*****************************

Chapter 12


It had been two days since he'd last seen her. 

He had called twice and had only gotten her answering machine. 
Both of his pleas for her to call him back were ignored. 
For two nights straight he had fallen asleep on his 
couch surrounded by notes about the case, his cordless 
phone sharing his pillow with him in hopes that 
she would call.

She didn't.

He didn't spend his days in a total blur because 
his work as a profiler required too much of his 
attention; he knew the importance of his job, that every 
detail, every little piece of information he put 
together would help save lives and solve intricate 
puzzles, so he focused all his energy on it, to get the 
job done well. 

It was the quiet hours that were difficult for him;
not having her to talk to, to hold, or just to watch her
face while she slept, didn't make his life real anymore. 
He missed her breath, her voice, the reality she brought 
into his life.

He missed her, period.

The hands of his watch showed him it was ten past five 
p.m. He had been waiting for her for almost an hour now. 
At precisely a quarter past four A.D. Sanders had looked 
in his direction to catch him staring into oblivion, 
thinking about the case he was working on, but Sanders 
had taken it all wrong. As he was the only agent who had 
been working late into the night for the past two days, 
he was ordered to go home and to find any other 
distraction for his mind tonight. He opened his mouth to 
protest, but a raised eyebrow told him better. He 
started to gather his belongings and the notes from the 
case when his temporary A.D.'s strong voice told him to 
leave them right where they were, that tonight he would 
go to a bar, find a nice lady and be happy. But that he 
was expected at work tomorrow at nine o'clock sharp. He 
smirked to Sanders and left the room without saying a 
word.

The brilliant idea of waiting for her in the garage came 
when he was heading to his car. Of course when he was 
heading to his car the flux of people leaving work was 
almost non-existent; now every time the elevator doors
opened, a group of five or six people rushed to their 
cars in order to enjoy what was left of the day, 
including him. He would take Sanders's advice, but he 
sure didn't need to go to a bar to pick up a lady; he 
just needed to be patient and wait a few more minutes 
for the right one.

He was pacing in front of her car when he saw her coming 
from the elevator. She was engaged in a chat with a man 
and a woman wearing white coats, similar to the one 
covering her petite figure. They stopped next to an 
access ramp to the next floor and talked for a minute or 
two, then they said goodbye, the couple going to the other
side of the garage. 

She was searching for something in her purse using both 
her hand and eyes, unaware of his presence in the 
garage. Finally she found what she was looking for - her 
set of keys - and her eyes rose from her purse to 
the space in front of her. She was able to keep walking 
even when her pace failed and she almost dropped her 
keys. She got close to him and said nothing, her eyes 
fixed on some point in the middle of his shoulder. He 
was staring intently at her and said nothing as well. He 
was playing with her nerves, for he knew she was going 
to say something the moment she felt defied.

"So?" she said, finally breaking the silence.

"So what?" he asked her, his voice deadly calm, the 
effort he was making to keep it like that monumental.

Her eyes found his face. "What do you want, Mulder?"

"What do I want? What kind of question is that?" He 
tucked his hands inside of his pockets in a attempt to 
hide their shaking from her.

Her lips were trembling. She lowered her eyes to her 
hands, the key chain he had given her dangling in her 
fingers. He bit his lower lip and rolled his eyes, then 
turned his attention back to her. "What did I do, Scully? 
We were okay on Sunday. I... I want to be okay again, 
Scully." 

At that moment the elevator's door opened up again 
and a bunch of agents streamed from it, looking for their 
cars, ready to go home. Mulder wanted their privacy 
back, so he grabbed her by her right arm firmly and 
guided her to a pillar in an almost empty corner. When 
they got there he didn't release her. For a couple of 
minutes, the only sounds filling the garage was the ding 
of the elevator's door announcing that another group of 
employees had reached their destination, followed by the 
sound of doors being unlocked and cars being started. 

"Talk to me, Scully," he pleaded again. "Tell me what's 
wrong."

"What did you do?" She released her arm from his grip, 
her eyes bravely staring at him. "Nothing, Agent Mulder. 
You did nothing wrong. You just called me at midnight on 
Sunday to tell me that we had a meeting. Neither hello, 
nor goodbye." Her voice was shaking and her eyes were 
glistening with unshed tears. She suppressed a sniff and 
found another point beside him to look at. "We're Agents 
Mulder and Scully again, aren't we, Agent Mulder?"

"What are you talking about, Scully?" he whispered to 
her, not understanding what was going on. His fingers 
reached out to tilt her head. She tried to escape him, 
but he was faster. She was struggling to keep her 
composure, her eyes told him that. "Scully..."

"How is it going to be when we get the X-Files back, 
Mulder?" She sharply cut him off. "Are you going to 
forget everything? Are we going to play a game of pretend,
like nothing ever happened between us, as we always do?"

"No! Of course not! Scully, I told you that I loved 
you."

"Don't say it."

"But it's the truth." 

"Don't say it!" Her voice was louder and firmer this 
time. 

"Scully." 

He pressed her against the pillar and brushed his lips 
against hers, his hands cradling her face, his thumbs 
caressing her cheeks. A few seconds later she responded 
to his kiss, opening her lips to accept his tongue 
inside of her mouth. He didn't think twice before 
accepting her invitation, building up his hopes that 
they would be fine again. 

They needed to be fine again.

She was the one to stop the kiss. When he reopened his 
eyes, he discovered that her hands had found their way 
to his chest and that his arms were holding her around 
the waist. How they had gotten that way was a total 
mystery to him, but he wouldn't care about that as long 
as he could keep them right where they were. 

She didn't make a move to withdraw from him; instead she 
leaned forward to rest her forehead against his chest. 
He buried his nose into her hair, inhaling her scent, 
the scent he had missed so much those last few days, and 
closed his eyes.

"Mulder," she sighed against his chest.

"What?" he asked, bending down slightly to place a kiss 
in her hair. 

"I don't want it to be just a distraction, Mulder." 

This time he pushed her away from him, just enough to 
look into her eyes. "You can't possibly believe that..." 
his voice trailed off.

"I don't know what to think, Mulder. I thought we could 
be okay, but then you called and talked about work, your 
excitement... You just forgot everything else..."

"Scully," he interrupted her in a rush. "I was outside 
your mother's door when I called you."

She stared at him incredulously. "You what?"

He smiled his boyish smile at her. "I was ready to climb 
the trellis in the garden, or to throw pebbles at your 
window," he confessed to her. 

"Why didn't you?" Her voice was nothing but a whisper.

His smile turned into a shy one. "I didn't know which 
one was yours."

She was looking at him like he was the boy caught with 
his hands in the cookie jar, sorrowful eyes and smart 
smile. Her head started to shake in denial, her body 
followed suit, more violent by the minute, and then, 
like the cartoons he used to see when he was a little 
boy, he saw the explosion of the delicious giggles 
coming from deep inside of her, the joyful sound echoing 
through the garage, awakening the happiness that had 
been resting in the depths of him since their meeting 
three days ago. Just for a moment he feared that curious 
eyes would find them and put an end to the conversation 
they so much needed to have, but then her thrill was so 
overwhelming that he had to join her in her happiness; 
he started to laugh too and held her body tightly 
against him one more time. The world ceased to exist, 
they were two lunatics that were not paying attention to 
their surroundings; there were just the two of them. 
Slowly her shaking became less violent, and the sounds 
coming from the cars reached their ears forcing them to 
separate. 

"Come have dinner with me," he invited her when she 
started to put more space between them.

"Mulder," she started quietly.

"Just dinner, Scully. I have a surprise for you." His 
pathetic figure was babbling at her. "Actually, I had 
everything ready on Saturday, but then you went to have 
dinner with your family, and then we went out with the 
kids. And then this week you wouldn't talk to me..."

She raised her hand to stop him. "Fine, Mulder. You 
convinced me. I'll have dinner with you."

"Really?"

"Yes."

His smile metamorphosed into a grin. "Good." He searched 
his pockets for his car keys. "I'm going home now," he 
said, checking his watch. "I'll be waiting for you at 
eight, okay? You have a little more than two hours to go 
to your apartment and then meet me at mine." 

She nodded at him.

"No pizza," she demanded when she picked her way back to 
her car.

"I promise, scout's honour."

She smiled at him again and climbed into her car. He 
waited until she left the garage in safety to go to the 
elevator; his car was parked two levels below. Inside 
the car, he used his cellphone to give her a last 
recommendation.

"Scully."

"It's me. Bring a suit; you're spending the night." 
He disconnected his cell.

**************************

Chapter 13 


Scully observed Mulder pour more wine for her then 
refill his own glass. 

They were on his couch, sitting side by side, facing 
each other. His legs were crossed, his left arm 
stretched out on the back of the couch, and his fingers 
occasionally reached out to play with her hair, ruffling 
it softly. In the beginning, when she first entered his 
apartment carrying a duffel bag in her hands and a 
cautious shadow hovering in her eyes, she was not 
encouraging his attempts to touch her, but she wasn't 
telling him not to do so either. Actually, his only 
attempt to touch her had been the lingering kiss he had 
placed on her neck when she was setting the table for 
their dinner. The small talk they had engaged in during 
the meal had put her a bit more at ease with him, and by 
the time he was loading the dishwasher and taking care 
of the leftovers while she sipped her third glass of 
wine, she had been able to laugh a few times at the 
anecdotes from his early days in Washington.

Looking at his face, she could see how hard he was 
struggling not to reach out and kiss her. They had been 
in a friendly silence for a few minutes now and it was 
starting to bother her. This was not the kind of silence 
she wanted to share with him anymore. She wanted back 
the flirting glances and mischievous smiles, the 
pleasant touches and hungry kisses they used to give 
each other when they were at her apartment. His eyes 
told her that he wanted the same things. They also told 
her he was not going to make the first move, that if she 
wanted it, she would have to be the one to initiate it. 
She was the only one who could cross the wall of 
insecurity built around herself and she had made that  
crystal clear in the garage that evening, when she had 
accused him of being an opportunist, of wanting her as a 
distraction for the absence of his files. God, how could 
she have hurt him that way when his eyes, his actions 
had been telling her for the last month how much she 
meant to him. Charlie had been right; she would use any 
pretext - even create one - to send him out of her life. 

Placing her glass on the coffee table, she took off her 
brown flat shoes and tucked her legs under her; she 
needed to be comfortable and at ease with herself if she 
wanted to make things right again. As she bent over to 
take the wine glass back, she rested her right hand on 
his thigh to get some leverage and felt his muscles 
tightening under her touch. She took a long sip of her 
wine and closed her eyes. His fingers reached out to 
slip over the skin of her face. She sighed and smiled.

"What?" he asked, his voice lower than usual.

She said nothing, her eyes still closed, her head waving 
side to side, miming the rhythm of the sea, back-and-
forth, smooth, hypnotizing. "This music," she whispered 
referring to the soft chords of piano, guitar and 
something metal - saxophone, maybe - drifting into the 
air. "It's beautiful." She opened her eyes again to find 
his mingling into hers.

"I'm glad you liked it. It took me almost two hours to 
chose my repertoire."

"Liar. If it took you two hours to choose the music, who 
made dinner?"

He touched the tip of his index finger to her nose. "I 
made dinner and selected the music all by myself. It 
cost me too much, you know." He sipped more wine.

She did believe him. Salmon,fresh vegetables, the 
expensive bottles of wine.

"You didn't make the dessert," she accused him.

"I don't do dessert right, Scully. But you can't 
complain; I got your favorite." 

Scully smiled guilty at him as she remembered the
three bowls of H=E4agen-Dazs Cookies'n Cream she had 
gotten after dinner. She would be living on salad for
the next couple of days.

"Do you want to share the bill?" 

He shook his head. "I'm not talking about money, Scully. 
The thing is I was humming music while doing groceries. 
Oh, and I was talking with myself too." He looked at her 
through half opened eyes in a convinced mood. " Maybe 
she will like this music with dinner; no, I think she 
will like that one better."

Her heart melted as she envisioned his six foot tall 
figure strolling through the aisles of the grocery 
store, pushing a chart and humming 'Girl from Ipanema', 
the first music she heard when he greeted her by the 
front door. "You made a fool out of yourself for me, 
Mulder?" she whispered, gazing at his lips.

"I make a fool of myself just by hearing you say good 
morning, Scully," he whispered back to her, his fingers 
dancing over her lips. She pressed her lips against his 
pads in a makeshift kiss and heard him moaning softly. 

"Didn't know you liked Brazilian music, Mulder," she 
told him dreamily, her eyes locked on his.

"I like bossa nova, that's all. Used to listen to this 
in England, success in Europe." His fingers now were 
caressing her cheeks in lazy circles. 

"Bossa nova?" Coming from Scully's loose lips it sounded 
like 'buesa neuva'. 

"Yeah, that music, Girl from Ipanema." He hummed it to 
her.

"Know, liked it. Sweet, piano, jazz...soft..." Her 
tongue felt clumsy, numb. How could he drive her that 
crazy just by caressing her cheek and humming to her a 
music that for her made no sense at all? 

"It helps me to relax," he continued.

"Buesa neuva?" 

"No," he whispered, his hands on her neck, his lips 
against her face. "Instrumental music in general. Got it 
from my dad. We used to listen to this together while I 
was studying for final exams and he was doing his work 
in the den." He rested his head against her neck, his 
right arm now encircling her around the waist, his left one 
playing with her hair, his breath warm against her skin. 
"It was nice. Always managed to get good grades. Mmph."

She was kissing him - her first attempt to kiss him 
since Sunday -  while a tiny corner of her heart was 
registering this moment for eternity; for the first time 
since she met him, he was talking about his father 
without conspiracies or missing sister in his sentences. 
Maybe they could have a life aside from the X-Files. 

Another metal notch of saxophone, heavier this time, 
filled the room and All Green's smooth voice reached 
Scully's sensible ears.


'I'm so in love with you'


"Hmm! Al Green," she said breathless, looking into his 
eyes; he seemed to be immersed in hers.

"No," he whispered hoarsely. "All blue."

Her small hands found their way under his shirt, his 
skin hot and dry to her touch. He moaned and buried his 
head into her neck, butterfly kisses were being delivered
up the column of her throat, making her whimper in pleasure. 


'You make me fell so brand new'


Mulder was pushing her body along in the couch until she 
lay prone under him. She felt the skin on her face 
burning with anticipation, incapable of ignoring the 
pair of green eyes roaming all over her body. 


'I want to spend my life with you'


"Scully."

His lips captured hers with such a fierceness she had 
never experienced before with him, with anyone; and it 
was... God, it was... She didn't have a name for it; 
maybe there was no name for it at all. She wanted more, 
so much more. One of her hands abandoned the smooth skin of 
his back to cup his neck and to pull his head more 
firmly against hers. 


'Let me be the one you come running to'


The kiss wasn't deep enough. To touch his tongue, his 
teeth, was not enough. She needed more. 


'I'll never be untrue'


"Mulder."

"Scully, oh God." He was gasping for air as much as she 
was. "I...can't..." His voice was just gone.

"More. Oh God, Mulder... more... please."

Her words were whispered against his ears despairingly, 
as if her life, her sanity depended on it. He gave heed 
to her pleas and moved his lips back to her neck, down 
to her cleavage... 

And stopped.


'Let's, let's stay together'


She tried to open her eyes to see what was detaining 
him, but she couldn't; too much effort for someone that 
was feeling like melted ice flowing liquid through his 
touch. "Mulder, what...?"    


'Whether time is good or bad...'


"Look at me, Scully."

She wanted. God, how she wanted, but her eyelids felt so 
heavy.

"Please, love."

The term of endearment made her float in thin air, high 
and high. Slowly her eyes drifted open again. He was 
sprawled over her, his eyes asking for permission for 
something. Her fingers disentangled from his hair and 
she caressed his cheek. He turned his head a little bit 
and kissed her wrist. "I want to touch you."

She smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Touch me?"

"Yeah." He kissed the fabric of her blouse covering her 
breast as to emphasize his intentions.

Her hands simultaneously left their places on his back 
and cheek. She felt the muscles on his belly tense and 
his welcome weight less heavy above her as he started to 
lift his body, his eyes growing wide and concerned. 
"Sc..."

"Ssh." She stopped him with her index finger on his 
lips. He quieted down but was glaring puzzled at her. 
She took a deep breath and smiled seductively at him, 
her lips slightly open, revealing no more than the whiteness 
of her front teeth.


'Why, somebody 
Why do people break up'


Her slender fingers grabbed the hem of her red shirt. 
Mulder missed a breath.


'Oh, turn around and make up'


As her hands pulled the red fabric over her body, white 
flesh was being exposed piece by piece. She could feel 
the heaviness of his breath every time his chest 
compressed and decompressed against hers. His eyes were 
no longer that quiet shade of green, they had gotten 
deeper, darker, hungrier. All for her.


'You'd never do that to me' 


As she gently lifted her torso, she could feel on 
the skin of her belly how much he wanted her, desired 
her. That drove her crazy. In one single motion she 
rolled her tight blouse over her head and let it slip 
aside. 


'Being around you is all I need'


Her flesh was peach colored, contrasting beautifully 
with the cream bra she was wearing. Her lips were 
swollen from their kisses, her hair disheveled all over 
the pillow, her eyes sparkling with life. 


'Let's, we ought to stay together'


She reached up to capture his lips in hers, deepening 
the kiss in a matter of seconds.


'Loving you whether, whether
time is good or bad ...' 


The music was fading into the air and emotions were 
swirling through her mind like water being drained in a 
sink, continuously, constantly, until the last drop 
reached its final destination, sliding slowly down the 
pipe. She was living a frightening, exciting trip to the 
depths of the unknown, her only hope was for the journey 
to be worth it. By the time his lascivious lips were 
tracing their way along her throat line, down to her 
chest, she knew it would. 

She needed to touch him too, the cotton of his dress shirt
was no more the kind of caress that she wanted, that she 
needed from him. Her fingers slid over the soft dressing 
material to rip it from his body. Slowly the soft cotton 
started to reveal the honey like expanse of his back. 
There was no time to see too much when she opened her 
eyes; he had found the front clasp of her bra and 
unfastened it, immediately  revealing the pale swellings 
of her chest adorned by two erect coral nipples.

When she met his gaze, his hazel orbs were glassy and 
unfocused, mirroring her own blinded passion for him; 
his hands were trembling around her breasts and his lips 
were moving, but no sound came through them. Even so, 
she could read him; he was asking for permission, 
apologizing for his eagerness, begging for more. 

He didn't know she would give him more willing.

Combining what little was left of her motor functions 
and the desire to have his skin touching hers, she 
pulled the shirt from his body, momentarily missing the 
contact of his fingers when he had to stretch his arms 
to have the grey garment taken away from him.  After 
getting rid of her upper underclothing, she pulled his 
boneless body against her.  

She couldn't tell if the throaty groan she heard came 
from his lips or from hers; maybe from both. She didn't 
care, all that mattered was that he was with her now, 
one hand pressed firmly against her back, pulling her 
to him, the other cupping her left breast;  his hair 
itching the base of her chin; his lips, his tongue, 
his teeth playing with her breasts, biting, nibbling, 
licking. She was giving a devout thanks for a miracle, 
his hair was her rosary, his name her prayer. Their
togetherness, their reality, proof that that moment 
was real. 

"Mulder, Mulder, Mulder..."

She arched her back to give herself completely to him... 
and then everything was gone. No more biting, no more 
nibbling, no more slick saliva glistening on her flesh. 
From the passionate touches they were sharing a second 
before remained just his head lying limply on the valley 
of her breasts and the sensation of loss that 
overwhelmed her.

"Mul..."  

"Can't." he muffled between her breasts. "Scully, I 
can't"

Her hands froze on his hair and back. "Mulder..." she 
managed to whisper without showing the dread sensation 
of rejection advancing through her. 

"That was a mistake. I don't want it like this."

Don't want this, don'twantthis, dn'twan'this...

Humiliation was eating her alive and burning her eyes to 
the point of tears. Could she have been that mistaken?

When his eyes met hers, there was still passion burning 
inside of them, mingling with something else. She didn't 
want to build that much hope, but regret was not part of 
the myriad of emotions shining in his eyes. 

"I can't make love to you here. Not here, not tonight."

She became very still beneath him, terrified that any 
slight movement of a muscle on her body would let spill 
the torrent of tears building up behind her sting eyes. 

He cupped her cheeks in his hands, his elbows placed on
either side of her head to give him leverage. "I can't 
make love to you and get ready to work the next morning."

"Mul..." she started to say only to be interrupted by 
his lips touching hers. This kiss was different; it 
resembled the first one they shared when she got her 
first home run. Gentle, chaste, infinite; a promise of 
more to come.

"Ssh. Let's get you ready for bed."

In a minute his weight was gone from her small frame and 
she was being scooped up in his arms. His lips touched 
hers again when he started to the bedroom. She closed 
her eyes and caressed his face, also wondering what went 
through that mind of his. 

He pushed the door with his shoulder and took her to his 
bed, then turned the bedside lamp on. Scully could see 
that he had settled her on what must be her side of the 
bed; a bottle of the vanilla lotion she wore to bed 
rested on the bedside table beside a closed box of 
Kleenex. She lowered her eyes to the floor and found a 
pair of  white sleepers size 6 neatly placed by the foot 
of the bed. Looking quizzically at his anxious face she 
started to formulate a question when he pointed to the  
furniture's drawer. 

"Open it."

Her hesitant fingers pulled open the drawer; there was a 
black leather covered bible there with a rosary in the 
middle of it. Any reaction she might have was aborted by 
his next words. 

"Come with me."

He grabbed her hand and they went to his closet, where 
he opened another drawer, this one hiding two sets of 
cotton nightgowns, a green and a blue one, with matching 
robes. 

"If you're going to keep a bag here, you better have a 
drawer for you. I don't want your clothes scattered all 
over the place." He tried to joke, but his nervousness 
was evident in his voice. 

She still said nothing.

He took her hand again and opened another door, this one 
revealing the interior of his private bathroom, a room 
she didn't know he had; she had always considered his 
apartment so small. It was a bit larger than the 
tiny restroom outside, meaning that he had extra room for a 
shower stall there. What drew Scully's attention, 
however, were not the gray tiles covering the walls or 
the counter's deep green marble; it had been the 
hairbrush and toothbrush on the counter, hers for sure. 
He opened the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of 
strawberry shampoo and matching conditioner; there was 
also another bottle of body lotion, a feminine razor for 
her to shave her legs in the morning and a refill of her 
favorite deodorant. The small,  comfortable white robe 
hanging beside his much larger blue one on the door took 
the toll on her and she looked at him stunned and 
shocked, not even aware of her half nudity before him.    

"What does all that mean?" She gestured to the top of 
the counter.

"I... Hum, I told you I had a surprise for you," he said 
hesitantly. "What do you think? Did you like it?"

Scully considered everything he had gotten to her, from 
the white and yellow toothbrush to the expensive Bible 
and rosary locked in her bedside chest. The Mulder that 
never remembered her birthday - or that never got her 
even a Christmas card - had prepared his apartment to 
make her feel comfortable enough there to spend the 
night, to make her feel wanted there. 

She went to the door and touched the bathrobe hanging 
there, its fluffiness beckoning her to bury her face
in it and cry, which, of course, she didn't do. 

"If it doesn't fit, we can go back to the mall and get 
another one. I've got the receipt." 

"No, no. It's perfect, perfect," she whispered, the tip 
of her fingers still stroking the fabric, then she 
turned and smiled at him. "Perfect."

He started what could have been a sigh of relief, but 
stopped, his eyes glued on her chest. "More than 
perfect, Scully."

Her gaze followed his. She became very shy when she 
found his target. To cover her chest would make him feel 
guilty and uncomfortable, but not to cover it would make 
her feel...

Would make her feel like the desirable, beautiful woman she 
was seeing in his eyes. He wanted her little well-shaped  
body, small rounded breasts, short lithe legs, intense 
red hair. Everything. He wanted her. 

She went back to him and took his strong body into her 
arms, then nuzzled the sparse hair on his chest, placing 
a kiss over the flesh that kept his heart safe. "I loved 
everything." 

He smoothed her hair back and kissed the tip of her 
nose. "I'll let you get ready for bed. Meet me in the 
bedroom?" She nodded. "I'll get your clothes". He 
retrieved the blue nightgown from the bedroom and left 
her alone. 

Ten minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom and 
found him lying on his side of the bed, glasses on, 
leafing through a magazine. He closed it when he 
became aware of her presence. She padded to the bed 
and sat down to start her nightly ritual: uncap
the bottle of body lotion, pour the liquid on her 
hand and spread it over her legs and heels, wipe her 
hands with the tissue paper. Then it was time to open
the Bible randomly and read a psalm; after she had made 
the sign of the Cross, she turned off the lamp and 
lay down facing him. 

Mulder stretched his right arm under her pillow and 
rested his left one on her hip. "Happy?"

She closed her eyes and kissed his chin. "Is it really  
a necessary question, Mulder?" She felt his warm lips 
brushing her eyelids. 

"Just wanted to be sure."

"You make me happy, Mulder." Her voice was nothing more 
than a hum, but she hoped that her sleepy eyes glaring 
at him lovingly would make him feel confident. 

He yawned sleepily, too. "I live to make you happy, 
Scully."

She spread her fingers over the bare skin of his chest 
and kissed his neck. "We're getting too mushy, Mulder. 
We'd better stop now." 

She was sure that it was the combination of weariness, 
sleep and soft chuckle in her voice that made him laugh 
a little. "You don't like mushy?" He pulled her closer 
to him.

"I like it." She yawned again. "But I don't want to play 
mushy now. Let's save it for the day we..." She stopped 
her rambling. How could she tell him she wanted to be 
mushy when they made love? 

"When, Scully?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Why didn't you want to make love to me tonight, 
Mulder?" she asked him in a hurry before she lost her 
nerve.

He tightened the grip on her body and his muscle tensed 
beneath her hands as his eyes searched for hers in the 
darkness. "I want to make love to you, Scully; don't you 
ever doubt that. Ever." 

"I don't doubt it," she reassured him softly. "I just 
want to understand what happened on your couch. You said 
you couldn't. Couldn't what, Mulder?"

For a few moments he just kept rubbing the skin of her 
arm, and when she thought she would not get an answer, 
he spoke. "I want to make love to you, Scully. I need to 
make love to you, and it's not only out of lust; it's 
because I do love you." His voice was so low; he wasn't 
speaking to her ears; he was speaking to her heart. "But 
after all these years, I think we deserve a better fate 
than  a quick fuck on my couch, knowing that we have to 
get up early in the morning and get ready for work," he 
completed, inhaling the fading strawberry scent of her 
hair. "I can't have that. And I hope you can't, either."

She lifted her head and kissed him, softly at first 
until he sank his tongue into her mouth. He tasted like 
milk; he always got a glass of milk before bedtime when 
he remembered; a childhood habit, he had told her. 

"I want you, Fox Mulder," she confessed still kissing him. 
"I want you no matter what time of the day, the day of 
the week... I want you."

"I want you, too. God, how I love you, Scully." 

She felt herself being rolled onto her back as he pinned her
against the mattress with his body and his kisses. Her 
hands were running up and down on his back, pressing his 
cotton clad buttocks. When her fingers passed through 
the barrier of his boxer's waistband to cup him, he 
stopped the kiss and stilled her hands. She whimpered in 
distress and through the cloud of lust passing in front 
of her eyes, she discerned his beautiful face.

"Let's get away." She licked his lips, cutting him off. 
He moaned but kept talking. "Let's find a place for us 
this weekend." He returned her kisses. "We'll have 
Friday," he kissed her cheek, "Saturday," he kissed her 
neck, "and Sunday... to do whatever... we want."

She was kissing his earlobes, licking his neck, biting 
his cheek and thinking about his proposal. A whole weekend, 
just the two of them.

"Yes."

"We're going?" he asked between bites on her chin.

"Yes," she slurred.

"And we're going to make love." She agreed, nodding 
against his neck.

"Good." He was breathing heavily when his forehead 
touched hers.  "Now you quiet down, woman. I have a 
meeting in the morning." She chuckled and nodded again. 

He rolled onto his back, settling her head onto his 
shoulder.

She caressed his taut abdomen. "Good night, Mulder." She 
felt the brush of his lips against her hair and closed 
her eyes, not waiting for a reply.


****************************

Chapter 14 


They were standing side by side on the beach, the hot 
sand burning their bare feet for a while, until cold 
waves coming from the ocean reached them on the shore. 
They were laughing and throwing small pieces of bread to 
the sky in frustrated attempts to feed the seagulls 
flying above them. Whenever a piece of bread landed at 
their feet to soon after be carried away by the force of 
the water, his hand closed around her elbow to keep her 
balance. 'Not so bad' she told him. 'At least we're 
feeding the fish.' He laughed again and fed her a piece 
of his bread. 'You see, Scully; I told you we would find 
our place together.' The grin on her face softened as 
she lifted a slender finger to brush away the red 
threads the wind was blowing over her lips and eyes. 'I've 
found my place a long time ago, Mulder.' He reached over 
and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. 'Really?' he 
asked warmly. She nodded and turned completely to him. 
'And where is it?' She got closer to give him an answer 
when he started to whistle a song they had heard the 
night before. She wanted him to listen to her, but he 
was whistling so loud; why was he whistling so loud? 
Loud, louder, louder...

She blinked away the fog of sleep and opened her eyes. 
Her head was resting on his shoulder and he was speaking 
on the phone a succession of yes, sirs and no, sirs. She 
shifted in bed and looked up at his face to find him 
smiling drowsily at her. She blinked sleepily at him and 
lowered her head back to his chest, letting the soothing? 
fingers smoothing her hair and his strong heartbeat 
carry her back to sleep. She was ready to step back in 
the land of dreams when a heavy arm came down to rest on 
her hipbone.

"What time is it?" she asked against his chest.

"A quarter to seven."

"Hmm. It's too early. Go back to sleep." And she better 
adjusted herself on her personal Mulder pillow to follow 
her own advice.

"I can't. Have a meeting in one hour."

For a few minutes they remained like that, lying on 
their sides, her head tucked under his chin, and his 
hand slipping softly over her bare arm. He was so warm, 
comfy; she didn't want him to go. But work was work, so 
when he pushed his limbs away from hers, she started to 
get up as well.

He was scratching his head when he noted her throwing 
the sheets aside. "What are you doing Scully?"  

She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles and didn't look at 
him. "I'll make some breakfast." She got off of the bed 
and pushed her still sleepy body to the chair where her 
blue robe was lying. The bed had been warm, and there 
was a little draft in Mulder's bedroom forming 
goosebumps on the bare skin of her arms and legs. When 
she looked at him, she saw that he was watching her with 
a mix of surprise and tenderness on his features.

"You don't have to do this, Scully. Go back to sleep," 
he said tenderly. 

"I know I don't. Now go take your shower," she grunted 
at him in her non-matinal way. He smiled amused and 
headed to the bathroom.

She was already at the door when she shouted: "Toast and 
eggs?"

"Okay," came his reply mingled with the sound of water 
running. She turned off the alarm-clock and went to the 
kitchen.


*************************


Their trip had to be postponed.

Mulder had called her by lunchtime to let her know that 
he was due at a stakeout both on Friday and Saturday 
nights; a good thing, because she was struggling to find 
a way to let him know that her period had started that 
morning, after he had left. All in all, it was settled 
that she would spend that weekend at his apartment and 
that they would travel on the next one. On Friday night, 
she drove to her apartment to water her plants and get 
more clothes.

Three days later, when her period was over, she didn't 
discuss with him what to do the following nights: to 
make or not to make love? She wanted it, he wanted it, 
but the problem remained: work was still there, and, no 
matter what, it was not possible for them to make their 
escape before Friday.

Their answer came in the form of a folder Mulder showed 
her on Tuesday. They were walking back from the candy shop 
near her place when he showed her the square folded 
paper. She stopped under a street lamp to read it. 
Mulder hugged her from behind and bent down to kiss her 
jaw. She shivered  both from pleasure and from the 
contact of his ice-cream cooled lips against her warm 
skin. After turning her head to admonish him, she 
started to read the paper.

"A ballroom, Mulder?" Her voice carried that tone of 
'you must be kidding me' on it.

"Actually, this is not a ballroom; it's a dancing dinner 
in a jazz club." He stepped in front of her.

"Ah!" With both hands on  her hips, she was looking up 
at his sheepish face. "Am I expected to dance?"

The hint of leer on her smile did the trick: he stepped 
closer to her and grabbed her by the waist. She was 
determined to tease him until the end, so she let her 
arms lay limply on her sides and her half open eyes 
watched him closely.

He started to rock against her, rubbing his lower body 
against her belly. "Why, Agent Scully? Do I have to 
teach you how to dance?" 

Damn that man. She had to put together all her will 
power to resist the urge to thrust against him. She 
would make him pay in kind, starting with wipping that 
smug smile off of his face.

"To tell you the truth, Agent Mulder, I don't believe 
*you* could keep up with me." To mark her point, she 
started to move her body in lazy circles against his. He 
moaned and pulled her closer to him. "I studied ballet 
when I was a child, did you know that?"

"Um-um."

"In fact, I just stopped when I went to college."

"Oh."

"I used to be a good dancer."

"So this little body will shake and turn in my arms 
all night long?" he asked, biting her jaw.

She purred against his ear. "I hope so."

After a few seconds, their movement was infecting her 
too; her eyes were dropping and she started to shiver, 
this time not from his kisses, or his caresses. His 
proximity was doing that to her. Thank God at that time 
of the night there was no one on her street.

"Mulder..."

"Good evening, Miss Scully. Mister."

Scully blinked her eyes open to see Mrs. Duppond, the 
kind widow lady who lived next door, walking her dog in 
their direction. She felt her face burn from embarrassment. 
Mulder would ruin her reputation in her building.

"Oh... Good night, Mrs. Duppond." 

Mulder turned his head toward the lady and sputtered
something. When Scully started to put some distance
between them, he pulled her back; the protuberance 
pressed against her belly told her why. She couldn't 
do too much, just rest her cheek against his arm and
pray for the smiling old lady to go away soon.

"It's really a beautiful night." She blinked knowingly 
at Scully. "I hope you enjoy it, young lady." She looked 
slyly at Mulder. "God knows I would." She smiled 
playfully at Mulder and walked her dog past them to the 
entrance of the apartment building.

Scully was mortified. His body was vibrating against 
hers; he was laughing at her expense. 

"This is not funny."

"This is official, Scully: your neighbor has a crush on 
me."

"Mulder." She admonished him, but she was laughing too 
at the idea of the seventy year old lady being hot for 
her partner.

When they felt it was safe enough, they separated. He 
held her hand and walked to his car.  

"I'll pick you up at seven-thirty," he stated, referring 
to the dinner on Friday.

"Hum... I don't know, Mulder. All the good food will be 
gone by then."

He grinned at her, his eyes glimmering in the night. 
"I'll take my chance. All I want is dessert, anyway."

She opened the driver's door for him. "Go home, Mulder."

He caught her hand again and kissed her wrist. "See you 
on Friday."

"Yeah." Her lips quivered with longing, like his.

"Go. I'll be watching you." 

She let go of his hand, then turned and walked into her 
building. Two minutes later, she switched on the living 
room lights; just then she saw his car pull away.


*************************************

Chapter 15 


He had already swung her around like a kid's spinning 
toy. Her red hair had swirled around her face and some 
of the threads had glued to her sweaty brow and lips. 
Some of her make up had vanished during the night's 
activities, but she was, if possible, more beautiful 
than ever. 

They had been dancing for quite sometime now. During 
dinner, the six musicians of the jazz band played songs 
from the twenties. They and a few couples had risked 
some Foxtrot steps on the dance floor, but their 
flattering glances were far more interesting, so they 
stopped and went back to their table. They tried to skip 
the thirties too, but he, being a fan of swing, couldn't 
miss the calling of Glen Miller's big band music. Now 
they were waltzing around the dance floor gracefully, 
her slim frame wrapped up in an aquamarine dress, its 
thin spaghetti straps exposing her slender arms.  In the 
dim light of the jazz club, Scully resembled a diva from 
the silent movies of thirties, involved in an aura of 
mystery and sensuality. So tangible he could feel it in 
the air. It was her, always her.

He pulled her closer in his embrace and put their 
entwined hands over his heart. She tilted her head and 
stared directly into his eyes; his soul was being bared by 
them. He bent down and kissed her. 

"Ladies and gentleman, we'll have a five minute break 
and come back with music from the fifties."

The dancers clapped their hands and went back to their 
places. He gently broke away from the kiss and led her 
back to their table.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asked, settling her 
into her chair.

"I could use some water."

"I'll get it."

When he got back, she was watching the movement in the 
room. 

"Enjoying yourself?"

She looked at him and smiled. "Yes. You're a good 
dancer, Mulder."  

He smiled too. "You know, I could have used your help in 
England."

"Really? Why?"

"I attended some dancing classes back there; never had a 
good partner, though."

She laughed. "You were already difficult then, hum?"

"I am not a difficult person, Scully." His voice, like 
his eyes, became serious. "I just hold out for the 
best."

Slowly, her smile faded too. "Do you have the best now?" 
she whispered to him. 

Glass of water touching his lips, he didn't hesitate. 
"Yes."

"Ladies and gentlemen, I invite everyone to come to the 
dance floor. I hope you've enjoyed your rest, because 
now we have the fifties." 

Furious fingers pressed the piano's keyboard and Jerry 
Lee Lewis' 'Great Balls of Fire' filled the air. The 
well dressed ladies and gentlemen went wild and dragged 
their partners to the dance floor. Mulder smiled 
knowingly at Scully and held out his hand; she giggled 
and accepted it. They almost ran to the dance floor. 

It had been such a long time since he had felt this much 
energy running through his veins just out of fun. To 
have her there with him, without worries, without guilt, 
was all he had wanted for a long time. Lucky him for 
casually having found this jazz club while surfing the 
Internet. He was looking for a place to hide away with 
Scully, and instead he had provided them an unforgettable
night of dancing. Tonight they were regular people. In that 
place nobody knew them, or what they did for living, or that
the planet was to be invaded by extraterrestrial beings. He 
shook his head. That night they were going to be just Fox 
and Dana, as weird as it sounded; ordinary people with ordinary 
lives.

They danced three, four, five songs without noticing it, 
just stopping when the band took another break.

She collapsed into his arms; he didn't let her fall, as 
always. This time he didn't lead her to their table; he 
just wanted to hold her there, in the middle of the 
room, swinging softly to cool their bodies. His male 
pride wanted everybody there to see that the most 
beautiful woman in the room was with him.

"God, I'm exhausted."

He cradled her flushed face. "You better hold on, miss. 
I'm not finished with you yet." 

She tiptoed to kiss him. "Is there more to come?"  

"Hum, I don't know. We have two overnight bags in the 
trunk of my car, a reservation for the weekend in the 
best suite of a five star hotel..." he lowered his 
voice. "You have a man ready to satisfy your every 
wish."

"Hum. And where is he?"

"I'll look for him." He let go of her and started 
looking for said man.

"Shut up, Mulder."

He smiled at her smiling face. 

"How many decades to go, Mulder?" her voice was hoarse, 
seductive. If she kept up with that, he would lose it 
right there in the dance floor.

"Two. The sixties and seventies." 

"Then we go?"

He kissed her softly. "We can go now, if you want."

"Nah. I want to see your performance during the Bee 
Gees."

He laughed. "No way, Scully. No more bee." Her mock 
disappointment was adorable. "But I promise I'll perform 
my best John Travolta's Saturday Night Fever for you, later."

To his surprise, for the sixties they had chosen a 
romantic selection, with Ray Charles, The Platters, The 
Temptations, some other Motown groups and, of course, 
Miles Davis. During those songs he lost contact with the 
world. First because he kept his eyes closed the whole 
time. And second because that was a good opportunity to 
hold her close and butterfly kiss her mouth, eyelids, 
cheek; she had even kissed his neck once.

The music came to a halt and the dance floor was getting 
empty again. When he took her hand to walk her back to 
the table, she stopped him. He turned to look at her, 
curious. What he found in her eyes flamed his heart and 
his groin. 

She wanted him.

Now.

"Scully."

"I think I can pass on the seventies." Her voice was 
nothing but a dry whisper. 

"I'll get the check."

"I'm going to the ladies room. Meet you at the door." 
Without another word, she left.

His rubber-like legs walked him to the cashdesk. Activity, 
he needed activity. He needed to put all that blood
circulating into other parts of his body into his legs. 
They were going for it and there was no going back now. 
He would make love to her. Such sensation was so 
overwhelming that his hands were shaking, making it 
difficult to sign the credit card slip the cashier 
handed him.

That was it. Now he just needed to tame his racing heart 
and wait for her.

"Good evening, Fox." A familiar woman's voice greeted 
him.

He missed a breath. 

Dear God, no.

He swallowed hard when he turned to the voice's owner.

All the energy he had in his body evaporated like the 
last drops of water in a burning casserole. That woman 
had fire in her eyes, in her voice, in her gestures.  

"Gail. What a surprise." He managed to make his voice 
calm, but inside it was screaming 'go away.' Just then a 
couple and a man met them at the door. A tall man with 
grey hair held out his hand to him.

"Good evening, Fox. How have you been?"

"Fine, Robert. You?"

"I've been better." The man's words were less polite 
than his voice. The old Bob; always kind, but easily 
influenced by that bitter wife of his. "I believe you've 
already met my sister Ruth and her husband, Jim." He 
said, referring to the other couple.

"Oh, but of course," the other woman cut Bob off. "You 
used to visit us in Palm Springs, do you remember, Fox?"

His anxious eyes looked for a glimpse of red in the 
ladies room door, finding nothing.

"Yeah, I remember, Ruth. James." He said politely. 

'Go away.'

"What a nice coincidence to find you here, Fox."

Mulder didn't fake a smile, like the one Ruth had on her 
face. He tried, but it would have required a lot of 
practice to overpower that woman.
"Yeah, isn't it?"

Ruth pointed to the ladies door. "I think that's your 
companion coming over there, isn't it?"

His face was burning and his hands felt cold instantly. 
He looked at the doorway and found Scully's smiling face 
staring at him. She was almost leaping in his direction, 
her shawl thrown over her shoulders and her purse 
pressed in her hands. 

"Let's go, Ruth." James was pushing her by the arm.

"Oh, but I want to meet her." She didn't take her eyes 
off of Mulder.

"Mulder."

He turned to Scully. She had stopped a few feet behind 
him and was looking at the party, intrigued.

He smiled awkwardly at her and turned back to the elder 
couples. "I have to go."

"Aren't you going to introduce this beautiful lady to 
us, Fox?"

Mulder swallowed a swear and a scream and turned back to 
Scully.

Ruth offered her hand to Dana. "I'm Ruth Sarandon."   

For just a second he saw some confusion in Scully's 
eyes, but soon it was gone. "Dana Scully."

"This is my husband James, and those are Abigail and 
Robert Fowley."

Mulder closed his eyes as all color drained from 
Scully's face. She looked again at him, this time with 
something other than confusion appearing in her eyes. 

"Nice, ah, nice to meet you," she whispered, her eyes 
never leaving his face.

He reached out and took her hand, pulling her to the 
door. "We were already leaving, so if you'll excuse us."

He had almost succeeded. He was already outside the 
club. One more step and Scully would be following him. 
But the damn voice had followed them to the exit.

"You're a lucky lady, Miss Scully. Fox is such a good 
man."

"Ruth, stop," Gail hissed.

"Ruth, that's enough." James was pushing her back to the 
club.

"But she needs to know." 

Scully stopped in her tracks and turned back to the 
bottle blonde woman. 

"Dana, please. Let's go."

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he had made 
a huge mistake. He never called her by her given name, 
unless it was a very emotional situation. Briefly she 
diverted her eyes to him, but the woman's words were 
stronger than his pleading eyes.

"It's not everyday that we find a man who visits his 
injured ex-wife in the hospital, don't you agree?"

If he thought Scully had been pale before, the minute 
she put two and two together she became ghostly 
translucent.

She looked at him.

They were through.

"Take me home. Now."


*******************************************

Chapter 16


"... and since what's pending in Sanders' department can 
be managed by his staff, you and Agent Fowley are 
dismissed from your current assignment. Though, you 
should be back by Monday to resume your work back on the 
X-Files." Skinner looked intently at them. "Any 
questions, Agents?"

Mulder shifted on his seat. "Does Agent Scully know 
about that already, Sir?"

"No, Mulder. I'll talk to her later today. Anyway, 
she'll be through with her work in the lab tomorrow. 
After that she will be on vacation time." 

Mulder struggled to not lower his gaze. She would be on 
vacation and would not want to talk to him.

"Is that all, Sir?"

"Not yet, Agent Fowley." Skinner adjusted his glasses on 
his face and looked at them solemnly. "AD Sanders told 
me about your efforts to resolve the cases that were 
sent to you in your assignment there. He was impressed." 
His lips curved in an almost smile. "You did well, 
Agents. Congratulations."

Mulder stood and Diana followed him. "Thank you, Sir."

"That's all. You're dismissed."

Mulder walked out of the room with Diana following suit. 
They stopped in front of the elevator and waited for the 
car in awkward silence. He felt uncomfortable around 
her; for sure her mother had told her what had 
transpired at the club. A ding announced the car's 
arrival and they stepped inside.  Mulder pressed the 
button that would lead them to the garage. Diana 
attempted to break the silence.    

"Three days of unexpected vacation plus the weekend."   

He gave her a forced smile and said nothing. 

"So, any big plans?"

She was walking on eggshells and he couldn't blame her 
for this. The elevator doors opened. They stepped out of 
it and started to walk to their cars. "Maybe I'll drive 
to the beach house, spend some time there."

"Virginia's beach house?"

"Quonochontaug."

She seemed disappointed. "That must be beautiful this 
time of the year."

Once again he just smiled at her.

"Fox," she stopped him by tugging at his jacket sleeve. 
"I think we should talk."

She too didn't seem to be comfortable at all with their 
situation. The sooner they talked, the better it would 
be for their sakes. 

"No problem. Where?"

They went to Casey's. During their short walk, Mulder 
mused over the facts of the last five days. He held the 
responsibility for his current situation: he hadn't been 
fair to Scully since Diana had showed up in May. He 
should have told her the truth about their past then, 
while he had had the time and the opportunity to do so.

At Casey's, he pulled out a stool for her and sat beside 
her as the blonde bartender approached them.

"Hey, Spooky." She eyed Diana suspiciously.

"Hey there."

"What will it be? The usual?" she asked, drying a glass.

"A beer."

"No shots?" Her voice was casual.

"No shots." 

"What about the lady?"

"The same," Diana answered promptly.

He used the time that their orders were being prepared 
to study Diana's reaction to his proximity. Her hands 
trembled as she twisted a paper napkin and counted the 
nuts inside a bowl on the counter. He felt sympathy for 
her; more than once, he had been the one to do that 
while sitting on that same bar stool with Scully beside 
him. In those situations, he had always been grateful 
for the poor paper napkins.

"Here it is, Spooky. M'am." The lady put the beers 
before them and went back to her chores.

"What's up?" he asked when he took his glass from the 
counter after a few minutes. A rhetorical question; he 
knew the answer for that one.

Diana knitted her brow and pushed her bangs away from 
her face. "I want to apologize for my aunt's 
indiscretion, last Friday."

"As if it would solve anything..." 

His words were spit out without thinking, and he saw 
that he had hurt her. "Forget it. This is not your 
fault."

She shuddered and said nothing. They remained like that 
for another couple of minutes; in silence, sipping their 
beers, watching the people that, like them, where 
seeking comfort in dim light and spiced beverage. 

"What were they doing here in Washington?" he asked 
suddenly.

"What?"

"Your parents, and your uncle and Auntie Ruth." He said 
the woman's name with disdain. "What were they doing 
here?"

"My aunt wanted to visit me, so my mother thought it 
would be better to come along. They didn't expect to run 
into you at the club. And you know Aunt Ruth; she can be 
pretty intense when it comes to family." She stopped 
gingerly and took a long sip of her beer.

"Diana, you know that Ruth doesn't dislike me because of 
her intensity. The thing is, your family never accepted 
our divorce."

"My family never accepted our marriage, Fox."

Her words had the effect of a slap on his face. He was 
aware of not being a mother's first choice for a son-in-
law, but in Diana's case, he had believed it had been 
because he was younger than her. Now he wasn't so sure 
about that.

"My parents used to say that you need two to make a 
commitment like marriage work, that I should reconsider 
my decision." she continued her bittersweet talk. "It 
felt strange to have them saying those things to me; I 
felt so adult at that time, so mature. And I had the 
conviction that I could make it work." She looked at 
him. "But you know what, Fox? My parents were right; two 
people are required to build a marriage."

"This is bullshit and you know it," he interrupted her, 
a bit of impatience in his voice. "I did love you, 
Diana, otherwise I would never have married you. You 
have to believe in that," he emphasized vehemently.

"I do, I believe in you. But both parts need to love 
equally. It doesn't work if one loves more than the 
other." She lowered her gaze to her manicured hands 
holding the beer. "I was thirty-one when we got married, 
I should have known better. The things you discover when 
you're forty."   

The self-deprecating smile she directed at him made him 
drop his eyes and grab a napkin to victimize it. The 
force he used to twist the paper tore its ends in the 
same way her words had his guilt; he knew she was right 
on every single word she had said. His love had not been 
enough to hold a marriage. A conversation with a man he 
had never seen in his life and a stack of dusty files 
had been enough to divert his attention from the real 
commitment he should have been tied to.

"I'm so sorry, Diana."

"I don't need your pity, Fox."

He shut up and finished his beer in one gulp, then he 
called the server to bring him another one.

"So, you and Agent Scully, huh? After all these years, 
did you finally get lucky?"

"I would have if it wasn't for your aunt."

She flinched. "I'm sorry about that, too."

"You know," he continued in that pity voice so common to 
drunk buddies washing their souls with alcohol in a bar. 
"What hurt the most is to know that I'd been dreaming 
about that moment for years. I wanted everything to be 
perfect. I wanted her to trust me on this, to feel 
loved..."

The pained expression on her face made him stop 
abruptly. Maybe she was visiting old memories, the first 
time they had made love.

They had been so blind with lust, they couldn't see 
straight. They never made it to bed. There had never 
been lingering kisses for reassurance nor leisurely 
movements to undress each other; the closest they had 
gotten to those moments had been when he had sucked her 
neck while lifting up her skirt, and she had opened up 
his fly. Next, he just threw her against the nearest 
wall in her living room and fucked the hell out of her 
there, her legs locked around his hips, pulling him 
forward to encourage his thrusts. There had been no 
wine, no soft music, no kisses. There had been no 
romance at all. There had been just him pounding into 
her like a crazy animal while she groaned and urged his 
head against the silk of her blouse covering her 
breasts, her head banging the wall, cursing for more, 
begging for release. Afterwards, when their bodies were 
satiated, and they were no more than a heap of entangled 
limbs and fluids on the floor, had their real concerns 
come to the surface. 'Did I hurt you?' 'Was it good for 
you?' Wet kisses and gentle caresses, that whole night 
they sought forgiveness in each other's arms for 
their earlier eagerness.

The desire he felt to possess Scully's body had been at 
times painful for him; there were times when he would 
need to make a trip to the men's room to literally take 
the problem in his hands. Yet, those last couple of 
months made him realize that there was only one way 
to have the woman he loved and be satisfied with it: 
Scully would need to give herself freely to him, body 
and soul. There was no way for him to have and accept 
less than that and still survive afterwards. 

And now, thanks to his big mouth, Diana knew that too.  

"I don't think I'm the best person for you to talk about 
her with, Fox." She looked at him, a tiny sad smile on 
her face.

"Jesus, Diana. I'm sorry. I..." There were no words that 
could translate his discomfort before her; there was no 
image that could describe the look on her face.  

"It's okay." She rose from the stool. "I should go. It's 
getting late and I don't want to face the traffic." She 
squeezed his hand. "Take care of yourself, Fox." His 
eyes were following her departure from the bar when she 
unexpectedly turned and walked back to where he was. 
"Whatever you decide to do, Fox, don't love too much. It 
hurts a lot." 

He kissed her cheek. "Lucky the man who gets you, 
Diana." She forced another smile at him and this time 
she left for good.

After she had left, he remained in the bar thinking 
about what she had said. Don't love too much, as if he 
could avoid it. He no longer had control of his 
emotions. Scully was the heart bypass that kept them 
alive. And he would need another coronary surgery soon 
if she didn't come back to him. 

He ignored the urge to consume more alcohol and threw 
some bills in the counter, then he headed back to the 
garage and his car. The traffic was still light and he 
got home in less than twenty minutes, Diana Krall's 
smooth voice keeping him company.


'Who could solve misunderstandings 
  You're looking at me'


He would be the one to solve this misunderstanding and 
soon. They would go back to work on Monday and he 
couldn't have this rift between them. Not now, not 
anymore. He needed time to think about it and come up 
with a solution. He needed a quiet place to sort things 
out.

The beach house. 

There was no elevator car available in the lobby of his 
building and he didn't want to wait for one, so he took 
the stairs two at time. When he reached the fourth floor 
and his apartment, he was out of breath, but he didn't 
stop. 

He went to his bedroom and opened his closet. After 
retrieving a bag from it, he started to throw some 
clothes in the opened case; shorts, boxers, T-shirts, 
and some other not so casual clothing. 

He still had hope. 

In twenty minutes, he had showered, put on his favorite 
gray T-shirt and faded jeans, fed the fishes and packed 
any food that he was taking with him.

After turning off the lights, he closed the door and 
headed to the elevator. Just when he was back inside his 
car, he had the courage to make the call.

'Hi, this is Dana Scully. I can't talk to you right now, 
but leave a message and I'll call you later.'    

"Scully, it's me... Mulder. I'm going to the beach house 
for a few days and, when I'm back, I hope we can talk... 
I miss you... and I want you to remember... I love 
you..."

His time with the answer machine was up and the 
connection was aborted. 

He didn't have the time to tell her to never forget 
that.


************************

Chapter 17


Three large balls of ice cream - vanilla, strawberry and 
pistachio - covered with a generous amount of thick 
chocolate that dripped over the edges of the sundae 
glass. There was a large, rounded cherry atop the 
sundae, its syrup sliding red on the snow-white whipped-
cream. Mulder knew that the moment he dug deeper in the 
glass, he would find another equally juicy cherry 
strategically hidden there. It had always been Ben's 
treat for him, since he was the little boy who would 
spend a Sunday afternoon with his parents and little 
sister in the charming ice-cream shop in Quonochontaug. 
His father would hand him a ten and tell him to make his 
own order. 'You're in charge, Fox,' Bill Mulder would 
say, very seriously. And he, in all his six-year-old 
glory, would pick up the largest sundae in the store, 
which, in the end, his mother would have to help him to 
finish.  

If his mother wasn't at his side now, he would have 
already swept the tiny droplets of chocolate dripping in 
the saucer, and then suck his finger with greedy lips. 
But he knew his mother; she would slap his hand and 
check his nails to be sure they were clean, and then, 
just then, she would admonish him right in front of 
everybody for his bad manners.

"How much do we owe you, Ben?"

Good old Ben looked tenderly at Mulder. "For this kind 
boy of yours, its five, Mrs. Mulder." 

When Mulder saw his mother fumbling for loose change in 
her purse, he quickly pulled a five from his rear 
pocket. 

"Do you want anything, Mom?" he asked before handing Ben 
the money. 

The old man was chuckling. "That's the signal, Mrs. 
Mulder; whenever they start to pay their bills, we're 
losing them."    

Mulder smiled tightly at Ben. His mother just ordered a 
Coke. He paid for the drink and they went outside and 
sat on the bench under the trees.

They had gone into town to buy a few items Mulder would 
need at the house; he had planned on fixing the front 
porch and painting his old bedroom. He had invited his 
mother along because he would need some instructions.

There hadn't been too many changes. The main street 
remained the same: old charming buildings leaving a 
narrow space on the sidewalk for the many pedestrians, 
and large streets that most of the time served no cars.

What did change was the people. Like him, now the little 
boys and girls he used to play with were men and women 
with responsibilities. 

On their way to Ben's, he had met and waved to some 
faces he used to spend the summer with, now aged from 
the years and life: Jerry, his bike companion; Josh, the 
Girth Guy, now too thin and bald. Mary Anne, his first 
love. He smiled when he had recognized her. At the age 
of ten, he already had all his life visualized: marry 
Mary Anne, have children with her and be happy for the 
rest of his life. For Mary Anne it had worked; she was a 
proud married woman, mother of twins, with happiness and 
twenty more pounds stamped all over her face. 

"What about you, Fox?" she had asked with a toothy 
smile, while pressing his elegant hand into her chubby 
ones.

Him? He was taller, elegant, not bad looking, wealthy. 
Divorced, lonely. 

He found the extra cherry.

"What happened to the Virginia beach house, Mom?" he 
didn't know where that question came from; maybe from 
the divorced thing.

"What?"

"The beach house, in Virginia."

Teena put her drink aside. "I don't know, Fox. I haven't 
been there in years." 

He avoided his mother's eyes. "Diana asked about it."

"Diana?" Teena asked surprised.

"She's back, Mom."

"Ah!" 

Teena diverted her gaze to the little playground in the 
park. There were kids playing there. Little girls, 
little boys, toddlers. Smiling mothers and proud 
fathers. Her mien was pensive and distant.

"We're not together, Mom."

Teena kept her silence and he sighed, fumbling for 
another cherry he knew he would not find there.

His parents had never said a word about his marriage; in 
fact, they hadn't taken part in anything. From the 
beginning, he and Diana had had to decide alone together 
about everything, from the wedding day to the small 
details of the little reception they were putting 
together. When both parents snapped to reality and 
realized that the joining was inevitable, their only 
contribution had been material. Diana's parents paid for 
the reception and contributed to their honeymoon; his 
father presented him with the apartment, which he passed 
to Diana after the separation. 

Now, during this process, Bob and Gail were constant 
participants they sheltered Diana until she left for 
Europe and did everything they could to hide from him 
her whereabouts.  

"How is she?" Teena finally asked.

Mulder shuddered. "She's fine."

"I'm glad she coped well with the divorce."

"You were never interested in knowing if I coped well 
with the divorce," he spattered accusingly at her. 

Teena placed her soda on the stone table and looked 
directly at his eyes. "You were the one who ended your 
marriage, Fox. I always felt here," she patted her chest 
right above her heart "that it would end like that."

"And why did you never tell me that?"

"Because since you were twelve, you were very 
independent, Mr. Fox William Mulder." He never knew his 
mother could speak with such disdain. "You never let us 
comfort you, Fox."

"You were never there to comfort me, Mom."

She lowered her eyes. Touche, he thought bitterly; he 
knew he was right. 

"In the beginning we weren't there, Fox. And I can't 
imagine how it was for you. My only consolation is to 
know that you got it right." She surprised him by taking 
his hand in hers and squeezing it. "I'm so proud of you, 
son. And you should know your father was, too."

Mulder's mind tried to put together, in chronological 
order, all the goals he had achieved in order to make 
his parents proud of him. It had started in high school, 
soon after Samantha had disappeared. He had missed a lot 
of classes, and yet he had been the best student in his 
group, a fact that didn't change through the years, even 
when he joined the basketball and baseball teams. 

He had always been the top everywhere; the top student 
at Oxford, the top recruit at Quantico. He could have 
been the top agent with the Bureau.

He had spent twenty-five years of his life looking for 
her daughter.

And his mother, of all people, chose this moment, when 
she had just thrown the fact that he was responsible for 
his failed marriage in his face, to tell him that she 
and his father were proud of him. 

What was it about his mother that made him feel the urge 
to cry whenever she was around?

There were truths he wasn't ready to face.

He laughed nervously. "Where did this talk come from?"        

Her touch was tender on his hand. "It's an overdue talk, 
Fox. Besides, you deserved to know."

He looked at their entwined hands. "I don't regret 
having gotten married, Mom."

"You will never believe it, but I don't either."

"Don't you?"

She shook her head. "How could I, Fox? I had the best 
years of my life being married to your father. I know he 
made some wrong decisions, and for that I still can't
find in my heart the will to forgive him." She smiled 
tenderly at him. "But he gave me the most precious 
treasures I could have asked for in life. He gave me 
Samantha. And he gave me you."

For a few minutes, they shared an emotional silence.

"Sometimes I feel lonely, Mom," he said quietly.

"What about that young lady? Dana, isn't it?"

"She found out about Diana."

He waited for sympathetic words; he waited for a kiss or 
at least another touch of her hand; he waited for the 
reassurance that everything would be all right.

She said nothing, she did nothing.

He had expected too much.

There were things that never changed.

Awkwardly, he stood up and pointed to Ben's. 
"I'll get another sundae. Do you want something?"

She shook her head and once again fumbled in her purse, 
pulling out a ten. She slipped the money along the table 
in his direction. "Ask for two spoons; I'll share 
yours." There was love in her eyes. "There are things 
that should never change, Fox."

He got the money and smiled at her, then headed to the 
store to get their monstrous ice cream sundae.

***************************

Chapter 18


Scully was immersed in the tub. Her copper-framed head 
and the milk colored flesh on her bent knees were the 
only parts of her body unhidden by the warm bubbled 
water. At times like this, she wished her apartment was 
modern enough to hold a Jacuzzi; the relaxing movement 
of the water around her body and a glass of red wine 
would be the perfect medicine to soothe her stiff 
muscles and ease the tension from her body.

The day's activities had been intense. Between her 
duties in the lab and the effort to organize everything 
before her vacation, she had spent the entire day going 
from one microscope to another and taking notes. 

At six o'clock, to her surprise, the agents at the lab 
invited her to a farewell gathering at Cardinal's. In 
accepting the invitation, she spent a pleasant evening 
with a group of nice people that, until two weeks ago, 
were nothing more than co-workers with a badge hanging 
on their white aprons' pocket. Now she carried their 
phone numbers and the promise that they would call to 
let her now about their next get together. 

She hoped they would, she had liked them. During the 
past five years, she hadn't befriended too many people, 
which made the friendship of the six Lab Rats - as they 
called themselves - a small victory in her so called Ice 
Queen life at Quantico, and in her recent life as Mrs. 
Spooky, with Mulder.

She propped her left foot on the edge of the cool 
porcelain and pretended to study the tip of her toes. 

Mulder. Five billion people in the world didn't make a 
difference if he wasn't there, making Earth a more 
interesting place to live in with his presence.

She missed his wit and his melancholic joy. His 
intelligence, his beautiful mind. She missed his smile, 
his innuendoes.

His touch.

She let her lathered hands slide down the column of her 
throat and closed her eyes. 

Last weekend, she had wandered around her house, making 
up answers for the questions and what ifs swirling 
around her mind: what if they had stayed at her 
apartment? What if he hadn't called her every night to 
let her know about his plans for their weekend together, 
building all that expectation inside of her? What if 
they hadn't met that wicked woman?

What if she had never discovered he had been married?

At that point, her train of thought would run in an 
entirely different direction. 

That was when she would start to imagine what would have 
happened. His hands would have traced a path of fire all 
over her skin, his lips travelling through the same path 
to cool down her aching body. His fingers would have 
ventured south on her, exploring the moistened area of 
her depths, getting familiar with it, to invade her 
later in full force.

Then she would open her eyes and discover her slender 
fingers making the same exploration she had so vividly 
pictured him doing in her dreams.  

She breathed deeply and reached out to grab a towel. It 
would be useless to wish for things that would not be; 
at least not until he came back from Quonochontaug and 
they could talk.   

Scully wrapped her pinky flushed body in the silk 
Chinese robe given to her by Melissa years ago and redid 
the bun atop her head.

She was deciding whether or not to brew a cup of tea 
when the phone rang. She knew it wasn't Mulder for it 
was not his style. He would not bother calling; he would 
just come.

"Hello."

"Dana, hi." It was the adult version of Charlie's 
fatigued voice. The moving must have taken its toll on 
him.

"You sound tired. Rough day?" she asked sympathetically.

He released a dramatic sigh, making her roll her eyes. 
She fluffed the cushions on the sofa before adjusting 
them on her back. Charlie's sighs had always meant one 
thing: long talks involving nothing and everything.

"Not really." His voice was low and quiet, the one used 
to lull babies into sleep. "It's just that, there are 
boxes all over the house, Louise baked this chocolate 
cake... I remembered home, our constant moving in." His 
laugh was the one born of embarrassment. "I guess I just 
got nostalgic, wanted to talk."

Scully relaxed further against the cushions as her heart 
carried her back to a time when her family used to be 
constantly moving.

New cities, states, countries. Once or twice, a new 
continent. There were times when she had longed for the 
memories Bill had about this period of their lives. The 
times her father had been transferred to a different, 
exotic country. She was too young to burn the images and 
contours of this whole new world, but old enough to 
absorb the tastes and essences of different things, now 
dearly associated with childhood. 

She was ten when her father had been shipped back to the 
States and twelve when they settled for good in 
Baltimore. She smiled fondly at the remembrance of her 
father's smiling face as he proudly drove along the road 
that led to their house, her mother's house now. He 
would take her mother's hand in his while his other 
firmly gripped the steering wheel, and talk sweetheart 
secrets and dreams that the two of them had shared until 
the day he died, five years ago. 

"Do you remember how it used to be, Dana?"

"Yes, I do," she replied, her voice as sweet as the 
smile sprouting on her face. 

"I remember that we would be so naughty. Mom never knew 
what to do to stop our crankiness... That was when she 
would make chocolate cake and our bad mood would vanish 
in no time." He chuckled. 

She smiled, reliving her fondest memories about that 
chocolate cake. Through the years and many moves, it had 
became quite a tradition in the Scully household.

They had been four children full of energy and 
temperament. Their parents had tried everything to 
entertain them during their long travels from one place 
to another, but the final result was always the same; 
they wouldn't be tired enough to rest nor rested enough 
to willingly help their mom and daddy. By the fifth 
move, her mother found the cure; for naughty kids, 
chocolate cake.    

She remembered the smell of cocoa while the cake was 
baking into the oven, and the way its warmth helped to 
wash away all their sorrows for leaving behind friends, 
school, their last house. She could feel on her tongue 
the thick chocolate frosting melting inside her mouth, 
discovering why the chocolate she licked off of the tips 
of her fingers was slightly saltier than the one that 
she licked from her teeth.

Her brow knitted in concentration as she stirred her 
tongue inside of her mouth, searching for the taste of 
the cake that didn't come into her mind.

"I don't remember how it tasted, Charlie," she whispered 
very softly.

"I don't remember either," her brother's voice equaled 
her own. "I suggested Louise bake the cake, Dana. I 
thought that I wanted to tame my kids, like Mom used to 
tame us." He sounded frustrated. "It wasn't the same. 
The same recipe, the same ingredients, but it wasn't the 
same."

"Maybe it's not supposed to be the same anymore, 
Charlie. We're not children anymore." Frustrated, she 
realized she was seeking comfort in her own words. 'I 
want to believe,' she thought sadly.

"I have another theory: I believe we remember things 
that need to be remembered."

"But without our memories, what are we, Charlie?" she 
asked in what she wished not to be a teary voice.

"I'm not saying that we should dismiss our memories, 
Dana. They're experiences, they make us what we are 
today. I just believe they need to be renovated once in 
a while." His breath waved in soft blows of air into the 
phone, cherished sounds of comfort and peace she had 
sought so much this past week. "The cake is still 
delicious, Dana. It's just not the same. It's kind of... 
a new flavour," he added tenderly.

Scully felt a solitary tear dropping from her eye. She 
pressed her finger against the velvet skin of her face 
to stop it from reaching her cheek. It had been a long 
time since the raw emotion constantly hidden inside her 
heart made itself appear freely and without reservation. 
Yet, she felt brave.

"Do you think I could have a slice of it?" she asked 
timidly, seeking for reassurance.

"Sure you could. When?"

"How about tomorrow, at noon?"

"You just call me when you get into the airport and I'll 
pick you up."

Her chin was quivering as she smiled. "Thank you, 
Charlie."

She could feel him smile as well. "Anytime, Sis." 

She heard  his tired silence over the phone for a few 
seconds and decided to end their conversation. If she 
was planning to be in Denver by early evening, she 
needed to have things ready in the morning.

Just when she was going to say her goodbye, he called 
her name again. "Dana." 

"Yes," she replied in a whisper of voice.

"Before you board the plane tomorrow, be sure that you 
really don't want to bake your own cake. Good night, 
Sis." 

She put the receiver back on its cradle to recharge the 
battery and slipped on the sofa, her head resting on its 
arm.

She sighed and wondered.

To bake her own cake.


*********************************

Chapter 19


Scully was nervous; she observed the passers-by with 
dull eyes. Any other time, she would have used the 
nameless faces as a distraction. She would settle into 
one of those hard-to-sit-in plastic chairs, encased in 
one of her too professional suits, holding an expression 
resembling seriousness and competence. Would a mind-
reader happen to be strolling around the area, her
facade would be completely transparent.

She would be studying; the people walking up and down 
the halls of the airport would be the subjects of her 
scrutiny. A hurried well-dressed man pushing a carry-on 
bag towards the boarding area - a businessman running 
late for a meeting? maybe a married man with a double 
life? She knew Mulder would have come up with something 
entirely different: a man on the run leaving no trace 
behind him, carrying dark, forbidden, wretched secrets 
inside of his briefcase.

Many times they would share knowing smiles when they had 
gotten the same profile. A mother smiling lovingly to 
her baby - bliss; a child running over the crowded 
space, oblivious to the world surrounding her - innocence; 
a family gathering, the father scooping up his child and 
kissing his wife while walking hand in hand in the insanity 
that an airport could be - total happiness.  

Once she had been admiring with fascinated eyes an old 
couple sharing an embrace two rows of chairs ahead of 
her. They could have been in their late sixties, early 
seventies, she wasn't sure. From her sitting place, all 
she had been allowed to see was their smoky grey curly 
hair and dark skin. Only when the old man faced his lady 
had she been able to see that the skin on their faces 
showed almost no wrinkles, no marks of life that had 
passed by them. As a medical doctor, she knew that dark 
skin had more elasticity and resistance to the effects 
of time; as a human being, she had her response the 
moment the woman smiled tenderly at her companion, 
cupping with tender hands the face her eyes proved to be 
too much loved. 

Joy, she had seen joy working its magic in life, proving 
wrong biology. Involuntarily, she had turned her attention 
to the man sitting beside her. His hazel eyes were showering
her with awe and adoration, reserved only for the one person 
you loved the most. He must have been sustaining his gaze 
on her for some time; it had taken him two full seconds to 
awkwardly blink back to his senses and ask her what was the 
matter. There had been none; just joy. She had seen joy in 
his eyes. She had been happy; she had been afraid. 

The digital display hanging on the wall announced that 
the plane she had been waiting for had just arrived. The 
flight from Boston was fifteen minutes late. Problems in 
the departure, but nothing to worry about, the receptionist 
had told her. Now both her worries would be over; Mulder's 
mother would be coming any minute through the gateway and 
she would discover what could possibly be so important for 
Mrs. Mulder to call her at her apartment that early in the 
morning. Scully had pondered the meaning of the call the 
whole morning. Mrs. Mulder hadn't been too specific; just 
asked Scully to please meet her at the airport at 10:30. 
When Scully had asked why, Mrs. Mulder just said she had 
something she would like to give her son, but she hadn't 
been able to get a hold of him. So, she had asked if Scully 
could keep it for her and give it to Fox. Even if she could 
escape him the weekend, she would have to face him at work 
on Monday, and her flight to Denver wouldn't leave until 
after lunch. So, she had agreed.

Mrs. Mulder was a tall woman; it wasn't difficult for 
Scully to find her among the people coming through the 
gate. She was as elegant as Scully remembered her to be. 
She was wearing a floral sun dress, a sober dark color 
that went well with the thick golden necklace and golden 
studs in her ears, her pale complex accentuated by a 
soft shade of pink lipstick. A purse hanging on her 
shoulder and the small package she was holding in her 
hands, and Teena Mulder was an interesting combination 
of beauty and discretion. She held out her hand towards 
Scully.

"Thanks, Miss Scully, for coming in such short notice."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Mulder."

Teena smiled. "I called Fox, but he wasn't at home. I 
have something I want him to keep for me for the time 
being."

Scully looked uneasily at her. "We had a few days off. I 
believe he is at your summer house."

"It could be. He has been making some small changes 
there." Teena gestured to the cafeteria. "I still have a 
few minutes to spare before taking my trip to Florida. 
Do you care to join me for some coffee?"

"Absolutely."

Surprisingly, the cafeteria wasn't crowded, even on a 
normal Thursday morning. They found a discreet place in 
the back of the restaurant and ordered their coffees.

Teena was composed and calm when she pushed on the table 
the package she had been carrying with so much care. 
Scully kept her hands folded in her lap.

"My grandmother gave me that when I got married, almost 
forty years ago."  Teena smiled fondly at the blue 
package. "That was her wedding gift for me." She pointed 
the package to Scully. "You can open it if you want."

Scully was startled with the openness of her partner's 
mother. She had seen Mrs. Mulder what, two, three times 
prior to this day. And, although the older woman was not 
treating her as a close friend, there was no way in 
denying that her real intentions were to share personal 
details of her life with Scully. She flinched, 
uncomfortable with this attempt at intimacy.

"I don't think that would be a good idea, Mrs. Mulder." 

"You know," Teena started, not paying attention to 
Scully's last words; a genetic trait, for sure. "When 
Fox got married, Bill and I, we had a hard time deciding 
what to give him. Even though we were divorced, and the 
fact that Fox hadn't talked to his father in years, Bill 
called me; we still were his parents." She stopped to 
thank the waitress that brought them their orders. 
"After weeks of debating, we decided to give them a 
home. Bill bought him a nice apartment in DC area. As 
for myself, I still didn't know in my heart what to give 
him." She offered again the package to Scully. "Could 
you please open it, Dana?"

Hearing her given name being pronounced by a Mulder 
person had something like magic in it, it was charming. 
Curious, she picked up the package in her hands. 

It was heavier than she had thought. When she had first 
seen the parcel, she thought it was a book. It had the 
dimensions and shape of a book, a thin one, kind of like 
a Harlequin paperback. Scully bit the inside of her 
mouth to suppress a smile when she thought of her 
partner reading Harlequin material. But it couldn't be a 
Harlequin, it wasn't flexible. Quite the contrary, its 
surface was rigid, its extremities didn't bend when she 
forced them down. And now, touching the material, 
feeling its surface through the wrapping paper, she  
could see that it wasn't plain either; there were some 
imperfections on its edges. 

Carefully to not tear the paper, and to not show her 
anxiety, she pulled the edges of the Scotch tape with 
her fingernails, briefly diverting her eyes to Mrs. 
Mulder face. She was the prototype of calmness. 'Screw 
this,' Scully thought as she pulled the contents at 
once, not bothering with torn papers or unmasked anxiety 
anymore.

The object she had in her hands took her breath away.

It was a picture frame, but not an ordinary one. Scully 
studied the object with the tip of her fingers, 
memorizing its texture and its outlines, her eyelids 
dropping with wonder. The material was clear to her. 
Metal, golden metal; its surface sparkled under the rays 
of light coming through the large windows of the 
restaurant. For a moment, she wondered if it was made of 
pure gold... 

She had been right; the surface was not perfect on its 
sides. There were tiny flowers sculpted there, 
resembling tiny tulips, one tulip in particular going 
from the base to the top of the frame, advancing half 
an inch where the photo was.

Almost immediately, the photo captivated her. There were 
two smiling faces staring back at her: a toothless 
little girl, whose face she had gotten so fond of those 
past five years, and the proud boy she had grown to love 
as a man. They were sitting on a log, the boy's arm 
encircling his sister's shoulder. They seemed to be in a 
forest, trees and wild flowers surrounded them and the 
meadow was greener than the rest of the foliage. It had 
been a sunny day, the flecks of light pecking through the 
top of the trees created the false illusion that the 
children's hair was one or two shades softer than she 
remembered having seeing in other snapshots. The picture was 
such a perfect recreation of magic and fantasy, that Scully 
could swear the butterfly resting in Samantha's hair was 
actually a fairy blessing them.

"The frame has been in my family for ages. My great-
grandfather gave it to my grandmother as a wedding gift. 
He had it specially made for her," Teena started, her 
eyes lost at some point in her past. "He had told Granny 
Lilly that it had been made for her to keep and treasure 
her best memory." She smiled. "Since then, it has been 
fair game in weddings." Teena sipped her tea and Scully 
turned her attention back to the portrait. "I have two 
other sisters, both married too. Granny had a hard time 
deciding who should have this."

Scully was far beyond caring to feign a lack of interest 
anymore; she leaned forward to better hear Mrs. Mulder.  

"Granny Lilly was my father's mom. Anyway, she didn't 
know who should have the picture frame. Jane was the 
oldest; she had assumed she would be the one to have it. 
But she had been wrong; Granny gave it to me." Teena 
paused and played with the edges of the frame, then 
looked back at Scully. "She thought mine would be the 
most successful one. For some time she had been right, 
but then..." 

Scully looked uncomfortably at Mrs. Mulder and saw when 
the vivacious gleam in her eyes faded as she talked 
about her failed marriage. Scully wanted to tell her to 
stop, that she wasn't interested in knowing about the 
Mulders' wedding misfortunes, that she didn't want to hear 
any of this... But she also didn't like to lie.

As if sensing her discomfort, Teena cleared her throat 
and continued. "A week before the marriage, Fox and 
Diana invited me and her parents to have dinner 
together. That night we were supposed to give them our 
presents. I gave them the documents of the apartment 
Bill had bought them and Diana's parents presented them 
with the tickets for their honeymoon and a check to 
cover the expenses of the ceremony. And I had this" - she 
pointed at the portrait - "wrapped and was ready to give 
to them when I looked at Gail. She was smiling and 
being gentle with Fox, but I felt the sadness in her 
eyes sting my heart. And I knew she must have been 
feeling the same thing every time she looked at mine." 
Teena looked very seriously at Scully. "I couldn't make 
the same mistake my Granny had made; I couldn't turn 
this into a part of another failed marriage. I gave them 
a generous check, instead."

Scully breathed deeply and stared back at the portrait 
Teena was pushing in her direction. Tentatively, she 
reached out and brushed the glass holding the picture in 
place with her pads. She traced Mulder's face, estimating 
that he couldn't have been more than ten when they took 
the photograph. 

"This photo is pretty old, Miss Scully; this needs to be 
replaced. I believe that now Fox is ready to make the 
replacement if he ever has the chance."  

Scully said nothing, nor looked at Mrs. Mulder. She just 
kept her cool exterior, her eyes staring intently at the 
picture.

A singsong voice was calling the passengers of flight 
seven fifty-two to Florida to get ready and board the 
plane.

"It's my call; I have to go."

Scully accompanied Mrs. Mulder through the long hall of 
the airport, until they reached the check-in stand.

"Quonochontaug is very beautiful this time of the year. 
The waters seem to be greener in the summer." Teena 
grinned. "Our house in Chilmark is in the middle of the 
hills and forests, the woody part of the island. And 
it's really chilly up there." She chuckled. "That was 
why Fox and Sammy - no; I must say the whole family - 
loved the summer house so much; the temp is always 
inviting down there." Teena handed her ticket to the 
clerk. "We loved to go there by train or by bus. By 
train, we would make a lovely trip through the railway 
adorned with trees and flowers, but it's better in 
spring." 

Scully watched disinterested as the clerk stamped and 
detached the boarding pass. "But when you cross one of 
the bridges to get to the beach, the journey is 
unforgettable. The water is so green..."

Teena thanked the clerk when he handed the ticket back 
to her and looked at Scully. "Fox once told me that you 
belonged to the sea. Nobody who belongs to the sea 
should miss The Island this time of the year." She 
extended the blue package to Scully. "Thanks for coming, 
Miss Scully. And please, make sure Fox gets this."

Scully just nodded and watched Mrs. Mulder's departure. 
She met another old lady halfway and together the two of 
them walked past the glass door, towards the boarding 
gate.

As Scully made her way back to her car, two things 
became clear to her: one - Mrs. Mulder knew Mulder's 
whereabouts; and two - she had been set up. 

And there was one more thing that she didn't want to 
think about, but that was impossible to just ignore: his 
mother hadn't wanted the marriage.

But he had wanted it; he had loved and he had married 
another woman. And yet that wasn't enough information 
for her to hate him. He hadn't known her at that time.

He had told her he loved her. He had lied for her, 
bargained for her, crossed half the world to have her 
back.

All his actions, all his gestures, were they the voice 
of guilt? 

She knew he blamed himself for everything bad that had 
happened to her since they'd met; he had tried to send 
her away to keep her safe. In fact, more than once since 
they started going out together, she wondered if his 
first move hadn't been caused by the belief that the X-
Files would remain closed forever. 

She knew she was loved, but she was also aware that 
there were too many things more important than the love 
he felt for her. And she hated to admit that her 
greatest fear since she had accepted his first 
invitation for lunch, had been that the day would come 
when he would tell her they were through because she was 
holding him back.

'You made me a whole person.'

With his baggage, any person that had stayed at his side 
for half a decade would be considered his other half. 
Other halves didn't just go away; they remained. Even 
broken, they remained.

Diana had been broken. And she left.

Scully never let him explain his actions, even knowing 
that he would never break her.

And she had just left.

She was confused, without a clue about what to do next.

Things should be easier now.

Things could be easier now. 

All she had to do was take that plane. She was already 
running late.

She reached for her cellphone and pressed the battered 
speed dial. On the third ring, it was answered.

"Hi, mom; it's me... No, I'm fine, just running late; I 
have a plane to catch... No, in two hours... No, mom, 
listen... Mom! I need your help."

*****************************

Chapter 20 


The beer was sliding down his throat in little rivulets 
of bitterness and refreshment, making him whimper a 
delicious "ah" when he put the can back on the table. 
His cousin's brown eyes were looking at him in 
amusement. 

"I see that you've finally learned how to enjoy a beer, 
huh, Fox?"

Mulder offered a mute salute to Daniel and took another 
long sip of the cool beverage. "I've spent seven years 
in England. If there's something I should know, it's how 
to drink a beer."

"Didn't know English people were this frantic for beer."

"Not necessarily for beer, but it's spice and can easily 
be found in pubs." Mulder took another large gulp of his 
beer. "You should live a little, Cousin Daniel."

Daniel smiled sarcastically. "Psychologists and FBI 
Agents should drink, considering this life of yours. But 
me." He pointed  pitifully at himself. "I'm just a civil 
engineer with an ordinary life. I don't need this kind 
of thing." Daniel touched his beer to Mulder's. 

"Sounds good."

"In twenty years we can sit back at this same table and 
have this same chat, then I'll have an answer for you." 

Mulder nodded. It had taken him almost ten years to sit 
down and talk to his cousin again. And to think that he 
and Daniel had grown up together. 

Despite their six year age difference, they had always 
been good friends. Aunt Jane and Uncle Thomas, Daniel's 
parents, didn't always live on the Vineyard; they lived 
in New York, but they too had a summerhouse on the 
island. So, a great part of their childhood was spent in 
that little piece of heaven surround by the ocean and 
gentle breezes. Daniel was the only child in his house, 
so he had adopted Mulder as a surrogate younger brother 
and Sammy as his little sister. 

Daniel was as devastated as Mulder when Sam was taken.

The summer following Sam's abduction, Mulder was left 
alone on the island; Daniel had gone to college. Then 
Mulder had gone to Oxford and Daniel had gotten married. 
A few years later, when it was Mulder's time to get 
married, they'd met again. The two couples had gone out 
together a few times. The last time he had seen Daniel 
had been the summer before his divorce, when Daniel and 
Emmanuelle had visited them in Virginia. Since then, 
there had been some emails, letters and calls, but 
having his cousin at the table in the back yard of his 
aunt's house sharing some beers beat the hell out of 
artificial correspondence.

"Oh, come on. Life can't be that bad."

"I'll send Chris and Gillian to spend a summer with you, 
then you tell me."

Mulder thought about Daniel's kids and Jason and 
Caroline. They were almost the same age. He and Scully 
would have a handful with them, but it could be fun. 

If he ever got Scully back, that is.      

"I'll have to set everything with the little wife before 
you can send them."

Daniel smiled. "Oh, man. Don't tell. You really want me 
to believe that this Scully woman does exist?"

"Dan, don't upset Fox." Emma stepped into the back yard, 
stealing her husband's beer. "Don't pay attention to 
him, Fox."

"In my entire life I never did, I'm not doing it now."

"Good." Emma patted Mulder's head tenderly. "I've 
started dinner. Are you staying? This house is too big 
without the children and mom in it."

"Next time you should listen to me, instead of sending 
them away to some theme park on the other side of the 
country," Daniel said as he pushed her into a sitting 
position on the arm of his chair, encircling her waist 
with his tanned arms.

Emmanuelle ruffled Daniel's blond hair softly and talked 
to her husband as if he was a child listening to the 
tell tale of flowers and bees for the first time. 
"They're at Disneyland, love, with the school group. And 
it's for just two weeks. They will be fine." She smiled 
at Mulder. "I'm sure Cousin Fox does have a lot of ideas 
of what to do while we're all here, don't you, Fox?"

"In fact I was planning on painting the house..."

"The house? You said it was just your bedroom."

"And it was, but now that Emma made you disposable..."

"Do you see what you did?" Daniel slapped his wife's 
knee. "Now I'll have to work on my vacation." Emmanuelle 
smiled down at him and kissed his lips.

Mulder lowered his eyes and thought about what he had 
left back in Washington. He missed her terribly.

"Folks, the chat was terrific, but I really need to get 
going."

"Have dinner with us, Fox."

For a moment he had been tempted to accept the 
invitation, but then he would have to face a very 
romantic couple glancing at each other for an entire 
evening and he wasn't up to it. 

"Thanks, Emma, but I really have to go. It looks like 
it's going to rain cats and dogs." The skies were 
getting that deep shade of blue announcing pouring rain.

"You'll never make it back to your house in time, Fox. 
Maybe you should just stay here."

"That's okay, I'll be fine. If I go now, I may have a 
chance." He started jogging to the low gate in the yard. 
"See you tomorrow, rain or shine, bright and early," he 
shouted at Daniel.

"Don't expect me there that early."

He waved at Emma and picked his way along the beach. The 
summerhouse was not that far from his aunt's. If he 
found the right pace in his running, he could be home in 
ten, fifteen minutes.

The rain had other plans. 

Less than five minutes from his leaving, the beach was 
being covered by the transparent veil of water coming 
from the skies. In no time, his hair was splattered all 
over his head, and that stubborn lock of hair that kept 
falling onto his forehead  was now doubly inconvenient: 
it slowed down his rhythm every time he had to whip the 
bothersome drops of water that his soaked bangs kept 
sending into his eyes, which also made him momentarily 
lose some of the leverage his hands gave him.  

He couldn't blink fast enough to dispel the drops of 
water running into his eyes. He shook his head to ease 
the task a little bit, and then an amount of water twice 
as large found its way through his long eyelashes, along 
his face and down his nose. Breathing was getting 
difficult too: he was getting tired from the run in the 
wet, heavy sand, and from his effort of pulling air in 
without inhaling water.

But even all those drawbacks couldn't make him 
appreciate this stunning phenomenon of nature any less.

Blue was making room for gold and orange as the rain 
washed the dark clouds away; specks of purple and orange 
were emerging from the horizon ahead of him, enlacing 
its spectrum of colors with the green ocean. He wondered 
if it was too late on that summer evening for a rainbow.

He turned away from the sand and started to climb up the 
bank that separated his house from the beach. The water 
had made the soil slippery, and once or twice he had to 
grab the grass and dry roots to keep from falling.

Stunned, he stopped a few feet from the house to admire 
and worship Heaven on the front porch with surprised 
eyes. 

When he was seven or eight, he had gone fishing with his 
father and they had gotten lost. They had walked in 
circles for hours and hours with no end. He was already 
tired, wanting his mother and his bed; he remembered 
that he had even wanted Samantha. All the little fish he 
had managed to catch and had been carrying in a plastic 
bag filled with water were not important anymore.

He just wanted the safety of his home. 

He had been afraid, terrified. He was afraid of never 
seeing his toys or his friends again. He had been afraid 
of never going back home. His father just dragged him 
along the forest, large hands never letting go of his 
little one. Bill Mulder kept walking, a pack securely 
attached onto his back while his other hand held firmly 
the flashlight that illuminated their way.

Always calm.

He remembered that he was ready to embarrass himself 
doing something in his pants when he recognized the 
pathway that led to their house.

Later that night, when he had already pulled on his 
Scooby Doo pajamas and his father was tucking him into 
bed, he had asked his father if in any moment he had 
been afraid of never finding home again.

'You'll always find home if you just keep looking into 
the sky, Fox; Heaven is always different when It 
illuminates your home.'

Now, remembering the faint brush of his father's lips 
against his forehead, he realized that his old man had 
been a wise one.

Heaven was different on the front porch of his home.

There were the same colors, red and blue and gold, 
primary colors that mixed together, creating a shade 
that just his eyes were gifted to see.

Blue and white carried Heaven closer to him in the woody 
steps and its rosy arms timidly embraced themselves 
together. A thin layer of white opened hesitantly to 
him. Tiny shades of green, purple and vibrancy confused 
in the pallet of life and joy, mixing together the 
colors that made Heaven his beacon of light in the front 
porch.

In the pouring rain, he smiled.

She had come.          


******************************

Chapter 21


"Excuse me."

Mara, Betty's daughter, was approaching them, carrying 
Mulder and Scully's orders, when Scully rose from her 
chair. 

"What? What happened?" Mulder held her hand and stood up 
as well. 

Skinner looked at the female agent, too.

"Nothing; I'm fine, Mulder."

"Scully..."

She caressed Mulder's face. "It's okay. I just need some 
air."

Skinner could tell Mulder wasn't entirely convinced, but 
he let her go. 

"I'm just going down the street. I'll be right back." 
She turned to face Skinner. "Excuse me, sir."

Skinner silently nodded at her. Mulder's gaze followed 
her until she disappeared through the front door, then 
he sat back at the table.

"Is she going to be all right?"

The question sounded pathetic even to his own ears. Of 
course it would take a long time for Scully to piece 
together her shattered dignity and be fine again; longer 
than it would take Mulder.

"I hope so," Mulder said, his eyes sagging into the 
table. "For my own sanity, I hope so."

Skinner looked at the man sitting in front of him, and 
felt the urge to beat the selfish bastard into a pulp with 
his bare hands. How could he be such a son of a bitch to 
the point of not seeing what was beyond his own needs 
and purposes, of not seeing his partner suffering? 

But then, where was the novelty of it? Mulder had always 
been like that, even when he was married. Skinner was 
surprised to see that Scully had lasted that long at his 
side, accumulating the functions of lover, co-worker and 
shrink. But then, Scully was an exceptional woman. She 
had stayed and succeeded where others had tried and given up.

Then a second later he looked at the agent's miserable 
expression. Mulder hadn't shaved, wasn't eating, and at 
this point Skinner doubted he would shave and eat again 
until the end of their ordeal. The minute Scully had 
left his side, all the composure and security that 
momentarily gleamed into his eyes were gone. 

Skinner decided to give Mulder the benefit of doubt. And 
for once that morning, he acted not like the superior, 
but as a friend.

"Are you all right, Mulder?"

Mulder said nothing; he kept staring at the plate of 
pancakes Mara had just put before him. When he looked 
back at Skinner, his eyes were blank, seeking a response 
in the air.

"I can't be without her, sir."

Plain and simple as day, Mulder's words hit Skinner 
right in the gut. He knew that there was a real 
possibility that their partnership would not survive the 
hearing. What he hadn't realized was that the lovers 
relationship could end right here, at that diner table. 
And if it really happened, he knew Mulder would not 
stand a chance. Mulder without Scully was not a nice 
sight; it was plain pitiful. He felt bad because there 
wasn't a single thing he could do to help the couple; 
even an offer of support would sound empty and 
insufficient. 

"She is a fighter, Mulder. She's not going to leave you 
like this."

A puff of air that sounded like a snort sagged Mulder's 
shoulders. "She resigned for less than this."

Skinner thought about the letter Scully had delivered 
after the hearing in June. He hadn't tried to talk her 
out of the decision. The document was still locked in 
his bottom desk drawer, without his signature on it.

"She stayed, Mulder."

"Until when? Scully is a proud woman. She worked really 
hard to be where she is now." 

"Maybe now she is where she wanted to be."

"Scully doesn't live on maybes." Mulder lowered his eyes 
back to the plate, repeating in a small voice, "She 
doesn't live on maybes."

Skinner was pushing the eggs on his plate from one side 
to the other. He had lost his appetite.

"You can't act like that, Mulder. She will need your 
strength the same way you will need hers."

Mulder rubbed his face. "She will have my strength, sir. 
I'd never deny that to her. This time I'm ready to 
support her in whatever decision she decides to make."

"She will make the right one."

Mulder started to break some toothpicks in small pieces, 
lost in a place Skinner was not allowed to go. 

"What about the bust?"

"Hum?"

"The bust," Mulder repeated, reaching for another 
toothpick. "That was a bust, wasn't it?"

Skinner fidgeted in his seat. "It was a drug trade, 
supposed to happen in your room."

"What happened? Did you find something?" He smirked at 
Skinner. "No, let me change the question; you sure found 
more than you were supposed to. Did you find the 
UNSUBs?"

"Yes, Mulder. There was a truck parked outside; the 
exchange was being made there."

The team that was keeping vigil outside the motel was 
radioed to check the truck immediately after the fiasco 
inside. And there they were, twelve men that didn't put 
up a fight to the team of fifty well armed officers from 
FBI, ATF and DEA combined. Skinner had been so caught up 
with his agents indiscretion, that he almost missed all 
the entertainment rolling outside.

But then, he had missed even Mulder's car parked by the 
curb.

"But it doesn't make sense," Mulder said, confused. "We 
were there; we heard nothing. And later, when we left, 
there was no evidence of an arrest."

"You were in shock, Mulder," Skinner said comprehensively. 
"It is natural; you had suffered a major trauma."

For him, the man that looked down into his plate holding 
back tears in no way resembled the witty, driven, real 
pain-in-the-ass agent he was used to working with. Once 
again, Skinner felt utterly helpless.

"This is not fair," Mulder said without lifting his 
gaze. "We're together for just two months. This is our 
second weekend together like this. We were supposed to 
be lying in a B&B in Virginia countryside..." 

Skinner managed to swallow without spilling coffee all 
over the table. Two months together? Second weekend like 
that? What the hell... 

Then he understood. 

Holy shit!

They had been lovers for no more than two weeks.

He must have proffered the words aloud, because next 
Mulder looked at him with the eyes of a man that had 
been brought back to reality after shock therapy. 

"I won't talk about it," he said, blushing furiously. 
"Even if I wanted to, you'd never understand." He looked 
like a stray dog lost in traffic with nowhere to go. 
Finally he found his destination and pointed at the 
entrance of the restaurant. "I..."

He didn't complete his sentence; he just went after his 
partner.  

Skinner stared at the man walking towards the door. In 
one thing he had been right: Skinner didn't understand, 
but he wanted to.

He wanted to understand why Mulder had waited this long 
to act on the desire the whole Bureau knew he had always 
felt for his partner. He also wanted to understand how 
Scully, the most straight and by the book agent he ever 
had under his supervision, had succumbed to her partner's 
charm. He wanted to know how they had managed to be one of 
the most efficient teams in the FBI with all this sexual 
tension between them for all those years.   

He wanted to understand what this so called being in 
love thing was like.


************************

Chapter 22


There were sounds.

The rain was still falling in large droplets from the 
sky until it splashed onto the ground, spilling whispers 
of water in the grass. It was too late for the sun to 
show up again after the rain, but the rays of light 
would be strong enough to dry the landscape once the 
water ceased to fall.

It didn't matter to him; it made no difference. 

For him, there were only sounds.

The sound of her sweet voice calling his name when she 
ran down the steps of the porch, her tiny feet smashing 
water into wood, then into grass.

He heard air being separated by the sudden movement of 
his long arms being opened to welcome her into his 
embrace.

He heard time going still when he kissed her and she 
kissed him back.

There was the sound of their laughter when he professed 
all the love he felt for her while spinning her around, 
her hair changing the direction of the rain every time 
it swirled around her face.

There was the sound of their joy.   


******************


They made it to his bedroom.

As far as he was aware, only their soaked shoes were 
left behind, kicked off outside the front door.

But then, when he opened his eyes, seeing that she was 
real before him, he realized that they were completely 
naked.

She was standing in front of him, her eyes as turquoise 
and quiet as the waters on a virgin beach. 

He wanted to touch her, but he held his desire back. 
There would be plenty of time for that later. Now he 
just wanted to memorize her face.

Blind fingers wandered reverently over the white flesh 
of her forehead. He loved that part of her; from there 
came all the smart remarks and scientific theories she 
shared with him. He cherished that structure of flesh 
and bones that guarded the beautiful mind he loved so 
much.

His lips brushed the pathway his fingers had just 
charted. She closed her eyes and he smiled. He kissed 
her eyes, her nose, her chin. She gripped the hands that 
were cradling her face and kissed his forearm. He moaned 
her name before pressing his lips to hers. She let go of 
his arms and cupped his checks tenderly. One of his 
hands slipped all the way down her arm and onto her 
stomach, his fingers studying the texture, feeling the 
peachiness of the skin that molded her.

He let his fingers cup her breast and felt on their tips 
the beating of her heart. She made a pleasant sound 
against his mouth and he couldn't take it any longer.

Gently yet firmly, he pushed her body along the mattress 
of his bed. 

The first time his naked body touched hers in its all 
extension, he was reminded of sensations already shared 
with others. Yet, with her it was still new.  A myriad 
of sensations, positive vibrations emitted by the 
shuddering body pressed against his own.

He held her head firmly against the pillow, his eyes 
roving over her perfect lithe frame, anticipating the 
caresses his hands were to give her.

He found himself cloistered in the kaleidoscope of 
contrasts their union formed: large frame against a tiny 
one; his hands discovering curves, hers muscles; his 
fingers reaching deepness, hers exploring his length. 
New sensations that he had to discover with her, 
feelings he wished only he could reveal to her. Places 
never explored, opposites mingling together to create a 
new definition of making love. Slowly all his senses 
evaded him. For him there were no more sounds, no more 
voices, no more sight.

He was a blind man; her body was a white page, his only 
link to the world. If he wanted to survive in a world 
without senses, he needed to learn her, to read her. He 
needed to print himself into her with his kisses, his 
caresses, his love. He was a blind man discovering for 
the first time how to read, how to distinguish  the map 
of her and never forget it. 

His wandering hands explored her body, his lips 
acknowledging what made her be Dana Katherine Scully. So 
many small things, small wonders. Her small perfectly 
rounded breasts, her smooth abdomen, the curve where her 
narrow waist expanded to form her hips. Her shaped 
thighs, the copper 'v' forming a fur curtain between her 
legs, red lips hidden behind it. 

He found them. He kissed those lips for the first time, 
his tongue darting forward, searching for the little, 
swollen version of pleasure he new he would find there.

Slowly he started to distinguish sounds again. 

He heard sheets rustling under her feet; he heard the 
soft rasp of his hands over her legs, holding her in 
place; he heard unintelligible, throaty sounds coming 
from her as she urged him against her.

He heard his name coming from her mouth when she came in 
his. Hot, liquid, sweet.

Scully.

He needed to see her face.

His lips where guiding him back through the same pathway 
he had just explored. The flatness of her stomach, the 
salience of her breasts, the shallow hole of her throat. 
The stream of her lips providing him with cool water, 
washing her off him, gifting him with new life.

She needed to know.

He needed to tell her what she was doing to him; he 
needed to tell her what he had read in her book, what he 
had learned. He needed to tell her about her sweetness, 
the tang, tart taste he had found only in her.

The blue beacon of light coming from her eyes blinded 
him again, its intensity wiped from his memory what he 
had read, what he had learned.

But he had to tell her, he had to share with her what he 
had discovered, what he had learned. He had to find a 
way to communicate. 

He kissed her again. He let her roll him onto the 
mattress and straddle him. He let her lips kiss and 
taste him. He let her swallow him, devour him entirely. 
He just stopped her when he was ready to explode.

He pulled her up against him and then rolled her back. 

He looked deep inside of her eyes and then sank 
completely inside of her. 

They rocked together until his finger joined them inside 
of her. Then she stopped, she shuddered, she came. They 
came.


*****


He was holding her against his chest and her small fingers 
were making lazy circles around his nipples. He felt her 
blink against him and place a faint kiss over his heart. 
He pulled the sheets more firmly around their bodies and 
kissed her hair, muttering a soft, "I love you," against 
the red threads.

He could close his eyes and sleep with no fear.

She was there.   


*****************************

Chapter 23


The rain had stopped some time ago. Scully observed its 
last vestiges sliding down the window. She considered 
leaving her place in their bed to close the blinds, but 
she didn't want to disturb Mulder, who was sleeping on 
her shoulder, his left arm resting possessively over the 
sheet covering her breasts. 

They had slept for a couple of hours before she woke him 
up, kissing his nose. She had meant for them to talk, 
but when his eyes locked with hers, they reached the 
silent agreement that talk would come later, that for 
now they would just enjoy their new intimacy. They made 
love one more time and it was almost midnight when she 
finally dragged him out of bed.

She borrowed one of his T-shirts and went downstairs to 
fix something to eat while he picked up their wet 
clothes, scattered all over the floor in the bedroom. 
Thinking about that now, she hoped that he hadn't put 
her pink twin set in the same basket with her jeans. 

He met her downstairs and, after he had picked up the 
duffel bag she had left outside, they ate the cheese 
sandwiches she had made, cleaned up the kitchen and went 
back to bed. When they were settled, he pulled off her 
T-shirt and his boxers, telling her they wouldn't sleep 
until he made her come one more time. She had teased 
him, saying that he better be prepared to stay up the 
whole night. He accepted the challenge and, smiling 
wickedly, went down to business. 

Literally.

She would never defy him again. 

And now there he was, sleeping the sleep of the dead. 
She smiled and brushed a lock of hair away from his 
eyes. He had earned his sleep. 

Slowly, she studied the rest of the scenario surrounding 
them. The walls were covered with objects that had been 
part of his childhood: baseball and basketball banners, 
a small collection of shellfish, the book shelves filled 
with books that, she believed, used to be the focus of 
their owner's attention. If Sam used to be the kind of 
child who loved to nose around her brother's belongings, 
that room must had been paradise to her. 

Sam... That was one of the few times where Sam and the 
man snoring in her embrace were together in a happy 
thought. She wondered sometimes how Mulder would have 
behaved as a big brother. More than once, in the 
beginning of their partnership, she had had the 
certainty that he was trying to use her as a surrogate 
Sam. Thank god he hadn't succeeded. 

He should have been the kind of brother whose sister's 
honor was more important than anything. She could neatly 
picture him as the big brother who would wrestle with 
whoever pulled his sister's briads or stole her candy 
bars on Halloween. Fox Mulder, the Knight in Shinning 
Armor, the savior of young ladies in danger.

Without noticing it, she must have chuckled strong 
enough to make her lover blink against the pale skin of 
her collarbone. 

"Hum?"

She caressed his cheek. "That's okay; you go back to 
sleep." 

She kept drawing loose circles on his shoulder and back 
until he was lulled back into sleep. 

She looked out the window. It was almost dawn already. 
Almost dawn and she was still surrounded by the wonder 
of this man asleep on her shoulder. So comfortable. 
Softy; safely resting in the place where he belonged. 

She kissed his brow. "I wanted so much to be here with 
you, Mulder."

She whispered not to wake him up, but to find him in his 
dreams. If that was how it would be, she was willing to 
let down her walls, to let him teach her how to be, how 
to feel.

She felt herself getting moistened again, but this time 
it was not her body aching for release. It was her heart 
giving him a chance, a chance to show her that having 
his legs entangled with hers and the sheets twisted 
around their bodies was right, that there was no way for 
it not to be. 

At that moment, as the teardrops ran down her cheeks, 
she committed herself to him. They deserved a chance to 
be happy, to free themselves of the demons that haunted 
their lives, that insisted in telling her that it couldn't 
be. Because it could, it would, even if took them 
forever to make it real. But she also knew that forever 
would never be enough, not now. Not when she'd just 
discovered what being loved by this man was like. She 
would need a lifetime to soak up all the pleasure that 
his passion brought to her life, to name all the sweet 
sensations his smiles brought to her soul, to release 
the tenderness and the love she felt for him. Just a 
lifetime, just forever.   

Now she knew what forever was. Forever was the long 
minutes, hours of their lovemaking; forever was the span 
of time that each soft puff released from his nostrils 
took to play with the skin on her neck. Forever was all 
this and some more. And at that moment Dana Scully 
didn't feel the need to measure time anymore: that - 
what they really had - was enough. Forever was enough. 
Because forever was the two of them. Together. Always.


*****


When the first rays of light were streaming through the 
window, warmth and wetness were fighting to wake her up. 
It took her a minute to attribute the warmth to the sun 
tentatively bathing her face and just a heartbeat to 
recognize the wetness as the butterfly kisses Mulder was 
placing all over her torso, up to her shoulder, until he 
reached her lips. 

"Morning," he muffled between kisses.

"Morning indeed," she chuckled against his lips and 
opened her eyes.

He was looking for something in her eyes and she made 
sure to reassure him: She had no regrets. 

"Yes, indeed." He gave her a full smile and bent down 
once again to recapture her lips with his own. 

"Mulder..."

"Hum?" he was too busy kissing the way to her earlobe to 
give her his full attention.

"We need to talk." Her hands didn't stop the caresses on 
his back, shoulders, buttocks, wherever she could reach. 
But just her last statement was enough to get her his 
full attention. He let go of her earlobe and was staring 
at her, vulnerable, expecting. 

"We need to talk," she said again, looking into his 
eyes. They were dark, reminding her of an old tree whose 
hard bark's layer kept falling onto the ground and 
covering it, creating a barrier that, while not so 
difficult to sweep away, was not that easy either. 

"Mulder," she said, lying her fingertips on the skin of 
his face, searching for that mole of his that she loved 
so much. "I don't regret it," she whispered against his 
breath. "There's no regret," she whispered again, 
caressing his lower lip with the tip of her thumb.

"But..." he whispered.

"But what?" 

"There are no buts?"

"No." She smiled up at him.

His face lightened up again and she received the smile 
she was hoping for as well as one more kiss. 

"I love you." His large fingers were working on her 
hair, removing the damp red threads from her brow. He 
gently breathed her name and bent down to join their 
lips for the third time that morning. 

She let go of his face and pulled him completely against 
her. It took them no more than that to be making love 
again.


************************** 

Chapter 24 


His hair was tickling her thighs like it had done the 
night before. She held his head, hoping to steady his 
convulsing body, but it too proved to be useless: he was 
moaning now.

"Mulder, stop," she urged him, smiling awkwardly at the 
passers by that kept staring at them.

He was shuddering, unable to contain his emotions. She 
was delighted for having him so at ease with her, but 
she was also embarrassed because of the show they were 
providing in public.

"I can't, Scully," he said between gasps of air, still 
convulsing. "This is just too good to let go."

She sighed, but started to shake too. "You're terrible."

He caught the hand that was caressing his hair and 
kissed her palm. "No, dear; you are terrific."

He placed her hand on his bare chest. Automatically, she 
started drawing little circles around his nipple. It 
hadn't been her intention, but he finally quieted down. 

"Scully."

"Hum?"

"Show me again what she did?"

"Mulder..."

He started to play with her fingers. "Please."

"This will be the last time, Mulder," she said in a way 
that gave no room for pleading or discussion.

"Okay."

She straightened her tank top on her body and her posture 
against the trunk of the tree to not hurt her back. Mulder 
turned to lie down on his stomach, his chin resting on her 
legs, his eyes eager to see her performance. 

She concentrated in order to find the right tone of 
voice and raised the longest finger of her right hand, 
gesturing to a fictitious passer-by. "I'll show you what to 
do with this finger. Do you see mine? I know what to do 
with it too."

Mulder burst out laughing again and rolled back onto his 
back, his head on the same place. 

"Oh, boy. You mother didn't do that."

"Yes, she did."

"No, not your mother." He adjusted the short sleeves of 
his unbuttoned shirt over his shoulders. "That tiny 
thing that is your mother couldn't do something like 
that."

"I swear, Mulder. I had never seen my mother like that. 
She sure learned a thing or two in those twenty and plus 
years she lived on the Base," she added, joining him 
with a laugh.

Despite the tension she was feeling the afternoon before, 
she had definitely had a good time with her mother driving 
her to the airport. They were late and if it wasn't for 
Margaret's skills as a driver, Scully would have missed the 
plane to Boston. And then, she had experienced the shock of 
her life: her all too serious, too sweet, too much of a lady 
mother had blown her horn at at least two drivers who had cut 
her off on the highway, sworn against each red light they came 
across, dragged Scully along the corridor towards the glass 
boarding gate, and, of course, had that classic argument with 
the truck driver that had tried to take her place in the park 
lot. Margaret had been so high on her adrenaline that when 
she had handed the ticket to a stunned Scully, she slumped into 
her daughter's arms laughing her head off. She thanked Scully, 
saying that it had been a long time since she had had that 
much fun. 

Suddenly, Scully realized she was laughing alone.

Mulder had pulled his sunglasses on and was holding his 
bottle of Gatorade on his chest. 

"Your mother went to all this trouble to send you to 
me?" he asked quietly.

Scully thought back about her mother's last words to 
her. 'You take care, honey. And listen to him.' Scully 
had already handed her ticket to the clerk when her 
mother told her to say hi to Fox.

"She told me to say hi."

Mulder pulled his body into a sitting position in the 
grass. He didn't look at her. "Did you tell her?"

Scully crossed her legs into an Indian style and looked 
at a group of teenagers playing volleyball some feet 
ahead of them in the park. "Not too much. I didn't have 
that much information."

Mulder nodded and took out his glasses. "I think it's 
time for us to have that talk."

She didn't want to talk about that; she thought she 
wanted to, but she had been wrong. She didn't want to 
hear about his life with another woman. She didn't want 
to know how they had met, how they had fallen in love 
with each other. 

He lined their sandals along the tree where she was resting 
and took a sip of her water. She pulled her bangs away from 
her eyes and held them atop her head with her sunglasses. 

"Did you know my parents have a beach house in Virginia, 
Scully?" He finally looked at her. 

She shook her head.

"Well, they do. It's a large house. I think they bought 
that when I was fifteen, or sixteen." He chuckled 
softly. "In summer that house used to rock. I would 
invite a bunch of friends and we would spend at least a 
week there, during school break. It used to be fun."

Scully imagined a group of adolescents with hormones 
pleading to be wasted from their bodies. Yes, definitely 
a lot of fun.

He continued, not giving too many details of that 
passage in his life. "They bought that house because 
they couldn't bear the thought of spending another 
summer on the island without her." He lowered his eyes 
for just a moment, then looked back at her. "I spent a 
week of my honeymoon there, Scully."

She pursed her lips and lowered her eyes to her lap, 
praying for God to give her the strength she would need 
to hear about it.

"I was happy. I had finally found someone that would 
stay with me and care for me, that loved me. After 
Samantha's abduction, I'd been in need of that stability 
for years. With Diana I found that."

Scully grabbed her cap and started to trace lines on its 
brim with trembling fingers. Something wasn't making 
sense. If he had been this happy with Diana, how could 
his mother have assumed that his marriage wouldn't last? 
And if he had loved and trusted that woman to the point 
of marring her, why did her aunt hate him that much? 

Why had they divorced? 

"Mulder," she called tentatively.

"Yes."

She looked back at him to find his eyes staring 
reluctantly at her. "Why does her aunt hate you?" At 
his pained expression, she tried to rephrase her 
question. "I mean, she deliberately ruined the night 
for you..."

"She knew I didn't love Diana enough, her parents knew 
that too. But still..." He breathed deeply and turned 
his face away from hers. "After the divorce I was with her 
one more time, Scully. And it was the last time, I swear." 

Scully heard the beating of her heart start to falter, 
but she didn't interrupt him.

"You were missing. It was the second case they gave me 
before I gave up all together. I was investigating something 
in Seattle;  she was there visiting her parents, and her 
aunt was there, too. We ran into each other and then... 
Anyway, that night, if she still had any hope for a 
reconciliation, she buried it for good." He looked for her 
eyes again. "I called her by your name, Scully." She gasped. 
"And I didn't mistake your names; I really called for you."

Her lips were moving, but she was too shocked to say 
anything. 

"She cried, Scully," he said in a low voice. "And I felt 
miserable. It had already happened once before, during a
one night stand. But Diana was not a stranger and I thought 
I could hold myself with her."

"Mulder, you loved her..." she managed to whisper.

"I thought I did; I was wrong."    

She needed to breath. She needed to take the refreshing 
breeze into her empty lungs. He had called for her, more 
than once. And she still had been missing. It had been 
over four years ago. He had been lusting for her since then, 
even before then. She told herself not to assume that he 
had already been in love with her at that time; he barely 
knew her. 

But there were other things. He had been thinking about 
Diana in that room with Gibson, she was sure of that. 
She also had seen his face when they were holding hands 
in that hospital, and later, when she had been shot. 

"Gibson..."

"Gibson knew I was thinking about her, Scully. And he 
also knew that I was terrified, because having her back 
would mean that I'd have to tell you."

"And why didn't you, Mulder?"

"I was afraid of your reaction. I didn't know how you'd 
take it. I mean, for Christ's sake, I had been married 
once and, in five years, I never told you that."

"I would have respected you, Mulder, and you know that. 
It was personal at that time, none of my business."

He took her hand between his and squeezed it fiercely. 
"But it was, Scully," he said between gritted teeth, 
even with anger in his voice. "If you had told me this, 
that it was none of your business, you'd have killed me. 
I would have been devastated."

"Mulder..."

"I wanted your anger, Scully; I wanted you jealous of 
her." His voice softened. "But when we started going out 
together, I pushed it aside. I wasn't thinking about 
her. I knew I needed to tell you, but I just..." He 
released a puff of air. "I was afraid because I couldn't 
lie to you."

"Lie to me about what?"

He caressed her check with his free hand. "She was the 
one who asked for the divorce, Scully. I'd never tell 
you that I wasn't happy, because I was. And I'd never 
say that I regretted my marriage, because I didn't. And 
I still don't."

She wanted to cup her mouth and cry. She wanted to turn 
her back on him and run away from here and never come 
back. She didn't want to be so dependent on him. Didn't 
he know what he was doing to her? Having her there, 
holding her hand like that, his thumb caressing her 
cheek, and telling her that he didn't regret having 
gotten married? For crying out loud, the night before they 
had made love for the first time, and this morning they 
had skipped breakfast and almost missed lunch, too.

Ashamed, she realized that she wanted him to tell her 
that his marriage had been a mistake, that he had been 
too young, that she had taken advantage of him in a 
moment of crisis. But it hadn't been like that, and she 
believed that, if Diana hadn't asked for the divorce, 
he would still be married to her.

She tried to free her hand from his, but he held it 
firmly against his chest.

"I love you, Scully, only you."

She lowered her eyes, incapable of holding his gaze in
hers. "You loved her too, Mulder. And you still care. 
What guarantee does it give me?"

"You gave sense to my life, Scully. With all the other 
women, even with Diana, I thought I had everything. And 
I was happy with that, really." With his index finger he 
tilted her head and smiled at her. "But with you I 
discovered things that I wasn't even aware existed. In 
the beginning you scared me, but later you became vital 
to my life."

She felt a single tear rolling down her face and he 
wiped at it gently with his thumb. "Forget that 
conversation about you making me whole, Scully. I 
didn't know what being whole meant at that time. This," 
he pressed her hand firmly over his heart, "is the real 
thing. I can't have less than that, Scully."

"How can you be so sure that this is the real thing, 
Mulder?" she asked, still not so secure about his words. 
"You've been there before. How can you be so sure that 
this is me?"

He moved closer to her, her hand still in his and his 
thumb on her cheek. "With any other woman I've been 
involved with in the past, I was always looking for 
something. Respect, tenderness, friendship, loyalty, 
love... You name it." His eyes were immersed in hers 
when he spoke again. "I can't pinpoint exactly when I 
stopped looking, Scully." He traced the contour of her 
eyes, her nose, her lips. Each caress sending waves of 
warmth and love to her heart. He was looking in 
wonderment at her, a man blessed with a miracle. "One 
day, looking  at you, I just thought: it's over; I found 
her."

She was too overwhelmed with emotions to hold back her 
tears anymore; she let them  slide free along her face 
and threw her arms forward around his neck, bringing him 
against her. She took his lips with her own in a deep, 
passionate kiss. In a second he embraced her around her 
waist and opened his mouth, his tongue swirling around 
hers, caressing her teeth, the inside of her cheeks, the 
roof of her mouth; hers doing the same for him. For a 
long time they remained like that, just kissing, 
tasting, feeling, living, their tears mingling with 
their saliva. And the same thought pumping with the 
cadence of a heartbeat: he loves me, he loves me, he 
loves me. 

Finally, they came up for air and she pecked his 
honey like lips one more time before resting her head on 
his shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered against his 
neck. The skin of his face shifted against her brow when 
he placed a kiss on it. "You're welcome."

She touched her nose to his and smiled.


*****************


"Mulder, we're out of milk," she said, closing the 
refrigerator door.

It had been a short walk from the grocery store to their 
home, but the packages they were carrying were getting 
heavier by the minute, awkward to carry under the 
glaring sun.

She had mopped at the sweat that had broken onto her 
brow and had pulled out her cap; it was burning her 
head. Through the dark lenses of her sunglasses, she had 
seen that Mulder wasn't having as much trouble, even 
with the extra burden of a plastic bag. He just kept 
walking, whistling and smiling.

Their conversation had renewed both of them and she 
would have been floating like a helium balloon if it 
wasn't for the too heavy package.

And now she discovered that they had forgotten to get 
the milk.

He didn't even lift his eyes from the newspaper he was 
reading at the kitchen table.

"Mulder," she said again, taking the newspaper from his 
hands. "We have no milk."

He leaned back on the chair and crossed his hands behind 
his neck. "No big deal, unless you're going to use it 
now."

She turned to the sink to wash some potatoes. "No, I'm 
not. But tomorrow we'll have no milk to drink at 
breakfast."

"We'll manage, Scully." She heard the shuffle of the paper 
when he turned back to the news. "We can have orange juice 
tomorrow." 

"You like pancakes for breakfast."

"Yeah," he said, distracted.

"So there will be no pancakes tomorrow."

At his lack of response, she looked back at him. He was 
too absorbed reading the sports section.

"Yes," she said, chopping the potatoes. "Definitely no 
pancakes tomorrow."

She opened the refrigerator to catch the onions they had 
just bought. "It's a pity," she said, feigning 
disinterest. "You know, since you told me that you liked 
to have a glass of milk before bed, I have this fantasy. 
Me and you and milk and bed..." She found the onions and 
started to look for tomatoes. "I was feeling like doing 
it tonight, but since we don't have the milk, that's 
okay. We can do it..."

She didn't bother in completing her sentence; she heard 
him throwing the paper aside and grabbing his keys, then 
the door closing when he went back to the grocery store. 
She sighed and shook her head, trying to decide if they 
should have green or red tomato salad that evening. She 
decided they were having green salad with the chicken 
she would cook later.

She had already chopped the rest of the vegetables and 
was brewing some coffee when she heard him calling her 
outside. She left the magazine she was reading at the 
table and went to see what he wanted.

He wasn't alone. A couple was talking with him at the 
gate. He looked at her and smiled, beckoning her to his 
side. When she got closer, he introduced the couple to 
her.

"Scully, meet my cousin Daniel and Emma, his wife. Emma, 
Daniel, Dana Scully." Mulder smiled smugly at Daniel. "I 
told you she existed."

Scully smiled at the couple and noticed how much Daniel 
and Mulder were alike: the same intelligent eyes and 
wittiness vivid in a beautiful face. Emma radiated 
energy and kindness, her open smile making Scully 
sympathize with her immediately.

"A stunning existence, I must add." Daniel kissed her 
face softly. "It's really nice to meet you, Dana."

"Dan, don't make her blush." Emma admonished her 
husband, then turned to Scully and hugged her. "It's 
nice to finally meet you, dear. Fox always speaks so 
highly of you."

"I bet he does." She took one of the bags from his 
hands. "I'm making some coffee. Don't you want come in?"

"Not today, honey; we're running late. We still have 
some gardening to do before mom comes back from 
Florida." Emma was patting Daniel's arm as she spoke. 
"But tomorrow we could have dinner together. What do you 
think?"

Mulder wrapped her red hair around his finger in lazy 
curls. "We have nothing planned for tomorrow night. What 
do you think?"

She smiled up at him. "Sounds good."

"Then it's settled; we'll be looking for you around 
six." Daniel shook Mulder's hand and kissed Scully's 
cheek. Emma did the same with both of them and soon the 
other couple was gone. 

When they got back into the kitchen, Mulder put three 
cartons of milk into the fridge and kept the last one. 
She didn't give much importance to that, assuming that 
he was just going to have some of it with coffee. But 
when he took the carton and pulled her with him, she 
protested.

"I'm making dinner."

"I want supper. With milk."

He let go of her hand and turned off the flame.

"Mulder, dinner..." she babbled.

"We're going out to dinner later."

"But..."

They were already on the stairs and he stopped. "Look," 
he said, deadly calm. "You wanted milk, I got you milk. 
And now I want to drink." He smiled leery at her and 
shook the carton. "Care to join me?"

She laughed and slapped his divine behind, motioning him 
forward. "Show me the way, Milky Man."

He did.


*******************************

Chapter 25


Even without being fully awake, he knew he was alone in 
bed. Last he remembered, they were lying on their sides, 
the flesh on her back keeping his bare chest warm and 
the tips of his fingers counting the beating of her 
racing heart after their lovemaking.  

His chest was not warm anymore. He reached out for her; 
he just found a handful of sheet.

Cold sheet.

More alert now, he rolled onto his back and opened his 
eyes. His old bedroom was so familiar, but now seemed 
empty because she wasn't there. He turned his head in 
the direction of the bathroom; maybe all the beers and 
barbecue they had at Daniel's had finally caught up 
with her.

She wasn't there. The bathroom door was ajar and there 
was no light coming from there. He swallowed hard, 
trying to contain his fears. 

Since she had come after him, rare had been the times 
when he had looked at his side and she wasn't there. 
While in bed, leaving would mean a quick trip to the 
bathroom or to the kitchen for some snacks. There hadn't 
been a single occasion when one of them had been gone 
long enough to cool the sheets.

Her side of the bed was cold.

He looked at the digital clock on the night stand. It 
was three o'clock. Where could she have gone at three 
o'clock? Panicked, he threw the sheets aside and went to 
the window. There was light coming from the front porch.

He sighed, relieved that she was fine before another wave 
of panic assaulted him: what could he have done wrong to 
put her away from him?

Everything had gone so right for them since she had 
arrived. They talked and she had forgiven him. He had 
done his best to prove to her that she was the one, that 
there would never be another woman for him. He thought 
she had understood. 

She seemed to be happy when they were at Daniel's. She 
had laughed, she had asked questions about his childhood 
and made fun of him afterwards. And later, after they 
had made love for the first time that night, she gave 
him the package his mother had sent before going to 
Florida with Aunt Jane. Blushing, she told him that she 
would be happy helping him to build his new memories. He 
covered her body with his to prove to her that she 
already was his best new memory.

He started to look for his boxers among the clothes they 
had left on the floor. He found it between her black 
skirt and his khakis.

He found her sitting on the front porch, wrapped in a quilt. 
He called her before stepping outside; he didn't want to 
startle her. She turned at him and smiled.

"Come back to bed," he said very softly. "It's cold out 
here."

She opened the quilt in a mute invitation for him to 
join her. He stepped forward and sat behind her. As his 
arms were longer, he hugged her around her shoulder and 
held the quilt together around them with his other hand. 
She kissed his neck and leaned on him.

He nuzzled her hair. "What's the matter?"

"I'm just saying good-bye," she whispered. 

He felt a lump in his throat. "Good-bye?"

Her hair brushed against his shoulder as she nodded. 
"Yes. This time tomorrow we'll be back in D.C., back to 
the normal life."

"Back to a new life, Scully. Don't forget that."

"Even with the X-Files?" She turned to face him, her arm 
resting on his thigh. "We won't be alone anymore, 
Mulder. Diana will be there with us."

He bent down slightly and kissed her lips. 
"Temporarily."

"I know." She played with the button of his shirt and he 
smiled; he loved to see her wearing his clothes. "But 
she will know, Mulder."

He bent down and kissed her again. "I'm not hiding you 
from the world, Scully. Not anymore."

She cupped his face and touched her forehead to his 
chin. "I don't want that, either, Mulder. I just..." She 
shuddered. "You were married to her, Mulder."

"And she already knows that I'm in love with you."

She smiled but then became serious again. "When we're in 
town it will be easy; we can spend the night in each 
other's apartment. But when we're out of town? I mean, 
Mulder, we can't just share a bed with her there, with 
us. It would be too much painful for her." She caressed 
the hair on his nape. "If it was me in her place... I 
wouldn't be able to bear the pain, Mulder."

He pulled her onto his lap and held her close to him. 
What a heart this woman had. With all the problems, all 
the adjustments they would have to make to work together 
and pursue a personal relationship, and she was worried 
about his ex-wife's feelings. He was sure Diana would 
not have such consideration if she was walking in 
Scully's shoes. 

"She will manage, Scully; she is stronger than you 
imagine."

She shivered against him. It was getting colder by the 
minute. He once had heard that dawn was the coldest 
period of the day; a theory that proved to be right.

But he had another theory of his own and they still 
hadn't had the time to test it. He started unbuttoning 
her shirt. She looked at him quizzically and amused. 

"Have you ever made love on a front porch?" he asked, 
nuzzling her neck.

She chuckled sensuously and reached for the opening in 
his boxers. "We'll freeze our asses out off here, 
Mulder."

He caught her in his arms, quilt and everything and lay 
her down on the wood floor. He kissed her breasts while 
his fingers flamed her insides. "Body heat, Scully; body 
heat."

She whimpered and arched her back, her small hand 
caressing him, making him hard. He buried his head into 
her neck and she guided him inside of her.

They just went back inside when the first rays of light 
appeared in the sky.


*****************************

Chapter 26

Skinner had just hung up his cell phone when Scully and 
Mulder reappeared in the front door. Their twenty minute 
break seemed to have worked wonders on them. They were 
holding hands and, even though apprehension was still a 
strong emotion on their faces, they seemed to be more 
confident about themselves. 

They sat back at a now empty table and Skinner gestured 
to Mara to bring them more coffee. 

"I told Betty to take back your orders since you weren't 
here. Do you want something to eat?"

"No, sir. Thank you." Even Mulder's voice sounded more 
steady now. "We had a bagel outside. We're fine."

"I'm glad to hear that, Mulder."

He was being sincere; for a minute back there he had 
feared they were ready to give up on the game.

"Well," said Skinner, back into his A.D. mode. "I called 
the lab while you were out. We had some luck; Danny was 
there. He'll investigate all the phone calls that were made 
yesterday, be sure that you weren't called. I believe we'll 
have something tomorrow. But until then, is there anything 
else you want to share?"

"Meaning what, sir?"

Skinner was surprised with Scully's narrowed eyes; he 
would expect something like that from Mulder, not from 
her.

"Meaning that the OPR board probably will investigate 
this last assignment of yours, see how the two of you 
acted while in the field."

Mulder closed his eyes and cursed, then he reopened them 
and looked at him. "We acted like we were supposed to 
act: we went there and solved the case, reported to the 
SAC and came back to D.C. That's all."

"They'll want to see your report. Is it finished?"

"Yes, sir; it is. In fact, we delivered it to you just 
before we left yesterday." Scully looked directly at 
him. "Kimberly has it. I'm sure you'll find our report 
on your desk Monday morning." 

"Okay. I'll check it then. But there are other urgent 
things I need to talk to you about." He breathed deeply 
before looking back at the agents. "The final papers to 
officially reopen the X-Files were ready to be signed on 
Wednesday. Since you were out in the field, I kept them 
in my desk." He paused for a minute to choose the right 
words; he would be walking in some gray areas and wanted 
to be prepared. "It means that the X-Files may remain 
closed depending on the result of the OPR." Their faces 
became pasty white. "So, if something strange or out of 
ordinary happened while you were working together, it 
would be better if you tell me now."

The agents glanced at each other before responding to his 
question. "No, sir. Nothing different happened. We just 
acted like ourselves."

Skinner didn't know if it was a good or bad thing, but 
it would have to do. "Well, this can help. If the SAC 
has no reason to file a formal report about your 
behavior, most likely there will be no reason to file a 
formal reprimand."  

"There's no need for a reprimand, sir." 

He didn't want to scare them, but Mulder was getting 
agitated and defensive again.

"This is a good thing, Mulder. But you have to face all 
the possibilities."

"Such as..."

"I can tell you without a doubt that your SAC in the 
case will be contacted, Mulder. A report of his own will 
be requested. They will compare notes."

"Which notes, sir?"

"Yours, Scully's and the SAC's notes. They'll look for 
discrepancies about your behavior."

"Skinner," interrupted Mulder, impatiently. "Quit beating 
around the bush; what the hell are you talking about?"

Annoying and a jerk; the real Mulder was definitely 
back. 

"Sure, Mulder," said Skinner, involuntary flinching his 
nose, pissed to the bones. "In the OPR they'll want to 
know if you were really working, and not just screwing 
around." Skinner looked innocently at Mulder; he too 
could be as annoying and a jerk.

But when he saw Mulder's hand closing into a fist and 
his eyes assuming a dangerous shade of red, he knew he 
had exaggerated in the dose of his medicine.

"We don't screw around, sir." 

Mulder's voice was nothing but a whisper, a very 
menacing whisper. And Scully's face was red with fury;  
she was really offended, which hadn't been his intention. 

"I wouldn't expect less of you, agents," he said, trying 
to fix the situation. "But they will. In their ancient 
minds, working together and having a relationship are 
totally incompatible activities."

"For crying out loud, we weren't alone there. We were 
working with three local police officers, and Agent 
Fowley was there, too. They saw how hard we worked to 
solve the case. Are they supposed to make reports about 
us, too?"

Skinner had never been so afraid of fire. He had never 
seen Scully gesturing that much with her hands while 
talking. She couldn't let her Irish temper get the better 
of her. Of the two, she was the one he counted on to keep 
a level head. Nothing could save them if they both let 
anger rule.

"So show them how hard you worked, Agent Scully. You 
have to prove to them that your new status didn't 
interfere in your judgement."

She snorted. "Interfere with my judgement? Sir, I had to work 
twice as hard to prove to Mulder and Diana that a murdered man 
hadn't come back into the land of living people as a cat 
claiming revenge against the ones that supposedly had killed 
him."

Skinner wondered if he looked as dumbfounded as he felt. 

"Hum, Agent Scully; you've lost me now. You what?" 

"Hadn't done your homework before handing it to us, 
Skinner?"

Skinner sighed in exasperation, but said nothing at 
Mulder's snide comment.

Of course he had read the case before handing it to the 
X-Files trio. But all he had read was that a series of 
murders was happening in New Orleans and that there was 
a total lack of suspects. The investigators had pieced 
together that the victims had known each other at some 
point of their lives, but that was all. Nothing 
suspicious hung on the new victims, except that they had 
been in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Trust Mulder 
to turn a simple case of murder and the mystical 
atmosphere of the city where they occurred into an X-
File.

"The same cat was always found in the locale of the 
crimes, sir," Scully explained. "From the beginning 
Agents Mulder and Fowley knew that the cat was connected 
to the crime or the victims, they just didn't know how. 
Agent Mulder suggested that the cat was doing the 
killings."

Skinner just looked at her. "What about Agent Fowley?"

"Diana agreed it was worth a shot." Mulder smiled smugly 
at Scully. "We decided to investigate it while Scully 
performed the autopsies and forensic work to get the proofs
she needed to believe us."

Skinner remembered having seen Scully direct that look 
at Mulder before. This time he had the sheer impression 
that that raised eyebrow meant that Mulder wouldn't get 
any tonight. Mulder must have sensed the same thing 
because his smile was gone in no time.  

"And did you come up with a suitable closure for the 
case?"

"Yes, sir." Scully sipped some of her coffee. "Further 
investigation showed that all the victims had, somehow, 
been related to Paul Gallagher, a man that had been 
killed a couple of years ago. Collecting evidence, we 
got to his ex-lover, Amanda Lukas, who happened to be 
the owner of Mr. Miou..."

"Mr. ... Miou?"

"The cat, sir."

Skinner motioned for Scully to stop; he wasn't in the 
mood to hear about another crazy occurrence today. He 
already had too many things to digest. 

"That's okay Scully. I'm sure I'm going to get the real 
scoop once I read the report."

"But I can assure you, sir, that the cat had more to say 
about it than its owner."

"So now we're going to open an X-File about cats that 
talk, Mulder?"

Skinner masked his amusement at the defeated look he saw 
on Mulder's face excusing himself to use the restroom.

As he left the table, he remembered something he would 
never admit to Mulder; he wouldn't be the one to turn 
Scully's small victory into her partner's triumph.

He recalled having read something about a cat's 
appearance in the report.


************************


Chapter 27
  

Scully grabbed the edge of her pillow and turned onto 
her side. She was counting the minutes, barely able to 
hold herself. She just wanted to catch the plane in the 
morning and leave that city from hell.

No; she wasn't being fair. The city wasn't that bad. 
Actually, it was beautiful, surrounded by the magic and 
sensuality that made New Orleans one of the most 
romantic places in the U.S. Things would definitely have 
been better if they had flown there for the right 
reasons: just for some romance.

Instead, they were there because of a cat.

Mr. Miou had been in each one of the five crime scenes 
they had visited. Be it an alley, or a staircase, there 
was Mr. Miou greeting them with his deep purrs, 
announcing his presence. 

Diana had noted him for the time at the second crime 
scene they had visited, commenting to her and Mulder 
that the cat seemed familiar to her. Scully's great 
mistake had been her comment that cats looked all the 
same to her. Well, except for the color of their fur and 
eyes, they were all the same, weren't they?

But not to Mulder. If Diana had said she had seen the 
feline before, of course they would check it out; it 
could be helpful.

So there went her former partner and their new one after 
the story of the cat's life while she made autopsies and 
collected evidence in order to prove right their theory: 
the cat was involved in the crimes.

She collected evidence from each one of the bodies: 
gunpowder from gunshot wounds, the right angle on knife 
blows, the chemical composition in each poison sample. 
But not even a caramel fur of Mulder and Diana's main 
suspect. 

She sighed and clutched the sheet firmly against her 
body. 

In her opinion, Amanda Lukas, the cat's owner, was 
responsible for the deaths. All the victims had crossed 
at least once in her life, and not in a pleasant way. 
Each one of them had humiliated Paul Gallagher, her 
former lover in the past. And the last one of the 
victims had been Janet Gallagher, Paul's ex-wife. In 
Scully's opinion, they had reasons enough to keep Ms. 
Lukas in custody and make some further investigations. 

But Mulder and Diana at that point were convinced that 
Mr. Miou was Paul reincarnated, and chose to follow the cat 
into yet another alley. 

And they had found Mr. Miou ready to attack Officer 
Brandon, who, curiously, happened to be Amanda's new 
lover.

After a heated battle involving trash bins and a bunch 
of stray cats, the group of three ended up in the 
hospital. Diana had four stitches on her forehead and 
three on her left hand, Mulder had five stitches on his 
forearm and Officer Brandon would spend the night in the 
hospital due to a slight concussion. While visiting her 
boyfriend, Amanda had assured the three federal agents 
that the killings would stop now.

Mr. Miou had been taken to a foster home for animals.       

And it had been up to Scully to bring Mulder and Fowley 
back to the hotel after they had had the necessary 
tetanus shot.

A bandaged arm snickered around her stomach and pulled 
her against his bare chest.

"Still awake?" he asked sleepily.

"Tonight was too intense. My adrenaline's still high."

She spit the words at him to let him know that she was 
still fuming, mad out of her senses with him. It seemed 
that he wouldn't buy any of it.

"Uh, Scully. It must have been fantastic because I 
remember nothing. Do you want to do this again, see if I 
get some insight?" He slipped his tongue inside of her 
ear after having bitten her earlobe. The son of a bitch 
knew exactly what to do to drive her crazy. 

"Actually we can't do it again because we didn't do it 
once."

He moved his hand upwards and insinuated his fingers in 
the opening of her pajama top. "I fell asleep on you?"

She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the thumb that 
was caressing her sensitive nipple in lazy circles. She 
barely whispered "Yes, you did."

He licked her jaw and she sighed. "It's a shame. We have 
to fix this."

He moved the hand that was resting bellow her pillow and 
pulled up her pajama top. His palm slid warm against her 
belly and her spine went cold. She felt the hair that 
covered her arms and legs bristling, making the silk 
blue layer that had been protecting her since she had 
gone to bed extremely uncomfortable. She opened her 
mouth to protest, to tell him to stop. She just managed 
to emit a throaty moan.

"Did you say something?" he asked as he removed her top.

"I'... mad... oh... you." 

In her fogged mind, Scully thought about her grammar 
lessons in fifth grade and Sister Angelica telling her 
group that English wasn't such a complex language, that 
it wasn't that difficult to put a verb between a subject 
and a object. Sister Angelica had been so very wrong. 
Every time Mulder had one of his limbs between her legs, 
English proved to be the most difficult and incoherent 
of the languages.    

He chuckled against her ear. "Wrong answer, Scully." He 
kissed the curve where her jaw met her neck. "I want you 
crazy."

Between a groan and another, he also got rid of her 
pajama bottoms. He positioned himself right behind her 
and placed both hands on her waist, pulling her securely 
against him. She freed one of her hips from his hold and 
placed his free hand back where she wanted it. 

Oh! And, of course, he had other abilities: even one 
handed he could strip their clothes without loosing his 
hold on her. He had discarded his boxers and now she had 
all of him pressed up on her back. 

His breath was warm against her nape. She bent back her 
head, seeking more of his warmth, finding his lips 
pressed against her hair. 

"I want you as crazy as you make me, woman."

Somewhere around her brain, in that tiny part that 
insisted on keeping working despite his proximity, 
she registered that he was losing his ability of speech, 
too. Good. It meant that now she would need just another 
couple of caresses before having him lost in her. And 
before she got lost in him. 

"Oh God, Mulder."

She turned her head on her pillow and kissed him. He 
hooked his arms around her waist and turned her over on 
the mattress. Briefly she opened her eyes to find his 
hazel pools glaring intently at her.

"I want to be on top," she groaned between smacks and 
wet kisses.

"Whatever you want, Scully," he panted against her 
mouth.

She rolled him onto his back and straddled him, letting 
just the tip of him slip inside of her before stopping.

"Scully," he groaned, exasperated.

It was hard, but she had to do this. "You ditched me."

He cupped her neck and pulled her against him, trying to 
kiss her mouth again. She didn't let him. "I went after 
our suspect."

Her hands were slipping on his slicked chest, making her 
lose her balance, her control. "Mulder... You... 
after... cat."

This time he pulled her completely against him and 
kissed her mouth. "No shop talk while in bed. We had 
agreed about it."

He had a point. But it was before he had ditched her. 

But he was so irresistible. And she was aching for him. 

She let him in inside of her and they groaned in unison.

"God, Mulder. This feels... so good..."

Large hands cupped her buttocks and pushed her forward 
to meet him in his thrusts, quickening their movements.

She was so close...

"Come.. with... me...Scully." 

She felt his trembling finger entering her, looking for 
her tiny nerve. She held her breath as he stroked her 
clit, rubbing it in small circles, back and forth. Her 
nostrils weren't pulling enough oxygen into her lungs. 
She wanted to breath through her mouth, but she feared 
the butterflies floating inside of her would fly away 
and she would lose her control. She was getting so hot; 
her moisture melting into him, making him slide even 
further into her. 

Butterflies escaping from each pore in her body.

From her mouth.

"Mulder..." 

She cried, falling from the edge of her sanity, meeting 
him halfway.

She slumped against him and bit his shoulder, hard. When 
he cried her name, she didn't know if it was for pain or 
pleasure. But she knew that in the end he would be happy 
anyway. 

When the hand that was caressing her back didn't move 
any more sweat, she knew it was time to dismount him 
before they began to freeze. She lay on her side, 
facing him. He smiled down at her and kissed her lips.

She didn't kiss him back.

"What's happening?"

She saw concern growing in his eyes and decided to do 
nothing about it. He deserved some suffering after what 
he had done. 

He turned onto his side and propped himself on one 
elbow. "Come on, Scully. Tell me what this is now."

"You ditched me, Mulder. I told you to wait for me and 
the back up but you didn't listen to me."

"Scully, we went after a cat."

"A cat that you believed to be a murderer."

He chuckled and looked startled at her. "And he pulled 
the trigger? Stabbed that woman? Come on, Scully. You 
can do better than that."

She didn't turn down her gaze. Her face was burning and 
she felt the pins and needles floating in her scalp, 
typical signs of embarrassment. Couldn't he just see 
that she didn't want him running around with that woman? 
And besides they had really been in peril in that alley.

"Goodnight, Mulder."

When she tried to turn over, he grabbed her firmly 
around her shoulders. "Oh no! You're not going to sleep. 
Tell me what is this all about."

"You could have been killed."

"Scully, they were just cats."

She pointed at his arm. "So tell me: what is this? Agent 
Fowley is injured too and Officer Brandon is at the 
hospital. And don't you look at me like that because you 
know I always worry when you do this kind of stupid 
thing."

He caressed her face with his knuckles. "It's my job, 
Scully. And it's yours, too."

"My point, Mulder. Why didn't you wait for me?"

His silence was her answer.

"You can't keep doing this, Mulder. Don't try to protect 
me like that."

"You have to give me time, Scully. I'll learn."

She let her hand slip up and down along his arm. "Learn 
what?"

He pulled her against him and kissed her soundly on the 
lips. This time she allowed her tongue to caress him 
back.

"Just give me time, okay. I won't do it again."

He touched his forehead to hers.

She closed her eyes and decided to at least try and 
believe in him.


************************************


Chapter 28


From his spot in the doorway, Skinner saw that the 
couple was discussing something, but they stopped as 
soon as they saw him approaching their table.

They weren't happy.

"There's just one more thing I need to discuss with 
you," Skinner said, sitting back in his place at the 
table. "That was your first assignment back in the 
Bureau, with a new partner. There's the real possibility 
that Diana will be called."

"She didn't spy on us, sir. She was there to work."

Skinner wondered how Mulder could be so obtuse.

"Mulder, whoever did this, set you up, had everything 
very well orchestrated. Nothing was left behind, from 
the day of the A.D.'s rendezvous with Trajan to the 
location of your motel. But I don't know if we can prove 
that you were cheated. Evidence shows that you were 
there willingly."

"But it was a set up, sir," Scully said. "Please, don't 
tell us you don't believe this."

"It's not about whether I believe it or not; it's about 
what we saw." 

Scully lowered her eyes. "Nobody had the right to see 
that, sir; nobody."

"Scully, please; we did nothing wrong."

"Mulder, for them our very existence is wrong."

Skinner looked aside in respect for the couple. He 
agreed with Scully: things would not be right. Not so 
easily, anyway.

"Mulder, didn't you notice anything different? Any kind 
of suspicious phone calls? Is there the possibility that 
you were followed without knowing it?"

"Sir, we were not hiding the fact that we were seeing 
each other. And we essentially spent this whole week 
out. We just came back on Thursday evening.  We saw 
no body, we talked to no one other than Diana. And even 
with her, we just talked at the airport and said our 
goodbyes, see you tomorrow."

"What about yesterday? What happened before you left the 
office?"

"Diana and I, we went to your office to hand in our 
report. Scully stayed in the basement putting some files 
in order."

Scully reluctantly looked at Mulder. "Mulder, did you 
say anything to her?"

Mulder looked surprised at her. "Don't you even go 
there, Scully; she had no reason to do something against 
us. This is nonsense." He turned his gaze to Skinner; he 
flinched under the hazel intensity. "I didn't talk to 
anyone about our plans because we hadn't planned on 
stopping at that motel. It just happened."

"What?" Another new piece information and Skinner was 
afraid to hear about it.

"We were heading to Virginia... but..." Mulder stopped, 
gasped and cleared his throat. Then he completed in a 
very small voice, "we had to stop."

"Mulder, if you were heading to Virginia, how could you 
have ended up in Baltimore?"

Silence.

Skinner was a man of facts. He liked to hear out all 
the parts involved and then get the best solution to a 
problem. Sometimes it turned out to be an easy task, 
like how to pay attention in a conference and at the 
same time mentally list all the items he needed to get 
in the grocery store on his way home; or how to watch 
the football games on TV while checking reports in the 
office. But that morning, every time Mulder or Scully 
came with an explanation, he got worried.

"No, Mulder; there must be something wrong. If nobody 
knew where you were heading, how could they have spotted 
you so easily without following you?"

"Sir, believe me: somehow they did."

"But how? God, we're not talking about an ordinary 
Volkswagen Bug. We're talking about a truck that could 
easily hold a lab in it."

"Skinner, for the last time: we saw nothing."  

Mulder spelled his last words the same way Grandpa 
Skinner had told him he couldn't have sex until he was 
eighteen. No matter that he was twenty and had lost his 
virginity at sixteen: if he tried to argue with Grandpa 
Skinner, thing would get worse. Once again he turned to 
Scully, seeking support; maybe the two of them could 
combine forces and talk some sense into that partner of 
hers. 

But he had never seen her turning all those shades of 
red at once, not even the night before.

Suddenly he didn't want to know anything else.


*******************************


Chapter 29


Scully was rearranging the files in the cabinet when he 
got back from Skinner's office. He stopped at the doorway 
and just stood there, admiring her. 

Her hair was pinned up on the top of her head, two red 
strands falling on her face. Absently, she pushed one of 
the strands away from her eyes with the back of her 
index finger. She was wearing her glasses and chewing on 
a pencil, sexy as any woman who packs a gun should be 
allowed to be. 

One file in particular caught her attention and she put 
it atop the cabinet to take a better look at it. And he 
used this opportunity to take a better look at her 
stockinged legs, the first one since this morning, when  
he had been enclosed in the circle of said legs in her 
shower. They had missed breakfast in favor of their sexual 
indulgence, but the trade had been worth it.

More than worth it. 

During her reading, she raised one eyebrow and he 
smiled. Even now, after five years, that movement still 
had the power to send him to distraction. And her 
movement combined with that skirt she was wearing were 
motives to cause him some concern. Like in the 
beginning, Dana Scully still turned him on just by 
breathing the same air as him. And to have her there, 
sharing the same space with him five days a week, 
knowing for the past week exactly what those layers of 
clothing were hiding, wasn't a good thing for his blood 
pressure.

He needed to ask his mother if there was any case of 
heart failure in the family. If so, he needed to see a 
cardiologist ASAP.

"Fox, could you please step aside? I need to get my 
purse."

Diana's words drew Scully's attention towards them. He 
turned his head and saw Diana standing awkwardly behind 
him, trying to gain access into the room. 

"I'm sorry, Diana. I got carried away for a moment back 
there," he apologized, making room for her to step into 
the office.

"You've been doing that constantly of late," she said 
back, looking at Scully in a way he didn't appreciate. 
She picked up her purse that was hanging behind a chair 
and headed back to the door. "I never saw you so carried 
away, Fox," she said before leaving.

While closing the door, he turned his internal knob and 
assumed his Profiler!Mulder self, then tried to 
distinguish all the emotions he had seen in Diana's 
eyes. There had been hurt, longing, regret and another 
one he couldn't identify.

He went to his desk still thinking about it when the 
blinking icon on the computer screen caught his 
attention. He had mail. He forgot Diana's existence the 
minute he clicked the virtual envelope and found the 
message they had been waiting for the whole day. 

"Hey, Scully; that B&B in Virginia confirmed our 
reservation," he said without stopping his reading; he 
needed to be sure that they were booked in the room 
whose windows opened to the lake he had seen on the 
Internet. She would be glad; she had wanted that room as 
much as he had. "And we've got the room that faces the 
lake."        

He made a one-hundred eighty degree turn with his chair 
expecting to see in her face a smile that matched his 
own. 

And again he found her looking at him like he had lost 
all of his senses.

He was getting tired of that.

"What now, Scully?"

She closed the iron cabinet, the impact of her heels 
hitting the floor telling him there was a storm coming. 
This time he was prepared.

"Mulder, did you see her..." 

"Yes, Scully; I did. And I'm sorry if it offends you, 
but that's how things are going to be. She knew what she 
was getting into when she came back from Europe. And 
I've already told you I'm not hiding you from the world. 
Or from her, for that matter."

For a moment she had stood there, in front of him, open 
mouth and confuse stare. Then she stirred her head and 
tried to speak again.

"Mulder, we're at work. We established no rules but this 
one: not getting distracted during work hours..."

"And I respected that until five minutes ago, when I 
came back from our supervisor's office and officially 
finished my shift. Just then I stopped and took my first 
good look at you since this morning." He sighed. "I'm 
just human, Scully. I acted like SuperMulder for five 
years; give me a break."

Her shocked semblance vanished in two seconds and she 
smiled at him. "What I'm going to do with you, Mulder?"

"I had an idea or two this morning, but your alarm clock 
hates me."

She ruffled his hair. "Come on, partner; let's go. We 
have a room to check into in Virginia."

He didn't wait for a second invitation.

He shut down the computer and grimaced as he pulled his 
jacket on. On their way to the garage, he noted how hot 
it was. And cursed at his and the other male agents' 
fate, having to wear that ridiculous suit and tie when 
it was at least eighty degrees outside. 

Luck of Scully and Diana that, like most of the other 
female agents, were wearing skirts and short sleeved 
shirts at work. 

"I forgot to pack my conditioner, Mulder."

He unlocked the door on his car and immediately turned 
on the air conditioner.

"You're not traveling with this thing on, Mulder."

He turned off the air and counted to ten.

"You don't want to stop at your place to get it, do 
you?"

She opened the CD case he kept on his dashboard and 
started to flip through it. "No, I don't. But could you 
please stop at a Seven-Eleven so I could buy some?" 

"I think we can do that."

They had already left the building and she still hadn't 
chosen anything to listen.   

He held her hand when she went past Otis Redding for the 
second time. "Why don't we listen to Otis? I bet you'll 
like it."

Through the corner of his eyes he saw her studying the 
CD. "You surprise me all the time."

"Don't like good, old Otis?"

"Don't know a lot of things about good, old Otis."

He considered singing 'Try a Little Tenderness' to her, 
but why scare her off if they had the CD in hand.

She inserted the plastic disk into the CD player. As she 
pushed the play button, the radio spilled back to them 
Otis's soul in an emotional lyric.


'I've been loving you
Too long
To stop now'


He had forgotten that that was the first song on the CD, 
otherwise he would never have listened to this while 
Scully was at his side. 

The fact that he had already told her that he was in 
love with her, that she was the most important person in 
his life, that there would never be another woman to him 
made no difference; those were his feelings for her that 
he just let come to the surface when he was ready to do 
that.

But this music had the power to peel the protective 
layers he had so carefully constructed during all his 
life and that he had just become conscious of its 
existence when he met Scully.

He reached for the gear lever at the same time as his 
eyes peeped at her face. 

A curtain of red hair covered her eyes partially. Her 
head was slightly bent forward while she accompanied the 
hypnotic voice. He ached to touch her, but he feared 
that if she returned the gesture, he would not be able 
to hold himself back and claim the desperate singer's 
plea as his own.


'Don't make me stop now'     


What would he do if Scully ever told him that they 
couldn't be anymore? Would he be able to let her go and 
keep going with his life? Or would he get over his pride
and beg her to let him stay with her? 

He remembered her nails sliding down his back the night 
before, his tongue circling her navel this morning. He 
remembered having breakfast in bed with her for the first 
time at the summer house, their walks along the beach, the 
sound of her laugh. There were so many new things about her 
that he was discovering now and that made him love her 
even more. 

He could never get over her.


'Don't make me stop now
Darling, believe me, please,
'don't make me stop now'


He didn't want to stop ever. If she just allowed him to 
love her the way he would like to...

He felt a warm weight on his thigh and lowered his eyes.   

She was stroking the fabric of his slacks, her attention 
fixed on the movement of the cars ahead of them. 

Was she conscious of what she was doing? 

"I love this song, Mulder. Hadn't heard it in years, 
though."

"Of all his music, this one's my favorite."

She smiled, looking at him. "What about this one? 
'Tenderness', isn't it?" she asked, checking the CD's case
again.

"You know nothing about ole Otis, Scully. This one is 
'Try a little tenderness', child," he explained.

Another Scully look. "Child?"

He smirked at her, knowing that he was getting into a 
good one. But he couldn't just resist; he had to tease 
her. "Why? Don't you like it?"

Another Scully's look. That could be really interesting.

"You know, Mulder; I bet this child here could give you 
a little tenderness."

He inhaled all the oxygen he could gather into his 
lungs, some of the scent of her perfume coming along 
with it and heading directly to his groin. He was a 
troubled man.

Thank God.

He was still thinking about what to tell her when she 
zipped down his fly. Another wave of cold sweat assaulted 
him.

"But I don't know if you deserve it, Mulder."

If he could speak, he would tell her one thousand one
hundred and four reasons why he deserved it. However, 
their current situation inside a car in movement told 
him he should use what little was left of his driving 
lessons to keep them alive and not to miss their exit.

He pushed the gas pedal further when she squeezed him.
"God, Scully."

His boxers and his shirt were getting damp and he was 
sure she knew that. He could sniff his own arousal in 
the air filling the car. 

He turned to find her smiling sweetly at him.

"Do you need more tenderness, Mulder?" 

He shook his head 'no' but muttered a strangled 'yes'.
And sweat sliding down his back.

"You got me confused, Mulder." She was squeezing him in 
and out. "Do you mean yes" - in - "or no" - out.

He just meant for them to get safely to Virginia, and 
soon. 

"Scully... stop..." he grunted, his eyes barely 
fluttering open. 

"Don't want stop..." 

He missed the exit.

When he pushed down the brake pedal, preventing them 
from hitting the car in front of them by just one inch, 
she stopped. 

"Gee, Mulder; I'm sorry. Are you all right?"

She was frightened, her rounded open eyes looking like a 
oversized pair of blue marbles. Her face was flushed and 
she was squeezing him 'yes'.

And now he would be manly and do what any respectable 
macho man would do.

"Get out now."

"Mulder, I... I said that I'm sorry... I didn't mean for 
this like that..."

"Scully, just shut the hell up and get out of here."

"Mulder..."

"Now!"

Quickly she released her seat belt and opened the car's 
door.

"My wallet is in my jacket's pocket. Get my credit card 
and pick up a room."

"Room? Mulder, where do you want me to..."

He would have laughed at Scully's scared, confused face 
if he didn't have to deal with the tangible problem in 
his lap.

"The motel, Scully; there's a motel over there." He 
pointed at the motel across the street.  

Scully looked at his choice of a motel and shivered in 
that warm August night. "Mulder, we could just keep 
going; we're less than an hour from Virginia... I 
promise I'll be quiet... We can wait for you to 
recover..."

The unsteadily rise and fall of his chest betrayed the 
supposed calmness in his voice. "Scully, you can cross 
the street and get into that motel now or I can go there 
myself."

She stared at his problem. "You can't be serious..."

He pushed the red button on his seat belt; he would show 
her how serious he was.

She slammed the door shut. "No; that's okay. I'm going."

"I'll be right over. You better be finished when I get 
there."

He waited while she crossed the street before making a U 
turn in the highway, which was surprisingly quiet for a 
Friday evening in the summer. And besides, who cared? In 
his condition, the best move to take would be to stay away 
from movement and crowded spaces.

He decided against parking in the motel's parking lot; 
he estimated that two hours would be enough for them to 
take care of his... situation and take a nap afterwards. 
That lake in Virginia and their exquisite room would 
have to wait a little longer. 

He imagined the Sumo wrestlers he had seen on TV two 
nights ago engaged in another kind of dance for exactly 
four minutes before picking up his jacket on the passenger's
seat, right where Scully had left it, and held it in 
front of him. That thing would be useful for the first 
time today. He locked the doors and decided to leave 
their bags in the truck, no need to take them with him, 
and headed to the building.

He found Scully at the clerk's desk, still signing them 
in.

"You're not finished yet?"

"There was a problem with your credit card."

He had never seen Scully apologize that much.

"Is it solved?"

"Yes, sir; room 15."

"Thanks. Let's go, Scully."

The hall seemed to have no end, and when he found their 
room, he inserted the key into the lock on his third 
attempt. He didn't have that much trouble in locking it 
behind him. His left hand loosened the tie around his 
neck while his right one fumbled with his belt. 

When he pulled his shirt over his head he noticed that 
Scully was looking at him bewildered. She had just 
gotten rid of her shoes. 

"Do you need a written order, Scully?"

She unzipped her skirt and pushed it down with her hose 
and panties. With renewed vigour, he sat on the bed and 
got rid of his slacks and boxers. 

Next he knew, a warm, naked bundle threw herself at him, 
knocking him down on his back in the bed. His socks were 
still on.

"Uncle Foxy is enthusiastic," she said, playing with 
'foxy'.  

He pulled her body against his and kissed her lips. 
"Uncle Foxy is enthusiastic, euphoric, ecstatic."

She started to squirm in his embrace. "And rambling," 
she laughed against his lips.

He laughed with her and rolled them in the bed. "Stop 
mocking me."

"I can't, Mulder. You've been acting so weirdly today... 
Ouch, Mulder," she moaned.

He had two of his fingers inside of her and his mouth on 
her breast; if she kept talking after that, he would 
give up and call it a night. There was a John Houston 
movie on TV later tonight. 

"Mulder, stop."

Stop?

No, she couldn't have asked him to stop. The bells 
ringing in his ears must have been fooling him. 

But she was; she pushed his hand away.

"Scully? What? Did I hurt you...?"

She smiled up at him and took him in her hands. "No; 
you're not hurting me." She ran her finger from his tip 
to his base. "But you were the one with the problem, 
remember?"

Oh, yes; he remembered. How could he forget when she was 
doing that thing to him? 

He let his head fall onto her shoulder and started to 
kiss her neck, his tongue sweeping the hole in her 
collarbone. He moaned her name against her skin. Her 
scent invaded him, turning his world upside down.   

"Let me help you, Mulder."

"If you keep that up, Scully, I..."

She was reducing him to a puddle on the bed; even these 
slurred words had been difficult to him. 

"Please, Mulder..."

She was pleading to pleasure him. Pleading...

"I can't do it twice..."

She pulled him up against her mouth and kissed him. "You 
will. Trust me... you will..."

He trusted her. 

He trusted her enough to let her make him come. And he 
trusted her that, when the time came, he would be able 
to come again inside of her. 

That was what he thought when he spilled into her hands 
and kissed her, that he would come inside of her, later.

When the colors exploding in his eyes lost some of their 
intensity, he found her smiling up at him. 

"You lie down. I'll clean you up."

He was too exhausted to do anything more than simply 
nod. She left the bed, her body swinging on her way to 
the bathroom. He closed his eyes and sighed, waiting for 
her. She came back a few seconds later, carrying a damp 
wash cloth. Tenderly, she cleaned him with the warm 
cloth, her lips leaving a path of kisses all over his 
body. When she was through, she went back to the 
bathroom and closed the door. He heard the sound of the 
toilet being flushed and then water running. 

The click of the door being opened announced her return. 
She lay down facing him. 

"You're good at this."

"It was the least I could do after putting you in this 
situation. Am I forgiven?"

He chuckled. "Forgiven? Scully, if I knew that this is 
the way you would apologize, believe me, I'd have made 
it crystal clear all the times you gave me a hard on."

He waited for a smart remark of her own that didn't 
come. He turned his head slightly in her direction to 
find her studying him intently. 

"I didn't know you cared that much, Mulder."

"I did, Scully," he said serious. "Maybe not from the 
very beginning, but I cared."

"I'm not even your kind of woman..."

He turned onto his side and cupped her cheek with one 
hand. "You became the only kind of woman I'll ever need. 
That's not enough?"

She smiled softly. "Will do."

He kept caressing her face until he thought she had 
fallen asleep. He pulled the soft red quilt over them 
and got closer to her, his arm thrown on her hip.

"Make love to me, Mulder," was her simple request.

He did. He lay his body over hers and made love to her 
the way she deserved to be loved. Tenderly, carefully, 
cherishing and worshiping every inch of her, reassuring 
her that he loved her, kissing her with all his sorrow 
for making her believe that he could never love her 
because she was short, because she was red, because she 
had freckles all over her skin. Saying that he loved her 
because she was short, she was red and had freckles all 
over her skin. That he loved her for all the novelty she 
had brought into his life. Saying that he loved her for 
all that without telling her a word.  

Afterwards, when they were satiated, he rolled onto his 
back and she followed him, curling her small body 
against his. She took one of his hands into hers and 
kissed it.

"I love your hands. You could hold the whole world in 
them."

"I needed big hands to cup my big nose," he joked.

"Don't say it; I love your nose." And as to prove it to 
him, she kissed the only piece of his body he hated.

"You can't be serious, Scully. Look at this; it's 
monstrous."

"I love everything that is a part of you, Mulder, that 
makes you what you are," she whispered hoarsely, looking 
into his eyes. 

A new kind of sensation spread itself all over him, its 
warmth filling his eyes with tears. That was the closest 
she had gotten to telling him she loved him. He would 
cherish that moment and her words until the day he 
closed his eyes to eternity.

He smiled at her and she smiled back. She had 
understood. 

"We can nap for a couple of hours. Interested?"

"You wanted to leave earlier, Mulder..."

"We're booked until midnight."

She nodded and rested her head on his shoulder. "Just 
for a couple of hours."

"And then we go."

"And then we go."

He turned off the lamp on his bedside table and closed 
his eyes, the sound of her breathing lulling him into 
sleep.


*****


He woke sometime later with the sheets on his stomach 
and Scully's warmth on his back. He looked at his watch. 
They still had twenty minutes. 

She had one of her arms on his side, her hand resting on 
his belly. He covered her hand with his. The hand that 
carried his world in it. The hand that he carried in 
his. 

She was right. He could carry his whole world in his 
hands.

He closed his eyes, deciding to join her in sleep for 
ten more minutes. Then he would get up and take a quick 
shower before waking her. It wasn't even a quarter past 
eleven yet and they were booked until midnight anyway. 
They would be arriving in Virginia around one-thirty. 
That was fine; they could sleep in tomorrow and then 
decide what to do afterwards. 

Thinking about all the places he was going to take 
Scully to, he drifted off into sleep.


*****


At eleven forty-two, the loud pop of the door hitting 
the wall woke him up.


***************************  

Chapter 30 


Skinner was frustrated. 

He had been sitting with Mulder and Scully for over one 
hour trying to sort out their situation and had gotten 
almost nothing.

He wasn't exactly mad at them. For all they had told, 
they were innocent in all of this, as he was expecting.

What bothered him was to know that they might be 
punished because of something that had escaped their 
control. And he wasn't considering the bust and its 
aftermath.

They had waited this long to what? To have their affair 
exposed like a cheap sex performance, like the ones you 
pay a couple of dollars to see on the adult channel. 
Skinner knew that deep feelings ran between them, that 
they couldn't be sold that cheap. 

But he also knew that any further help would be out of 
his hands to give. He hoped that at least the phone call 
had been a mistake, that they really hadn't been called 
on their cell phones. He hoped that his help would be 
enough to give back some of Scully's dignity to her, and 
that she didn't leave Mulder. 

"Believe us, sir: somehow they knew where we were going." 

He nodded at Mulder. 

"I don't know how much I can do to help you," he said, 
addressing both Mulder and Scully. "I hope the lab's 
results will provide something in your favor, but other 
than that, I kind of have my hands tied until Monday 
morning."  

Scully looked out the window, Mulder's hand between 
hers. "I just wanted to understand why." She looked back 
at Skinner. "Why they keep doing this to us?" Not 
waiting for an answer, she looked back out the window.

"Is there anything else you want to know, sir? I mean, 
if there's some blanks in what we told you..."

Mulder sounded defeated, lost. Skinner had the feeling 
that most of the agent's sorrow came from the hollowness 
they had heard in Scully's voice. 

"No, Mulder; that's fine. I told you I didn't want to pry 
into your relationship." He gestured to Betty for her to 
take their check. 

"I'll pay for this, sir."

"That's okay, Mulder. Don't worry. Take her home."

Mulder muttered a thank you and urged Scully onto her 
feet.

Skinner stood too and shook hands with Mulder. "I'll 
stop at the Bureau on my way back and take your report 
home with me. I'll also call your SAC in New Orleans and 
ask for a copy of his report when he has it done. In the 
mean time, you go home and rest."

"Thanks for your help, sir. We really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it, Scully. I may call both of you 
tomorrow. I think it would be a good idea for us to meet 
at the Bureau first thing Monday morning, before the 
other agents arrive."

"No problem, sir."

He felt uncomfortable to ask this, but he needed to. 
"Where will I find you?"

"I'll be in my apartment and Agent Mulder will be in 
his, sir."

Skinner ached for Mulder's surprise and disappointment 
at Scully's words. It was the right thing to be 
done, but Mulder looked like he would burst into tears. 
Scully also looked like she would give in to tears, but 
after his earlier confession, Mulder was his main 
concern.

"Okay. Take care, agents."   

When Mulder and Scully turned their backs to Skinner, 
she in front of him, their synchronized steps carrying 
them to the entrance of the restaurant, Skinner saw that 
one thing had already changed that morning.

Mulder didn't have his hand on the small of her back.


*****************************

End Part 3/4



From: "adriana" <marmalad@zaz.com.br>
Date: Tue, 19 Sep 2000 22:32:50 -0300
Subject: As - 4/4
Source: direct

Disclaimer and everything else in Part 1


***************************

Chapter 31


The first thing he noticed when he opened his eyes was 
that it was already late evening. 

Twenty-seven minutes past seven, according to his clock 
radio clock.  

He blinked to adjust his eyes to the darkness of the 
room. Scully had closed the curtains while he was 
sleeping. She hated sleeping with any kind of light on; 
she was always closing curtains and blinds. He may have 
problems finding sleep but when he found it nothing short 
of an alien falling from the skies right over him would 
wake him up. 

He had doubted he would be able to sleep at all, even 
more after he had left Scully at her apartment. 

They hadn't talked on their way back to her building. 
They hadn't even said good-bye. He dropped her at the 
building's door and waited to see her go inside safely. 
He waited for her silhouette to appear in the window 
before going to his own apartment. He did what he had 
told Skinner he would do, support her in whatever decision 
she made. If she wanted to be alone, he would leave her 
alone and bleed in another place. 

Less than an hour after he had arrived home, she had knocked 
on his door. He took the bag hanging on her shoulder and 
locked the door behind her. He did his best not to let his 
surprise show; he tried to show her that she was where she 
belonged. When he got into his bedroom, she had already pulled 
off the bedclothes and borrowed one of his T-shirts, her favorite 
nightgown. He stripped into his boxers and lay down, spooning her.

He slept for almost five hours. 

"You awake?"

He found her backlit by the dim light coming from the 
hall of the living room. Her hair was mussed and the T-
shirt's neckline had slipped to her shoulder. She was 
barefooted and holding a glass of water in her hands.

How could he go back to those days when waking up to 
find her standing in the doorway to his bedroom - their 
bedroom - had just been part of his dreams?

'Don't make me stop now, Scully.'

"I just woke up. You?" 

She walked to the bed and sat beside him, putting the glass
of water on the bedside table . "Just before you. I was 
thirsty. Did you sleep well?"

He pushed his body against the headboard into a sitting 
position. "As well as the circumstances allow."

She lowered her eyes to her hands. "I'm sorry, Mulder."

"Scully..."

"I should have waited."

She could have waited; he could have waited. What they 
couldn't do was feel sorry for what had happened. They 
couldn't regret *them.*

"They would have found a way to do that sooner or 
later."

She pursed her lips. Her face was flushed and her eyes 
were still puffy from sleep. "I hate staying like this. 
Maybe there's something we could do, Mulder."

There was just one thing he wanted to do: he wanted to 
assure her that he was fine, that they would be okay. He 
wanted to wake up in her arms, sobbing, she soothing his 
pain, telling him that it was all a bad dream.

He had woken up; the nightmare didn't vanish with her 
presence. Having her share a bed with him the past two 
nights was tangible proof. This was real. 

And their reality had become his worst nightmare.

"What can we do, Scully?"

She spilled her frustration into the air with a sigh. "I 
don't know, Mulder. I don't even know what happened, what 
those people wanted in our room."

"It was a bust, Scully."

He told her everything Skinner had told him previously. 
Her eyes never left his face, but once or twice she 
grimaced and twisted the sheets around her fingers. When 
he was finished, they shared a long silence. 

"So," she said, breaking the silence, "it was a drug 
bust."

"Yes, a big one."

She muttered, "Damn," and left her place in the bed. She 
paced to the bathroom doorway and came back, her face a 
mask of defeat.  

"Damn it, Mulder. How could we let ourselves be fooled 
like that? What were we thinking?"

The cold fingers of fear were running up and down his 
spine. "Scully, please..."

"Where did that truck come from? We were followed and 
didn't even know that."

"There was no truck following us, Scully. The street was 
most likely empty," he said, trying to soothe some of 
her anger without success.

"They knew, Mulder; they knew. Somehow they knew." She 
closed her right hand in a fist and started punching her 
left one. 

He was desperate in seeing her lose control like that. 
He needed her rational mind now to convince him that 
everything would be okay.

"How could they have known where we... Oh my God." 

Her fist was frozen midway in the air, no more sounds 
coming from the small arch her lips formed.

He threw off the bedclothes and walked to her. He reached 
forward with his shaking hands but she turned away and 
walked back to the bed and sat down. He knelt down in front 
of her and took her cold hands between his.

"Scully, talk to me."   

She stared at him with vibrant eyes. He hated such 
vibrancy because they were caused by unshed tears. 

"The credit card," she stated, her hands gripping his.

"What?"

"Your credit card," she said again, "it wouldn't go 
through. Something was blocking it."

"Do you think they traced it?" he asked softly. 

She nodded and breathed deeply. "It would be so easy for 
them."

It would be too easy for them. If the Gunmen, in that 
shabby pigsty they called headquarters could do almost 
everything, why wouldn't the Consortium that had the 
money and the authorization to do such a degrading 
thing?

But if they wanted to harm them, why wait for the two of 
them to come back home? They could have bugged their 
room in New Orleans and have used whatever they had 
gotten anytime. He and Scully had spent every single 
night there together. The other bed in the room she was 
supposed to share with Diana hadn't had the weight of 
her body on it for the time they were working on the 
case.

"It's possible." He kept his stare on their hands. The 
long arms of his guilt were embracing him in such way he 
couldn't breathe.

She didn't want to be in that motel. She had wanted to 
keep going. He let his lust for her put them in that 
unbearable situation. There were tears threatening to 
roll down his face. He couldn't cry; she needed his 
strength.

"We'll find a way, Mulder."

There was a tiny smile on her face when he looked back 
at her. 

Her force, her strength, her determination. Everything 
they were. They couldn't sit and wait for things to 
resolve, by their hands or others. That just wasn't 
them.

"And we'll fight," he said resolutely. 

Snapping into action, he stood up and took the 
telephone. "I'm calling the Gunmen. If we were traced, 
they will find a way to discover it." Before pushing the 
speed dial, he stopped and looked at her. "I'll have to 
tell them."

She seemed to be embarrassed but still gave the 
authorization he needed. "It's for the best. Do it."

He flashed a victorious smile at her. The Consortium be 
damned; they were back.

"Byers speaking."

"Byers, it's me. Turn off the tape."

He rubbed his forehead while Byers rustled around, 
clicking off things.

"Done."

"I've got a job for you. Is it possible to find out if 
my credit card was traced yesterday?"

"Exactly when could it have happened?

"Early evening, around seven-thirty. I was at... what's 
its name... Hold on a minute." He picked up his wallet 
and took out the slip the clerk had handed in the motel. 
"Here. D'Azur Motel, phone 443-4567. It's in Baltimore."

"...567," Byers mouthed, taking notes. "I'll verify the 
phone calls made between seven to eight-thirty. Did you 
use your AMEX?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll start a search in the AMEX lines and see if 
they had a problem yesterday evening. It may take some 
time. Where are you?"

"At my apartment. My cell phone is on."

He felt Byers hesitation over the phone. "Hey, Mulder; 
is everything okay? You sound kind of... frantic."

"We're going to tell you everything. Scully and I will 
stop by. Just call me when you get the information."

"Working on it, Mulder."

He hung up the phone and walked back to her side.

"How do you think they'll be able help us?" she asked 
when he sat beside her.

"You know them, Scully; they'll find a way. But in the 
mean time we should do something ourselves. We can't 
just sit here while Skinner and Byers do all the work," 
he finished, staring at their deformed reflection on the 
TV screen.

"Maybe we could do a background check," she said, 
worrying her lower lip. "Find out who the people inside 
of that truck were."

There was a knock on the door and he looked out the 
doorway in the bedroom with worry, wondering who could 
it be.

He felt the palm of her hand on his arm. "It's okay, 
Mulder. I ordered a pizza while you were sleeping." 

He smiled at her. "Pizza? Like mushroom pizza?"

"No," she said, raising from the bed. "Pepperoni. I know 
you like pepperoni. And lots of vegetables for me." 

He didn't tell her that at this point he really didn't 
feel like eating. He knew his woman. She would force him 
to eat at least one large slice covered with melted 
cheese. He would eat for her.    

He stopped her when she was walking to the living room, 
a twenty pressed in the palm of her hand. "Be sure it's 
just the pizza guy before you open the door." 

He saw a hint of disdain in her eyes before she padded 
to the living room. If he had taken the money from her 
hand and gone to answer the door himself, as he would 
like to do...

Instead, he went to the bathroom and splashed some water 
on his face, giving her the time to have some autonomy 
in their situation. 

After deciding that half a minute was more than enough 
time for her to decide how much to tip the delivery boy, 
he pulled on his jeans and went to the living room. 

"Where's that pizza, Scully? I can't smell the 
pepperoni."

There was no pizza. There were Diana standing in the 
doorway and Scully glaring at her suspiciously. 

"Diana? What are you doing here?"

He walked to Scully and stopped at her side, not 
touching her. 

"I know what happened, Fox. I came here to help."

He opened his mouth to talk but Scully didn't give him 
the time. "Thank you, Agent Fowley, but Mulder and I are 
working on it right now."

"Scully, wait," he said, advancing in Diana's direction. 
At that point he would hold on to any hope and offer of 
help he could find to keep Scully and the X-Files. 
"Let's listen to her. How did you find out what 
happened?"

Diana blushed slightly when she answered his question. 
"Sanders told me."

He looked surprised at her. Diana and Sanders? He never 
noticed anything while they were working under Sanders. 
But then, Diana had always been the most discreet person 
he had ever met. And that coming from a person that knew 
Dana Scully was something to consider.

She looked like she wanted to hear him say something 
about that matter.

There was nothing for him to say.

"And how do you expect to help us?" Scully was not 
making a question; she was demanding an answer.

"I have the name of the man who made the phone call," 
Diana said. "We could go after him." She handed him a 
strip of paper. 

He took this small piece of information that meant so 
much to them. "Lester Peevy?" 

"Yes, Fox."  She looked at him triumphantly. "Now we 
have a name, it will be easy to find this guy." They had 
a name. The Gunmen could find this guy easily. They 
would know who was behind all this shit they were in. 

"Mulder, I don't think it's a good idea. We should 
pursue a more substantial lead."

"We have a name, Scully. How more substantial could it 
be?"

"A name that we don't know the origin of. We should be 
careful, Mulder." She looked at Diana defiantly.

"Why, Agent Scully?" Diana said offended, stepping even 
closer to him. "I know you have no reason to trust me, 
but I have interests in this matter, too."

Scully glanced at him briefly before looking back at 
Diana. "Of course you do." She held her ground and 
didn't back away. "That's what's worrying me."

Worrying her? What was she talking about? Diana wanted 
to help them and she was refusing her help? More than 
that, she was openly telling them she didn't trust 
Diana.

"Scully..."

"Fox, maybe it would be better if we could talk alone."

Diana didn't even flinch when Scully looked piercingly 
at her. He hadn't liked the way Diana had uttered the 
words, but he was inclined to agree with her. Somehow, 
whenever his ex was around them, Scully got into that 
defensive mood. 

"Scully," he said placing an assuring hand on her arm, 
his eyes begging her to trust him. "Why don't you wait 
for me in the bedroom? We can..."

She quirked her head aside in his direction, her lips 
parting slightly, her eyes filled with hurt.

"Scully, it's not..."

She held up her palm, ordering him to stop. "Fine, 
Mulder."

She hadn't understood.

Frightened, he followed her with his gaze as she walked 
back to the bedroom and softly closed the door.

He breathed small puffs of air and closed his eyes. 
Could this weekend get even worse?

"Fox."

Diana really seemed to be embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, Fox." She took out her keys from her pocket 
and started walking to the door. "I should have called 
before coming here." 

"Diana, that's okay." He gestured to the couch. "Sit 
down for a minute, okay? I'll be right back."

The hall to the bedroom had never been that long while 
he walked, repeating his mantra 'please Scully, please 
Scully, please Scully.'

He had prayed for nothing. 

She zipped up her jeans and sat down on the bed to put 
her shoes on, the T-shirt she had been wearing lying 
folded on the chair near the window. 

"Where are you going?"

She finished tying her right shoe. "Home."

He felt all his limbs turning into gel. "Why?"

Left shoe tied, she stood up to tuck her shirt inside 
her zipped up jeans. "I'm not going to wait in your 
bedroom, Mulder."

He looked at her bag on the floor, right where he had 
left it. "You were going to spend the night."

She slid the bag on her shoulder and tucked a lock of 
hair behind her ear. "It would have been a mistake."

"We are not a mistake, Scully," he whispered.

She looked aside and, like a miracle, something inside 
of her softened, her eyes acquiring a lighter shade of 
blue. "No, Mulder," she said quietly. "We're not."

And she left.

Fighting the turmoil inside of him, he looked at the 
spot she had glanced to and his gaze fell on the 
portrait on the bedside table.

The portrait she had given him last week, displaying his 
and Samantha's smiling faces. 

The photo he had planned on replacing this weekend with 
a photo of him and Scully.

She had walked away and he hadn't changed the photo.

He went after her barefooted and pulling on the T-shirt 
she had left behind.

"Scully."

He found her ready to step into the elevator. She looked 
at him, her beautiful face showing all her tiredness. 

"Don't go like that, Scully."

"Maybe she's right, Mulder. Maybe you should talk with 
her alone. She will be able to help you; she's a good 
investigator."

She hadn't understood.

"Don't go like that, Scully."

"I don't know any other way to go, Mulder."

Stunned, he winced when he reached out to cup her cheek 
and she turned her face away. If she had slapped him it 
would have hurt no less.

"We have to talk about this, Scully. Give us a chance to 
make things right."

"Mulder..."

"I'll stop by your place," he said with a confidence 
that wasn't in him at that moment. "We can talk there, 
like we should have done yesterday."

She opened her mouth to say something but stopped. 
Instead, she nodded and walked into the elevator. 

As its doors were closing, he begged her one more time.

"Wait for me, Scully."

The door closed on his face.

He walked back to his apartment and closed the door. He 
leaned his back on it and slid to the floor, his nervous 
fingers tangling in his dishevelled hair.

"Fox, are you all right?"

He lifted his head to find Diana walking in his 
direction.

"We will be fine, Diana," he whispered, staring at his 
hands. "We will be fine." 


******************************

Chapter 32


All the warmth that had enveloped the mug, making it too 
hot to her touch, had faded a long time ago; there was no 
longer a sheen of sweat staining the yellow china. The 
condensation had formed a round puddle on the cherry wood, 
marring the surface that until yesterday had been perfect. 
In her frenzy to get the tea ready and check out the list 
Frohike had emailed her shortly after she got home, she 
forgot to grab a saucer to use as a support to the mug. 
Right now, she was still too enthralled in her reading to 
pay attention to the furniture.

The names danced in front of her like the flame she had 
seen in Mulder's eyes two evenings ago, when he had laid 
her down on that same cream surface, insisting that he 
wanted to make love to her there. She had been adamant in 
telling him they were not going to leave their mark on her 
desk. He had pouted, whined, kissed her thoroughly while 
pulling her clothes off her, but she still said no, leading 
him by his beltloop to the bedroom.

They ended up loving each other on the hallway floor, on 
their way to her bed. 

Now the desk would hold a mark that wasn't theirs. 

Her glasses reflected back the light coming from the screen 
and she blinked to ease some of its brightness.

She didn't want to think about him. She couldn't think 
about him.

But God, was it hard.

None of the dozen names displayed before her was Fox 
Mulder, and yet he was there, all around her. There were 
the chocolate colored threads wrapped around her comb in 
the bathroom, and the toothpaste tube showed the mark of 
a squeeze right on its middle. She was to teach him how 
to get the most out of the toothpaste tube and that he 
had to clean the comb after using it. 

Now she might not have the time to show him any of that.

The list; she had to go back to the list.

Travis DeStefano
Audi Caine
Will Randolph
Leonard Bettwieser

The list kept going; she just couldn't go past the fifth 
name. They were all made up; those people didn't resemble 
big shots enough to have such shipment of guns with them. 
Through the look on their faces, she could see they were 
a fine example of the dirtiness you could find on the 
streets. However, she was also an investigator; she didn't 
find in them the malice to make them the finest sample of 
scum of the earth. The colored faces she was seeing on the 
computer screen were the ones of little thieves hired to do 
the dirty work.

But for whom? 

The imaginary scent of Morley invaded her nostrils. She 
had the face, she had the smell of smoke. Yet, she 
didn't have the name to go along with the lone figure 
her catholic heart hated even more each passing day.

Victor McSweeney

Victor McSweeney. This one she knew. Rapidly, she typed 
her ID number to gain access on the FBI files, rejoicing 
when she discovered they hadn't blocked her access. 

Yet.

Victor McSweeney. Age: 37; features resembling a young 
Paul Newman; a criminal file as long as the actor's 
career.

Drug dealer. 

Loan shark.

Main suspect in dozen murders. 

She could discover even more if she found the sheet of 
paper she had just printed among the several white 
sheets displayed carelessly around her laptop.

She found the right paper at the same time as he 
unlocked the door.   

He entered her apartment dressed in darkness. Dark 
jeans, dark T-shirt, dark boots, dark leather jacket.

He put the bag he was carrying on the floor before 
crossing the living room to where she was sitting, by 
the window.

Two day old stubble darkening his face. Dark circles 
around his eyes. 

Darkness embracing his soul.

"You waited."

It was a few minutes past eight when he had asked her to 
wait for him. She had waited until two o'clock in the 
morning.

"Yes, Mulder. I did."

Darkness in her voice.

Through the years she had learned to distinguish some of 
his made up faces and gestures, but most of all, she had 
learned how to read his eyes. They were slightly narrowed, 
tiny veins of red tinged the area where whiteness should 
reign. Eyes without brightness; eyes full of defeat.

She turned her attention back to the sheet of paper she 
had in hand. 

"What are you doing?"

He walked closer to her and stopped behind her chair. He 
bent forward and started muttering the names he read on 
the screen.

"Leonard Groo, Daniel Cherrington, Talman Reed, 
Marcellous Tincher..."

The warmth brought by his proximity and the odor of musk 
and leather coming from him distracted her for a moment. 
She inhaled musk in the sheets of her bed, and there was 
a blouse in her closet - the purple one, she was sure of 
that - that still carried the scent of leather the 
floral conditioner she used hadn't washed away. He had 
thrown the jacket on her shoulder the night he had taken 
her out to some stargazing on their bench, the second 
time he had asked her out.

The first time his lips brushed against hers when he 
walked her back to her door.     

She pressed four fingers against her lips to keep the 
tears at bay.

"What are you doing, Scully?"

She waited for the invisible cords of desperation to 
loosen some of its tight hold around her throat before 
answering him.

"Some research. Those are the men they were looking for 
in our room."

"I don't know any of them."

"There's this one." She pointed at the name in question. 
"Victor McSweeney."

"Victor McSweeney... Victor McSweeney..." He caught the 
paper in her hand. "Of course. Victor McSweeney. Big 
shot. We never put together enough proof to catch him, 
though. Did you get this from the guys?" 

"Yes. Frohike emailed it to me," she said, catching the 
paper he was handing back to her. "I called him on my 
way back home." She took off her glasses and started 
organizing the papers inside a folder. "Did you and 
Agent Fowley go after that guy?"

Mulder nodded and stepped in front of her, sitting on 
her desk. "Lester Peevy, a small potato. He was as good 
as dead, though."

"He's dead?"

"Yes, Scully. He is."

She closed her eyes in respect for a man that was almost 
as much of a victim as they were.

"They traced my credit card, Scully."

She raised her eyes to meet his gaze. 

"I stopped by the Gunmen's on my way here. Byers had a 
report. A problem in the AMEX line at almost exactly the 
same time as we checked into that motel."   

"How do you think it will help us?"

His index finger traced the lines of the lamp on the 
desk and her own fingers itched to touch his. "I don't 
know. I... just don't know." He faced her again. "What 
did you get?"

"A few things. Victor was released; no sufficient proof 
to keep him. The reports Frohike sent, however, show 
that his bank account miraculously increased by three-
hundred thousand dollars overnight."

Mulder bit his lower lip the same way he used to capture 
hers while they were kissing. "What about the other guys?"

"Each one of them is one-hundred thousand dollars richer." 

"To spend in prison?"

"They have families, Mulder. Wives, kids."

"Kids won't have to work," he sighed. 

"They will be fine," she said, putting her glasses on 
the desk.

He picked them up. "And what about us, Scully?"

Doubt shone in his eyes like it did on the morning they 
woke up together after making love for the first time. 
Now she didn't have a reassuring gaze to gift him with.

"I don't know, Mulder."

"Don't say that, Scully."

The hurt in his voice acted like knives in her chest, 
opening the wounds she had managed to cure in his absence. 

"It's late, Mulder. Let's not discuss it now," she said, 
leaving the chair she had been sitting on.

"Sure." He stood up again. "You must be tired; it was a 
long day." He took off his jacket and put it on the back 
of her vacant chair. "Get the bed ready while I lock 
everything."  

She observed motionless as he waltzed around her house, 
checking the lock on the windows before closing the 
curtains, the tight short sleeve of his T-shirt 
revealing the perfectly shaped muscles of his arms. 

"I'll heat up the milk." He headed to the kitchen. "Do 
you want some?" he asked, opening the refrigerator's 
door. He would find nothing there; they didn't have milk 
at home.

She felt another lump in her throat.

They didn't have milk...

"We don't have any milk, Scully?"

...at home.

"No," she mouthed to herself. 

"Scully?"

She felt his breath on her nape and got still before he 
could touch her. 

"Mulder, I'm tired. I'm not up to anything."

"Neither am I, Scully." He hugged her from behind and 
kissed her hair. "I just want to sleep, too. Go to bed.
I'll be right there."

She transferred all the energy she had in her body to 
her hands. With a feather like touch, her fingers freed 
her from his embrace. She didn't turn to him.

"Scully..." 

"You're not staying, Mulder."

"Why?"

The strangled monosyllabic echoed in large waves in the 
room, gripping them as invisible cuffs to their despair.

"Where's Diana?" She couldn't bring herself to face him.

"What does Diana have to do with it, Scully?"

She said nothing, just kept her back to him.

"Damn it, Scully. Talk to me."

Her lips quivered and she bit the inside of her mouth 
hard. If she would cry that night, it would be for another 
kind of pain.

"I left you here alone. You came after me." He didn't 
raise his voice, but it was trembling with anger. "I 
don't want to fuck you; I just want to sleep with you," 
he pleaded.

She knew that his nose now must be red and his face 
flushed. She could feel in her bones how close he was to 
tears. If he started crying, there was nothing that 
could hold her up.

"What do you want from me, Scully?"

Very slowly she turned to look at him.

"I wanted you to go to mass with me, tomorrow. That was 
why I went to your apartment." All her emotions showed 
in the quietness of her resigned voice. 

"I will." He stepped closer to her. "I'll go to mass 
with you tomorrow. I think I have a suit here. If I'm 
wrong, we can go to my house now and sleep there."

"I don't want you to do that, Mulder. I have no right to 
ask you this."

"You have every right to ask me anything, Scully."

"Not this, Mulder." She opened a sad smile at him. "We 
have different beliefs. I put my faith in God. I know 
I'll find some comfort at His house. And I also know 
that you'd just find peace if you went after that guy, 
whether it was with me or not. You put your faith in 
people."

"I didn't want to hurt you."

"I know you didn't." She reached out and caressed his 
face. "We want the same things, but this time I don't 
think we'll get it together. I have to go where my faith 
guides me. You should do the same"

"My faith is in you, Scully," he whispered at her.

"So trust me with this." Her thumb traced the birth mark 
she loved so much. "I'm not going anywhere, Mulder."

"So don't send me away."

"I'm not." She wiped the corner of his eye. "But I think 
we should not be together right now. Go home and rest."

"You know I won't be able to."

"You will." Her lips caressed his cheek. "Think of me. 
I'll be thinking of you," she whispered against his 
face.

There was an hesitant nod against her temple and a 
kiss in her brow. "Pray for us tomorrow," he said, 
letting her go.

"I will."

He picked up his jacket and walked to the door. "Let's go 
meet Skinner together on Monday, okay?"

She swallowed hard and nodded. "I'll pick you up at six-
thirty."

He almost smiled at her before going away. 

She kept staring at the spot he had just left. Her 
finger brushed away a tear that threatened to fall. 

He had left his bag behind. 


**********************************    


Chapter 33 


She was enveloped in a world of white cotton candy, soft 
and cozy at last. Until some tickling static entered 
into her peaceful sleep, itching her nose. A disoriented 
finger moved the pushy nuisance aside, but it kept going 
back to its original place: over her nostrils, down to 
her lips.   

In the end, it was not the fringe of the afghan 
covering her that woke her up, but the jingle of the 
keys turning in the lock. She thought it was him.

"Mulder?"

Another jingle of keys, this time hitting the hardwood 
floor, followed by a sudden gulp of air.

She turned her head on the couch's arm she had been 
sleeping on and glanced at the doorway. Her mother stood 
there, dressed for mass, her left palm pressed against 
her torso, her breathing out of rhythm. Scully threw 
the blanket aside and dashed to her mother.

"Mom," she said, holding Margaret by the elbow to motion 
her towards the nearest chair.  

"Jesus, Dana," said Margaret, still recovering from the 
fright. "Don't do this again."

"I'm sorry, Mom," Scully apologized, setting Margaret on 
the sofa before heading to the kitchen to get a glass of 
water. "I forgot you were coming over."

When she got back into the living room, her mother 
looked quizzically at her. 

"I thought I could water the plants before going to 
mass," she said, accepting the glass Dana was handing 
her. "What are you doing here? Weren't you going out of 
town with Fox?" 

Scully arched her eyebrows and stared at her hands, 
embarrassed. Her mother was not a child; Margaret knew 
she was sleeping with Mulder. After all, she had driven 
Scully to the airport to meet him at the beach house. 
What made her uncomfortable was that she hadn't seen her 
mother since then. Scully had called her twice, first to 
say that everything had gone right in Quonochontaug, and 
later to ask Margaret to care for her house on the 
weekend. 

"Is everything okay, dear?"

Scully pushed a lock of hair away from her eyes and sat 
beside her mother. "We couldn't go this weekend." She 
smiled ruefully. "Maybe we'll never be able to."

Her mother's eyes narrowed with concern. "Dana, what 
happened?"

Margaret snatched her daughter's hands between hers. 
Scully placed their entwined hands into her lap. Her 
heart was coercing her to lie her head down in her 
mother's lap and be a child again. 

"Did you and Fox get into a fight?"

She shook her head. "No, Mom." 

Margaret freed one of her hands and finger combed her 
daughter's hair. "So tell me what is this, honey. Why 
are you so sad?"

The curtains on the window filtered some of the rays of 
light illuminating the living room. However they didn't 
provide enough shadow to hide her shame from her mother. 

"The Bureau knows Mulder and I are together,Mom," she 
finally said.

"And is it a bad thing?"

In the cream colored beacon of light, the clusters of 
dust swirling around the living room became quite 
distinguished. They seemed to be floating all in the 
same direction: towards her face to land at her feet. 

"It wouldn't be if half the Bureau hadn't caught us... 
together."

Margaret's fingers got lost in one wave of her daughter's 
tousled hair. She looked at Scully like she hadn't 
understood, until the knowledge of the situation landed 
in her hand, its weight making Margaret slid her palm 
against Scully's face. 

"They... They didn't..." Her mother's eyes became dark.

"They... did, Mom."

Margaret's eyes filled with compassion as she tenderly 
cupped her daughter's face. "Oh my God, Dana. How?"

How? Just because she couldn't refrain herself from 
touching him, from feeling his skin against hers. Just 
because she couldn't wait to have sex with him again. 
Just because she decided to act like a passionate woman 
for the first time since she didn't remember when.

"I don't know, Mom. They just appeared from nowhere."

"Oh, dear." Margaret squeezed the hand that she kept in 
her hold. "I can't begin to imagine what that was like."

"Disastrous can't begin to describe it, Mom."

Her mother's pads tenderly caressed the skin on her 
cheekbones. "Oh, Dana. And what happens now?"

"There will be a hearing on Tuesday to evaluate our 
behavior. A.D. Skinner is on our side. And Mulder has 
some friends doing some research. We're fine."

"Dana, you're not fine." 

Scully had been wrong. The cluster of dust first landed 
on the coffee table, forming a tenuous film of particles 
of earth and grey powder of the cement on the curbs. 
They needed rain to moisten the air, like the one that 
had fallen at the beach house last weekend. Just to 
purify the air.

"Dana?"

She looked back at her mother. "I miss the rain, Mom."

"Rain?"

Scully let go of her mother's hand, ignoring the confused 
stare that followed her when she knelt down on the edge of 
the rug that lay under the coffee table. The dark glass 
was becoming greyish. It was funny to see how one of her 
favorite toys as a child now bothered her. When she was 
four or five, she loved to imprint her little digits on 
any dusty surface, whether it was Ahab's rarely used old 
Ford windshield or her mother's side and coffee tables. 
On cleaning days, she would volunteer to take care of 
the furniture that served as a canvas to her childish 
imagination. She recognized the stoic face reflected on 
the table, blinking back at her; it was the one she 
had learned to make when Margaret would come with a rug 
cloth and clean out her artistic patterns.  

"It rained when we were at the beach house, Mom. Good, 
old fashioned summer rain." She smiled at her reflection, 
her finger tracing loose dusty clouds. "I hadn't enjoyed 
one in years."

She felt the slight movement of the rug under her knees 
when her mother moved to be beside her. "Summer rains 
are always beautiful, Dana."

"That one was special, Mom. I will never face the rain 
again with the same eyes."

Margaret sat down on the floor and pulled her into her 
embrace. She went willingly, resting her head on her 
mother's bosom. 

"Where's Fox, Dana?"

When she heard his name, she kept her eyes open in hopes 
that they would remain dry. "I don't know. I sent him home 
last night."

For a few moments she enjoyed the quiet rise and fall of 
her mother's chest and the soothing rhythm of the heart 
pulsing under her ear without saying a word. The knowledge 
that Margaret was there, her slender fingers untangling
the knots in Scully's hair were almost like a balm to her 
bruised soul.

Almost.

"I think you should be with him now, dear," Margaret 
said, quietly.

She wanted to blink, but she had to keep her eyes dry. 
"I can't, Mom. He needs to make an important decision. I 
can't interfere in that."

There was a tender kiss on her forehead. "But his decision 
will interfere in your life, too, Dana. Maybe you should 
talk."

She nuzzled her mother's linen dress, inhaling the loved 
scent of spring flowers and comfort. "No. This is 
something he has to decide by himself."

Her mother cupped her neck and gently pulled her 
head to meet her gaze. "And what about you? Are you just 
going to accept whatever he decides?"

She felt some humidity behind her eyelids and she arched 
her brow to keep her eyes open. "I don't know. The only 
thing that I'm sure of is that I'll respect him."

"And what about you?"

She stared at her mother silently. For that she had no 
response. 

Margaret gently pushed Scully aside and smoothed her 
wrinkled skirt. Then she took her daughter's hands and 
pulled her onto her feet. "Go take a shower while I make 
us some coffee," she said, moving towards the kitchen.

"Mom, mass starts in twenty minutes," Scully argued, 
following her.

"I know," Margaret replied, already opening the cupboard 
to get the coffee pot. "But if you hurry up we can make the
nine o'clock mass."

"Mom..."

"Look, Dana," Margaret said, putting the pot away and 
looking at Scully. "I understand if you don't want Fox's 
comfort. And I, even loving you so much, won't be able 
to give you what you need right now." She smiled softly. 
"Let the Lord be that help, huh?"

The smile she gave back to her mother was small, but 
genuine. "I'll be ready in twenty minutes." 

On her way to shower, she glanced at the coffee table.

It didn't seem so dusty anymore.

 
<!--StartFragment-->
********************

Chapter 34 


The white folder Scully had handed to Skinner now lay open 
on his table, its contents carefully being analysed by him. 
He flipped through the sheets of paper with clinical eyes  
and occasionally would go back one page or two to look for 
information that he had missed or that hadn't been clear. 
He could avoid all that trouble if he just asked her what he 
wanted to know. Scully had gone through that file so many 
times the night before, searching for the smallest bit of 
information that she had put there without noticing it and 
that could help with their situation, that she had memorized 
it in its entirety.

Her analytical side, however, told her she had left 
nothing behind; she would never let one of her reports 
be less than perfect. And for once she was suffering 
because of that.

Beside her, Mulder was reading all over again the copy 
of Agent Fowley's report. Occasionally, his index finger 
would push his golden wired glasses further into his 
face, as if this simple act would help put what he was 
reading into better perspective. For her there was just 
one thing to be considered: nothing short of a miracle 
could save them. 

Skinner finished his reading and put the papers on his 
desk before looking at her. Scully reached out and took 
SAC Hoffman's notes again to have something in her hands 
and to dismiss Skinner's gaze. No matter that they had 
been sitting in his office for the last couple of hours, 
reading files, discussing facts with the same goal in mind. 
No matter that she was beginning to trust Skinner as an 
ally now. She had never trusted her naked body to him, and 
he had seen it. 

Mulder carelessly threw the papers he had with him on 
Skinner's desk, his glasses following suit. Luckily they 
landed on the folder he had just discarded.

"I won't accept this." 

Automatically, Skinner started putting the papers back 
together. "You have to, Mulder. Unless what she wrote 
here isn't true, this will be considered in the hearing 
tomorrow."

"This is nonsense."

"This is factual, Mulder."

Scully closed the folder she had picked up, but kept it 
with her, in her lap. Instinctively, she placed her right 
hand on Mulder's forearm to still some of his agitation.    

"Do you want facts? I will give you facts." His right 
hand yanked the report she was holding from her. "This 
is what happened there and that's what matters." He 
stood up and shoved the folder before Skinner. "We went 
there and solved the case. We stopped the killings."

"Nobody is going to question that, Mulder. They know 
what you did there." Skinner remained sitting, in a clear 
demonstration that he wasn't intimidated by her partner's 
attitude. "This is not the point and you know that. 
Now you better sit down so we can finish with this."

"Mulder," Scully called him calmly, ignoring all the 
fear and anger boiling inside of her. "Sit down. This is 
not helping."

"Don't you understand, Scully?" He looked down at her. 
"Don't you understand what's happening here?"

"I do understand, and unless you calm down, we won't get 
anything resolved here."

For a few seconds he just stood there, looking at 
her, and she feared he was going to start arguing again. 
Instead, he walked to the middle of the room and she saw 
the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he breathed.   

"I know. It's just that..." The querulous tone of his 
voice was gone. In its place there was just defeat. "We 
can't let them do this to us."

"I'll do my best to help you, Mulder. But you have to 
calm down," said Skinner, leaning forward.

"I know, sir." Mulder moved his attention back to 
Skinner.  "But..." He stopped and walked back to his 
chair without sitting in it. "We were together there, 
but that's all. While we were there we worked, and we 
worked really hard."

"I know, Mulder. SAC Hoffman emphasized this side of 
your professional behavior while on the field." Skinner 
pointed at Mulder's, mutely ordering him to sit down. "But 
they're interested in knowing what happened after that. 
Agent Fowley states that you would work until midnight and 
then retreat to your room."

"It didn't happen like that."

"Agent Scully slept in your room, Mulder."

Scully raised her voice for the first time that morning. 
"We shared a room, sir, but I don't see how it damaged 
the case or the investigation."

The two men stopped their rambling to pay attention to 
her petite figure that always managed to grow a good six 
inches when she was defied or disrespected. That was how 
she had been able to survive in a man's world, being more 
confident and sensible than they could be.

"I told you I didn't want to pry into your relationship, 
Agent Scully."

"That's what everyone's doing nowadays, sir." She 
gestured to all the papers on the desk. "This is the 
most perverse attitude the Bureau could have taken 
towards us." 

Scully grabbed the edges of the desk in an attempt to 
regain her composure. An outburst like that was not what 
she had in mind. But damn it. She and Mulder were being 
treated like they had flown to New Orleans with the 
sole purpose of having sex. 

The air in the room felt heavy and thick, making it 
difficult for her to drawn oxygen into her lungs and 
breath. It hurt to be there. 

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, sorry for lashing out at
Skinner when he was trying to help them.

"That's alright, Scully." Skinner handed her a tall 
glass of water and she breathed a thank you while 
sipping some of the cool refreshment.

Skinner pulled out yet another sheet of paper from a 
drawer and handed it to Mulder. "This is Danny's report. 
Our computers didn't register any call to your cell 
phones on Friday evening."

Mulder slumped back in his chair and took one of her 
hands in his. "Finally good news. So I believe they're 
going to call off all of this shit now, won't they?"

"Not so fast, Mulder." Skinner pointed to the folder 
containing SAC Hoffman's report. "Both Hoffman and Diana 
stated that you went after the suspect without a back up 
team."

Scully went still in her chair.

"Yes, sir; we did."

"And Hoffman said that Scully had already called for 
help, but that you, Agent Mulder, refused to stay there 
and wait."

Mulder tightened the grip in her hand. "It didn't happen 
like that."

"So you tell me, Mulder; what really happened, since all 
you have to say in your defense is that it didn't happen 
like that."

"They were just cats. Diana and I could perfectly handle 
the situation by ourselves."

"Were you there with them, Agent Scully?"

She disentangled her fingers from Mulder's. "A few 
blocks away, but... Yes, sir."

"Why didn't you take Agent Scully with you, Agent 
Mulder?"

Mulder looked visibly taken aback by those questions. He 
fidgeted in his seat as if it was on fire. "There was no 
need for Scully to come with us."

"You ended up hurt and so did Agent Fowley."

"Fuck, Skinner," shouted Mulder, losing it completely. 
"You were supposed to help us."

"That's what I'm doing, Mulder," said Skinner, resigned. 
"I'm just anticipating what the OPR Board will tell you: 
that you were trying to protect her."

Scully sank in her chair, incapable of holding herself 
up any longer. In her almost seven years of working with 
the FBI, she had never been this humiliated. Her career, 
her work as a field agent, all the training and sacrifices 
she had to make in order to be what she was, were now 
reduced to nothing under the serious accusation Skinner 
was making. She had lost her status as a Special Agent, 
she was no longer an MD, she wasn't even partner of 
The Most Unwanted Agent of the FBI anymore. Everything 
she had fought so hard to achieve in a world where men 
rule, now had been reduced to two single words: she was 
Mulder's Lover. 

"I respect her too much to do such a thing to her, sir."

Mulder's reaction was all wrong. It was weak, unsure, 
automatic, a kid begging for a puppy, claiming that he 
would be responsible for it.  

"After what we saw in that motel room, Mulder, this is 
not the conclusion they'll come up with, and both of you 
know that."  

Mulder bowed his head. For Scully, that was a new signal 
in their silent communication: the moment her partner 
recognized her as what she was now.

She was just his lover.

"You're our superior, sir." Deep inside of her she found 
what remained of the FBI agent she once had been. "Tell 
us what you think as our superior." 

Skinner paused. In each breath, every time his eyes 
wandered between her and her partner, she decoded a 
secret message the A.D. refused to tell them. 

*Us* was something of the past. 

"I'd say, Agent Scully, that it's time for the two of 
you to consider what to do with this partnership."

Scully felt the bitter taste of her pride sliding down 
her throat on its way to her stomach, the salt of their 
relationship sharply tingled her eyes. However, this 
last tangible sense of victory she wouldn't give them.

Skinner stood up and started organizing the folders on 
his table in one neat pile. "I'm going to join the board 
in one hour. We'll make the preliminaries for the 
hearing tomorrow," Skinner said, awkwardly. "I'll take 
the evidence you collected with me."

Leaving his chair, a disoriented Mulder pointed to the 
documents they had brought. "Shouldn't we be there, sir? 
I mean, you're going to discuss us."

"We're going to analyse the effects your relationship 
may have on your work, Mulder."

Scully lay her eyes on their five years working together 
compacted in four plastic folders and a brown envelope. 

Skinner looked at the clock hanging on the wall. "It's 
ten past nine. You better go now."

Scully bit her lower lip and briefly glanced at the pile 
of papers before heading to the door. She had a hand on 
the doorknob and Mulder's palm pressed on the small of 
her back when Skinner called them one last time.

"Yes, sir?" Mulder replied for them. 

Skinner smoothed the bare skin on his head and took some 
hesitant steps towards them. "You're aware that the 
shift in here started just ten minutes ago. This hallway 
must be crowded by now."

"Don't worry, sir." Mulder snorted. "We're already all 
fucked up." He smirked. "This time they won't have to 
wonder. They saw." And with that, he pulled the door 
open and pushed her through it.

They had spent the last five years confined in the 
basement and its dark stairs and walls without window 
nor any natural light. And then there was the X-Files 
office, with numerous shelves and books scattered 
everywhere. They had lost everything with the fire, 
minus their will to keep going. Slowly they were 
reconstructing what they had lost. Friday afternoon she 
found the two strange currencies newspapers Mulder had 
bought in New Orleans piled on his desk. The medical 
journals she had brought from her apartment were neatly 
organized in the corner she had claimed as her own in 
their coming back, and even Diana's magazines had found 
a tiny place on their new bookshelves. They were 
rebuilding their home in the FBI.

However, she had always had a soft spot for the third 
floor. 

She had always loved space. Clear, bright, large spaces. 
And the third floor was like that. That had been her 
thought when she stepped in Skinner's officer for the 
first time: so that's what being an A.D. was like. Large 
walls, large windows, light coming from everywhere. And 
the neatness, the rich scent of mahogany coming from 
each piece of furniture in the room, mixed with the odor 
of power those walls exhaled. Halls built to hold four 
agents walking side by side without brushing into each 
other. Walking up that halls, listening to the heels of 
her shoes hitting the tile floor had always made her 
believe that she was untouchable, feeding the sense of 
pride she had born with, making her feel important. 

The halls on the third floor were sparking with life.

Not groups of four, but five agents were walking up and 
down the pristine white corridors, chatting about the 
events of the weekend, heading to their places in the 
several bullpens all over there.

Chatting about them. 

Was it her imagination or had the voices really stopped 
the moment she and Mulder reached the corridor? 

Briefly, for a whisper of a moment, they stood there, 
facing their co-workers.

She was ready to face them. For the last two days she 
had been preparing herself to meet these people and 
send them to hell the moment she heard the first snide 
comment.

None came.

The hand on her back urged her forward. She stepped 
once, twice, three times, and so on. Her eyes kept 
staring at the people in front of her. Each step 
carrying them closer and closer to the elevator. Each 
look of pity, of malice, of wonderment blinding her, 
slowly, continuously, merciless. She felt their eyes on 
her back, following them, the humming of their comments 
closing behind her like the waters of the Red Sea had 
closed behind the believers on their way to the Promised 
Land. The hand that once had been her savior in countless 
occasions, keeping her safe, was the final proof of their 
sin, his fingertips burning on her back the sores of their 
guilt, of her shame. She felt herself growing hot, but 
the front zipper on her black jacket was down, showing the 
whiteness of her blouse and the glistening of her cross. 
The heels of their shoes hitting the floor composed the 
dreadful tune of their downfall. On her shoulders lay all 
the glances they were receiving, all the commentaries she 
was hearing, making it too much to bear.

The column of her spine started bending, and his hand 
was there to stead her. Only this time it wasn't enough. 
She walked the last feet towards the elevator looking at 
the tips of her shoes. 

Luckily, their waiting didn't take too long. As soon as 
they stopped in front of the steel door, it opened and 
yet another group of agents stepped out of it. 

"She may be tiny, but man, what a body!" 

That was what she last heard before she saw her red 
fury faced partner pinning Agent Danson in the back 
end of the car.  

"Mulder!"

There were two other agents in vain trying pull Mulder 
off the brunet man.

"Are you fucking crazy, man?" Danson shouted, taken 
aback by the sudden assault.

Agents Jackson and Gray had finally freed Danson's when 
Mulder barked at him, "I catch you talking about her 
like that again, I'll kill you, you fucking bastard!"

Before Mulder's menace, Danson launched himself against 
her partner again. He would have gotten Mulder square in 
the eye if Agent Gray hadn't held his fist. 

Scully held Mulder through the collar of his jacket and 
his sleeves.

"That's okay, I got him." The other agents freed their 
hold on Mulder and she pushed him inside of the car. 
"Let's go, Mulder."

She pushed the bottom to the first floor endless times 
in hopes of getting away from that place. Mulder was 
leaning on the wall behind her, sweat glistening on the 
skin of his face. She glanced at him long enough to see 
that he was fine before she started pushing the white 
button again.   

Just when the door was starting to close, a pair of 
chocolate colored hands kept them open. 

"Is he okay, Agent Scully?" She heard, in a distance 
place, Agent Jackson asking her.

"We're fine, thanks," she responded, looking hesitantly 
at some point on the man's face, but not his eyes. 

"We were not talking about Agent Scully, Agent Mulder." 
Jackson nodded at her. "I'm sorry for what happened."

She didn't have the energy to nod back at him.

But she did find the center folder of a magazine for men 
lying at her feet, where a bimbo that couldn't be an 
inch or two taller than her, stared back at her with an 
inviting smile on her red lips. 

Jackson let go of the door, and they finally found 
themselves enclosed in the coldness of the elevator, 
like two strangers that by coincidence shared a seat in 
the bus, miles apart from each other. Fortunately, there 
was no more stopping on the way. 

Her car was parked outside, so they stepped out of the elevator 
into a lobby full of young visitors from some kindergarten 
school in the neighborhood, and two young women, probably 
their teachers, telling them to stay in groups. 

She had left her car half a block away from the entrance 
of the building. She spent their short walk considering 
what to tell him in their twenty minute ride to his 
house. 

And what about him? Why couldn't he look at her and tell 
her what he was thinking? 

They stopped on opposite sides of the car, the keys of the 
silver Taurus already in her hands, when he spoke to her 
again.

"I'm going home, Scully."

She almost let the keys fall.

"Home?"

"Yeah." He looked at the direction of the subway. "I'll 
take the subway." 

"Mulder, you came with me. I can take you home." He 
looked impassible, with his hands tucked inside his 
slacks' pockets. "We have to talk, Mulder."

His lips turned upwards in a sad smile. "Talk? We won't 
talk, Scully. We don't know how to do this."

Rarely had been the times when he had presented her an 
argument and she had accepted it so peacefully. He had 
given up on them. She just wanted to know how long it 
would take her to do the same. 

"Mulder..." 

"I'll see you tomorrow." The intensity in his eyes 
burned her soul, something inside of her telling her 
that that was the last time he was carving himself into 
her like that.

"You take care, Dana."

He left her there, standing on the curb, looking at his 
tall figure going away in that sunny morning in August. 

Her name rang in her ears, obliterating any other 
external sound, any other thought, making her loose her 
way. She forgot she was going home and that they had a 
hearing the next morning. She just remembered the 
smallness of her name coming from his mouth, and that 
the last time she had heard him call her that she had 
walked away from him. 

The keys she was holding found their way back into her 
pocket without her noticing it. Her feet found a pace 
of their own and carried her away from there, aimlessly 
through Pennsylvania Avenue. She ignored the trees, the 
traffic, the lives pulsing in the busy avenue. 

She had lost him, but God would have to give her the 
courage to let him go.

Yesterday she had knelt down on the floor of the church 
with her mother at her side and had asked for the same 
thing, the strength to let him go if it came to that. 

Life on the base taught her that sooner or later someone 
was always left behind. She had lost count of how many 
faces she had forced into the oblivion, or had not become 
attached to in order to not suffer when it was time to go. 
The moment her father retired from the navy and they 
settled for good in Baltimore, she had believed that her 
need to be detached would be over. She couldn't have been 
more mistaken. 

First she said goodbye to Ahab.

Then Melissa. 

Emily.

And now Mulder. 

She would not cry. Their ordeal was almost over. She had 
to hold herself together until the end. 

She needed to learn how to say goodbye again. For her, 
the proper place to do this had always been the church. 

Her family had gone back to her parents house after her 
father's ashes had been thrown in the sea and the wind 
had carried the Captain all over the waters that he had 
become part of. She, on the other hand, had chosen the 
comfort of the chapel she had found in her earlier days 
with the FBI, trying to find her peace with her deceased 
father, until it was time to join Mulder in their 
office.  Mulder had found her in that same place hours 
after Melissa's funeral, and two years later he had 
spent hours sitting in a quiet place behind her when 
they had come back from San Diego, after having made the 
symbolic funeral for her little girl.

Always Mulder. 

Briskly, she walked along the large sidewalk, towards a 
small church a few blocks down on the avenue. She fingered 
her cross. That would be a nice place to learn again how 
to let things go. She was going to light some candles, one 
for Mulder and another for herself. A third candle would 
be for the destiny of the X-Files. 

'The fourth one will be to illuminate our way,' she 
planned as she stopped at a traffic light, waiting for 
her turn to cross the street. 

'Apart.'


*********************************

Chapter 35 


When Mulder had walked away from Scully earlier that 
day, the thought of taking a plane to fly to the 
Vineyard hadn't crossed his mind. It had been like 
a trance: in one minute he was walking towards the 
subway in Washington, DC, and then in the next one 
he was looking for a men's store downtown on the 
Vineyard because he needed a clean suit for the 
hearing tomorrow. 

The sight of his mother's well cared for garden and the 
bluish walls of the house he had spent part of his teen 
years showed him that there was no better place to be. 

His mother greeted him at the front door with a smile, 
and even though his arrival had been unexpected, she 
made no comments nor questions about his being there. 

He and his mother had spent the day in friendly silence, 
she working downstairs on her china paintings, and he 
getting to know again the old bedroom he hadn't visited 
in years, while trying to push aside any thought of Scully.

Scully. 

When her absence had become too much for him to bear, he 
borrowed his mother's car and drove to Vineyard Haven,
the busiest town on that small piece of land surrounded 
by the Atlantic Ocean.

The summer was the reason Martha's Vineyard existed. They 
were in middle August and yet the agitation of the town 
was in full swing, meaning that there was still life in the 
city. There were big queues of expensive cars in front the
restaurants and the shops were making good money with the 
vacationers crowding their rooms searching for mementos for
the ones that couldn't come. Kyle O'Brien, a basketball pal 
in his highschool years, went to Havard with the profits of 
his father's restaurant in Haven. Considering that the 
restaurant used to open its doors just from May to middle 
September remaining closed the rest of ther year, just like 
a good part of the shops all over the island, it was a good
mark.   

He stopped at a traffic light and a BMW convertible full of 
college girls stopped at his side. The driver, a beautiful 
brunette bearing a large smile winked at him. The other girls 
in the car made a great effort to suppress their giggles and 
show him that they were very much adults. He shook his head 
and smiled softly. What was it with young people nowadays? He 
was at least fifteen years older than those girls and yet they 
were waving and blowing kisses at him? 

Scully liked older men.

Where that came from he didn't know, but there she was 
again, invading his thoughts like a thief. 

Would she have blown the horn at him and called him 'Foxy' 
like the girls in  that car, now driving down the avenue 
to chase boys their own ages, if they had met years ago? 

Would he be with her now if he hadn't taken a coward's 
way and left?  

No, that was not fair. He was not a coward. How many 
cowards would leave the best half of themselves behind 
in hopes that she would be better without them? 

He was getting depressed again. He was used to the 
misfortunes of life, but this time the deities that  
governed the universe and insisted upon tormenting him 
were being far too cruel. Why give him the opportunity 
to have her, to get acquainted with her skin and the 
taste of her just to have her taken away from him like 
that? 

Time to travel another 12 miles back home. 

Mulder turned the car to his left, taking the road 
that led to his mother's. His hands were getting sore 
from driving so long, and there was the beginning of 
some numbness in his legs and butt from sitting in the 
same position for hours. 

And then there was the remembrance of that disgusting 
shadow in her eyes when they found themselves alone in 
the elevator, after that sorry spectacle he had made at 
work.

Yes, he had made the right decision. 

Sometime later he was relieved to see the white gate of 
his mother's house before him. 

He parked the car in the driveway and rubbed his eyes. He 
was trapped in that state where his body was exhausted, but 
his mind refused to shut down. Aside from the occasional 
nap on his couch, he had been up for the last forty eight 
hours, since he had left Scully's apartment.

He had left Scully.

He had done the right thing. His running away couldn't be 
classified as a ditching. Or a betrayal of trust. Or anything 
that dramatic. For a man that was used to letting emotions 
rule his life, it was natural to be a little confused with 
his behavior in the last several hours. Fox Mulder was not 
used to being a rational man. 

Scully had done a terrific job.  

He opened the door to his mother's kitchen and tried to 
keep his movements quiet. It was late and his mother should 
already be asleep. He shouldn't be up at this hour either, 
since his flight was due at six o'clock in the morning. 

Even the option of sleeping in had been taken away from 
him. 

He put the toiletries bag he had purchased on the table 
and started looking for something to eat.

It was odd to be sneaking food from his mother's 
refrigerator at eleven o'clock at night, but he was 
really hungry. He had had a slice of homemade chicken 
pie and some lettuce and tomato salad for lunch, and 
that was all. 

He found the leftovers of the pie, but put it aside. He 
needed something lighter, otherwise he really wouldn't 
sleep tonight. He took the carton of milk and closed 
the door, then he opened the cabinet to get a glass. 
Maybe there was a box of Oreos somewhere in the kitchen.

"There are chocolate cookies in the jar on the table, 
Fox."

His mother was standing in the doorway, wearing a light 
blue robe and her glasses. Her slippers had muffled the 
sound of her steps.

"I'm sorry, mom. Did I wake you?"

"No, I was awake, reading in my bedroom. Did you have a 
good time in town?"

He shuddered. "I just needed to get out for a while. I 
had a better time driving your car. What a machine!"

"I told you it was easy to drive."

"I could get used to having a car like that."

She tucked her hands into her pockets and leaned on the 
doorway. "Your birthday is close. Who knows?"

He put his glass on the table and opened the cookie jar, 
then he pulled out a chair to sit down. His mother observed 
him without moving. When he paid  special attention to 
her, he noted that she looked  undecided between staying 
or leaving him alone. 

He pulled out another chair for her and went back to the 
cupboard. "Do you still prefer your milk with sugar, 
Mom?"

She smiled gratefully at him and joined him in the room. 
"Yes. It's behind the coffee pot."

He picked up the sugar pot and another glass and went 
back to the table. Teena had picked up a plate on the 
counter and now she was putting some cookies on it. 

He looked at his mother's hands. They were still delicate, 
the hands of a pianist. He had been glad to know that she 
was painting again. He remembered seeing her painting 
delicate china dolls for Sam and herself; in fact she had 
quite a collection of them. Also her paintings were famous 
at birthdays parties and wedding showers, as well as in the 
social auctions on the island. She was really good at that. 
More than once he had heard his father telling her that he 
would leave his job in the government and they would open 
a gallery in their garden. Laughing, he would tell her that 
they would be rich in no time. She would tell him how silly 
he was, but that she loved him anyway. She had quit doing 
that soon after his family ceased to be. 

"What's that, Fox?"

Mulder blinked, coming back to reality. "Nothing." He 
picked up a cookie and started munching on it. "This is 
good. Homemade?"

"Yes." She served him some milk. "I made them while you 
were out." Teena took one for herself and broke it in 
two. "You were out for a long time."

"I needed a break. That's why I came here." Then, 
looking back at his mother he completed. "I hope you 
don't mind."

Teena looked shocked. "Of course, not Fox. This is your 
house."

"Last time I came here it didn't look like that, Mom."

"Last time you came here I didn't recognize you."

He started gathering the cookie crumbs from the table 
with the palm of his hand. "I wasn't myself that day, 
Mom. I was sick."

"Dana told me something like that."

When he heard her name, it took him a second to release 
the breath that had been caught in his throat and to 
start cleaning the table again. However, his mother saw 
his reaction. 

"Is there a problem, Fox?"

He felt like she was mocking him. Compared to the things 
he had seen in the X-Files, or to the events of last June, 
when he had been close to an intergalactic trip with his 
partner, the nightmare he was living was nothing. He should 
be ashamed for giving that much importance to something as 
trivial as dumping his girlfriend. 

Only that said girlfriend was the meaning of everything 
in his life. 

"I didn't paint the beach house, Mom." He looked at 
Teena and tried to smile. "And a few weeks ago I found 
out what it would be like to be an uncle."

His mother looked at him confused. "What are you talking 
about?"

He sniffed, fighting hard the tears smarting his eyes. 

"I miss her, Mom."

Teena looked at him for a moment before lowering her 
eyes to her hands. "We're not talking about Samantha 
here, are we?"

He shook his head and reached out to get another cookie. 
He broke it in small pieces and, not satisfied with the 
result, he started rubbing the tiny particles between 
his fingers. 

"Is it Dana?"

He grabbed another cookie and his mother slapped the 
back of his hand. 

"Don't waste my cookies."

Teena looked at him horrified. He was speechless. 

She had slapped him again. 

When she had done it last year, he had felt both the 
physical pain and the hurt in his soul. Then came the 
humiliation of being slapped and not being allowed to 
hit back. And finally came the hiatus of one year 
separating him and his closest alive relative. 

This year it made him laugh.

And Teena was still looking at him bewildered.

"What is it, Fox?"

'This is normalcy, Mom.' He wanted to shout because it 
was normal and sentimental, and it was amusing and it 
was good. 

"I'm sorry, Mom," he said and drank some milk taking 
care not to choke. "But that was such a mother thing."

Teena entered into the spirit of his playful mood. "So 
now my acting like a mother makes you laugh. You show me 
respect, boy."

He stopped laughing but kept the smile on his face. "No, 
Mom. It makes me feel normal."

Teena braced her arms on the table. "It's good to be 
normal, isn't it, Fox?"

"What do you mean?"

Teena tilted her head in his direction. "I think that 
young lady is a good influence in your life."

That put an end to his smile. "The best influence."

Teena sipped her milk and studied him some more. 

"What is this, Fox?"

He thought about everything that had happened between 
him and Scully in those last couple of months, from who 
would throw out the trash to who would pay the bill in 
the grocery store. And then there were the waiters 
referring to her as his wife, and the pleasant smile on 
Ben's face when he had taken her out for some ice cream 
in Quonochontaug. 'Now your mother won't have to help 
you finish your ice cream, huh?' Ben had asked, smiling 
gently at Scully. He had laughed and hugged her fiercely 
to him.

There was sleeping and waking up with her, and kissing 
and touching her. There was loving her and dreaming, 
just for a moment, that she loved him, too. 

She never told him she loved him. 

"I'll never be able to give you grandchildren, Mom."

He'd never be a father. He knew that Scully's infertility 
didn't make him sterile, too. It was just that the thought 
of fathering another woman's child didn't seem right to him. 

"Fox, what happened?"

That creeping sensation that he was going to cry came all 
over him again. He wondered if he needed to look strong 
to his mother all the time. Couldn't he just now, just 
that once, accept the comfort she was offering to him? 

"They won't let me work with Scully if we stay together, 
Mom."

Teena diverted her gaze from his again. "I'm sorry, Fox. 
She seems to be a very competent professional."

"She's the best partner I ever had."

"Ah." Teena straightened the table cloth. "But, I'm 
sorry. I still don't understand."

He massaged his forehead with the tips of his fingers. 
That was a subject he didn't feel comfortable discussing 
with his mother. In the past it had always lead to 
terrible arguments and snorted words. 

"Something happened, something pretty bad. It's complicated."

"Could you be fired?"  

"I don't think so. But if we don't put an end to our 
relationship now, they will dissolve our partnership."

"I see." Teena nodded, her eyes still on the table. "How 
do you feel about it?"

He chuckled. "My work is important, Mom."

"Your happiness should be important, too."

"The X-Files are the only means to bring Samantha back 
home." Teena breathed deeply. "And I need Scully's help 
to bring her back to you."

He had to fight the tears twice as hard, but not one drop 
fell from his eyes. Neither from his mother's. Twenty-five 
years of experience had made them masters in masking their 
weakness.

Twenty-five years of a life that wasn't theirs to live.

"There has to be another way, Fox."

His mother's voice was so low, he thought he had 
imagined she was talking to him. 

Teena spoke again, louder this time. "There has to be 
another way of having my little girl back."

For the first time in his life, he saw a glimpse of 
innocence shining in his mother's eyes. They shared that 
certitude that one day they were going to see her again. 
Scully had been the one to keep the hope alive in him. He
was not going to kill that hope in his mother. He would do 
anything, sacrifice whatever he needed to find his mother's 
daughter.

He touched her hand. "I'll find her, mom, I..."

"No, Fox," Teena said. "Don't turn this into a promise." 
She turned to him and covered his hand with her other 
one. "I don't want you to promise me this."

"But..."

"If you just knew how much I miss her, Fox. How much I 
miss the things I never experienced with her." Her lips 
quivered and her voice was heavy with emotion. "There are 
so many things in this life I don't know." She looked back 
at him and her eyes gleamed. "I wanted to know what is it 
like to teach my little girl to cook. Or to fuss at her for 
spending too much money on clothes." He smiled at her, his 
lips quivering, too. "Can you imagine Sam with short hair, 
Fox? Or with it dyed in green?" She sobbed. "Can you imagine 
what it would be like to have her home?" His mother started 
crying, sitting at that table, holding his hand.

He felt like trash for putting his romantic interest in front 
of his mother's needs like that. She had been suffering for 
as much as time as he had, only that her pain was much deeper 
than his. He couldn't heal her nor erase the past. What he 
could do was keep searching for a cure. Keep searching for 
Samantha.    

"I'll be sixty next year, Fox," she continued softly, her
voice faltering with the tears. "I sure had my share in 
life. But I still have the hope that I'll know something 
before I die." She smiled tenderly at him. "I hope to know 
what is it like to see at least one of my children happy. 
And you're here." His eyes filled with tears. "That's the 
one thing I want you to promise me, that I'll see at least 
one of my children happy." 

She rose from the chair, wiping her eyes. "I changed the 
sheets on your bed and that store sent your suit. It's 
in the closet," she said, trying to regain her composure. 
She put the cookies they had left on the plate back into 
the jar. "What time are you leaving tomorrow?"

"The cab is coming at a quarter past five," he whispered.

She opened a drawer and pulled out a brown bag, then put 
some cookies in it. She walked to where he was and put 
the bag before him. "Take those with you. Airline's 
breakfast is awful."

He smiled at her. "Thanks, Mom."

As if guided by an impulse, she bent down and kissed his 
hair. "You better go to bed now. It's already late." She 
touched his chin and looked at him with red eyes. "Good 
night, son." She caressed his face and left him in the 
kitchen.

He kept looking at his mother until she disappeared up 
the stairs.

He vowed to himself he would never see his mother crying 
over Samantha like that again. Like he had vowed the 
people that had abducted Scully wouldn't go unpunished. 
Like he had vowed he would not let anyone take his 
partner's dignity away. 

He was determined in honoring all of his vows. He just 
needed her at his side, in any capacity. Besides, she 
was as commited to the quest as he was. If fate wanted 
them to be just partners, so let it be. He would not 
assume the risk of losing her forever because of his 
love for her. Maybe in the future they would have a 
chance to try again. And when it happened, he would do 
better, he would make her fall in love with him.

He made a last vow. He would give up on everything to make 
his mother happy and to keep Scully at his side. 

He crossed his arms on the table and rested his head on 
them.   

He would miss his happiness.

He would miss Scully.


*********************************   


Chapter 36 


There were the physical signs of *deja v=FB*.

The flickering light of the street lamps casting a soft 
glow into the night.

His car sliding quietly on the silent avenue.

The phone call in the middle of the night obliging him 
to leave anything else behind. 

The differences were that it hadn't been an anonymous 
call and he was not involved in another bust. 

This time Skinner believed he would just act as a 
listener to Agent Scully.

Actually, after the meeting he had with the hearing 
board this morning, it was clear that the best help 
he could offer was his ears. He could also offer his 
shoulder for her to cry on. After the events of that 
morning he knew just how much she could be in need of 
that. An ordinary woman would accept his generosity 
without a second consideration. 

Only Scully was not an ordinary woman. No ordinary 
woman would have faced so many prying eyes at once and 
keept her dignity. 

Mulder was a hell of a lucky man. 

Skinner had also agreed to meet her at the diner in 
Alexandria because he could use the distraction. Not 
that in this acute situation was he going to enjoy 
himself, but at least he wouldn't be walking up and 
down the floor of his apartment like an animal in a 
cage. Talking with Scully sure wasn't going to relax 
him, but it might tire him out enough to sleep until 
tomorrow morning. 

He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 

12:47 a.m.

There would be no tomorrow morning for anyone. 

Turning to the right, he saw the blue luminous of
the diner where he could read *Fort*.

At that time of the night he had no problems parking
his car. When he opened the door and stepped onto 
the pavement, he felt every bone he had in his body 
popping. He grimaced and streched his arms as far as 
he could. His old body didn't have resistance to 
that much pressure anymore.

He shoved his keys in his jacket pocket and started 
walking to the small diner, taking in the surroundings. 
He was slightly familiar with that neighborhood. He was 
sure he was close to Mulder's place. 

He opened the glass door and entered in a bright room 
with cream walls and a few people. A beautiful redhead 
wearing a blue apron that matched the little restaurant's 
furniture smiled at him. He smiled back at her and was 
ready to ask for information when he saw the shade of red 
he was looking for at a table in the back of the diner, 
watching the street outside through a large window. He 
smiled at the waitress again before walking to the table.

Scully had changed the black suit she was wearing in the 
morning. Like him, now she was wearing jeans and a man's 
shirt, pale green. Getting closer to her, Skinner saw 
that she hadn't been watching the movement out the 
diner. She was studying the pale face of the woman 
staring back at her in the large window.

"Scully."

She turned to look at him. He was glad to see that 
neither her eyes nor her nose were red; she hadn't been 
crying. There were no wrinkles in her forehead nor in 
the corners of her mouth. If he had to put a name to her 
expression, he would call it serene. 

"Sir," she said, "Thanks for coming."

He sat down in a chair across from her and together they 
waited for the waitress to come and get their orders. 
His order, since Scully was holding a cup of coffee. 

"Would you like to order now, sir?" the smiling girl 
asked him. 

"A cup of coffee. Decaffeinated."

"A decaf," repeated the girl, writing on her yellow
pad. "What about you, miss? Would you like to order 
now?"

Scully shook her head and the girl went to get his coffee.

If it was possible, he felt more embarrassed now than he 
had felt in their two previous meetings. 

"This is Mulder's neighborhood, isn't it?" he asked 
awkwardly.

Scully looked at him. Her eyes were clear. "Yes, he 
lives a few blocks down from here." 

The girl brought his coffee and they remained in silence 
for a few moments until she spoke again.

"This morning he said he was going home. He never came, 
sir." 

He frowned slightly. "Do you think that he went after 
someone?" He mentally reviewed the list of names she and 
Mulder had given him that morning, worried that he had 
gone after that guy, Victor something.

"No." She bowed her head and a lock of hair brushed her 
face. "He just didn't come." She blinked and kept 
staring at the dark beverage in her cup. 

He rubbed his hand on the cup, robbing it of its warmth. 
He looked at Scully and realized something new about her.
The woman before him was wearing her lover's shirt and 
had waited an entire day for a man that didn't come. 
Without make-up and a suit, she looked ordinnary. That was 
the first time that he looked at Scully and didn't see in 
her a defiant, competent and brave woman. He didn't see in 
her the beautiful woman he knew she was. For the first time,
he saw Dana Scully as a mortal woman, and he was afraid of 
that. 

"Why did you call me, Scully?"

She looked at him and pursed her lower lip as if 
selecting the right words. 

"I want to ask you a question, sir."

"Agent Scully, you're aware that I can't tell you what 
was discussed in the briefing this morning."

"Yes, sir. I'm aware of that." She stared out of the 
window. "I want to ask you something concerning Agent 
Mulder."

"What?"

She inhaled deeply before looking back at him. "I want 
you to tell me everything you know about Agents Mulder 
and Fowley's partnership." She gulped before continuing. 
"I know you were their superior for some time."

That question crammed Skinner in a place he didn't want 
to visit. He was aware that with Agent Fowley's return 
questions would be raised. What he had never considered 
was that he would be the one answering Scully's 
questions. 

"Agent Scully, I'm not the right person to talk about it 
with you."  

"Sir," she said, her voice steady again. "I could ask 
one of his friends, but I'm not interested in hearing 
about his personal life."

"Scully," he tried again.

"I know they were married." 

Skinner saw by her quivering chin just how much that 
fact hurt her, yet in a few seconds she regained her 
composure. 

"And I know they kept working together even being 
married." 

"I think their partnership didn't last six months, 
Scully."

She lowered her voice. "They were married, sir."

"They weren't a threat, Scully," he said softly. "When 
they worked together, the X-Files were nothing. You made 
them together." 

Scully's eyes gleamed, but she kept her control. The 
Scully he knew would never let the tears threaten to 
fall along her face in his presence.  Her force was 
still there, but there were small details, and yet 
irrefutable evidence, that Agent Scully would never be 
the same again. He was seeing the usual discipline and 
determination In her, but her fighting spirit was not 
there. 

Mulder was not there.  

That was the one thing Skinner had always been sure 
nobody would ever taken away from her - her partner.

"I made my decision, sir. But I need to know how they 
worked together before acting on it."

Skinner looked at her startled. At that moment he 
realized what that meeting was for.

"You can't do this to him, Scully."

"I can't let him choose," she said firmly.

The only words that came to his mind at that moment
were the ones Mulder told him on Saturday morning - 
'I can't be without her, sir.'

"Scully..."

The years he had spent in Vietnam made him familiar with 
sacrifices. He was an ex-Marine. He had been trained to 
lie down his life if needed in order to protect and to save.
That night he was learning that some sacrifices could be 
made in life.

"Please, sir." 

He was not the kind of man that would cheat life in order 
to avoid its lessons. He could not agree with its teaching 
methodology, but he would never run away from it. 

He gestured to the waitress to bring them some real coffee. 
He had a tale to tell, and he needed to be alert to tell her 
everything he remembered.

Even though he didn't have the sketchiest idea of how 
to do it. 


*****************


as now can't reveal the mystery of tomorrow
but in passing will grow older everyday
just as all that's born is new
you know what I say is true
that'll be loving you always
Stevie Wonder, As



Chapter 37 of 37

A thousand words could do no more damage to a man's soul
than would a thousand knives piercing through human flesh.

Mulder was the living proof of that.

Sitting there, staring at the vacant chairs of the five
lions that had just shredded and slashed his and his
partner's capacity of working together after...

Just after.

His outwards appearance carried the marks of the
brutal assault they had just suffered.

Waxen face.

Clammy skin.

Frozen lips.

Sagging shoulders.

Eyes deprived of any emotion but one.

Despair, so much despair that even the lingering touch
of the woman sitting beside him couldn't relieve it. The
touch of the wrong hands.

Skinner felt sorry for Agent Fowley.

He just couldn't stand that situation anymore. He left
the sixth chair on the tribune and headed to the hallway
to wait for Scully's return.

"We'll figure something out, Fox."

Skinner heard no response from Mulder, but he did feel
the agent's gaze following him towards the door, silently
pleading for help.

Skinner felt like the worst son of a bitch alive for 
ignoring the other man; he kept walking without looking
back.

Once outside, he closed the door behind him and his eyes
slid shut. How long it would take until the morning was
over?

What a hypocritic he was. The morning would be over as soon
as Scully came back from his office.

The irony of the situation was that had Mulder and Scully
been caught in any other circumstance, they might have had
months to collect proof of their innocence. But here, having 
involved in their case a FBI Supervisor and four Assistant 
Directors, who were eager to show how efficient they were,
all it took was seventy-two hours to impair five years of 
hard work and dedication of two of their most loyal fellows.

Once again Skinner felt sick with the system.

"Anything wrong, A.D. Skinner?"

"Nothing that I'm aware of, sir," Skinner replied,
opening his eyes.

"Good." Trajan opened the last button of his jacket.
"You know that this was necessary, Skinner."

Skinner looked up at Trajan and nodded. "I know that it
was necessary. What nobody seems to realize is that they
are two of my most efficient agents. They're good
together."

"I know," Trajan agreed. "I've listened to some stories about 
them. Pretty interesting I must add, pretty intense." Trajan 
snorted. "I like Mulder, Skinner, I had never seen him before 
that... indiscretion. I had heard about his passion for the 
unknown, that he wouldn't measure consequences to find a 
truth he so elusively pointed out, even with nobody to support 
him. I'm not sure if having this passion directed towards his 
partner is in their best interests as agents. I don't know 
if they would be impartial while in the field."

Skinner saw in Trajan's last words the opportunity to make
one last try. "So reconsider this, sir. Give them a chance
to work together again and prove that nothing changed."
Trajan rolled his eyes, but it didn't refrain Skinner.
"They work well together, they always have. Besides, this
is not the first time two agents have been involved."

"I know what you're referring to, Skinner," Trajan gently
interrupted him. "I know he and Agent Fowley were married.
At that time they weren't under my care, otherwise it would
have never happened. Never."

Skinner stepped aside when Trajan held the doorknob.

"Where's Agent Scully? She left right in the beginning
of our break."

"She won't be late. She's a very disciplined agent."

"I know," Trajan acquiesced. "She'd better be back soon.
I want to get this situation over with as much as you do
Skinner." Trajan hesitated before opening the door. "I'm
not the villain here, but I must keep the order. That's
my job, and I'm proud of it." Then he turned his back on
Skinner and entered in the room.

Skinner just sighed, and waited.

It didn't take too long for the other members of the board
to appear, and soon everyone was back inside the room.

He would give up his Italian tie collection if he
could just avoid the impending events that would follow
Scully's return.

The sound of her heels echoing on the hallway floor told
him he was too late with his attempt of a bargain.

She stood in front of him holding the manila folder she
had showed him that morning.

"I'm ready, sir."

He knew that already. She had been ready since he had
finished telling Mulder and Fowley's story of working
together as partners at two o'clock in the morning. That
was not the kind of bedtime story he would like to be telling,
but she had asked for this. In the end, Mulder would be
the one paying for the nightmare of their lives.

Scully reached out to turn the doorknob and he did the
same, putting his hand upon hers.

"Think again."

"I've spent enough time thinking about it, sir," she said,
staring at their hands. "There's nothing else to be
done."

Skinner cursed under his breath. Why did she have to be
that stubborn?

"There's always something that can be done, Scully."

When she looked at him, her lips were a thin line with a
slight, almost imperceptible curve on their corners. In
her eyes he saw a glow born not of happiness, but of the
wisdom acquired through the years working and suffering
beside her partner.

"I have to do this now, sir." She gently pushed his hand
away and turned the doorknob. "I have to do this while I
still can," she whispered softly.

'That's it,' he thought watching her walking into the room,
'the end of everything.' The other shoe had most definitely
dropped. He was the only one that hadn't seen it yet. Resigned,
he followed her towards her and her partner's future.

Walking to the main board, he saw that Diana had gone
back to her chair in the end of the room. All the members of
the OPR were already in their places.

"A.D. Skinner, please sit down so we can continue with the
session."

Before sitting beside A.D. Sanders, Skinner glanced at
the partners sitting side by side.

He wasn't supposed to feel that aching in his heart.

"Now that A.D. Skinner is here, we can return to our
discussion regarding Agents Mulder and Scully," said
Trajan without lifting his eyes from the report he had in
hands.

"Excuse me, sir."

Scully's loud and clear voice drew everyone's attention
towards her. Skinner grimly nodded his encouragement at
her. Now those sons of a bitch would know the strength of
that woman.

As would Mulder.

Mulder.

His gaze had followed Scully as she stood beside him, the
manila folder in her hands.

"Agent Scully, could you wait until I'm finished with my
next questions?"

"I'm afraid I can't, sir," she said without flinching.
"You'll finish with your reading, more questions will be
made, more answers will be given, and Agent Mulder and I
will still be ignored."

"Agent Scully," Trajan said in a complacent tune, "I know
this is a tense situation, that's why I'll completely
ignore your last remark. Now, please sit down."

"All I'm asking is for two minutes of your attention,
sir."

While the other four members of the board and Trajan
exchanges glances, Skinner followed Mulder's reaction.
His jaw was clenched and his right hand closed in a fist,
his eyes lost someplace on Scully's skirt. 'Be strong,'
Skinner was mentally repeating when Trajan spoke again.

"All right, Agent Scully; you have your two minutes."

"Thank you, sir." She briefly looked at each person
sitting on the board. "It won't take too long."

Trajan quirked his head, giving her permission to start.
In the back of the room, he saw Diana leaning forward in
her chair.

"When I was offered a position to work with Agent Mulder
five years ago, I listened to several warnings about his
unconventional theories and unorthodox behavior. I was
told that it would be career suicide if I accepted
this job." The words rolled from her mouth in an
unremitting flow of lucid ideas. "In the beginning I
was inclined to agree with them. By the end of our
first case together as a team, I realized that this had
been the most unrivalled decision I could have made in
my professional life."

Mulder lifted his eyes to look at her face and his 
expression spoke volumes of gratitude. That unsolicited 
sensation that he had betrayed this man's trust spread 
inside Skinner all over again. He wished Scully would
shorten her speech so he could flee from there.

After having delicately moistened  her lips, Scully
continued. "Agent Mulder is a competent and serious
professional who believes in what he does. Working with
him in the X-Files division proved to be an elucidating
path in my life, in all capacities. For this alone I'll
be eternally grateful for the opportunity that has been
given to me."

Skinner knew the exact moment Mulder became aware of the
meaning behind Scully's words. He got still in his
chair, and the momentary ember that had blazed in his
eyes died all at once. His fingers, that until now were
held in a tight fist on the table, spread themselves on
the veneer surface, gripping its edge. His Adam's apple
bobbed up and down and his head unconsciously shook in
denial, asking her to stop.

"Agent Mulder's work is important. I worked with him, I
know the seriousness of the information his files carry.
I had the certainty that my working with the FBI could
make a difference to mankind; I was wrong." Scully,
just for a second, lowered her eyelids and looked at
Mulder, then she looked back at the people on the board.
"Agent Mulder is the difference." Swiftly she left her
place beside Mulder and walked to Trajan. When she was
right in front of him, she handed him the folder. "I
won't be the one who will take this away from him."

Trajan picked up the folder and carefully pulled out the
sheet of paper that carried the warrant demise of the
five year old partnership. Trajan perched his glasses on
the edge of his nose and started reading the document
Skinner had helped Scully to compose.

After what seemed like time enough to read just the first
lines of the letter, Trajan made his inquiry.

"Is this your transfer request, Agent Scully?"

Sanders and the other A.Ds looked startled at Scully.
Mulder's eyes were wide open. Slowly he braced his
elbows on the table and entwined his fingers together,
then he pressed his lips against them.

"Yes, sir; it is."

In the back of the room, Skinner saw that Diana couldn't
take her eyes off Scully. She seemed to be as much taken
aback by Scully's attitude as any other person in that
room was, yet Skinner could swear he saw a timid hint of
joy on her face.

"Don't you think this is a hasty decision, Agent
Scully?" Trajan asked softly.

"I was sent to debunk Agent Mulder's work, sir, but his
work can't be debunked because it's serious and it's
noble. It's also a menace to too many people. I think it
was clear with the fire and with all the other loses we
suffered through the course of the years. Yet all those
defeats, if nothing else, made us stronger." She stopped
and looked at the paper in Trajan's hand. "It wasn't an
easy decision, sir, but it's the right one. I won't let
what we had be used to destroy him."

"We won't discuss your personal lives here, Agent
Scully."

"No, sir. We won't discuss anything personal here because 
there's nothing personal to be discussed. I can't stay 
because it would give ammunition to discredit his work; 
I'll be accused of  cooperating with his convoluted theories 
even though I had never done something like that."

"This issue was never raised here, Agent Scully. We know
you and Agent Mulder are both professionals. However, I won't 
permit two romantically involved agents who happen to be 
partners to keep working together. The consequences can be 
disastrous both personally and professionally."

"You are denying us a chance," came the shaky reply from
behind Scully.

Mulder was standing behind the table they had been
sitting at,  but in two long strides he was in front of
Trajan, too.

"Mulder, don't," Scully muttered.

He just ignored her. "Based on what you saw you're putting
down not only our capacity of working together, but also..."

"Agent Mulder," Trajan gently warned him, "we won't discuss
this again. I don't want to know how long you've been involved
nor anything concerning this matter. What I do know are the
procedures both of you are used to taking in order to protect
each other. It wasn't even three months ago when you were
at this same room because of this same situation."

Mulder stared directly at Trajan's eyes. "You're taking away
my partner," he mumbled in rage. "And I don't  even know why."

"She chose to leave, Agent Mulder," Trajan reminded him.

Mulder shook his index finger in front of Trajan's nose.
"You gave her no option and I won't accept this!"

"There's nothing for you to accept, Mulder," murmured
Scully, avoiding look at him.

"You can't just leave me!"

Skinner forgot how to breath. Beside him, Sander was
sweating and had ducked his pink tinged face. The
other A.Ds and even Trajan fidgeted uncomfortably in
their chairs while Diana wiped the corner of her eyes
before Mulder's painful wail.

"You can't leave me alone, Scully."

Tears twinkled in Scully's eyes.

"I won't leave you alone, Mulder," she assured him with
the tenderness of a promise. "I'm sure Agent Fowley will
gladly stay in my place."  Reluctantly, Scully looked
back at Trajan. "She's a good agent, sir. Agent Mulder
and she had already worked together. She'll know how to
help him."

"Agent Scully, their partnership didn't work out."

"I'm sure they won't commit the same mistakes now, sir."

Mulder reached out as if to touch her, but his arms
surrendered to the tension being inflicted on him.
Skinner had seen enough fallen soldiers in his life to
know when a battle had been lost.

Trajan cast a conciliatory look at her. "You don't have
to give up on everything, Agent Scully."

"I can't have less than what I had, sir. In any capacity."
Glancing one last time around the room, she completed
softly. "There's nothing else for me to do here." Without
asking for permission, she turned on her heels and her
confident gait carried her out of the room.

The moment was frozen in time. No one moved, no one said
a word. Breathing came out just by instinct. The room
was warm, but the chill of the excitement created goosebumps
on his skin. There was no embarrassment, and one day he would
be over that sickening feeling of failure. Scully was a
woman of attitude and Skinner unconsciously knew there was
nothing he could have done to change her mind. He had done
the right thing, he had saved a soldier.

He looked at the spot in front of the tribune.

And he had killed a warrior in the process.

Mulder was shaking. His respiration came in raged wheezes
from his mouth. His eyes were dark, and his blank look was
fixed on no one in the room. His large nostrils were red,
his waywardness was the stake holding him up.

"Agent Mulder?" came Trajan's concerned voice.

He lifted his eyes in compass with the rapid rise
and fall of his chest. The flames burning in there
evaporated into steam Trajan's self confidence until it
disappeared completely, making the supervisor back away.

"Fuck you."

His words came in the form of a cold whisper that filled
every corner of the still silence in the room.

Mulder stormed out from there. No one dared to stop him.

If Skinner had to pinpoint how long they remained
there, sitting in total silence, he would be at a loss.

Maybe it had been when Trajan weakly ordered someone to
go after them. Or maybe it was when he saw Diana standing
to do as they were told, and he had to dash out through the
door.

"I'll get them, Agent Fowley."

It was five steps from the door to the elevator. By his
second step he wished he had stayed inside.

Mulder was clinging at Scully despairingly. The whiteness on
the joints of his fingers contrasted with the hunter green of
her jacket sleeve, their tips turning red. The lock of hair
covering part of his temple kept mimicking the soft shaking
of his limbs as he stared at her angst filled face. The
intensity in his eyes was absorbing the sorrow in her face and
turning it in his own. Fear that in his desperate state he
would end up hurting Scully, Skinner got closer to them and
held Mulder by his arms.

"How do you expect me to do this?" he heard what was
left of Mulder's voice asking Scully. "I can't do this."
Her pursed lips started trembling and her throat moved
softly when she swallowed a sob. "I don't know how to do
this anymore, Scully," Mulder pleaded again. "Don't make
me stop now."

This time a soft sob broke free from deep inside of her
and Skinner had to make a monumental effort to guard one
of his own. He didn't have the right to be there and be
the uncalled witness of that moment. He didn't have the
right to stand right behind his broken agent oblivious
to any other living being but to the woman he loved,
pressed by his large hands against the cold steel of the
elevator's door.

He didn't have the right to see all the burden of the
love they shared sliding in two crystal goblets down the
woman's face.

"My beautiful Mulder."

In the whisper of space they had between them, she stepped
forward to brush perfect lips against Mulder's forehead.

The elevator's car had finally found its destination and
opened its door to her.

"Scully..."

"Let her go, Mulder," Skinner said with tenderness. Mulder's
arms lay limply when Skinner pulled them away from Scully.

Without turning her back on them, she stepped into the car.
Its door closed again, taking the woman that seemed impossibly
small from the top of her high heels away from them.

"Don't make me stop now, Scully," Mulder whispered to
his own reflection on the polished steel door.

Part of his duty as an A.D. was to offer support when
one of his agents was in need of it. It was professional
and it was right.

"I can't go through it again."

Skinner knew which words to say to the grieving; he had
uttered them to Mrs. Mulder when her son had been
reported missing, and repeated them to Scully when her
sister had died.

He had no discourse to say to the ones grieving the
living. To improvise the words would make them sound
artificial, but he would still do this if he was sure
the agent was going to absorb them before they vanished
in the air like smoke.

Smoke.

First he listened to the raspy friction, the sound of
flesh rubbing metal, then the timid, almost non-existent
flickering of fire coming into life. The tang, spicy
smell of herb burning completed the picture. He half
stepped sideways to confirm his suspicious.

The fucking bastard was a few feet behind them, a cigarrette
firmly held against the shadow of the mischievous smile his 
lips formed.

"So it came the day when she finally left you."

Mulder, that until now was unaware of the man's presence,
turned his body towards the voice, too.

"The cancer, the little girl, two abductions. If I knew
you were the key to push her away, I'd have come up
with that last... scheme much sooner. The most effective
means are indeed the cheaper ones."

"You..."

"Of course it was me, Agent Mulder," the Smoking Man replied
to Mulder's sputter. "You knew it was me; you just didn't have
the proof, as always." He smiled sweetly at Mulder. "Next time 
I'll plant more evidence for those hacker friends of yours. 
But of course there won't be a next time. Agent Scully's gone."

The magnetism of the whole situation was holding Skinner to
the floor, otherwise he would have already lunged against the
older man.

"Fifty years of study, Agent Mulder. Do you know how much this 
was worth?" The Smoking Man shook his head. "That's what your 
last Romeo-in-love act cost us, Agent Mulder. Fifty years of 
study were lost in Antartica, and all of it because you 
couldn't stay away from her." He took a long drag of his 
cigarette, pensive. "It's fair: fifty years of progress for 
five years of your life."

Mulder's body waved and Skinner had to hold him upwards.

"I know it's not easy, Agent Mulder, but look at the
bright side of the situation: we have fifty years to
reconstruct; you've just lost five of yours."

He had taken everything he could. Forgetting the boneless
body he had in his arms, Skinner launched forward and
trapped the other man against the wall. In a brisk movement
he had his gun pressed against the man's side. "Enduring the
rest of my life in prison will be worth it if I kill you."

"You could allege temporary insanity due to this stressful
job and keep your pension, Mr. Skinner."

Skinner trembled and he freed the safety of his gun. "Don't
tempt me," he hissed and pushed his body away from the Smoking
bastard. "Just get the fuck away from here."

Smoking Man straightened his black jacket and dragged the
cigarette one last time before throwing it on the floor.
He nodded solemnly at Mulder and walked away.

With his hands still shaking, Skinner holstered the gun
on his back again, then turned to look at Mulder.

There were two long trail of tears on the agent's face.

"Come on, Mulder," he said gently, holding the agent by
his arms. "Let's sit you down."

He was taking Mulder to a bench in the hall when he heard
steady thud of heels touching the floor behind them.

"Fox, are you all right?" Diana asked.

Mulder didn't emit a sound and Skinner feared he was going
into shock.

"Agent Fowley, he needs a moment. Could you please go back
inside and tell them that?" he asked more harshly than he
should.

Diana cringed, but instead of stepping away, she moved
forward to meet them.

"I'm sorry, sir, but they sent me here to get my partner
back into that room."

Skinner held nothing personal against Diana, but he
wasn't in the mood to deal with her audacity right now.

"It's an order, Agent Fowley."

"The supervisor sent me here," she said petulantly.

"Agent Fowley..."

"That's okay, Skinner. I can go back now."

Mulder spoke softly. Despite his tears, some of his self
confidence was gleaming again in his eyes.

"You don't have to do this now, Mulder," Skinner tried
to reason with him.

"I have a job to finish. I won't let him win." He looked
at Diana and said, "Let's go."

Diana smiled and reached out her hands to him. Skinner
let him go. Diana embraced Mulder around his waist, her
left hand held his left arm against his side, and her
right one rested on his belly while they walked past
Skinner.

"She didn't believe in your work and you accomplished
all of this, Fox. Imagine what we can do together
again."

Skinner closed his eyes and sighed sadly. There was
another pool going on, this time to know if Mulder would
stay with Scully. The odds were forty to one that he
would leave her in favor of the X-Files. Skinner was the
one who had anonymously made his bet that they would
stay together.

He smoothed his jacket and pushed an imaginary lock of
hair away from his face. When he was reasonably recovered,
he started walking to the OPR room.

He didn't care for the money. He just wished that this time
the house would lose.

And they would win.



End Book I of III

until the rainbow burns the stars up in the sky
until the ocean covers every mountain high
until the dolphin flies and parrots live at sea
until we dream of life and life becomes a dream
until the day is night and night becomes the day
until the trees and seas just up and fly away
until the day that 8x8x8 is 4
until the day that is the day that are no more
Stevie Wonder, As


*********************


Author's Notes.


That's the end of the first part on this journey. I wouldn't have
come this far without the help of some valuable sources. 

- All the information about the FBI and about Martha's Vineyard 
came from the fabulous Deep Background. 

- Alanna has a beautiful page about Martha's Vineyard, too. The 
pictures in there are highly inspiring, and she gives us a poetic 
description of the things she saw. Try it, it's worth the visit.

- And then there are the fantastic people on Haven Message Board 
that answered my weird questions about life and customs in the 
United States and never mocked me. 

All of you were great help. Thanks :)

And then there is that bunch of people that were my source of
support and inspiration during this long journey.

- My Beta Reader Team: Georgia, Mish, Toniann, trixie and Eden, 
who appeared in different stages of my writing, but that there's
no doubt about their importance in this process. You were one of 
the best English courses I've ever had. I have a basket full of 
cocadas to you here in Brazil, my dears :)

- My cousins: Rosi, Li, Ana, and my sis Patty-Patty - you won't 
understand this one, but thanks for the support. A cerveja e por 
minha conta :)

And, of course, thanks for the incentive that all of you offered to
me, and a special thanks to a group of ladies - you know  who you 
are - that was always there, whether making questions or encouraging 
me to write more. Thank you.

Toniann, thanks for the beautiful house that Kimpa's new dustjacket
made even better.

A single text file will be up in a few weeks. And so will be the first 
chapter of Book II. 

See you then.

Dri

*******

Title: As Book II - Thanksgiving 1/3

Author: Dri

Category: MSR 

Rating: R for sexual situations

Archieve: Sure. Just let me know where so I can visit it.

Disclaimer: The characters you recognize belong to the surfer guy,
the ones that you don't belong to me.

Summary: Being together is just the beginning.

Author's note: Hey all! Resposting this baby here for Thaksgiving and 
getting ready to post *Christmas* in December. My betas ( hi Georgia, Kayla )
- and Myra ( hi Myra )- can attest I've been writing. *g*

As always my thanks go to Georgia and Toniann for their hardwork beta-ing
this fic. What would I have done without you, my dears?

Comments dearly appreciated at marmalad@terra.com.br
 
*********


  did you know that true love asks for nothing
  her acceptance is the way we pay
  did you know that life has given love a guarantee
  to last through forever and another day

		Steven Wonder, As


Thanksgiving 1/2


"What's MSR?"

Mulder put the cardboard box he had been carrying back on the carpeted 
step and turned to see what Langly wanted.

"What?"

"MSR," Langly repeated, tilting his head in the direction of the box he 
had with him. "What's this thing?"

Mulder sighed and wiped his hands on his battered jeans. "What's the 
problem with you guys? I've been repeating what those letters 
stand for the whole morning." He got closer to Langly in the middle of 
the living room and traced each blue scrawled letter with his index 
finger. "Mulder and Scully's Room, Langly. Mulder and Scully's Room." 
Amused, he quirked the corner of his mouth and snapped, "Maybe you 
should lose this ponytail, pal; it's clearly damaging your line of 
thought."

"Maybe you should have spent your last night as a bachelor with us 
instead of trying to mess with our minds." Frohike said on the behalf of 
his friend. "Frankly, Mulder, what's the purpose of all those letters? 
What's the problem with the letter 'B' for bedroom?"

"There are three bedrooms in the house," he calmly informed. "How would 
you know which room to go to?"

"B1, B2, B3?" Langly suggested while walking past Mulder towards the 
staircase.

"Nope, too easy," Mulder said, following Langly. "What would be the fun 
in it?" Mulder picked up the box labeled S/K that had wrongly ended up 
in the second guestroom upstairs again. 

"S/Sk, S/O, M/K, M/O," Frohike catalogued as he passed by several of 
the boxes scattered around the living room and in the hall. "You didn't 
even bother in putting subtitles on them." 

"Hey, I stayed up until two o'clock in the morning labeling these 
boxes," Mulder replied. "I was too tired to subtitle them. You decode 
messages from the Pentagon, for Christ's sake." 

"That's work. This was supposed to be fun," Langly said.

"Carrying boxes the whole day is your idea of fun?" Mulder asked 
surprised. Langly just shuddered and continued on his way back upstairs. 
"You should get a life."

"It took you how many years to get a life, oh Mighty Mulder?"

Mulder barely had the time to reply to Langly's insult before they heard 
Frohike half wailing in agony.

"What the hell is M/S/Sk?" 
 
Mulder again put the box he was carrying on the step and tried to 
calm down his distressed friend. When he looked at the large box 
Frohike had with him, he couldn't help but smile fondly at the 
package that guarded all the new purchases he and Scully had bought the 
week before. They were only supposed to have gotten a DVD player and a 
new TV. They ended up bringing home another dozen plates, mugs, glasses, 
and her credit card was going to remain useless until the next month. 

"Everything that has a 'k' goes to the kitchen and the ones with an 'o' 
go to the basement." 

"Thank you, Scully. You just ruined all the char..."

Whatever he was telling her lost its meaning and importance at the sight 
of her coming down the stairs with her hair held in a loose ponytail, 
and his flannel shirt revealing the pale curve of her shoulder 
that her white tank top didn't cover. He missed kissing her there. He 
realized it had been four days since they had had the energy to do 
something other than share the same pillow and sleeping bag.

"That was totally uncalled for, Scully," he said in a vain attempt at 
shooing away his desire to use her as an excuse to embarrass Langly.

"One more funny thing and you'll lose these cheap helpers."

Mulder looked back in time to see Frohike disappearing into the narrow 
hallway that led to the kitchen, barely able to balance the heavy box in 
his arms.

"He'll fall with that box, Mulder."
    
"We promised them food, Scully. He may break some plates as an act of 
rebellion for this cheap treatment, but that's all. Besides, it's almost 
lunch time." Mulder forgot his parcel and patted his empty stomach, 
getting closer to her. "Woman, get down here and make me a sandwich!"

Her blue eyes got wide with surprise, and a second later they narrowed 
into a leer. "Take a break, Mulder. Lifting these boxes is not doing 
good things to you." Then she turned to Langly and beckoned him to 
follow her. "I'll show you where to put this."

"This is an MSR," Langly said, marching up the stairs.

"It's the sitting room. If we're wrong, Mulder can come down with it 
later." 

"You know, nobody's cheaper than us, Scully."

"I know, Langly, I know."

Their tennis shoes went out of sight when they turned the second set of 
stairs. 

He felt like bursting with happiness.

For the past three months, in times like this, he had distanced himself 
to be sure that he wasn't living another person's life. The man's 
reflection he saw in the mirror everyday was the same one he was used to 
staring back at for the last ten years. The color of his eyes had not 
changed, his hair was as thick as it had been forever, and he still 
didn't like his nose. 

But she liked it. According to her very own words, she loved every inch 
of him. Even though the times she told him he was loved were rare, what 
he had was enough. 

Having the life they had together was enough.

Mulder picked up the S/K box yet again, this time determined to take it 
to its final destination. Pushing some of the boxes out of his way, he 
finally reached the large kitchen. 

Or chaos, he wasn't sure.

The boxes of dishes they had just bought were piled next to the stove, 
and the plastic bags that had covered the furniture were carelessly 
thrown on the new table, where the workers hired to set the furniture 
had left it the night before. And then there was all the stuff he and 
Scully had packed from their apartments, and some more to the point he 
really didn't know why they had bought. Boxes, boxes, boxes, and old 
furniture mixed with the new, and the cupboards were open so air could 
circulate inside of them, and the refrigerator was half-open because 
someone hadn't bothered to check to see if it was closed, and the people 
responsible for the kitchen were nowhere to be seen.

"What the hell is this?"

Byers' head appeared from among the cardboard and wood fort. He 
looked around the place, unconcerned by the mess, before getting back to 
his business. "The kitchen, I suppose."

Byers's words fell on deaf ears as Mulder made a complete circle around 
the room, trying to estimate how many boxes they had there. Too many, 
for his own sake. "Where did all these things come from? Are you sure 
there's just kitchen stuff here?"

"Positive," Byers said without stopping his chore. "I brought them 
here myself."

"I didn't know we had so many things." Mulder was desolate, wondering 
how long it would take him and Scully to put the townhouse in order. Or 
just the kitchen, for that matter.

"After eating directly from paper containers for so long, I bet you had 
no idea you even had plates in your house." Frohike's voice was muffled 
and there was no way Mulder could see his small figure in the crowded 
kitchen. 

Mulder put his box on a chair and cracked the grey adhesive tape to peek 
inside of it. Scully's dishes. 

"Scully likes my dishes." He thought it would be safer to put the box on 
the floor along with the other ones.

"She sure does. She's joining hers with yours."

Mulder chose to associate Frohike's observation to his overzealous 
behavior towards Scully rather than jealousy. 

"And I'm damn glad she is, Mulder." Frohike's smiling face appeared from 
behind the backdoor. "You guys deserve it."

Frohike's words touched Mulder. He took time to glance around his 
and Scully's new kitchen, the clear wood of their new cupboards, the 
whiteness of the new electrical appliances, from their new toaster to 
their recently bought refrigerator. A small part of their new home, the 
beginning of their new life together.

Really there was no need to bother with boxes, empty or not, anymore. He 
would always have sufficient help to get rid of them.   

"I was smart enough to get her," 

"Let's see if you're smart enough to not let her go," said Frohike, 
again fussing with god-knows-what behind the door.

Mulder shuddered at the mere thought of her walking away from him 
again. The moment that elevator door closed on his face when she had 
abandoned the hearing, he was sent to hell.
 
Mulder pulled her yellow mug out of the box and turned it in his hands. 
"That is not an option, Frohike," he said quietly, then he put the mug 
back inside the box and started into motion again. "Can you handle 
things down here?"

He got no response, but since the guys had under their care thousands of 
dollars worth devices, he decided he could trust their china to them. 

He went to the den. Things were a bit more organized there. During the 
past week he and Scully had met in the townhouse after work and brought 
some of their things, most from his apartment. He hadn't had the time to 
hang the pictures on the wall, but his leather couch and coffee table 
were already there. Scully had organized his British and her American 
Encyclopedias on the shelves of the wooden bookcase covering an entire 
wall in the comfortable room. His father's antique oak desk was en route 
from West Tisbury, and he believed they would still have space to place  
at least one of his armchairs, and his bizarre coat tree could easily 
fit in the corner behind the door. 

With nothing practical for him to do in the den, he went back to the 
living room. He was sorting through the boxes there when Byers called 
him.  

"Hey, Mulder, we have an M/S here. Where do you want me to put it?"

Mulder turned to see his friend standing in the living room door with a 
average sized package in one arm and a red case in his left hand. 

"I'll take care of those, Byers," he said, relieving the other man of 
his burden. "Thank you."

Carefully moving around the labyrinth of packages and furniture, he made 
his way upstairs towards his and Scully's bedroom. 


********************

Only a few inches of her forearm could be seen between her yellow gloves 
and the rolled up sleeves of Mulder's shirt. That's the spot she used to 
wipe the sprinkles of sweat on her cheeks. So tired. That was the one 
thing she wasn't looking forward to when she agreed to move in with 
Mulder. Many years of practice had made her too much of a pro at moving 
days to mistake it with a romantic stroll in the park. She was sure 
Mulder would love to take a walk, holding her rubber gloved hands and 
kissing her smell-like-bathroom-cleaner hair in public. 

But at least their bathroom was clean; that morning there was just the 
sink and the other assets to be taken care of. She had washed its walls 
and the tub on Wednesday evening while Mulder painted the bedroom. 
Everything needed to be ready by Thursday morning, before the new 
bedroom set was delivered. When they finished their tasks it was already 
past one a. m, but the bathroom was shining and the peach color of the 
bedroom was lovely. That color on the walls looked so right, she wanted 
to lick it. Not the manly dark shade of beige Mulder wanted nor the 
sterile white she had chosen, but peach. For some strange reason she 
couldn't explain, she had the impression that the walls would taste 
juicy and sweet with a twist of tartness for good measure, the perfect 
mixture of the two of them. 

Definitely tasty.

She pulled off her gloves and threw them in a bucket, then rubbed her 
slippery hands together. The teeth in her gift horse's mouth may not be 
beautiful, but who was she to complain? If she had to share Mulder's 
sleeping bag, camped in her dismantled apartment for another week, she 
would be glad to do it all over again. It was a comfort to know that the 
heaviness in her chest would be the one caused by his arms crisscrossed 
over her breasts pulling her to him in their sleep, and not because of 
the longing she felt when she realized she wanted that man to be her 
companion for the rest of her life.

And nothing could possibly be compared to the heaviness she had felt 
when she abandoned that meeting almost four months ago.

She went to the sink and turned on the cold tap, letting the wet hissing 
sound of running water wash that brief, yet terrifying past away. 

She didn't remember breathing in the six hour hiatus between the time 
she left the FBI building to walk with no destination on the streets of 
Washington, and the moment she stepped in her building to find him 
huddled in her hallway floor, clutching the frame his mother had asked 
her to deliver to him like every puff of air he was releasing among his 
tears depended on it. She thought she had already shed all the tears 
inside of her, but when he stood up on his feet and silently handed her 
the now empty frame with his red rimmed eyes begging her to accept it, 
to build new memories with him, she started sobbing all over again. She 
barely locked the door behind them and he swept her to him in a fierce, 
tight embrace. Their limbs bumped on the furniture while he hauled her 
to her bedroom, both of them blinded by their tears, their kisses, their 
despair, by the raw desire that ravished their bodies. They had spent 
the rest of the day and the entire evening in each other's arms making 
love, making vows, making promises that they would stay together no 
matter what. Just much later, in the wee small hours of the morning, 
when they were too deliciously sore to be together again, had she laid 
her head on his chest and realized what was happening. 

He had come back to her. 

She wept again, but this time enveloped in the blissful sensation of his 
skin pressed against hers in a warm embrace. When he asked her why she 
was crying, she told him that he was the man she had been born to be 
with. He didn't cry, but through her tears and even in the dim light she 
could see that he glowed. 

The following morning, he handed Skinner his transfer request.

"Scully, where are you?"

"In the bathroom."

She let the cold water run on her hands for another moment before 
turning off the tap. She quickly looked at her flushed reflection in the 
mirror above the sink, and turned in time to see him appear at the 
doorway. She recognized the case he had with him as the one she'd use 
for the toiletries they were using in her apartment. 

"Did I leave it downstairs?"

He nodded and went to her, then he put the case on the grey marble 
counter of the sink. He smiled in sympathy at her. "Got mixed up with 
the things in the kitchen. I'm sorry."

She opened the case and took out her facial mask and his aftershave 
lotion. "That's okay. I just thought I was finished with the bathroom."  

He looked around the bathroom and its pristine walls with appreciation. 
"Job well done." His arms encircled her waist from behind and he nuzzled 
her hair. "You're smelling like that pink stuff you use to clean the 
bathroom, Scully."

She fought the urge to smile. "I knew I had a good reason to let my 
toothbrush cohabitate with yours, Mulder."

He chuckled and squeezed her belly. "Tonight I can show you a few more 
good reasons to prove you made the right decision."

She closed her eyes and let herself drink in the warm sensation of his 
proximity. She opened them again to meet his in the mirror. 

"What?" his reflection asked her.

"I miss you."

Whenever she confessed something like that to him, his surprised eyes 
lingered on her for several long seconds, as if trying to stretch the 
moment to no end. This time wasn't any different, except that now she 
was able to hold the artificial gaze in the mirror with her own until he 
bent down to kiss her neck. Then she had to close her eyes again.

"Tonight, Scully."

"We'll be too tired," she said, facing the burning red projected on the 
walls of her closed eyelids.

"We'll find the energy to savor it together. I'll make it up to you." He 
sucked her earlobe and  brushed his fingers across her breasts, making 
her nipples harden against the soft cotton of her tank top.

With her eyes still closed, she caressed the back of his hand with the 
pads of her fingers. Through the layers of jeans covering them, she 
could feel his crotch rubbing against her buttocks. 

"You better go now, Mulder," she moaned.

He suckled on her earlobe one more time before letting her go. He 
nuzzled her hair again and whispered, "Tonight."

She nodded and held herself upright until she felt he wasn't there 
anymore. She leaned forward and let her forehead rest against the cold 
mirror, her breathing slightly labored.

Tonight.

********************

He looked at their unmade bed.

He missed her, too.

Four days. It wasn't that long if he considered the endless nights when  
desire had been his only companion. In one thing those lonely times 
served him right: he had acquired an impressive will power of mind over 
matter. Sure lately, after a many-year dry spell, he was far 
from living as a monk, but it didn't mean he was cured. He called her 
twice a day at Quantico, and they tried to once a week have lunch 
together. Besides, he was a very disciplined junkie: he knew that even 
if he didn't get in touch with her through the day, the nights were 
reserved for his Scully fix. 
 
He looked again at their bed before partly closing the bedroom door.

Tonight.

With smug satisfaction, he started whistling on his way back downstairs.

"Hey, Mulder, is it you there?"

He took two steps back and entered the sitting room.  

It was a small re-creation of Scully's former living room with larger 
windows. Her sofa, end tables and one of her armchairs were already 
there, and Scully had plans to hang some pictures on the wall and to put 
a few vases of flowers near the window. It was cozy, a perfect place to 
relax after a stressful day going through the violent crime reports in 
the field office.  
     
"Yeah, Langly."

Langly was setting the VCR and television that came from Scully's 
apartment on Mulder's old rack. "Do you want the rack here?"

"I think so. It's the perfect place, in front of the sofa and 
everything."

"Okay. I'll set up the DVD in the living room as soon as I'm finished 
here."

"Fine. Scully wouldn't let me go near that thing with a screwdriver, 
anyway," he said amused.

"Yeah." 

The excess of bemusement in Langly's reply got Mulder curious, but he 
refrained himself of making any smart comment. 

"Pass me the pliers, Mulder." Langly's eyes searched for Mulder's and 
his lips stretched in a tiny smile. "You know what pliers are, don't 
you, Mulder?"

"Whenever I need this kind of assistance, I use the telephone." Mulder 
knelt down besides Langly, and with rough hands he rummaged through 
the tool case. "But yes, I know what pliers are." He handed Langly the 
tool. Langly used the instrument to cut a two inch length piece of blue 
cable. "Won't you need this to connect the VCR?"

"Too long," Langly simply said. "This house has outlets everywhere." 
Then, as if remembering something, he looked at Mulder with inquisitive 
eyes. "A house needs maintenance, Mulder. Who's going to do this now?"

"Scully."

"That's a man's job."

"See?"

Langly gave the pliers back to Mulder. "I've always known she was the 
man in this relationship." He winked at Mulder. "A fine good looking 
man."

Mulder arched his brow in surprise. Once or twice he caught Byers 
studying the elegant curves on Scully's face, too shy to acknowledge 
that she had curves everywhere, for which Mulder was damn grateful 
because with his gentle manners, Byers could have any woman he wanted if 
he just knew how. As for Frohike... Well, Frohike was Frohike, which 
dispensed any other comment. However the thought of Langly paying 
attention to his partner's beauty never crossed his mind. 

"I didn't grow a second head, Mulder, so stop looking at me this way." 
Fumbling with a Swiss knife, Langly got busy cutting another inch of the 
blue plastic enveloping the cable. 

It took Mulder another second or two before he became aware that a tight 
line of lips locked in a crushing silence had replaced Langly's jovial 
smile. 

"You'd make a mean monster of the week with two heads," Mulder said, the 
closest to apologizing he could get to. 

The indifferent rise and fall of Langly's shoulders told Mulder things 
were screwed up. He stood up to leave before the damage became 
irreparable. 

"I notice these things, Mulder. Women, you know."

"I never said you didn't." 

"You never needed to. People look at me and just see a computer geek."

"You are a computer geek, Langly," he attested, matter of fact.

"And until yesterday you were a sorry excuse of a smart ass afraid of 
asking your best girl out." Langly smirked at him. "Am I lying?"

Afraid? He hadn't been afraid of asking Scully out; he had been 
terrified. Even after they started dating, the insecure jerk inside of 
him had a hard time admitting she really enjoyed his company. 
  
"What can I say, Langly? I'm a romantic."

"I'd say you're a chicken, just like us."

"I have better looks," Mulder snorted back.

"That you have."

He squatted and patted Langly's back. "So you recognize it?"

"I meant that you're a good looking chicken." Langly twisted his lips in 
a faked smile. "But you got some of my respect back after what you did." 

"And that was..."

"We know you're married to your work, Mulder." Langly turned his 
attention back to the VCR. "When we got word of what had happened, I 
thought you were going to choose your files."
 
"It was time to have a clean start," he said. "I wasn't sure I could get 
anything else from those files."

"Are you kidding me?" Langly asked. "You had the curiosity and material 
to stay buried in that hellhole for another decade." 

The way his friends reacted to the news mirrored how predicable his life 
had become since he got the X-Files.

He admitted that his curiosity was the first fixative substance holding 
him to his job. Obsession came later, when he discovered what was behind 
his sister's abduction. Since he was twelve he had the certitude 
Samantha had been taken by an entity unknown to mankind. The hidden 
files gave him the tools to start digging for the answers he needed. 
That was when he became a hard laborer who neglected the limits of his 
body and soul to find the truths so important in his life. 

Then he started losing everything. Wife, parents, human contact, his 
career. Co-workers started questioning how long Spooky Mulder would last 
walking on the tightrope that became his sanity. If he fell, casts and 
bandages wouldn't keep him from trying again. He doubted that a 
straitjacket and a padded cell would restrain him either. Not if he 
could count with the net of strength they had thrown in his direction 
and he had tried to keep at arms length in the beginning. 

He picked up the box with his and Scully's videos and arranged them 
alphabetically in the rack, just how she liked it. 

"I came across a man right after I met you." He put Breakfast at 
Tiffany's between Blue Angel and his copy of Citizen Kane. "He stayed a 
decade longer working on those files." Plan Nine of Outer Space and 
Caddyshack went to the bottom shelf not to offend Scully. "I don't want 
to end up like him."

He always thought about Arthur Dales as a man to be admired. His 
predecessor was his very own person who had no familiar strings 
attaching him to the obscure secrets the documents guarded in an 
ordinary filling cabinet guarded. He had no other personal reason to 
pursue that quest, but his will to make things clear. That was what his 
character demanded, the most precious heritage a man like Arthur Dales 
had: his honesty.

From what he could see, the day Mr. Dales retired was the day he stopped 
living. He was an old man with no family, no friends, no job, no 
answers. A lonely man who few would remember, even acknowledge, his 
existence. A man about whom almost no one would remember or find out 
about in regards to the role he had played in the history of humankind.

"I hope you're not saying this to convince yourself, Mulder."

For almost a week after he gave Skinner his transfer request, that 
belated thought tormented him. For five years those files had been part 
of his existence. Files didn't betray you, files didn't leave you. For a 
long time, files were his constant. 

Files didn't breathe, they didn't take care of you.

"They cut me a break, Langly." He polished the box of West Side Story  
with the hem of his T-shirt. "The Smoking Bastard said they lost 
everything in Antartica."

"Bullshit, Mulder, and you know it."

"Drop this fucking bullshit now, Langly," he snapped, traces of a 
raising anger and frustration clear in his voice. "I didn't give up. I 
just want something more. Does it make me a villain here?"

"Hey, buddy." Langly raised his hands. "I'm not accusing you of 
anything."

He wasn't a hero. He was just another paper soldier in a fragile battle 
field. The fire in the office had reduced his constant to a graveyard of 
mishappen gray things. If he had survived it was because he had made 
Scully his touchstone. 

Langly spoke again when all the tapes where on the shelves.    

"You're human, Mulder. I had forgotten that."

Mulder stood up with the empty box in his hands. He was human, with 
flesh and bones, blood and bruises. He had failed to notice that 
although his work challenged him, building up his intellect and feeding 
some of his needs, it was also replacing what once had been an innocent 
soul for an arrogant and insensitive one. Feeling was the sentiment that 
ruled his life since ever, and even this was becoming lost on him. 
Scully was the living, beautiful, fresh sentiment that was spurting 
inside of him now. 

"I've come to realize that she makes me human," he said slowly. "I 
needed that, Langly." 

Langly tested the VCR to see if it was working well. "Just don't hurt 
her."

He knew himself too well to make this promise to his friend. 

"I'll always find a way to make up with her."

On the TV screen George Clooney was running away from a breathing 
tomato.

"The Return of the Killer Tomatoes, Mulder?"

Mulder laughed, grateful for the change on the subject. "It's Scully's."

"Like those videos that are not yours and will be Frohike's someday."

"I gave her the tape when she said George Clooney was hot. I had to 
prove her wrong," he said, heading to the door.

"Hey, Mulder." 

He turned to see Langly putting the tape back in its case.

"The guys and I want this for ourselves, too. Computers don't warm you 
at night." Langly put the rack against the wall and looked at him. 
"Remember that and don't screw up."

Neither do files, he thought, closing the door. 

He touched the white walls in the hall. They bought the house, it was 
theirs. He couldn't buy a future for her; he could provide the basis to 
make it solid. Past mistakes taught him that love was the strongest 
foundation in a relationship.

He smiled. 

This they had.

He was going down the stairs two steps at time when the bell rang.

"I'll get it!" he shouted, already opening the door.

The brown bags almost covered the greater part of her face, leaving to 
his sight just the tip of her nose, which the cold air of November had 
made red, and the contour of her upper lips. However he would recognize 
Mrs. Scully's blue eyes at any time.

"Hi, Fox."

"Mrs. Scully," he said, dejected. "What are you doing out in this cold?"

The corners of her lips upturned, showing her amusement. "I heard there 
was a moving party on this side of town. I brought food."

"Ah!" 

Moving party, moving day. Yes, he was moving in with the only daughter 
of a devout catholic mother who believed in the sacred vows of marriage. 

He scratched his head, without knowing what to do with his hands. "We 
appreciate it. Scully and I, I mean," he stuttered.  

Maggie shivered, pointing to the door with her nose. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," he said, getting out of the way. "Please, come on in." 

Guilty as charged, he thought as he closed the door behind Mrs. Scully. 
He knew there was nothing wrong in the path he and Scully had taken. 
Being with Scully would never be wrong. Being in front of the woman who 
gave birth to his partner made him feel and act like a bumbling fool, 
though. He hadn't felt this way since the morning he opened Scully's 
apartment door and saw Maggie's grin shrink until it become a 
discomfited smile as she stared at his sleepy face and unruly hair. 
Today he was wearing more than just pajama bottoms, but he felt like he 
was stark naked before that woman peering at the four corners of the 
room.

Where was Scully when he needed her?

"Scully's upstairs."

Maggie adjusted the packages in her arms. "I guess you still have lots 
of things to put in order."

"Just the whole house."

This earned him a twinkle in Maggie's eyes. "Moving days can be 
tiresome, Fox, but the meaning behind them makes up for the trouble they 
cause. I can assure you this."

"I'm not complaining, Mrs. Scully."

"I know you're not, Fox." She handed him one of the packages. "Now could 
you please take this one? It's heavy."

Between the exchange of packages, he heard the voice of his salvation.

"Mulder, aren't the guys hungry?" His heart almost leapt with joy when 
he looked up and saw Scully coming downstairs. "It's almost one p.m. You 
could order... Mom?"

"Hi, Dana."  

Scully looked at her mother, then at him, then at her mother again and 
finally blushed. "What are you doing here?"

Maggie shrugged as if asking, 'guess what?'

He muttered an excuse, got the other package Mrs. Scully was carrying, 
and escaped to the kitchen.

Langly was right. A chicken was still a chicken no matter how good it 
looked. 

********************

"And this is the bedroom." In a nervous wave of her hand, Scully covered 
all the expanse of the room. "Our bedroom," she added awkwardly. 

Her mother was studying the large room with interested eyes. 

"It's a beautiful house, Dana." Margaret ran her hand over the polished 
dressing table. "And your furniture is lovely. Did Fox help you to 
choose them?"

"Oh, yes." Scully pointed at a small round table and two stuffed chairs 
near the window. "It was difficult to find a bedroom set that matched 
that table, so we had them specially made."

"It must have been ridiculously expensive."

"Not really, and they delivered the furniture on schedule. They made the 
kitchen and dining room sets, too."

Margaret looked around the room and her eyes fell on the king size bed. 
"I want their telephone number. It's difficult to find good, cheap 
carpenters nowadays."  

"Sure," Scully said, then added amused, "And, Mom, these guys... They 
are gorgeous."

"Dana." Both of them giggled like two little girls. "And Fox let you 
stay with them?"

"I didn't have that much luck. Mulder never left me alone while they 
were here."

"Fox jealous?" Margaret sniggered. "Who could've guessed?"

"Yes." Scully's face cracked into a smile. "Who could."

The Skipper brothers had been to the town house twice. On Thursday 
morning they had brought the bedroom set, and Mulder was incredibly 
territorial, getting hold of her waist and not leaving her side until 
she left for work. On Friday evening, when she arrived in the house, he 
was already there, dressed in jeans and an old T-shirt, ready to clean 
the small powder room they had downstairs. He simply told her to go back 
to her apartment and finish packing. He was going to wait for the 
kitchen's furniture.     

Margaret's eyes brightened. "I missed it so much on you Dana." 

"What?" 

"You're smiling, healthy and happy." She touched her daughter's face. 
"You're happy."

Scully sat on their bed to better feel the warm flux of happiness 
flooding inside of her again. Her body was too small to house this anew, 
overwhelming sensation. 

In the beginning she felt fear; she didn't like changes. Actually, she 
didn't like to live in suspense. Although she had wanted to experience 
this side of life with Mulder for a long time, the changes it carried 
within scared her. Her life was set, if not in the ideal one, at least 
in a comfortable pattern: go to work, chase monsters, pretend she was 
happy with the life she had, go home and get ready to relive this circle 
all over again the next day. It was safe, but it was also so tiresome 
and, in the end, it wasn't enough to pay for the sacrifice she was 
making anymore.

"I'm happy, Mom," she simply said. "Now my life is in the way I wanted 
it to be."

"I'm glad to hear that, dear."

Relief was a good sensation after all. Adding to the list of concerns 
she had to deal with, the possibility of her mother not approving her 
going to live together with Mulder had been robbing her of precious 
hours of sleep the past few days. It had become commonplace for Mulder 
to wake up in the morning to find the table set for breakfast and her 
reading the morning paper in what remained of her living room.

"I thought you'd be disappointed in me, Mom," she muttered with her eyes 
fixed on Mulder's pair of tennis shoes laying beside her slippers on the 
floor. "I know this is not what you had dreamed for me."

"I won't lie to you, Dana," Maggie's finger pads fluttered over the 
finger Scully should be wearing a ring in. "This is not exactly how I 
had dreamed things would turn out for you, but the end result was the 
same. You're happy and I can't condemn you for that."

"No one can after everything we've gone through," Scully sighed.

"No, not really." Maggie stood up and walked to the window. From there 
they could see the patio in the back of the house, which was not the 
most beautiful sight due to the current state said patio was in: a mess 
of fallen leaves and grown grass. It needed to be mowed urgently before 
she and Mulder furnished the area. "I believe he's all right with this 
arrangement."

"He asked me to move in with him, Mom. He bought the house because I 
liked it." She picked up their shoes and took it to the walk-in closet. 
"I didn't put any pressure on him. I wanted him, us to take our time and 
adjust to the situation."

Her mother said something she didn't understand. "What, Mom?" she asked, 
going back to the bedroom. Her mother was still looking outside.

"I meant your father, Dana. He knows that now you're where you belong, 
with whom you belong."

Scully hugged her mother and laid her head on her mother's shoulder 
blade. "Your blessing is important to me, too."

Maggie put her hand over her daughter's. "You have it, Dana."

"Thanks, Mom." She kissed her mother's face. "Mulder is a good man, and 
he's serious about us."

"He better be after buying you a house." Scully chuckled. "I didn't know 
Fox was rich. It must be intimidating."

Scully smiled against her mother's sweater. "He's a simple man, like us. 
And I'm paying for the furniture." She saw her mother's smile faintly 
reflected on the window among the pecks of light coming though the gray 
clouds in the sky. Typical November day. 

"What about his mother? Is she okay with it?"

"She painted a china tea set and sent it to me, at my apartment 
last week with a note. She was asking me to make him happy." The weight 
of this responsibility made her lay further against her mother's 
shoulder. "I want to make him happy, Mom. I don't want him to ever 
regret his decision of putting his future in my hands."

"He won't, Dana." Maggie patted the hands around her waist lovingly. "He 
loves you."

"Sometimes I wonder if it's enough to keep him around."

"He chose you, Dana. He could have had his old job and a woman that 
loves him by his side, but he chose you." Scully shivered before the 
mere thought of Mulder in Diana's arms again. "That's all you have, 
dear, and it has to be enough." Maggie patted her hands one more time 
before breaking the embrace. "We still have this whole house to put in 
order, young lady. Let's feed those men downstairs and go back to work."

********************

Maggie set tasks to everyone.

She divided the group in two subgroups in which she and Scully would 
have the help of two men. Or like Scully eavesdropped Frohike muttering 
to Mulder, both women were going to have two men to command. Maggie 
stayed with Langly and Mulder upstairs while Scully directed Frohike and 
Byers downstairs, occasionally attending to Mulder's call when he didn't 
know where to put this or that object. It worked just fine. By the end 
of the day the number of boxes had decreased considerably, their china 
was in the proper place in the kitchen and in the dining room, and 
Scully and Mulder would be able to sleep in a real bed after so many 
days. 

The guys went home saying that after all that hard work they were taking 
their housewarming gift, the heavy iron mail box with the initials M and 
S painted in red artistic letters, back to their HQ. Just for 
precaution, Mulder stayed watching at the living room window until he 
couldn't see their Volkswagen van anymore. Maggie left shortly after the 
Gunmen, after she gave to Mulder and Scully her housewarming gift, a 
beautiful ice blue quilt with matching covers for the pillows.  

"Trust him and what you have, honey," Maggie said when Scully walked her 
to her car. "Make what you have be enough."

She stayed outside until her mother's car vanished in the distance. 

She was stretching the sheets on their bed when Mulder entered the 
bedroom. 

He seemed to be exhausted with his hair spiking in all directions and 
his soot stained jeans and T-shirt clinging to every muscle in his lean 
body. Despite the stubble darkening his face and the heavy, lethargic 
movements towards her, his smitten eyes were bursting with - she dared 
recognizing it - happiness. She couldn't risk saying the words aloud 
because it would make the moment they were living real. She wasn't ready 
to live in reality, to face the problems she knew were posed before 
them. No, for once she wasn't going to adapt her dreams to the real 
life. She was going to live her dream and survive whatever fate threw in 
their way.

Mulder slumped on the floor and rested his back against the wooden frame 
of the bed. 

"If we ever break up, I'm keeping the house."

She fluffed his pillow before putting it next to hers on the mattress.

"It wasn't even a total moving in, Mulder. Half of our furniture was 
already here, and the other half was neatly organized, ready to go."

"But I'm still keeping the house."  

As she was standing on the other side of the bed, she just had the view 
of the stumpy hair on the back of his head. "I'm the one who found it."

"And I'm the one who dragged our things everywhere."

"Mulder, most of our furniture is new, and the men hired to deliver them 
carried them to their proper rooms. Besides, you had the guys help with 
our older ones."

He shook his head like a stubborn child. "I don't care. I'm still 
keeping the house."

Kicking off her sneakers, she crawled over the quilt she had just laid 
on the bed and stopped behind him, her head on level with his. She 
brushed her lips on his face, and let the tip of her tongue rob some of 
the salt on his cheek. 

He sighed. "Keep going, Scully, and I may let you have the basement." 

She licked the way up to his temple and he sighed again, deeply this 
time.  

In slow circles, her nose traveled down to the crook of his neck. She 
let her senses wonder on the scent of sweat and fading deodorant coming 
from him, mixed with the primal, elemental odor of his skin that had no 
other name but Mulder. With his eyes closed he lay his head on the bed, 
humming a tune that reverberated like the early stages of an orgasm in 
each pore on her body. Her fingers hooked in the silk web of his 
disheveled hair as her lips sought for his. He thrust his tongue inside  
of her mouth and they started a new, much more pleasant banter of wet, 
thick sounds forcing their way up in their throats, but that their busy 
lips wouldn't let come out in their entirety. 

Mulder broke the kiss and turned his head in her direction, a huge 
satisfied smile adorning his beautiful face. She touched her lips 
against his closed eyelids to confess a secret.

"I'd rather share the house with you."

His smile softened in extension, but not in its meaning. He opened his 
eyes and she took her time to absorb all the love she saw reflected in 
them.

"I couldn't have it any other way, Scully." He kissed her lips softly. 
She extended the contact a little longer to properly seal their 
commitment. No rings, no ceremony, just their knowledge that they were 
going to stay together.

"Mulder," she whispered, "it's tonight already."

"We're calling it a day?"

She kissed his raised eyebrow. "Umm-hum. Mom made some spaghetti and 
salad. We could put that huge tub in the bathroom to some good use." She 
kissed the tip of his nose.

"You want to bring the food to the tub?"

"Of course not." She massaged his scalp with her finger pads. "First our 
bath, then a candlelight dinner."

"I put a bottle of wine in the refrigerator this morning."  

"Sounds like a plan."

He kissed her lips again. "A hell of a good plan."

She smiled and was seeking for another kiss when the phone rang.

"Let it ring," Mulder said, his breath warm against her mouth.

"Go get the wine while I answer it." She suckled his lower lip, and, in 
a moment of distraction, he probed his tongue against hers again. 

The phone was on its seventh ring when he finally let her go. "Make it 
brief." He stood up and went to their bathroom. 

Still in need of air, she answered the phone on the ninth ring. This 
phone call wouldn't last more than two minutes.

"Hello."

"Dana, it's me, Mom."

"H... hi Mom," she stuttered, embarrassed for being caught in such state 
of arousal by her mother. "Did you have a nice trip back home?" She 
closed her eyes to better breath in the chamomile bath oil scent that 
suddenly filled the room.  

"Sure, dear. How are you and Fox holding up?"

Mulder chose this moment to come out of the bathroom bearing an 
indulgent smile. 

"Be brief," he mouthed as he passed by her.

"Yes," she whimpered, her eyes following the swing of his backside as he 
left the room. Then she remembered that her mother was listening to her 
erotic reaction. "We're fine, Mom."

The silence that followed was marked by some kind of reluctance coming 
from her mother's side of the phone. Now she had embarrassed her mother, 
too. 

"We've just finished for today, Mom."     

"You and Fox get some rest." 

Her mother didn't give her the time to lie, saying that she and Mulder 
were going straight to bed; Margaret came out with something that Scully 
wasn't expecting.

"Bill is here, Dana. He wants to talk to you."
        
A wave of cold sweat replaced the flush on her face. 

"Bill? What is he doing here?"

"Don't you remember? I told you he was going to be in Florida this 
week."

Impressive this devotion Bill had for the ones he loved. He hated flying 
unnecessarily, and even so he would take the penance of getting an 
economic class ticket and visit their mother. She hoped that like the 
good Christian her brother was, he would take the news about the changes 
in her life as another penance and accept Mulder in their family. 

"Dana, is it okay? Can you talk to him now?"

"I..." 

"If you're too tired, he can call you tomorrow." 

"No, that's okay," she said, wishing she could make her words come true. 

"I'm passing the phone to him. Goodnight, sweetheart."

As Margaret passed the phone to Bill, Scully heard her mother warning 
him to be civil and he replying that he could perfectly behave himself. 
Scully cringed. The last thing she needed was to get into a quarrel with 
her brother.

"Hi, sis."

"Hi, Bill." The joyful sound inflected in her voice barely covered her 
reluctance. "How's Tara and the baby?"

"They're fine. Matthew discovered he has legs. He's trying to take his 
first steps," he said proudly.

"I hope you brought tons of pictures with you."

"This time I made it even better; all his baby hullabaloos are well 
documented in two video tapes. Mother has them. Just don't laugh when 
you see his mother and father drooling all over him," he laughed. A sad 
smile was all she managed to do.

"I'm glad he's doing okay, Bill."

"We all are, Dana." He became serious again. "Mom said you moved on, 
too."

She remained silent, getting ready for what was coming next. 

"Is it true, Dana? Are you with him?"
 
"Bill, this is something I won't be discussing with you. Not now, not in 
any near future." She was doing her best to control the agitation rising 
inside of her.

"I know this is none of my business," he said quietly. "I just wanted to 
understand why you had to move in with him."

She massaged her temple. She had asked this question herself thousands 
of times during the last month since Mulder asked her to move in with 
him. Every time she thought of bits of measly things that would sound 
meaningless to her brother, but were instead the proof she had needed to 
be convinced that it was worth facing her fears and taking this giant 
leap in their relationship.

"I just had to do this, Bill," she demurred. "Please, respect that."

"Of course I will, Dana," he said. 

Even though his words didn't carry the reassurance she needed, she 
relied on them. The clink of glasses downstairs quickened her decision 
of finishing the call.

"Bill, I have to go."

"Sure, go," he said. Then, as if in an afterthought, he called her 
again.

"Yes?"  

"I promise I won't talk about it again, but there's one thing I have to 
ask you."

"Bill..."

"I know it's not like you to act before thinking, Dana," he continued 
albeit reluctantly. "But after all these years, all that have been taken 
away from both of you... Dana, you're not doing this out of pity... Or 
despair, are you?"

She blinked, sorting through the emotions those two words carried within 
them. Despair and pity were not part of what they had together. Mulder 
was a blessed gift in her life. He was the man who gave up the life and 
beliefs he used to have to be with her, but she wasn't with him from 
obligation. She was with him because he made things right to her. She 
hadn't known the meaning of the word feeling until she met him. He could 
make her laugh with his wittiness and made her annoyed with his 
stubbornness. He could make her cry with his tenderness when they were 
making love while ripping her body apart with continuous climaxes. He 
could make her feel protected and still respect her independence. He 
took her as his woman and showed her why she belonged to him without 
making her lose herself along the way. 

She looked at the man who had just stopped at the door frame, his eyes 
as sparkling and transparent as the crystal glasses he had in his hands. 
She was loved like no human being deserved to be. She wished her brother 
shared the same feeling with his wife, so he would understand her. 

"I don't have any reason to feel that way about him, Bill," she said 
softly.

"Does he?"

At first she was sure the words had rung wrong in her ears, but a second 
later they rang again, clipped in the silent walls inside of her head.

"Scully?"

"Shit! Dana, no! It's not what you're thinking."

Bill's and Mulder's voices mixed inside of her head, making her dizzy. 
Thinking? She hadn't started thinking yet. She was still processing all 
the messages those two words brought to surface. There was nothing her 
barren body could give to Mulder, and she wanted him so badly to have it 
with her.

"Dana! Damn it, Dana! You know there's nothing wrong with you! You're 
much more than this!"

Bill was yelling on the phone, and Mulder was rubbing her arms, pleading 
with her to say something... To tell him something... She was cold...

"Fuck it, Dana! Talk to me!"

In the background her mother was yelling at Bill... Mulder keeping her 
against him. Just sounds and touches. No comfort.
 
No more feelings.

Bill's words felt like pipes being pushed inside of her directly into 
her heart, draining out of her all the reasons she had to stay, and 
replacing it with the only real reason Mulder had to be with her in 
small, bitter droplets. 

Pity. Pity. Pity.

"Dana, it's Mom. Talk with me, sweetie. Fox!"

"Fuck, Scully! Tell me what the hell is going on!"

She was shaken out of her stupor by Mulder trying to yank the phone away 
from her. Just then she saw the despair in his eyes, and heard her 
mother's plea in her ear.

"Please, Dana..."  

She carefully put the phone back on its cradle.

"Scully?"

"I'll..." She cleared her throat. "I'll take a shower."

She gently pushed him away and went to the bathroom. She turned off the 
tub's tap. The water was warm to the touch, the bubbles fluttered on 
the tip of her fingers. She pulled her clothes off and entered the 
shower stall. The cold water hit her like needles piercing through her 
sore muscles.

She knew her brother already regretted his words, and that there was no 
reason for her to feel like that. She knew she would never find someone 
to love her as much as Mulder did.

She let the water mingle with her silent tears.

She was just aching too much to be rational at that moment.

*******************

He had turned off all the lights, however there was a soft glow right 
against his eyes. He had no will power left to stretch his arm and shut 
down the offending lamp. He protected his eyes with his forearm, 
instead. Such an old picture, as ancient as had been the nights he had 
laid on this same couch mourning the unfairness of life towards him and, 
later, towards them. 

When he opted to leave everything and start a new life with Scully, he 
let himself believe he would never be part of any other sad image.
Not even twenty-four hours had passed after they stepped in their house 
and he was already back into that dark place, for that same reason.

Fuck real life and its aftermath. 

Immediately after Scully had run away to shower, the telephone started 
ringing insistently again. He wanted to have gone after her, but knowing 
she needed some time to recollect herself, he answered it. Maggie spoke 
frantically, asking how her daughter was between every two sentences. 
Then she told him what had happened, how her oldest son couldn't believe 
what he had just done, how desperate he was to talk to his sister. He 
knew that the final decision was up to Scully to make, but if it 
depended on him, Bill Scully could forget any plans he had to visit his 
sister at their home. Margaret didn't try to reason with him, she just 
asked him to send her love to Dana. He went to the guest bathroom to 
take a cold shower, and when he was finished he found her lying awake in 
their bed. She had a blanket pulled up to her chin, and her still frame 
told him she was fine and wanted to be alone. He went to the den and 
there he remained, chewing over his hurt.    

"Mulder?"

Pretending he was sleeping was the last thing he wanted and surely the 
last thing they needed. He couldn't bring himself to look at her and 
tell what had happened in her absence, though; how much her silence 
affected him. It was not their style.

"Mulder, I know you're awake."

She had approached and knelt down in front of him. Her soft words were 
wrapped in mint scented toothpaste.

"Do you want to be alone?"

He slid his arm over his hair and tucked it under his head. 

"I have no desire to be alone anymore, Scully." He peered at her face. 
"Do you?"
 
There was a particular flash of light bathing the tip of her nose, 
bringing to his focus the cluster of freckles she had there. 

"No, I don't."
 
Her hair had grown a few inches; now it almost covered her neck 
completely. Dressed in his blue Knicks shirt she was evoking in him 
that need he had to protect her, and that he knew she hated. 

She caressed his face. "Can I stay here with you? I brought a blanket."

He turned onto his side and patted the spot he had just left. She passed 
her thumb along his jaw one more time and stood up. He slid further up 
the sofa, pressing against its padded back. She covered him with the 
blanket before lying down, facing away from him. He held her around the 
waist to keep her from falling off of the narrow space.

"It didn't seem right to lie down in that bed alone, not on our first 
real night here," she said after a long while.

"I know. This couch is not as comfortable either, Scully."

"Has it ever been, Mulder?" She didn't break the mood, but gained a 
squeeze on her belly for the effort.

"It was everything I had, Scully."

She enlaced her fingers with his over his T-shirt. "I wish I could give 
you so much more."

His fingers brushed against her empty belly. "Maybe we can find more in 
our own way."

She nodded and her hair tickled his nose. "Maybe."

*******

His words were simple, but she felt their emotion traveling from his 
chest to her lungs as he spoke. Perhaps his pain was not as deep as 
hers, but it existed. She found an almost sickening relief in the 
knowledge that she didn't need to bear the pain alone anymore.

He managed to plant a kiss on her cheek. "Your brother's sorry, Scully."

She bit her lower lip. "I overreacted. I should have handled things 
better." She lowered her eyes ashamed, even though he couldn't see them. 
"I wasn't ready to let reality come in."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not now, Mulder." His arms tensed around her. 

"It affects me, too." 

She took a few breaths to gather her courage to look at him. She turned 
her head on the pillow and stared at his hurt eyes. "I know it does, and 
I'm glad I have you with me."

The lines around his mouth softened in a tender smile. "Are you going to 
be okay?"

A new truth was uncovered to her that night. She would never be fine 
over this subject, but the most powerful presence she could have asked 
for in her life would always be there. 

She kissed his mouth softly. "I love you, Mulder." She faced away from 
him again, and he rested his face against hers, another strong reminder 
of the love he felt. 

He disentangled his fingers from hers and tugged at the hem of her 
makeshift nightgown. 

"What are you doing?"

He undressed her, pulling off her panties too, then he made a few 
careful strategic movements to undress himself without shoving her off 
of the couch. When he was finished, he rearranged the blanket over them, 
and pulled her to him again, fiercer this time. The pads of her fingers 
swept the hair on his forearm and he threw one strong hairy leg over 
hers, making her feel protected; the contact of his masculinity on her 
buttocks made her feel loved. She sighed, not wanting another 
accommodation but the shelter of him.

He moved one of his arms up and covered her breasts. "Nothing has to 
happen, Scully. I just want to feel you." She stirred her buttocks 
against him. "Besides," he whimpered, "with the moving and everything, 
you must be tired."

She took his hand away from her breasts and put it between her legs. She 
urged one of his fingers inside of her, and her internal muscles 
contracted around it on their own accord. Mulder licked the way from her 
neck to her shoulder; his cock grew harder behind her, setting her warm 
body aflame.

"I know I can't do anything," he slurred. 

She took out his finger from inside of her and suckled off her moisture 
from it at the same time as she reached behind her to catch him in her 
hand. 

"Let's... ah, Scully... yes... sleep."

"Mulder?"

"Yes?"

"Turn off the light."

He did, and the night never seemed brighter to her.

***********************

End Part 1/3. Continue in Part 2/3.

Thanksgiving 2a/3. Disclaimer and all that jazz in Part 1.

**********

Sunday was spent with Scully tailing him up and down the 
house to have the curtains hung, and with him complaining 
that with everything they still had to do, it could wait. 
After lunch he finally gave in and even pretended to be 
listening to her lecturing about neighbors invading their 
privacy while she helped him to move the ladder from one 
window to another. Later that evening he understood what 
she was talking about. Thankfully the new curtains in the 
living room had blocked any view of his partner kneeling 
down in front of him and sucking his brain out of his head 
through his penis. Truly he had let her talk and do what she 
did to him to give her back some control of the situation 
and to make some peace with his now restored mind. Scully's 
power of suction could put any vacuum cleaner into shame, 
but he didn't forget.

His business with Bill wasn't finished yet.

As usual, on Monday between his sunflower seeds and the 
discussion about the case his team had received that day, 
he called her a few minutes before the beginning of her last 
morning class. Like he had expected, she told him she was 
fine without mentioning any conversation with big brother Bill.

At thirteen minutes to twelve, he waved off the box of d
onuts Agent Jackson opened in front of him and picked up the 
phone again. If Maggie answered it, he would just hang up. It 
looked like it was his lucky day.

"Hello?"

"This is Fox Mulder."

"What can I do for you, Mr. Mulder?" Bill asked after a moment.

"I need to talk to you." It took them less than a minute to 
agree about a meeting place.

One hour later he was in the crowded room. Turning the glass of 
whisky in his hands, he kept repeating to himself that his 
patience had lasted the weekend. He loved that woman; he had 
the right to care for her and to make it crystal clear the 
place he had in her life to her brother. As long as Bill kept 
it civil, he wouldn't have a reason to be rude. 

Bill arrived a few minutes after him. Wearing a dark blue jacket 
and tan trousers, he stood up in a crowd with his six foot two 
inch stature and military hair cut. To any person that had never 
seen him before, he could easily pass as big bully, but Mulder 
knew better. When they first met a year ago, with a sister already 
dead and the other one almost knocking on heaven's door, aside the 
sorry son of a bitch comment, Bill had never been verbally disrespectful 
to him. He hoped they could repeat the performance today.

Bill sat at the table and ordered a coffee from the waiter 
designated to attend them. He waited until the young man left to 
talk to Mulder.

"You wanted to talk to me, Mr. Mulder," he said politely.

"After what happened, I'm pretty sure you know what I want to talk 
about."

Bill accepted the mug the waiter brought and sipped some of his 
coffee. "I'm surprised it took you the weekend to call me."

"I was giving you time to apologize to your sister. Since you didn't, 
I'm here to make sure what you did Saturday won't happen again."

"You mean my wanting to talk to my sister?"

"No, I have no problems with you talking to your sister." He leaned 
forward to hiss at his one day to be brother-in-law. "I won't accept you 
treating her that way at our house, however."

A light shade of pink attached its color on Bill's face, but he 
didn't duck his head. "I'm aware of what I did, Mr. Mulder. It was 
wrong and I had no right. I was going to take Dana out for lunch when 
you called."

Mulder took his glass to his mouth to keep from swearing. Things were 
going surprisingly fine. Of course it wasn't going to last long.

"You could have told me that."

"It was none of your business."

"Your sister is my most precious business."

"Not when it's about my relationship with her."

Discretely Mulder cleaned one of his sweaty hands on his slacks. 
"Why can't you just understand? She's with me now."

Bill snorted, the closest he had come to show any distress. 
"This is something I'll never understand, Mr. Mulder, but for my mother's 
sake I'll respect Dana's decision."

"You should be doing this for Dana's sake, too."

"For her sake I'll do the unimaginable, Mr. Mulder. I'll put up with 
you."

He was ready for an attack like this, but Bill's words still hit him 
like he'd  been punched in the gut. What hurt the most in this last 
statement were not the rash words themselves, but the sincerity behind 
them. Bill really meant what he had said. 

"I share the feeling, Bill Scully."

"So it's settled." Bill stood up to leave. "I think we have 
nothing else to tell each other."

Mulder was breathing with his mouth closed to get his balance back. 
There was no way he was leaving that place as a loser, not in his 
first open battle with Bill. Not when the prize was the pleasure of 
having Bill looking at him in the eyes at family events without no 
other option but to accept his presence.

"There's just one more thing, Bill," Mulder said, risking his last shot. 
"You hurt her like that again, we'll take this conversation to another 
place and another level."

Bill flinched and clasped his fists on his sides, however he didn't lose 
his temper when he spoke.

"It works for both sides, Mr. Mulder."

He waited until Bill left the bar, then knocked back the rest of the 
whisky. He wanted to be swallowed by a hole in the floor. Bill had 
turned the tables on him so easily, without having to raise his voice to 
make Mulder understand. He had understood. Ah, that he had. But Bill had 
a few things to comprehend himself, including the fact that he, Fox 
William Mulder, was thick skinned and hardheaded. In short, he wasn't 
one to give up. If Bill had taken that he wasn't backing away, then all 
the bickering had been worth something.

He threw some bills on the table and picked up his jacket on the back of 
the chair.

He walked back to the FBI very slowly, enjoying the cold air of November 
the most he could. If Scully discovered what he had done, he wasn't 
going to live to see another autumn day.

*********************

The little things he did that morning gave him away. For 
starters, he didn't help her with breakfast - he made 
it all by himself. Her favorite yogurt, cereal with bee 
pollen and sliced strawberries, and the cup of hot fresh 
coffee were brought on a tray to their bedroom. He woke her up 
with a tender kiss on her shoulder instead of the soft but firm 
caress of his hand on the same spot. There was no mistaking the 
way he kissed her forehead at the doorway before he left for work; 
usually it was just a hurried peck on her lips while he munched on a 
buttered toast on his way out.

He was up to something.

Like everyday, the phone in her office rang a few minutes before 
eleven, during the twenty minute break she had before her last 
morning class. She answered it with the habitual, "What, Mulder?" 
She didn't get the low, rasp, "You've been thinking about me," 
usual reply, but a soft and unsure, "Hi, Dana."

"Hi, Mom." Things weren't exactly right between them more 
because of Scully's discomfort with the happenings on Saturday evening 
than because of Maggie's non-existent guilt. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, sweetie. I'm fine. What about you and the moving in? Are things 
settled already?"

Scully put the notepad where she was taking notes back on the 
table. The thought of the house alone made her feel tired. "We worked 
some more on Sunday and yesterday night. I think now there are just 
the guest rooms to be taken care of."

"Thank god this routine is over for me," Maggie said with some 
humor. "But I had a good time helping you and Fox."

"Your help would have been welcomed again on Sunday."

"I wasn't sure it would have been a good idea, Dana."

Scully restrained the little smile forming on her lips. "I'm fine, 
Mom. Really."

"Bill didn't imagine you'd react that way, Dana. He was really sorry."

"I know."

It was part of Bill's nature, sometimes he spoke too much. But 
he wasn't a bad person. Like any of her friends' brothers when 
she was a child, he alternated moments of extreme devotion with 
episodes of single minded tantrums towards his sisters. When 
they got into adulthood, the tantrums would occasionally come back, 
but the love and affection he had for her and Missy was undeniable.

"I'm sorry he called off our lunch yesterday, Mom. 
I think I wanted to talk to him."

The pause that followed caught Scully by surprise. "Called 
off your lunch?" She could see Maggie frowning. "Dana, he borrowed 
my car saying that he was going to meet you."

"There must be a mistake, Mom," she said confused.

"I'm pretty sure," Margaret said without hesitation. "He 
told me he was going to meet you."

"He told me some of his friends had called. Something about a get 
together before he went back to San Diego."

"Maybe he called later to say he had changed his mind, and 
you weren't there to talk to him," Maggie suggested.

"No, Mom. I got only three phone calls yesterday morning. 
I talked to Bill, then Mulder called a couple of hours later, and 
then soon after..."

Bill called again.

Stupid woman, she thought. Three months out of the field 
and she had already lost her investigator's touch, missed 
all the evidence Mulder was flaunting under her nose since 
the previous evening. Mulder making dinner and cleaning the dishes; 
Mulder leaving her alone to finish her report in peace; Mulder 
waking up earlier to make her breakfast on a weekday. Mulder going 
to bed alone, before her! Damn it! He wasn't up to something 
this morning. He was covering what he had done the morning before.

"Mom, what time did Bill leave?"

"Sometime around noon. Why?"

Mulder usually called at ten-thirty; yesterday he had 
called a little later, just a few minutes before her last morning 
class. She talked to Bill again around ten to twelve, more than 
enough time for him to have received another phone call from Mulder.

That was it.

"And Dana, who else does Bill know here in Washington?"

He knew Mulder, who had taken her brother out for lunch.

"I have an idea, Mom."

Her mother actually giggled when she finished telling her suspicions, 
which just made Scully more pissed.

"This is serious, Mom. He confronted your son."

"I'm sorry, honey. I'm having a hard time imagining Fox this 
domesticated."

"He is not, Mother."

Her mother cleared her throat, shaking off some of the flippancy in her 
voice. "I know Bill has his issues with Fox, Dana, but they are adults, 
they behaved as such. Bill didn't seem to have any black and blue mark 
on him when he came back home."

They hadn't made love the night before, so Scully couldn't tell if 
Mulder was hurt, although she had snuggled close to him to sleep and he 
hadn't winced.

"I think Mulder is fine, too."

"I don't approve of what he did, Dana. This is something you have to 
talk over with Bill, not Fox. But I somehow expected him to do something 
like that."

"It wasn't right, Mom."

"Welcome to the married world, Dana. Nothing is born right; 
we just adapt to things and keep going with our lives," Maggie said 
wisely. "I have to go now, Dana. I'm having lunch with the church 
group today."

"Fine."

"I won't get involved in your life, Dana, but hear me out: don't talk to 
Fox about this until after you've calmed down. You'll only get more 
distressed." 

As the day wore on, her anger flitted to different stages. When her 
mother hung up, she was mad at him. At mid afternoon her anger had 
decreased a little, and now on her way home she had already purged away 
the will to kill. 

She knew Mulder's train of thought. When they worked together, she was 
able to anticipate most of his movements for he knew nothing about poker 
faces or guarded gestures while dealing with her. It hadn't changed when 
they got involved. If not, it became worse.

He had no problems in taking their relationship to the physical side; 
from the beginning of their partnership, he was always touching her. 
What started with sporadic touches on her elbow to gently steer her in 
the right direction when they were walking, became the touches on her 
face to give her comfort or to wake her up on stakeouts, and nowadays 
she couldn't stand the thought of another person's hand on the small of 
her back. What changed when they became a couple was that now he touched 
her more openly. His arms around her waist when they were in the line of 
the theater, lips in constant contact with her flesh while watching 
those chick movies she loved, his hand always caressing her face or 
smoothing her hair over a pizza at Dino's. He needed her close to him 
and never hid it. She was the one still adapting to all those changes.

Touching Mulder was easy, a dream coming true. How many times had she 
caught herself straightening his unwrinkled tie, or sprawling her 
fingers on his chest, marveling on how such a hard combination of 
muscles and tissues could guard a heart so gentle and pure. In bed she 
had no reserves to love and to be loved, to give him as much pleasure as 
she received. Sexually she was an open book in his arms; emotionally she 
was still learning how to share things with him.

Her episode with Bill was slapping her in the face again. Mulder had 
been there for her and she shut him out. Luckily it didn't take her long 
to come to her senses and look for him. They shared very little of their 
grief that night, converting what should have been pain into strength. 
His going after her brother behind her back, without telling her a word, 
turned everything into betrayal.

Of course she was being too dramatic. Didn't she feel ashamed for 
thinking so little of him, of what they had shared? She did, she felt 
like she would never be able to live with herself again. He wasn't being 
overprotective nor trying to rule her life. He was being the Mulder she 
had learned to love a long time ago.

So why couldn't she just forget it and keep going?

Because she was still learning.

She parked her car in the empty driveway of their house. Picking up her
overcoat, briefcase, she made her way to the front door. 

Check the answering machine. Two messages: Bill saying he loved her; 
Mulder telling her he was going  to be home late but in time for dinner.

Love you too, Mulder.

Gathering her thoughts, she proceeded to the bedroom.

In the beginning, the duty of taking care of each other was not hard on 
them. She filled his need of being her guardian angel by letting him 
protect her, and she let herself be protected to make him feel good. She 
saved him to feel strong, and he let himself be saved to make her 
stronger. Somewhere along their second encounter with Tooms this pact 
started changing. Iced tea or not in that bag, things were already 
different, feelings were too deep. Protection came not in the name of 
duty; it was simply about survival.

The Dana Scully of those days was still very much alive inside of her. 
Being with Mulder, however, brought another one to the surface, a more 
loving, caring and fragile Scully that needed to be understood in order 
to be accepted.

She pulled on a pair of old, comfortable jeans and a yellow sweater 
before heading to the kitchen to prepare dinner, pasta again.

Her mother was right, Mulder was expected to do something like that. The 
old Dana Scully would demand his respect because she was fine and could 
perfectly take care of herself.

The water was boiling on the stove when she heard his car. She dried her 
hands on a dish cloth and went to meet him in the living room.

This new Dana Scully had the hard task of sitting down and talk to him, 
showing that she didn't like what he had done without making him feel 
guilty. They weren't good at that, but they could learn together.

He opened the door and smiled shyly at her. "You're home already."

With a sheepish smile of her own, she gladly accepted the arms he had 
opened up to her.

She had missed him the whole day, too.


*********************
 
He took her out for dinner first to make up for his little rendezvous 
with Bill three days ago.
 
And second because if she ever made him eat vegetables again this week, 
he was going to spit the food back on his plate.
 
What a way to punish him!
 
The day before yesterday, pasta with broccoli and white sauce for 
dinner, and his enthusiastic Scully telling him they were having fruit 
salad for dessert, no whipped cream.

Yesterday, chayotte souffle with green salad and his significant other 
asking among innocent smiles and lascivious sips on her white wine if he 
wanted more.
 
Tonight no salad for Scully.

His petite Scully had ordered a chicken sandwich, a diet coke, a large 
order of fries, and asked if he wanted to share a banana split. A lovely 
offer that he had to refuse after having busted his own arteries with 
the thousands of calories and grams of fat his abused body was asking 
for. Guiltless, he encouraged her to go for the medium sized vanilla 
milkshake she wanted. She sighed in contentment when she suckled the 
beverage for the last time. He smiled relieved behind his coffee. For 
twenty bucks he had gotten a decent dinner and Scully's forgiveness.

Also, why not, a little bit of revenge.
 
He clasped his hand around hers as they walked back to their house.
 
"God, Mulder. Why did you let me get stuffed up like this?" She leaned on
him. "Where's the car?"

"At home," he said for the tenth time since they left the diner two 
blocks ago. He almost couldn't keep his amusement with the situation to 
himself. "And don't blame me. I refused the banana split."

"You let me have the milkshake. Actually, you told me to get the 
milkshake."
 
"I can't control your life all the time, my dear."

His deadpan sounded too contrite to be taken as a joke. Her fault; all 
of it was her fault. How was he supposed to deal with a Scully who had 
calmly taken him to the kitchen, served him a cup of steaming coffee and 
patiently clinched the reason why that particular argument he had with 
Bill made her upset. She loved him, she loved her brother, she hated 
seeing two loved ones getting into a fight because of her. The good, old 
argument that she was fine and could take care of herself never came. 
His carefully constructed rebuffs lost their meaning. She had rendered 
him speechless without shredding a drop of sweat.

"You really don't have to, Mulder."
 
He stopped jerkily, preparing his ground for the battle. "If you're 
talking about your brother, I won't apologize for what happened, 
Scully," he snapped.

"I'm not asking you to," she said after releasing a very unlady like 
hiccup. "But I want you to think before doing this the next time."
 
He remained silent. Why tell her that next time he and Bill wouldn't be 
just talking? 

"Did you talk to him?" he asked, changing the subject. Her hair moved 
against his jacket in a negative way. "What was he doing here after 
all?"
 
"He was in Florida. In a conference, I think. He flew here to see mom 
and me."

He looked down at her, worried with the weariness in her voice. "Hey, 
you okay? Do you want me to call a cab?"

She buried her head in his chest. "No. I just feel sick."
 
He smiled. "Don't puke on my jacket, Scully, or you're going to have a 
hard time."
 
"I'm just allowed to drool on you?"

He chuckled, hooking his arms around her waist. "You can lick, suck, 
swallow anything you want, Scully. Just don't puke on my jacket. This is 
my favorite one."
 
"After what you did, don't give me ideas, Mulder."
 
"Lick, suck and swallow?"
 
"Puke and ruin your favorite leather jacket."
 
All the thoughts he had been having of taking a cab to get her home and 
into bed faster fled from him. In its place came all the indignation, 
all the pride he had swallowed three days ago when he heard what she had 
to say about the chat he had with her brother. He had his reasons. He 
hadn't mentioned them before because he hadn't wanted to start a 
discussion with her. But they all had been there, bubbling up inside of 
him. And honestly, the vein throbbing in his temple told him he had had 
enough of her crap.

"This is what you think I am? Your shoulder to puke on?"
 
She pulled herself away from him. "Pardon?"
 
"That's how I'm feeling now, Scully, like I'm your shoulder to puke on," 
he hissed at her. Once he had started, he wasn't going to stop now. 
"Sometimes I don't understand what concept you have of our relationship, 
Scully. Let me tell you mine."

He towered over her.
 
She stepped back.
 
"Mulder?"
 
Pale, fragile, beautiful.
 
"I love you, what we have is serious, and this is the most important
relationship of my whole thirty-seven year-old life. It means that if 
someone hurts you, this person is in serious trouble with me. I don't 
give a shit if this is your brother, your mother, your best friend, your 
whole family. Hell, I don't give a shit if this person is me. If you 
hurt, I hurt, and I can't bear the pain of seeing you suffering."

"Mulder, you didn't understand..."
 
"So make me understand," he said calmly. "We don't work together 
anymore, Scully. I don't watch your back, you don't see me worrying if a 
psycho is going to kidnap you or if you're going to be shot in a bust. I 
know you're working safely in a lab, surrounded by hundreds of armed 
government agents. I know you don't need it, but I feel better this way, 
even though I'm not there with you." Her lips quivered and she lowered 
her eyes. "But in this life here you gave yourself to me, Scully." The 
aching inside of him didn't reach his voice or his gestures. "Let me 
take care of you," he whispered.

She reached out for him.
 
"Oh, Mulder," she sniffed against his jacket.
 
He lost track of time, of how long they stood on the curb in the company 
of the hidden moon, of one or two stars and themselves. Of how many 
times he kissed her hair or hummed that he loved her against the faint 
flecks on her forehead.

He asked if she was okay, she said she was. She kept her arms around his 
waist until they got home.

He made an herbal tea with very little sugar and took it upstairs with 
him. In the bedroom, he found her combing her hair. Her cheeks were rosy 
and warm from her bath. He gave her the tea cup and went to take a 
shower himself.

About twenty minutes later, they were under the covers. He was lying on 
his back, she had her head on his chest. Everything in his world was in 
its right place, secure in the grasp of his right hand. Now they just 
needed to sleep.

"Mulder?"

"Hum?"

"The thing about puking on your jacket. That wasn't about Bill."
 
His thumb stroked the palm of her hand. "No?"
 
"It was the food. I was really sick."
 
He blinked sleepily. "You okay now?"
 
"Yes."
 
"So I'm still not sorry, Scully."
 
"I know." Scully moved against his chest like it was a pillow that would 
mold into the shape of her head. It would be a problem if she started 
beating him up to make him softer. "Did I tell you I'm having lunch with 
mom tomorrow?"

"Hum." 
 
"I think she has plans for Thanksgiving. I told her your mother is in 
Europe."

He got alert. More than turkey dinner, he smelled trouble in the air.
 
"Ah."
 
"She will be expecting us there, Mulder. I told her I needed to talk to 
you first." She closed her fingers around his thumb. "Are you okay with 
this?"
 
Sharp smell of trouble.
 
"Scully..."
 
"For now just think about it. Thanksgiving isn't until next week," she
said in one breath. She kissed the underside of his chin. "I have an 
autopsy early in the morning."
 
He stayed up for a long time trying to remember what turkey dinner 
tasted like.
 
Sleep finally overtook him and he hadn't remembered yet.
 

***********************
 
There was nothing else for him to do but wait.

The cake and the bottles of wine they were taking to Maggie's were 
packed, the car was already on the curb, and he had long ago locked all 
the doors and windows in the house. He didn't need to bother with his 
clothes; his outfit was perfect. Everything black but the brown leather 
jacket. And glasses. Glasses were important, they made him look serious. 
Scully had kissed him in approval.

He looked inside the bathroom, where Scully was putting on some rosy 
lipstick. She looked gorgeous herself wearing that long brown velvet 
skirt with matching boots and a light green wool twin set. She looked 
good enough to ravish, but they didn't have the time for that.

With her purse slung on his shoulder and the car keys dangling in his 
fingers, he called her again. "Why is it that every time we're going out 
you have to take this long to get ready?"

No response came from the bathroom. Considering that the door was open 
and that from her place in front of the mirror she could perfectly see 
his agitation, his conclusion was that he was simply being ignored. 

He knocked on the doorway impatiently to draw her attention. 

"Damn it, Scully; we're running late."

Damn it, Scully.

Come on, Scully.

Why the hell do you take this long to get ready, Scully?

Not exactly words to cajole her to be faster in doing all the 'ups' 
existent in the female vocabulary when they were on their way out.

Dress up.

Make up.

"Hurry up, Scully!"

With all the calm missing in him, she closed the little case with the 
powder stuff she was spreading on her face. Hands on her hips, she 
walked the distance separating her from the door. With a frisky glint in 
her eyes, she shut the bathroom door in his face.

He wasn't going to explode. He was better than that. Besides, what the 
hell was his problem today? He enjoyed this new side of Scully, how she 
did this for him, made herself more beautiful than she already was only
to please him.

Also dinner at Maggie's was not a new currency in his life; his stomach 
was always looking forward to this kind of invitation on her part. Why 
couldn't the rest of him do the same this time?

Easy. Because the three times he had gone to her house to eat, just 
Maggie, Scully and himself were at the table. From what Scully told him 
last night, Maggie's kitchen table was too small for the dinner they 
were having, with seven people in the house. When she told him this new 
piece of information he had been dazzled from their lovemaking. In 
situations like that, if she told him to tape what happened in that 
bedroom and send it to Brother Bill as a Christmas gift, he would set 
the camera first and ask questions later, when he got his power of 
speech back. 

Poor Bill. He wasn't a problem today. Charlie was.

"You have two minutes, Scully!" He rammed his fist on the door. "If you 
don't come out in two minutes..."

She opened the door, and he missed her forehead by just one inch.

"You'll what, Mulder?"

He lowered his hand deflated. "You did that on purpose." 

She pulled her purse from his shoulder and put her make up case away. 
"You knew Charlie was going to be there."

"You told me that at two o'clock this morning, Scully."

"So what?" She sprinkled some of his favorite perfume on her neck. He 
couldn't concentrate with her smelling like fresh flowers next to him.

"Nobody is awake and coherent at that time in the morning, Scully."

She enlaced her arms around his neck and kissed his chin. "You were wide 
awake one minute later, remember?"

He bent down and kissed her, relaxing in her embrace. "You're a devil 
with red hair, woman."

She laughed and he enjoyed the little thrusts of her chest against his 
ribs. He tilted her head and kissed her again, with lots of difficulty 
since she was still chuckling. First he got her teeth, then her tongue 
when her lips eased under the pressure of his. Scully, the dichotomy of 
the dichotomies. An evil woman whose tongue, limbs and touch were a one 
way ticket to Paradise when he had her with him. 

He was sent back to Earth when she broke the kiss. 

"You'll be okay, Mulder," she said quietly. "Charlie is okay."

He pushed her head to bring her lips to his again. Maybe, just maybe he 
could make her change her mind. He calculated they were five steps away 
from the bed. They could make a little revival of what had happened at 
two oh-one in the morning when he fully woke up to her hands inside of 
his pajama bottoms. 

"No, Mulder."

He recognized that voice. It was time to stop and put the whiny child 
inside of him to rest. He was a grown man in a serious relationship; 
meeting Charlie was part of the process in becoming part of her family. 
Scully had done the same for him on his birthday, when they had visited 
his mother on the Vineyard. She had been even braver: she had agreed in 
spending one night at his mother's instead of going back to 
Quonochontaug. If she had survived, so could he.    

"Let's go."

She kissed him again. He had been kissed a lot lately. Perhaps that was 
her way to comfort for what was to come. He didn't want to think about 
that.

"You kissed my lipstick away, Mulder," she said, cleaning his lips with 
her thumb. 

He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "You're beautiful anyway."

"Thank you." She nibbled his lower lip. "But I really need my lipstick."

"Oh, No! You don't!"

Pushing her away, he quickly picked up her brown suede jacket from the 
bed and helped her to pull it on.

"Mulder," she said exasperated.

This time he was the one to ignore her. He took her hand and urged her 
out of the bedroom. They had better go to Maggie's before his inner 
chicken took over again. 

*****************

End of Part 2a. Continue in 2b.


Thanksgiving 2b/3. Disclaimer and all that jazz in Part 1.

There was nothing else for him to do but wait.

The cake and the bottles of wine they were taking to Maggie's were 
packed, the car was already on the curb, and he had long ago locked all 
the doors and windows in the house. He didn't need to bother with his 
clothes; his outfit was perfect. Everything black but the brown leather 
jacket. And glasses. Glasses were important, they made him look serious. 
Scully had kissed him in approval.

He looked inside the bathroom, where Scully was putting on some rosy 
lipstick. She looked gorgeous herself wearing that long brown velvet 
skirt with matching boots and a light green wool twin set. She looked 
good enough to ravish, but they didn't have the time for that.

With her purse slung on his shoulder and the car keys dangling in his 
fingers, he called her again. "Why is it that every time we're going out 
you have to take this long to get ready?"

No response came from the bathroom. Considering that the door was open 
and that from her place in front of the mirror she could perfectly see 
his agitation, his conclusion was that he was simply being ignored. 

He knocked on the doorway impatiently to draw her attention. 

"Damn it, Scully; we're running late."

Damn it, Scully.

Come on, Scully.

Why the hell do you take this long to get ready, Scully?

Not exactly words to cajole her to be faster in doing all the 'ups' 
existent in the female vocabulary when they were on their way out.

Dress up.

Make up.

"Hurry up, Scully!"

With all the calm missing in him, she closed the little case with the 
powder stuff she was spreading on her face. Hands on her hips, she 
walked the distance separating her from the door. With a frisky glint in 
her eyes, she shut the bathroom door in his face.

He wasn't going to explode. He was better than that. Besides, what the 
hell was his problem today? He enjoyed this new side of Scully, how she 
did this for him, made herself more beautiful than she already was only
to please him.

Also dinner at Maggie's was not a new currency in his life; his stomach 
was always looking forward to this kind of invitation on her part. Why 
couldn't the rest of him do the same this time?

Easy. Because the three times he had gone to her house to eat, just 
Maggie, Scully and himself were at the table. From what Scully told him 
last night, Maggie's kitchen table was too small for the dinner they 
were having, with seven people in the house. When she told him this new 
piece of information he had been dazzled from their lovemaking. In 
situations like that, if she told him to tape what happened in that 
bedroom and send it to Brother Bill as a Christmas gift, he would set 
the camera first and ask questions later, when he got his power of 
speech back. 

Poor Bill. He wasn't a problem today. Charlie was.

"You have two minutes, Scully!" He rammed his fist on the door. "If you 
don't come out in two minutes..."

She opened the door, and he missed her forehead by just one inch.

"You'll what, Mulder?"

He lowered his hand deflated. "You did that on purpose." 

She pulled her purse from his shoulder and put her make up case away. 
"You knew Charlie was going to be there."

"You told me that at two o'clock this morning, Scully."

"So what?" She sprinkled some of his favorite perfume on her neck. He 
couldn't concentrate with her smelling like fresh flowers next to him.

"Nobody is awake and coherent at that time in the morning, Scully."

She enlaced her arms around his neck and kissed his chin. "You were wide 
awake one minute later, remember?"

He bent down and kissed her, relaxing in her embrace. "You're a devil 
with red hair, woman."

She laughed and he enjoyed the little thrusts of her chest against his 
ribs. He tilted her head and kissed her again, with lots of difficulty 
since she was still chuckling. First he got her teeth, then her tongue 
when her lips eased under the pressure of his. Scully, the dichotomy of 
the dichotomies. An evil woman whose tongue, limbs and touch were a one 
way ticket to Paradise when he had her with him. 

He was sent back to Earth when she broke the kiss. 

"You'll be okay, Mulder," she said quietly. "Charlie is okay."

He pushed her head to bring her lips to his again. Maybe, just maybe he 
could make her change her mind. He calculated they were five steps away 
from the bed. They could make a little revival of what had happened at 
two oh-one in the morning when he fully woke up to her hands inside of 
his pajama bottoms. 

"No, Mulder."

He recognized that voice. It was time to stop and put the whiny child 
inside of him to rest. He was a grown man in a serious relationship; 
meeting Charlie was part of the process in becoming part of her family. 
Scully had done the same for him on his birthday, when they had visited 
his mother on the Vineyard. She had been even braver: she had agreed in 
spending one night at his mother's instead of going back to 
Quonochontaug. If she had survived, so could he.    

"Let's go."

She kissed him again. He had been kissed a lot lately. Perhaps that was 
her way to comfort for what was to come. He didn't want to think about 
that.

"You kissed my lipstick away, Mulder," she said, cleaning his lips with 
her thumb. 

He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "You're beautiful anyway."

"Thank you." She nibbled his lower lip. "But I really need my lipstick."

"Oh, No! You don't!"

Pushing her away, he quickly picked up her brown suede jacket from the 
bed and helped her to pull it on.

"Mulder," she said exasperated.

This time he was the one to ignore her. He took her hand and urged her 
out of the bedroom. They had better go to Maggie's before his inner 
chicken took over again. 

*****************

Scully had the cake tin on her lap and a very pensive partner by her 
side in the car. 

She understood his reluctance towards Charlie. Bill had not exactly made  
a good impression on Mulder, and during the time they were partners she 
had never shared any information about this other brother of hers. 

Mulder didn't have too much to fear in this terrain. Charlie was easier 
going than Bill, at least about her current relationship. He had been 
the one to encourage her to go for it, saying that fighting for her 
happiness was right and fair. She wanted Mulder to meet Charlie because 
of this. Each man in their very own way were the reason why she was 
living the most happy and complete period of her life.

"Charlie was a handful as a child, Mulder."

"What?" he asked distracted.

"Charlie," she repeated. "He was terrible. He could be in ten places at 
the same time."

"I believe he had a good teacher." Mulder smiled softly. "Your mother 
once told me you were a tomboy."

"I was not that bad." She slapped his thigh. "But Charlie and I were 
alike in this matter, alright."

"Were you close?"

Charlie was her best friend ever. When she was a child, Scully felt a 
little isolated. Few of her friends liked to use their Barbie dolls as 
bloody patients in the hospital. Once her mother discovered where all 
the  Betadine in the house went to, she had to turn her medical 
attention to her little brother.

"He used to be my patient when we were kids."

"Liked to play doctor even then?" She nodded. "Had he been wrapped in 
gauze and everything?"

"Like a mummy?"

He chuckled. "Yes, like a mummy."

"Just once." Scully looked out the window. Houses and trees passed by 
them as they advanced towards Baltimore. "And I used all my mother's 
make up that day."

"This once?"

"Yes. Charlie had been run over by a Mack truck."

"A Mack truck?"

"You know me, Mulder. When I do something, I do it right."

He laughed again. "I know you like to make thorough exams, Scully."

She caught the dubious meaning of his words. "Mulder," she admonished 
him.

"Okay, sorry." He swallowed his laugh. "Then what?"

"To make a long story short, Mom discovered what I'd done and grounded 
us for the rest of the week. We also had to pay for Mom's make up."

"Poor baby."

She raised her eyebrow, but her belly laugh put her seriousness away. 
"We were terrible. Bill used to say that Charlie and I were trouble 
magnets." 

"I know what you mean," he said melancholic. "Samantha and I used to be 
like that. Usually when we were grounded, Mom sent us to different rooms 
because if we stayed together we would just cook up more pranks."

She looked at him. The air around them felt rich and thoughtful, full of 
memories. She liked it. That was another kind of intimacy she liked to 
explore with Mulder, and they so rarely made it.

Her right hand curled more firmly around the package on her lap. This 
way she could free her right one and touch his face. "You and Charlie 
have so many things in common. You'll like him, Mulder."

He took her hand and kissed her palm. "When we get there, I'll be used 
to the idea of meeting him."

She rested her hand on his thigh. "We can go back if you're not all 
comfortable with the situation."

Through her peripheral vision, she saw his lips contracting as he 
considered her offer.

"That's okay, Scully."

"Really, Mulder. I don't want you to feel bad."

"You wanted to spend Thanksgiving with your family. For me it has been 
such a long time, Scully. I just have to relearn how to do this, be part 
of a family again."

She squeezed his thigh. "Okay. If you want to go home, you tell me."

He covered her hand with his. "Feed me a bird and I'll be okay."

She smiled. "I'm about ready for some bird to eat myself." 

"I can be your personal chicken."

"Drive, Mulder."


****************

Two steps separated him from his near future.

He used the last miles of silence to think about some small talk he 
could engage into with the members of the family. Be polite, his mother 
taught him when he was little and his parents were having guests for 
dinner. He was a charmer who used to enchant people with a brilliant 
toothless smile and irresistible invitation. 

Hi. I'm Fox William Mulder. Do you wanna play with me? 

At five it earned him a cute comment from the ladies, and a kiss on the 
cheek from his mother. 

At thirty-seven he was going to get a black eye if he dreamed of 
inviting one of the Scullys out to play. 

"Mulder, we're here."

The door of destiny was right in front of his nose. Scully rang the 
bell.

It couldn't be too difficult. 

"Dana, Fox." Maggie greeted them, drying her hands on an apron. "I 
thought you weren't coming anymore."

"Hi, Mom." Scully hugged her mother and kissed her cheek. "I made the 
cake this morning. That's why we're late."

"You baked a cake? You didn't have to, sweetie." 

"That was no problem. Mulder helped me."

"You've been a great surprise, Fox." Maggie tiptoed to kiss him. "How 
have you been, dear?"

"I'm fine, thanks," he replied, kissing her back. 

"Good." Maggie smiled and got the package Scully was holding. "But let's 
come in."

They stepped in a room wrapped in the strong, pleasant aroma of homemade 
baked food. He kept his watered mouth shut. For years all he had gotten 
for thanksgiving dinner had been that economic tray of flavorless 
overcooked turkey and smashed potatoes that looked and tasted like glue.

"It smells delicious, Mom."

"Thanks dear. We're having Boston style turkey this year," Maggie said 
without stop walking. "Take off your coats and come to the kitchen. 
Louise is helping me there. Charlie and the kids are in the backyar..."

"UNCLE FOXY!"

A cherubim-like figure without wings came flying through the corridor 
and almost collided with Maggie. Caroline was a few inches taller and a 
few pounds lighter that the last time he had seen her. Her blue eyes and 
rosy face radiated energy and happiness. 

He gave the bag with the bottles of wine to Scully, and opened his arms 
widely to greet her niece. 

"Hi, sweetheart." He laughed while Caroline squelched continuous kisses 
on his face. "Aren't you beautiful in this red dress?"

Caroline giggled. "Thank you, Uncle Foxy. Granny gave me the dress for 
my birthday. I'm six now!" She was all proud of herself, her eyes 
twinkled. 

"Congratulations, sweetie!" He squeezed her and planted a kiss on her 
nose. "Now you're a big girl."

"A big girl with a bad behavior," said Scully swirling her fingers in 
her niece's blond curls. "Is just Uncle Fox here? Don't I get a welcome 
kiss too?"

Caroline bent down and wound her left arm around her aunt's neck. Scully 
pecked her lips softly. "How's my little girl and where's my young man?"

Caroline squirmed and Mulder put her down on the floor. "I'll get him." 
She dashed again through the corridor. "Jay! Uncle Foxy and Aunt Day are 
here!"

"Walking, Caroline."

A stern look from the blonde woman standing in the hall and Caroline was 
the epitome of good manners. The wrinkles on the woman's forehead had a 
brief life, though. Caroline disappeared in the kitchen and the woman's 
face was as smooth as a peach peel again. 

"This daughter of mine! She reminds me my sister-in-law all the time." 

"Don't start, Louise." Scully hugged her brother's wife. "Her father was 
not a nice person, either. I think her mother used to hang around with 
us, too."

"Poor kid. Bad blood all around her." Louise turned her brown eyes at 
him and smiled. "You must be Mulder. Caroline and Jason talked so much 
about you."

He shook the hand Louise was offering. "That's me. Nice to meet you, 
Louise. I met them the last time you came here. You have wonderful 
kids."

"Thank you." Louise smile pleased. "They are good kids, but sometimes 
I've come so close to putting them on leashes and tying them onto the 
table legs." 

"Who's going to tie whom on the table and why wasn't I invited?"

Charlie had blue eyes. Mulder could see as he wrapped his arms around 
Scully not for fear nor to show she was his. Mulder did that because 
those sharp blue eyes had been haunting him long before he discovered 
their color. He wanted to be sure he was awake and finally going to meet 
the infamous Charlie Scully. Those eyes belonged to the man that he once 
had thought was Scully's lover, to the man that caused one of the 
greatest hangovers he remembered having had. Those eyes were a couple of 
inches higher than his. They surrounded Mulder, studying him as if he 
were a rare specimen trapped on an examination table. 

Intently.

Inquisitively. 

Ready to cut, to slice, to probe. 

To test.

"You have a twisted mind, Charles."

Charlie muttered something back to Louise, breaking the scrutinizing 
contact to sweep Scully in his arms, apparently forgetting that Mulder 
still had a hold on her. 

"Aren't you ever going to grow up, Charlie?", Scully said, chortling in 
her brother's embrace.

"Let's not discuss the fine art of growing up here, Daney," Charlie 
said, dwarfing his sister in another six foot two inch bear hug. "You 
stopped doing that when you were sixteen." 

"I wasn't talking about being taller, Charlie." 

"Neither was I."

For a brief moment, the siblings held each other's gaze. In a battle 
between brother and sister, Mulder would put his money on Charlie. 
Someone who could literally make Scully shut up just with a mocking  
retort was someone to be respected. 

And to be watched closely.

Scully pulled on her brother's earlobe as he put her back on the floor. 

"Behave, Charles," said Louise, getting the bottles of wine and taking 
them to the kitchen with her. 

Charlie winked at Scully like he was going to do any other thing his 
wife would ask him to but behave. 

Scully stepped aside and both men were face to face again.

"Charlie, this is Mulder."

Charlie knew how to greet a man in Mulder's position. The first physical 
male contact was made with a crisp shaking of hands, to check if the man 
was strong enough to support and to protect a beloved, precious 
treasure.

Or so Mulder thought. Unfortunately, Samantha hadn't stuck around long 
enough for him to find out. But that was the kind of greeting he would 
dispense to the man he had the knowledge was sharing a bed, a house, a 
life with his sister twenty-four hours per day, seven days per week.

The grip of Charlie's hand was steady and firm, demanding respect. 
Mulder met him halfway, without letting the clear attempt of 
intimidation get to him. Five years working day in, day out with a 
beautiful woman taught him how men reacted to his proximity to Scully. 
Most of the time they were field officers trying to make their way with 
his partner. All the feedback they got was a freezing hazel stare to 
cool down their libidos. Scully wouldn't have found endearing this 
particular protection he had provided her along the years, but what 
Scully didn't know could not hurt her.

He smirked.

Or hurt him, for that matter.

"Nice to meet you, Charlie."

Not that Charlie's interest could be related to the interest of those 
men. Charlie was not an opponent fighting for Scully's affection, which 
didn't make things easier exactly. 

"My pleasure, Mulder."

A firm grip on his hand, lips curved upwards not in a smile, but in a 
neat and alluding message.

I know who you are and where you live, you son of a bitch.

Mulder furrowed his brow.

He liked Charlie Scully. 
 
*************

In her entire childhood, Scully had always viewed her mother's kitchen 
windows as the frame of the world. Her world had already been backlit 
by San Diego's sunset on a summer day, by the gray sky of London in 
the winter, and although she had seen too many different background 
scenarios through the years, the things that really mattered hadn't 
changed now that she had become an adult. Her world was enlarged and 
got some new welcome and beloved characters.

Caroline was patiently telling her father that he wasn't supposed to 
open his eyes until she finished saying the magic words. Mulder was in 
charge of helping to keep an eye on Charlie while trying to convince 
Jason that the Knicks were not a lost cause.

"Dad, if you open your eyes again I won't tell Mom I want to eat 
cookies anymore, and you won't have cookies either."

"Honey, this is not fair. I'm not cheating," Charlie whined in the 
same way he used to do over twenty years ago.

Lousy liar, Scully thought. She knew he was peeking between the 
fingers covering his eyes. 

"Yes, you are because Mom said you always peek through your fingers." 
Caroline's air-stuffed cheeks were red. She had her arms crossed over 
her chest while her left food tapped the floor. 

"I'll show you who's cheating." 

Charlie pulled his daughter onto his lap, and started tickling a now 
squirming Carol.

"Dad, stop!" she cried.

"Cry uncle," Charlie demanded.

"NO!" Carol laughed and squirmed some more as her father's fingers 
poked her faster. "Uncle Foxy, help!"

Mulder looked at them from his place at the other side of the table.  
"Sorry, Carol. I have to defend the Knicks first."

"Give up, Mulder," Charlie said, letting Carol go. The girl took this 
opportunity to hide behind her father's chair. "Some things are just 
not meant to be." 

Scully smiled. Fortunately a few things were. 

"I caught her smiling again, Mom."

Scully turned to find Louise at her side with a smile of her own, and 
her mother too occupied stirring the turkey in the other corner of the 
kitchen to pay attention to them. 

"Let me guess," Maggie said, closing the oven. "She's smiling at the 
garden."

"Bingo. More precisely at the new, dark flower talking to Jason. Look, 
Mom." Louise beckoned Maggie to join them at the window. "He's smiling 
back." 

Instead of crumpling her smile, all that teasing made it even wider. 
"I was smiling at my brother. It's not my fault if you married a bozo, 
Louise."

Louise took the bowl with vegetables from Scully's hands and carried 
it to the table. "In this case I won't go outside and plead with him 
to stop being so silly in front of your partner. Charlie missed having 
you as an audience these last couple of years."

"I missed him, too, Louise." Scully left Maggie peering outside and 
took another chair at the table. "I wished he had been at home, 
especially last year, with all the awful things that happened."

Louise had her gaze fixed on the thin slices of onions she was 
cutting. Scully didn't know which technique Louise used, but her 
sister-in-law never cried while dealing with the vegetable. "Your 
brother loves you very much, Dana, but he wasn't what you needed. 
Mulder was there with you."

She got another knife to help Louise. "We weren't together then." 

Louise stared at Scully for a moment before going back to her onions. 
"Silliness must be part of this family's blood. What a waste of time! 
But then, maybe the time wasn't right before and you wouldn't be 
together now." 

Scully separated the sweet potatoes in another bowl to peel them. "I 
guess we wouldn't. If we had tried a relationship any other time, it 
wouldn't have been about us. It would have been a terrible mistake, I 
think."   

"The problem with us, women, is that we're not satisfied in torturing 
ourselves only by waiting for Mr. Right. We also want the right place 
and the right time," Louise said. 

"What's the problem in waiting for Mr. Right?" Maggie protested. "You 
younger people think this is old fashioned, a total waste of time. But 
if you really want to know, in my opinion it's all about you, young 
ladies, being afraid of getting involved with someone else."

"Mom, I don't think you have a point here," Scully said. "The concept 
of Mr. Right has changed for the modern woman. When you were younger, 
you knew where to look for him. A good man with a promising career, 
preferably a little older than you, and brilliant enough to get your 
parents blessing."

"Dana, I'm not that old," Maggie snorted. "In the end of the fifties, 
when I got married, things were changing and old taboos were crumbling 
since World War II. Women rediscovered their value in society. While 
men fought, we women kept the house together. Besides, I know my 
Captain was a keeper, wasn't he?" Then she added in the form of a 
question rich in pride and longing, "A young man from the beginning of 
the sixties who wasn't a pigheaded macho man."

Scully ducked her head to hide a smile. Her mother was usually a 
humble person, but give her the opportunity to gloat to the four 
corners of the world what a wonderful, respectable and supportive man 
her husband had been that she would make good use of it.

"But it was a baby step towards independence, Maggie. As soon as the 
soldiers came back home, women in general were back in the kitchen, 
behind their aprons," said Louise, swinging from the lovely daughter-
in-law mood to the lioness defendant of women's right. "As a social 
worker, every day I see how society treats us. And believe me, it's 
not beautiful. You were just lucky you had a man who respected you 
from the beginning of your lives together."

"Hey, calm down young lady. I'm on your side here," Maggie said, 
softly  disarranging Louise's hair. "What I was trying to say is that, 
despite the fact that women are still undervalued, even nowadays, 
things are a lot easier for you now thanks to us, women from the 
sixties." 

Both Scully and Louise knew that Maggie's heart had been with 'the 
cause', and that probably had been all the 'sisters' from sixties had 
known of Maggie Scully, who at that time was the prototype of 
everything her 'sis' were fighting against: a loving young mother of 
four whose husband was engaged in yet another war.

"Maggie, women from that generation burned their bras in a public 
square, but it doesn't mean they've freed us from men's domain. From 
society's domain. Quoting that song, we're still women in chains, 
still following the path society expects us to."

Maggie washed her hands to stir the turkey again. "I married the 
Captain because I was in love with him. Nobody forced me to do that. 
And nobody forced you to marry Charlie either, Louise."

"But our options were narrowed down to the ideal kind of man: gentle, 
white and well accomplished in life to marry, to mate and to breed."

"So I broke the pattern," Scully said. "I'm living with a Jew who 
happens to be divorced, and I'm not married to him."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Dana, but since the melting pot tale, 
this was supposed to happen someday in the American family. Besides, 
Fox is rich and well educated, the dream man of any woman with 
brains." Vegetables sliced, Louise busied herself mashing the sweet 
potatoes. "Things would be pretty different if you had gotten involved 
with a Hispanic or a black guy, Dana. Or, even worse, with a woman."

Through the corner of her eyes, Scully saw her mother wincing at the 
stove. She was almost sure her mother would survive if she dated a 
black or a Hispanic guy, but getting involved with a woman would be 
the death of Maggie Scully. 

"Nowadays love has several faces, Louise. I don't know if it was part 
of the Creator's master plan, but that's what love has become. Some of 
us find our Prince Charming, others find Princess Charming, others 
find no Charming at all. I know a few couples that live in this 
situation, that are in an interracial or unconventional relationship 
and they're all fairly happy, I must say," Scully said, full of 
herself for deep down she knew that when it was about being 
unconventional, she and Mulder ranked on the top of any list. At least 
in their workplaces.

"Dana is right, Louise. This politically correct line of thought has 
allowed women to choose their own path and lead their lives the way 
they believe is the best one." 

"Maggie, Dana, I hate to disagree with you, my dears, but in my 
opinion, the modern woman just came to the conclusion that metaphysics 
sucks."

The three women burst out laughing.

The kitchen's door opened, and with the cool gust of air came Caroline 
hand in hand with her father complaining that she was starving, and 
asking if she could please have a couple of cookies. Louise quietly 
ordered father and daughter to get the table ready for dinner if they 
wanted to eat. Soon after Jason and Mulder came in. Jason hugged his 
grandmother around the waist and asked if he please could have a glass 
of juice. Maggie more than quickly poured a large glass of apple juice 
for her grandson. Mulder sat at the table with Scully and asked if he 
could help with anything. Scully put a piece of sweet potato in his 
mouth and told him dinner would be ready soon. 

She tasted the sweetness on his lips when he gave her a quick kiss 
before going to help Charlie in the dinning room.

Prince Charming or not, she was just glad with what metaphysics had 
preserved for her. 

She smiled as she followed her beautiful partner with her eyes.

How could she ever complain? 

****************

His being with the Scully family could be called a fine experience. He 
had been introduced to Carol and Charlie's amusing show of magic, and 
had his ass kicked by Jason over an argument about basketball. He 
found in Louise another cheesy movie freak, much to her husband's 
disgust. Maggie took endless snapshots of the whole family, including 
one of him and Charlie discussing the morality of the affairs inside 
of the White House while lining the napkins on the table. Scully kept 
shooting blithe smiles in his direction, blinding him with the gayness 
her eyes reflected at him and at everyone that now was sitting at the 
dinning room table.

Maggie had both of her children beside her, Charlie on her right, 
Scully on her left. Their respective partners were seated beside them, 
and each one of them had one kid at their side. Jason sat beside his 
mother, Caroline beside Mulder. All of them had their attention turned 
not to the golden brown tanned turkey before them, nor to the 
mouthwatering dishes carefully placed on the white linen tablecloth, 
but at the oldest Scully sitting at the head of the table, getting 
ready to start the round of thanks for their good fortune of that 
year.

"It's a profound joy having so many dear faces here with me, in the 
house I've always been so happy, to share and to count all the 
blessings that have lain upon us this year, and also to ask God to 
look after Bill and his family. They couldn't make it this year, but 
I'm sure we're in their prayers right now too, at Tara's parent's." 
Maggie looked at Charlie, who smiled back at his mother. "Would you 
like to start the prayers, Charlie?"

"Sure." 

Mimicking everyone, Mulder closed his eyes and bowed his head. Under 
the table, he twisted his finger, fighting the foolish urge to crack 
them. When they were making the cake that morning, Scully had told him 
about this tradition her family had, where everyone would say some 
words to express how grateful they were for the good things that had 
happened to them. The chocolate he was melting almost burned when he 
realized that he too would have to speak. For exactly twenty five 
years, Thanksgiving Day been a date to mourn, not to show gratitude. A 
quarter of a century of tradition was not to be forgotten overnight. 

"I remember the last time I sat down at this table and said my thanks 
for the good year I'd had. It happened five years ago. I'll never 
forget that year, because that was the last time the Captain started 
the prayers. His first thanks was for having all his brats reunited at 
his house. Mine is for the opportunity of being back to my parent's 
house to celebrate." 

Charlie's words were simple, filled with love and longing for a man 
that wasn't going to be there, being part of their lives anymore. 
Mulder felt for Carol and Jason, children that in the future would 
have only straws of memory binding them to their grandfather. He ached 
for Matthew, who would depend on the recollection of others to get to 
know the grand man his grandfather had been. 

"I don't mean my words to sound like an eulogy, because we all know 
that as long as there's a sky over our heads, and an ocean to get lost 
before our eyes, the Captain will be alive for us." Charlie released a 
low, choked sigh on the back of his throat. "We miss you, Captain."

At the head of the table, a sharp intake of breath burst.

Someplace inside of Mulder started hurting.

His life was divided in before/after fall of '73. In between them, 
there was a gap, a large whole in which ghosts inhabited. Funny. He 
hadn't called them ghosts in a long time. Actually, he had never seen 
them as ghosts until last summer when, with Scully by his side, he 
rediscovered what being in the light was about. For the past twenty-
five years they had been only spectrums of a past that insisted in not 
going away, and whose presence had been so persistent, he had been 
forced to learn how to coexist with them. They had become so familiar, 
such a great part of him, that they only assume their real identity 
through the prism of rage that at times assaulted him.

"I remember when I was a child, no older than Carol is now, he told us 
the meaning of Thanksgiving, both the word and the celebration."   

Starting in his ears, where Charlie's words were tearing apart the 
tight stitches joining the two edges that formed his life, an 
unremitting flow of selfishness spewed out of him. Sadly, he had no 
control of it. God knows he didn't envy Scully's family. He wished 
them nothing but the best. However, he felt hollow for the lack of 
things to say, or to feel. After Samantha disappeared, Thanksgiving 
had been a date to spend alone with his thoughts. For the first couple 
of years, his parents had tried to make it normal for him. Oxford 
china service and silverware on the table, the first of the two 
glasses of wine he was allowed to have every year placed at his hands 
reach, and the chair beside his empty forever. Then his parents 
divorced and the expensive dishes disappeared. Two other empty places 
made him company at the much smaller table in his apartment when it 
was his turn to get divorced and be alone again.

"Suffering and struggle exist to make us better appreciate the good 
things of life, and light only has value because of the existence of 
darkness."     

The stitches were hurting so badly, they burned his stifling chest, 
popping up repressed sobs that wracked his soul. Bear the pain, he 
ordered himself. When the tears threatened to fall, his fingers dug 
his palm searching for absolution, asking for permission to look 
inside of the gape his chest hid - a Tartarus that host the lost souls 
responsible for the nightmares that still haunted his dreams: his 
sister's abduction, his parents withdrawn, his father's murder... 
Scully's abduction, her cancer, Emily, the fear that she would finally 
figure out he wasn't worth it and leave him for good...

"Let's say thanks for the light."

Then he felt her perfume and her presence beside him. The stitches, 
rather than closing, all propped open at once, freeing not ghosts, but 
threads of color, subsiding the pain to a scale that almost didn't 
exist. He hadn't known it, but Scully had been touching that place, 
too, and started a cleaning up. A spring cleaning that had been 
lasting five years now. 

"I want to say thanks for life and for the love my family dispenses 
me. Thanks for my mother, for my wife and children. Thanks for my 
siblings Dana and Bill and for the people that make their lives 
better. For Melissa, for being what she was, a crystal herself." 
Charlie sniggered, a small sound that puzzled Mulder in that emotional 
moment. "And I also say thanks to my sister, that finally baked her 
own cake." 

If there was an inner joke to be understood, he missed it.

Under the table, soft fingers sought for the solace of his rough hand, 
curling around his palm, digging in his flesh.

The rounds of gratitude continued, with Caroline giving thanks for the 
light of the sun and for the fish lamp that cast shadows of the ocean 
Aunt Day had sent on her birthday.

Mulder started making up his speech. The demons still existed, but her 
love was taking care of them. He was healing.

He traced the lines molding the 'M' in her palm, assured that she also 
carried him in her heart.

That alone was more than enough reason to be thankful.

**********

End Part 2b of 3. Continue in Part 3.



Thanksgiving 3/3. Disclaimer and all that jazz in part 1

*********

Like she had thought, she found Mulder in the kitchen, sitting at the 
table with a plate of cookies on his right, a mug of something she 
prayed wasn't caffeine on his left, the legal pad they used as a 
shopping list before him, and a pencil in his hand. Deep lines of 
concentration made skin on his forehead uneven, his middle and ring 
fingers were crushing his nose, his eyes were hooded behind his 
glasses. 

She was so tired, she just wanted to sleep, and he had been keeping her 
feet warm.

"Mulder, it's past two o'clock in the morning."    

He mumbled a 'shup' sound that could have been ketchup, syrup, or he 
just ordering her to shut up.

"It's late, Scully. What are you doing up?" he asked, revising his 
notes.

Step by step, she stumbled into the kitchen. "I came to see what you 
were  doing up, and whatever it is, it can wait until morning."

"Actually, it can't," he said after flipping the pencil around his 
fingers eight times.

"What are you doing, Mulder?" she asked when he sat down after a 
careful inspection of the cupboard above the stove.

"I'm making a shopping list," he said, and sneaked his first glance at 
her. "We have a bag of Doritos and another one of chips. Is it enough 
to entertain the kids until lunch is ready?"

A shopping list? He had let her feet get cold because of a shopping 
list?   

"Mulder," she sighed.

"I'll add another bag of chips for caution. This dish takes some time 
to be done."

Scully reached for his cup on the table and got a swing of his drink. 
Lukewarm cocoa. "You could do this in the morning."

"Besides the rice, we could also cook some steaks to go with the 
eggplants. An option for the kids. What do you think?"

"I... fine."

"Your enthusiasm is making me sick, Scully."

"Ignore it."

"Great idea."

From over his shoulder she read the words 'lettuce' and 'peas' in the 
sub item 'green salad'. Through Mulder's terrible handwriting and the 
haze of sleep, she also read 'Maggie's favorite', an underlined 
reminder beside a bottle of Riesling. Lettuce and peas in the salad 
ingredients because Louise commented the only way to have the kids 
eating those vegetables was combining them, her mother's favorite kind 
of wine, enough eggplants to feed their entire neighborhood... 

Her cold feet grew warmer.

"We didn't invite my family over for lunch to keep you up the whole 
night, Mulder," she amended, ruffling his hair.  

With patience, her chin atop his head and her arms around his neck, she 
waited until he checked the essentials one more time. "Maybe a little 
more ham, Mulder. After all the turkey we had this evening, the change 
will be welcomed."

He added another pound of ham to the pound on the list. She thought now 
they had too much, but putting the leftovers aside would be easier than 
convincing Mulder of that.

"What about the cheese?"
   
"I think it's fine. You'll get extra points with Charlie. He loves 
cheese. Do we really need basil?"

"To use in the sauce." He wrote 'tomatoes' under 'onions'. "Shit. I 
could use my mother's help here."

"I'm going back to bed," she said quietly. The hurt his comment brought 
she kept to herself.

"My mother is an expert with Eggplant Parmesan, Scully. That's all." 

She tied the sash of her robe, giving him time to give a new direction 
to this conversation. 

"When she wanted to make this dish at home on the Vineyard, our cook 
was only her assistant. Sometimes my father would help her with the 
sauce. We're having one of his recipes tomorrow."

"You've decided everything. And we have tomatoes."

"After tomorrow we'll have none. Look, Scully, my parents were 
excellent hosts. I'm not about to screw our lunch up." He looked up at 
her. "I didn't stay married long enough to make good friends in the 
building Diana and I lived. My family... Well, you know, and Diana's 
lived too far away in Seattle. I, I don't know how to receive guests at 
home, and this is your family."

In his own way, Mulder was the most competitive man she had ever met. 
It could have been a remarkable feature in his character if he didn't 
set such high, impossible goals for himself to achieve: proving to the 
world, and mostly to himself, that he was a good man. It was difficult 
to fight with a mirror, and even more so when the distorted mirrored 
image he had of himself kept winning the battle. 

"You don't have to prove anything to my family, Mulder."

"I'm doing this for myself, Scully. For myself."

Fox Mulder just believed in Fox Mulder's criticism, so it didn't matter 
how many times, in how many different ways she tried to make him see 
himself in the light she saw him - her air, her darkness, her light. He 
was a box full of puzzled words whose riddle message she was willing to 
spend the rest of her life deciphering, searching for the key word that 
would kill the beast of his insecurity. For now she lived on clues: a 
little gesture here, another small, incisive look there.

"Go back to bed, Scully." 
 
She almost missed the gift of the night, a small piece of the ever 
growing jigsaw of him.

She sat on the chair beside his.

"Add another bag of chips to the list, Mulder." He used the little 
rubber in the rear end of the pencil to erase the number 'two' he had 
written, then flipped the pencil back to write 'four'. She didn't mind. 
"You don't know how hungry we Scully people become when there's a good 
smell of food adrift in the air."

The next morning, the chirping of the radio clock they had in the 
bedroom woke her up at 8:30. A soft light was pouring through the 
window, and she pulled the blanket rasping her chin up to cover her 
entire face only for a moment. If Mulder had changed the alarm from the 
classic rock radio station to that irritating, unmelodious metallic 
tune, it was because she didn't have an extra minute to spare in bed. 

In bed? 

But wasn't she supposed to be checking the shopping list with Mulder, 
in the kitchen?

Slowly, each breath she was taking to better wake up, was also bringing 
back tidbits of the list of chores she and Mulder had made.

1) Defrost the steak they had;

2) Go grocery shopping;

3) Vacuum downstairs;

4) Clean the powder room;

5) Prepare the strawberry mousse;

6) Nothingness.

Then the shy glowing of sunlight, and her bladder screaming for relief 
eliciting her to wake up. 

A quick shower, a bagel with cream cheese, and the coffee Mulder had 
made got her ready for the day.

She sipped the rest of her coffee.

For the day with her family.

She and Mulder were being ridiculous. They were turning into nervous 
wrecks over a simple family gathering. Because, yes, she was nervous, 
as nervous as Mulder was. She was also worried, and insecure, and 
whatever else the dictionary called the shivers she was feeling in her 
back, arms, and in her bobbling legs.

She called it being terrified.

Her family was both her greatest weakness and a powerful source of 
strength. Today the pendulum of reason was swinging between her inner 
self, who kept reminding her that her life was nobody's business, and 
the almost mandatory need... No, obligation, to straighten what little 
link she still had with her folks. Like yesterday, but with a 
difference: Thanksgiving was about coming together in gratitude, a date 
to be centered in the good things. Today was the first day to make good 
things happen, the first opportunity they had to create an event worth 
being thankful for in the next year.

Mulder had left the list fixed on the refrigerator's door. There were 
five more items she had no recollection of, including item number nine, 
fix the basketball hoop on the garage's door. This one along with items 
two and four were already crossed. The meat was still in need of being  
defrosted, though.

She got the packs of beef from the freezer and put them on the counter. 
She checked off item number one, then went off to organize the house 
and the rest of their day.


**************************

(7)

"Aunt Day, the smell is so very good," Jason said with a yummy face.

"Thank you, Jason. It's Mulder's concoction, though."

A puzzled Carol looked at her aunt. "But Dad said men can't cook, Aunt 
Day." 						  

"Your father can't cook, Carol," Scully corrected her. "Don't get 
yourself deluded by Mulder's sauce, though. He can't cook either."

If Scully had wanted to make a secret out of it, she would have 
murmured her last observation to the children rather than just 
pretending he wasn't close enough to listen to them.

"I've heard that, Scully." Mulder raised the wooden spoon to mock 
threaten her, but had to check the sauce instead. It needed more salt. 
Scully winked and smiled radiantly at him, the worry stiffening her 
shoulders that morning finally gone. 

She walked around the table to tiptoe beside him. He bent forward to 
have his ear in level with her mouth. 

"You know I'm gonna eat any kind of anything you have for me." 

Mulder inspected her pupils to be sure she wasn't on drugs. They were 
bright and clear and alive. Was Scully really playing around, 
insinuating what it sounded like with only the kitchen table separating 
them from the kids?

"Are you drunk?"

"Try me."

Mulder kissed her lips, taking the special care to first suckle her 
upper lip, then her lower one, searching for the faintest taste of 
alcohol. Nothing stronger than a vague lemon juice tartness mixed with 
small spots of salt from the chips. 

"Watch out, woman," he warned. 

She kissed his cheek. "I will, but only if you serve me your special, 
later." 

He took the spoon to her mouth to let her taste the sauce. "I'm gonna 
have it ready and waiting for you." 

She licked her lips a little longer than necessary. "It better be, 
Mulder." 

She kissed his cheek again and asked the children who was going to help 
her with the rest of the snacks. Carol volunteered, getting a fistful 
of her aunt's wiggling fingers, then jumping all the way to the living 
room. Jason and his empty glass of juice stayed behind.   

Jason was all attention while Mulder measured the amount of chopped 
basil to add to the sauce. Actually, it looked like anything was more 
enjoyable than Mulder's company to Jason this holiday.

"Come here, Jason. Let me show you how to prepare a good sauce."

Again that fishy look, innocence and curiosity in those rounded blue 
eyes, full of questions to ask. A dangerous combination to any adult.

"Uncle Mulder..." 

"Yes, Jason."
    
"Don't you like us anymore?"

"What?" He almost dropped a whole bottle of pepper inside the pan 
before the unexpected question. "Don't like you anymore? Why wouldn't I 
like you anymore, Jason?"

"You married Aunt Day, and you didn't invite me and Carol," the boy 
accused, his Irish temper evident in his flushed, indignant face. So 
that was the reason for all those hurtful stares and vicious attack at 
the Knicks yesterday.

"I thought you liked us, Uncle Fox," Jason continued with disconcerting 
sincerity. "You didn't know mom and dad, but you knew Carol and me, and 
Granny Margaret. You left us behind." Jason pouted, one heartbeat from 
crying.

Children should be barred from being so honest.

"Jason," he said quietly, afraid of drawing attention to them. "Your 
aunt and I are not married." 

"You live here with her. She said the big bedroom upstairs is yours and 
hers." 

"She said the truth, Jason." 

"You live here with her, right?"

"Yes, Jason, I do. This is our house."

"So why do you say you're not married?" 

The oil heating on the stove sizzled. Mulder turned to put the battered 
slices of eggplant in the frying pan.

Cupid was blind, society pretended to be blind, and due to the turn his 
life had taken, he believed that God was in urgent need of a pair of 
spectacles, too. However, it was impossible to blindfold a child 
without suffering the consequences. Reasons to lie to Jason he had 
none, and he had no intention of creating one. The problem was that he 
didn't know how much further he could go with his explanations without 
confusing the boy.

"What do you know about being married, Jason?"

For a boy of his age, Jason raised his eyebrow like an adult Scully. 

"Come on, Uncle Mulder."

"No, I'm serious." Mulder put the wooden spoon on the counter beside 
the stove. "I need to have an idea of what you believe a marriage is." 

"Mom and dad are married," Jason said after a few seconds. "There's a 
picture on the mantle of the fireplace. Mom and dad are in front of the 
church. Mom is wearing a bride's dress, and dad is wearing his most 
beautiful navy uniform. Dad's hair was full of rice people around them 
are throwing. Dad is looking silly at mom. His eyes were almost falling 
off his face." Jason stifled a laugh by covering his mouth with his 
hands. "You look silly at Aunt Day, too."

Mulder smiled. Try to mislead a child. They may not know how to put 
their feelings into words properly, but they had such an accurate sense 
of observance, it was almost possible for him envision his eyes popping 
out of their sockets whenever he looked at Scully.

"So I look silly when I look at your aunt?"

"Yes!" Jason squealed. A moment later he was knitting his eyebrows and 
screwing his lips in disgust. "I'll never get married!"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to look silly!" Jason said, his arms bouncing up 
and down on his sides, as not believing how naive his uncle was.

"It's a good silliness, Jason." 

"How do you know if you're not married to Aunt Day?"

The kid was restless.

Mulder didn't want to get into sensitive areas, such as Diana or 
divorce, but he owed Jason an honest answer.  

"I was married once, Jason, but it didn't work out."

"You weren't silly enough?"

Mulder chuckled, stirring the meat simmering in another pan. "Sort of, 
but I had a good marriage."

"And is it good with Aunt Day?"

Mulder looked over at the small vases of flowers Scully had put on the 
kitchen's window sill. To make the kitchen colorful, she explained when 
he asked her what was the purpose in keeping flowers in a place grease 
and smoke reigned. He just couldn't see himself fluttering in the grey 
world his life used to be. His world had gained more intensity thanks 
to the presence of that small woman. As corny and astronomically wrong 
as his comparison was, Scully was the sun shining in his cosmos. 

"It's better than good, Jason."

"Better than extra chocolate fudge in a sundae?" Jason asked, licking 
his lips.

"Definitely," Mulder agreed, amused with the child's association.

"Cool!" Jason said. Mulder got it as a strong sign of approval. Ice 
cream was a serious subject in general children's protocol.    

The eggplants were ready to go, so he asked Jason to get him the plate 
covered with a paper napkin on the table. Jason delivered the dish and 
a decisive question.

"If it's so good, why don't you marry Aunt Day, Uncle Mulder?"

Bingo.

Their conversation had started naturally, and came in full circle that 
same way.

Marrying Scully. He had considered this possibility a few times before 
they got together, always in the what if realm, an alternate universe 
too painful to delve into without getting hurt if she said 'no'. Scully 
was a generous person, and she truly cared for him, but he still had 
his fears: if she rejected him in the reality they were living now, he 
would get maimed for the rest of his life. However what he felt for her 
was too strong, to complex to be put on a marriage license. 

Thinking back now, what he had with Diana had been a tenuous link with 
love, which he had hoped he could have strengthened with God's 
blessing. With Scully it was different. She was the link.

She was the blessing.

Some might say their union was profane, not deserving of God's 
protection. At this point, his religious beliefs were twisted even to 
himself. He didn't comprehend the existence of God, but he respected 
the ones that understood and believed in the Creator's existence. He 
knew prayers, he somehow wanted to believe in miracles, and he trusted 
Scully and what they had together. That was where what he considered 
his sacred vows laid upon, in respect and cherishing what they had 
together until the end of his life. 

Now how the hell could he tell this to a nine year old?

"Uncle Mulder, the pan."

He gathered the eggplants to put them on the plate and eliminate the 
excess of oil. "You know, Jason, if your mother and your father didn't 
love each other, the picture you told me about would be meaningless." 
He was careful in using Charlie and Louise as an example. "The same 
thing happens with your aunt and me. If she wants to get married, 
though, she blinks her eyes and I'll marry her tomorrow," he concluded, 
adding another bunch of eggplants to the frying pan.    

His answer seemed to satisfy Jason's curiosity, but the boy looked sad.

"I wish you married Aunt Day, so you'd be my uncle and Carol's and 
Mathew's for real, Uncle Mulder." 

Mulder blamed the aftereffects of his chopping onions for smarting his 
eyes and burning his throat.

"I don't need to marry your aunt to be your uncle, Jason. You'll always 
be my nephew and Carol will always be my niece," he promised with his 
hand over his heart. "As for Matthew, I think we'll have to wait until 
he's a little older to see whether he wants me as an uncle or not." 

Jason opened a bright smile at him. "He will, Uncle Mulder! You're so 
cool!"

Mulder swatted the boy's behind and rushed him to the living room to 
talk to his Aunt Day because she had missed him. He had wanted to kiss 
the boy, but he couldn't risk his cool uncle status now that he found 
out what a 'cool' sensation that was.


********************************

(10) 

Everything in Fairfax County was related to large scales and giant 
proportions.

Larger than the states of Delaware, Montana and Wyoming, to name just a 
few of them, this thriving 399 square mile urban county was the most 
populous jurisdiction within both Washington and Virginia metropolitan 
areas. 

Half of its residents had a four-year-college degree or more 
educational attainment, which could be the reason for one the highest 
median household incomes in the nation: over eighty thousand dollars 
per year. A great deal for the retailers, since Fairfax ranked second 
as an East Coast shopping paradise, and to the residents, that didn't 
need to go far to get their goods.

Fairfax County concentrated over 150 international companies, the 
largest foreign industry grouped together within Washington 
metropolitan area.

It was one of the eighteen counties out of 32,000 jurisdictions to get 
the triple 'A' bond state in the U.S.

"And now it's also the house of Uncle Foxy Mulder and Aunt Day Scully," 
Charlie said after Scully finished her ramblings about the place where 
she and Mulder now lived.

"Mulder won't be pleased if he hears you call him 'Foxy', Charlie."

"So keep me safe and don't tell him I started this 'Uncle Foxy' thing."

"Afraid of Mulder?"

"Give me a break, Dana. Me afraid of that skinny man?"

Scully elbowed her brother's arm lightly. Mulder could be many things, 
but skinny was not one of them. "Respect the man, Charlie. He's a 
Special Agent with the FBI."

"And I'm Bill Scully Jr's younger brother. Let's see who's got better 
back up." 

Scully rolled the large mug of coffee between her hands and looked over 
at the view before them. The street was quiet, almost a small village 
of townhouses lost in time and space in that micro-cosmos of modernity 
and prosperity. Ahead of the highest step at the entrance of her home, 
where they were sitting now, the red bricks and white downspout of the 
detached houses before them stared back at her. 

"Bill fears you'll never talk to him again." 

"I was going to talk to him, Charlie. He preferred to have a drink with 
Mulder instead." 

"Damn! And I missed this flare-up," Charlie said, hammering his 
knuckles against the open palm of his hand, a sly smile betraying his 
inconsolable face. 

Scully had nightmares only for thinking about what could have happened 
if her brother and Mulder had let their macho pride take the better of 
them. 

"Mulder told me they behaved." 

"Depends on what he considers good behavior. Bill's idea of 
irreproachable composure is to keep the family together with no harm. 
He considers Mulder a harm."

"Mulder is good for my health, thank you very much." Her words came out 
teemed with scorn and anger. "He is not a harm, Charlie. He's not 
responsible for the hazards in our family, and if Bill can't see beyond 
that, it's his problem. Mulder is his own worst prosecutor, Charlie. He 
doesn't need Bill on his back." Suddenly she felt tired of having to 
defend Mulder to her oldest brother, to the Bureau, to the world, and 
now to Charlie. Bill would never get over the fact that her partner was 
not the eighth plague of the Egypt. She hoped Charlie didn't get 
infected by their brother's venomous. "He could give Mulder a chance, 
Charlie."

Her brother smiled. "Dana, Bill will never like Mulder."

"And you think this is funny?" she asked, not believing Charlie's 
amusement. 

Charlie chuckled. "Bill is your oldest brother. It's his duty to 
dislike your boyfriends, Dana. Did you really expect him to like 
Mulder?"  He chuckled again. "The Mulder?" Despite her anger, Scully 
let out a small laugh. "But call Bill, Dana. He's hurt because you're 
talking to Mulder but not to him."

"I have a life with this man, Charlie," Scully said, gesturing 
backwards with the magnitude of having evidence A, B and C all rolled 
up in her and Mulder's two store house. "I live here with him, I sleep 
with him. I have to talk to him. Whether Bill likes it or not, Mulder 
is the most important part of my life. That's the whole problem."

"Bill doesn't have a problem, he just loves you."

Scully shook her head. Loving was so troublesome and complicated in her 
life. She bit her lip and silently begged for God's forgiveness. If 
there was something she couldn't make any complaints about, it was 
about love in her life. "I'll call him, okay?" she promised, attempting 
to show God she was really willing to make up with her brother.

"He'll be happy, Dana." Charlie picked up his mug of coffee. "From the 
things I've been hearing about Mulder along the years, I'd never 
picture him living in one of these made-in-series houses," he said, 
changing the subject.

Or maybe not. Her brother seldom threw words out to the wind for 
nothing. 

"Did your opinion change now that you've met him?" 

Charlie shuddered. "I've got some new information to focus on, Dana. 
Some new things about him to work with. Maybe you could help me with 
them." 

As soon as they had finished savoring Mulder's delicious Eggplant 
Parmesan, Charlie assigned himself and Scully along to take care of the 
dishes. Mulder had his best panic face on as he took the rest of her 
family to the living room to play host. In each rinsed dish her brother 
handed her, she heard the loud thud of her heart in her ears. Charlie 
wouldn't let another opportunity pass without having that small talk to 
her. They fixed the kitchen up and he pushed her towards the front door 
so they could talk in peace. He told her Mulder would be okay 
discussing The Monster of the Lagoon or any other crap movie with 
Louise and the children for another few minutes. She loved Charlie from 
the bottom of her heart, but sometimes it was so difficult putting up 
with his occasionally bossy manners.

"I hope you liked him, because he's staying, Charlie. And I'm staying 
with him." 

Charlie cupped his hands around his mouth, looking away from her. She 
saw condensation escaping between his fingers to get lost in the cold 
afternoon. Charlie knew. Out of all the members of her family, he was 
the only one who truly knew how dearly she had wanted all the things 
happening in her life now.

"I know, Dana. And I accept Mulder in your life. Believe it, Bill and 
Mom want to accept him, too. But I also understand them and share some 
of their concerns," he spoke carefully. Both of them were aware of how 
slippery, how delicate the Mulder subject was. They were also conscious 
of the damage it had already made in her relationship with their oldest 
brother. "You've been together for what, Dana? Six months? You'd stayed 
for over a year with Ethan, with Willis. The moment they started the 
ringtalk you sent them home."

"Neither Jack nor Ethan was the right man, Charlie. You should know 
this better than anyone else. Their rings weren't right." She blinked 
to cast that involuntary sensation of remorse away. "In both situations 
I tried to be honest with them and with myself. I never loved them, or 
I didn't love them enough. I don't know. With Mulder it's different. 
It's complete and solid. It's everything." 

In the pavement across from their house there were two large, solid 
trees. Their realtor had explained that the contractor who planned the 
house had planted the already adult trees when the buildings were 
finished. Charlie studied their naked branches for a long time before 
speaking again. "I admire your courage, Dana. I really do. But you 
moved on too fast."

"I love him, Charlie," she said softly. "Mulder offered me more than a 
ring; he gave me the whole package. I don't need anything else." 

He took her cold hand between his frozen ones. "But was moving in with 
him a wise decision? Things change once you live with someone else, 
Dana."

She understood her family's concern. She was almost flattered for 
knowing they cared so much for her, but this was her life, her destiny, 
her happiness. They needed to trust her and her judgment on what was 
best for herself.

"He makes my life good, Charlie, easier. He's still the old times 
Mulder, I still recognize him as so. This is good, it feels safe, like 
things didn't necessarily change. They just took their natural turn. 
We're not forcing any situation." 

He dropped her hand to tuck his between his legs. "He seems to be an 
honest man. Are you honest with him?"

Scully braced both her arms on her raised up knees. Mulder's parka 
sheathed her body from the freezing cold, but not from the small, 
unsaid things still hanging between herself and her partner, herself 
and her family. Herself and what was echoing in her heart. 

She shivered. "There are things he still doesn't know, as I'm sure he 
has his secrets, too. But we're trying, Charlie. We're more honest with 
ourselves each passing day. We talk, we don't let the silence in our 
pasts interfere in our lives together. We're creating a good 
relationship, our ties are getting stronger."

They smiled at each other, their conversation making the air around 
them comfortable again.

"I'm glad to hear that, Sis. Things just get really bad if we don't 
tell each other what needs to be said." Charlie looked at her, his eyes 
apologizing for bringing up something so particular, so private, 
reminding her of why she trusted that man so much. "Don't postpone your 
life any longer, Dana. Be honest with him, but most of all, be honest 
with yourself."

Her cheeks warmed up, and her lips crushed up in a little, tight smile. 
"When the right time comes, Charlie, Mulder will know everything about 
me. And I'll know everything about him." She stood up brushing her 
hands over her jeans. "Let's get inside before Mom comes out here to 
scold us for being out this long."

Charlie picked up their empty mugs of coffee off the floor and stood 
up, too. "A woman of this age still afraid of Mommy."

"You had bronchitis, Charlie, not me."  

"And I'm staying with her." Charlie grimaced, curving his shoulder and 
legs like a kid that had been given a shot of a bitter, terrible 
medicine. "Do you think she still has that herb she used to force down 
my throat when I started coughing?"

"Wheeze in front of her and you'll find out."

For the rest of the afternoon, Charlie didn't even breathe in front of 
their mother.

****************************


Dusk poured into the kitchen filtered by the window and eased by the 
fluorescent light forcing its way out of the room. They met halfway, 
each of them carrying their indissoluble properties of 
darkening/lightening, fighting a lost battle for one couldn't block the 
power of the other. Dark was growing outside, light brightened inside, 
shadows faded on the walls. 

On the table, another peculiar war took place. White spots matched the 
flat rectangular pieces of black wood resembling a motionless snake on 
the kitchen's table. In one end there were two white spots; in the 
other end, five white spots. In Mulder's hand there were all sort of 
combination of spots, but the ones he needed. In his gaze there was the 
shadow of worried lips and frowned brow; in Charlie's, the light of a 
cynical sneer.

"Hey, are you planing on making your move before the next holiday?"

Mulder let go of the stones in his hands to scan through the China's 
Great Wall miniature he had built before him. Charlie, on the other 
hand, had laid all his game on the table. Mulder felt a bit like a fool 
for trying to hide what he had. In this game they were even. The 28 
stones had been shuffled face down and evenly distributed: he had fifty 
percent of the pieces; Charlie had the other half. They could come out 
clear. With no boneyard for stockings left, it was only a matter of 
time before they figured out each other's game, whether it was the 
domino match or the little game of nerve both men were playing with 
each other. 

Mulder was conscious that Charlie had a small advantage over him, 
starting with the fact that the younger man had grown up with Scully, 
so he had his particular stock of information. It didn't mean Charlie 
had taken part in every decision Scully had made in her life. Scully 
was self confident and woman enough to decide which steps to take and 
direct her life the way it better suited her needs. No, not that. But 
Charlie had the power... No, power was not a quality Scully would let 
any man impose on her. Her past love affairs were the best proofs that 
dominant men both fascinated and withdrew her from any deeper 
involvement. Two mortal mistakes Mulder was in constant self vigilance 
not to commit, and that Charlie had no qualms in making. At this, 
Mulder associated him to Bill, with the difference that the youngest 
Scully seemed to be more sensitive and respectful about his sister's 
choices. Even so, Scully trusted him.

More than once Scully stated that her youngest brother was her best 
friend ever. For the last twenty-four hours, Mulder had been trying to 
discover the reasons why. Charlie didn't pretend wounds did not hurt, 
or that they did not exist. The youngest Scully had the belief that, in 
order to heal, it was necessary to push the pain to the limits of the 
body. Mulder didn't see this intervention with sympathy. After all, 
power tasted sweet on the inquisitor's tongue, but provoked a bilious 
sensation in the one who had to respond and justify what was considered 
right.

Mulder had a sweet tooth. Charlie was being damned in denying him this 
small treat.

If Charlie weren't Scully's nearest and dearest, and if he and Mulder 
weren't so alike in this... harmless... trace of their personalities, 
his would be the top name on Mulder's-people-to-be-kept-at-arms-length 
list. But the most annoying thing about the man was...

Mulder swore under his breath as three dominoes that had acquired lives 
of their own twisted around his fingers before falling face up on the 
table. Charlie shook his head and spied on them, already rearranging 
his own game.

... Dominoes, for Christ sake!
     
"Dominoes aren't your game, right, Mulder?"

"I don't like it very much," Mulder replied, choosing sincerity over 
flippancy. "Hits too close to work for comfort."

"As a profiler?" Charlie asked, organizing his dominoes by groups of 
numbers. Five with fives, two with twos. Damn! Of course he couldn't 
find twos. Charlie had all of them.

Giving up on twos, Mulder started hunting for threes. Making use of his 
adversary's stratagem, stones with the same numbers were being grouped 
side by side.

"As an investigator." He was almost running out of fives, too, but he 
had most of the ones. "I prefer shooting a few hoops as an off-duty 
civilian, though."

"In this freezing cold?" 

"Winter sports," Mulder answered wrinkling his nose. Holding the set of  
dominoes in his hands with the grace of a counterfeit professional, he 
wangled ways of forcing his game on Charlie. And how to make Charlie 
respond to it. 

After five years of at times pushing, at times respecting her silence, 
by perchance he found out that the best way to have Scully talking was 
by offering her his undivided attention and perennial patience. His 
effort and willingness to wait for the right moment earned him half 
sleepy, half wrapped up in contentment bits and pieces about her life 
at the base, the convivial with her siblings and the pets she had 
adopted as a child. About Charlie there had been few anecdotes shared 
against his shoulder, usually when darkness was high in the sky. The 
advanced hour and the sleepy comfort that his being with her brought 
ended up plundering most of the valuable information he was so in need 
of having now.

The enthusiasm and tenderness in Scully's narrative had shaped her 
brother in mythical canvas, a supernatural being who fit a child's 
imaginary friend in the top of the qualities: a listener who didn't 
classify you as a claptrap, a presence that brought comfort just by 
being there. Someone who could turn ordinary words into treasured 
secrets just because you trusted them to him. 

Charlie was more than a twisted mind: he was a twisted reality. Mulder 
was loath in letting that particular Scully's family member inside of 
the walled up world he had constructed to live in with Scully. He was 
constantly en guard around Charlie; the youngest kept confounding him, 
acting like Mulder wasn't the responsible for at least half of the 
newest aging lines smearing Maggie's face. Bill's position had been 
crystal clear; Charlie was giving him a time Mulder didn't know how to 
make use of. Reinforce his foundation?, improve his defense mechanism?, 
or just unwind and be himself?

Charlie's bland face didn't give an answer. It was a calm, mute 
invitation to accept the honesty offered by his blue eyes. And those 
blue eyes were like beads of water luring to their liquid nest.

Mulder was a man who welcomed challenges with open arms. The 
fascination for the unknown constantly overpowered his sense of 
caution. Water could be turbulent, most certainly traitorous, but also 
so compelling and involving. 

Enticing.

Charlie was safe. Scully had told him Charlie was safe, and she was the 
only water he waded into without the fear of drowning. Yet, caution 
reigned. One couldn't hold onto water.

"I'm not a fulltime profiler anymore. Now I'm an ordinary field agent, 
got a regular job."

"Dana told me you primarily worked as a profiler at the Bureau, and 
that you were the best in what you did. When she let out you had 
applied for a transfer, that was the first place I thought you'd go 
back to."
 
"It would have taken me back to Quantico, and Scully needed some 
space." 

"I've heard of that," Charlie said, the game momentarily forgotten as 
he stole a glance at the kitchen's door. They were a good thirty feet 
away from Scully, who was having coffee and carrot cake with Mrs. 
Scully, Louise and the kids in the living room. The TV was on and they 
were a noisy laughing group. Ghost of a chance for them to hear what 
was happening in the kitchen. Even so, Charlie kept his voice low, 
edged with anger. "Those shitheads, setting up both of you like that. 
Dana kept it quiet. She just told me you wouldn't be working together 
anymore. Had I known it sooner, you'd have witnessed a serious ass-
kicking session, Mulder," 

"You wouldn't have found any to kick, Charlie. Those men have no faces, 
much less a back side to be kicked. Unless you meant kicking my ass. 
This one was there for everyone to see," Mulder said, discarding a 3/1 
spotted stone, and Charlie let out a startled, 'Shit!' That was what he 
did best: fall heavy and dirty in the awake of an imminent menace.

The automatic engineering that activated the mechanism of his defense 
system started rotating before Mulder had the time to dissect what 
Charlie had said. It could have been nothing, as well as it could have 
been everything. A befogged blame, or a simple and harmless statement. 
What mattered was that he couldn't take his chance; Bill proved 
Scully's males were great kick asses. And he never used his boot to 
attempt any further contact to Mulder. 

With tight pursed lips, Charlie made slight back and forth movements 
with his head, the eyes fixed on the game on the table not giving 
Mulder a clue of what he was thinking. He just wished him and Charlie 
could come to terms to all that tiptoeing around each other and be 
authentic, be themselves.

Charlie pulled out a 2/2 and cross-cruised it on the table. Mulder 
hadn't given him many options after all.

"My sister wasn't found alone, Mulder. The violation was hard on you, 
too, I suppose."

The violation had been humiliating, crushing to put it in a few words. 
However, what broke him, shredded all his bones to dust with no mercy 
had been the impact of, in their aftermath, look at Scully in the eye 
and not being able to detect any sign of confidence, of control or 
pride, not any trace of the coolness that inhabited Scully's self rise 
to the surface. He wasn't ready to see her face displaying the emotions 
of a rag doll, to see her acting as a rag doll. Someone had handed her 
an FBI issue jacket. She pulled it on. Another agent helped her out of 
the bed. She didn't protest. Trajan told them they were supposed to 
stand before the Discipline Board on Tuesday morning. She didn't 
question. Mulder drove them to his apartment, tucked them in his bed, 
and held her shivering body all night long. She nestled closer to him, 
and just had an automatic reaction when he told her it was time to get 
up and meet Skinner. 'What now, Mulder?' she had asked.

What now?

"It was, Charlie. I thought they had finally succeeded in taking away 
the only good thing I'd gotten working in the X-Files. If Scully had 
left..."

"She didn't. Despite everything she's here, right by your side."  

Each of them discarded three more stones before Mulder found the right 
words to ask Charlie a question that, although he didn't like to admit 
it, was important to him - Charlie's approbation. He tried to be 
indifferent towards the others. Mrs. Scully never treated him badly, 
Louise had been nice and the kids adored him. He had aimed for less 
than that, but since he got all this sympathy, he wasn't going to 
complain. One Scully keeping him guessing all the time and another one 
openly hating him was all he could get, though.

"Are you okay with this, Charlie?" 

The match was coming to an end; each of them just had four more pieces 
to play and once again their layout had that same two open ends: three 
and two, odd and even. Charlie chose odd, putting down a 3/5. "You're 
her choice. That speaks for itself."

"And don't you speak for anyone, not even for yourself?"

"My sister, more than anyone else, deserves to be loved and happy. You 
cover both bases."

"But would you rather have another person covering those bases?" he 
asked again, laying the 1/1 double on the table. After that, solitaire 
no more. 

Since they started playing, Charlie had granted Mulder the access to 
his game. Now, with closure as their next step, Charlie turned face 
down his two remaining stones, switching off the several white spots 
that had been illuminating the dark tiles.

"You shouldn't be worried about my sentiments towards you, Mulder. It 
wouldn't make much of a difference now or ever." 

"So there are sentiments." Mulder let his pieces fall on the table. He 
was at his house on a long holiday. It wasn't fair to himself if he 
kept his mind working, fending off answers to a man that gave very 
little in return. "That says a lot, Charlie."

"Why the irony?" Charlie asked, zigzagging the remaining stones under 
his fingers on the table in a fast spinning dance. Mulder wasn't 
impressed with the movement. Without the white spots to distract his 
mind, the dark dominoes pieces were just that, pieces that an UNSUB 
left along the way and that he had to join and figure out the puzzle. 

"For a guy that enjoys talking to everybody, you're doing a mean job in 
not saying anything at all to me, Charlie." 

"Attitudes speak louder than words, Mulder." 

"They do," Mulder agreed to soon after rebuff, "And you're just acting 
like the criminals I chase."

"You don't sit around with your suspects sharing a beer and a domino 
match, Mulder," Charlie stated as if trying to put a stop in that 
discussion, what tasted like a sugar spoon in Mulder's craving mouth. 

"I have lots of coffee at their expense, but the domino match is all 
there," Mulder said, reaching out for the forgotten bottle of beer 
before him. "When the guy is good, little information is left behind, 
but I have to make do with them. Some of the pieces I have match among 
themselves, but I need more to make it really work. Sometimes I can 
play catch faster, but sometimes I just can't. Sometimes I have less 
than this," he pointed at the couple of pieces Charlie had turned down, 
"and it's easier to figure out the criminal's next movement. And there 
are times when he leaves his half in the open, works in the open and I 
just can't catch him. It's all there for me to see, and I just can't 
catch him. I could so easily reach out and take him, but that's not how 
it works. It can be a trap, or how you so nicely pointed it out, a big 
set up shit." As he talked, Mulder turned up the three pieces he still 
had and let them there in total display to his opponent. At this point 
he had nothing to hide or to lose. "I could reach out and get your 
pieces, Charlie, but that's not how it works for me either."

"So I've been an UNSUB from the very beginning?" Charlie whistled low, 
a long tune that concealed real embarrassment. "This is more credit 
than any of Dana's former boyfriends gave me. Should I feel flattened, 
or is it a variation for SOB?" 

Mulder chuckled. Charlie's boneyard still had resources. His game 
hadn't been blocked, but his almost pass was a good sign. Charlie would 
be a good friend someday. 

"Sometimes we refer to them in those terms, but most of the time 
they're just UNSUBs. SOB is for personal reference."

"So if you call me a SOB I shouldn't be offended. It's your FBI 
standard way of letting me know we're getting personal." Charlie tilted 
his chin forward at Mulder's pieces. "It's your turn to play."

Mulder studied the man before him without hurry to make his next 
movement, scrimping and saving time like Charlie scrimped and saved 
words. They could forego that game to no end, and Mulder couldn't care 
less for that as along as Charlie understood that he, Mulder, was there 
to stay. 

"I don't know how much Scully told you about our work, or how much you 
think is believable. The only thing I can guarantee is that we've seen 
things human eyes should be spared of. Scully and I faced evil in the 
eye and more than once we were tempted to accept what they were 
offering us. We bargained with devil itself and got bruises that will 
leave scars for the rest of our lives." Mulder paused to get a long 
swing of his beer, letting the cold beverage work as a bitter 
refreshment for his memory. "Scully had her feet planted firmly on 
earth, but I've always been a believer wanting to believe in everything 
they showed me, in any piece of crap people waved before my nose 
attesting that it was the truth I was looking for. People called me 
'Spooky' with a reason, Charlie. I was becoming Spooky."

"Dana said people called you Spooky before you started working 
together," Charlie said accenting the word before, reminding Mulder of 
the longevity of this unwanted alter-ego.  

"They did. I've been called Spooky since before Diana. Things worsened 
after I divorced her. Diana was the status of normalcy I lost when she 
left," Mulder snorted, observing how dusk was becoming more substantial 
as night spread its dark and dense wings over the moon. "I just 
realized how uncomfortable that title made me when I found out I had 
fallen for your sister, however. She is the best thing that has ever 
happened in my life, Charlie. Sometimes I can't remember how it was 
before her." 

"I understand, Mulder," Charlie said with a notch of sympathy in his 
voice. "If you ask me what happened in my life in the last ten years, 
the first thing that comes to my mind is my kids. Jason and Caroline 
are past, present and future to me."  

"I have too many things tying me to my past. Samantha, the X-Files, 
Diana, my years in the VCU. I'm proud of the years I spent in the 
basement. They taught me more than a lifetime of any other experience I 
could have had." Mulder lifted his eyes, pointing his nose to the light 
hanging on the ceiling and that, from there, spread throughout the 
corridor in the first floor of the house until it met the light coming 
from the living room. Then he finally looked back at Charlie to make 
his point clear. "I'm rebuilding my present now. This house is what 
holds me into the present. A life with Scully is my dream for the 
future." 

"Dana is part of your present, Mulder. You can't be so insecure to the 
point of not realizing this."

"I'm aware of my limitations, that's all." Mulder shuffled his stones, 
face up, meeting Charlie's quiet gaze. "I'm almost ten years your 
senior, however in the last ten years I bet I didn't experience half 
the simple things of life you did. I'm 37, Charlie, and I feel that 
just now I'm settling down for real. I didn't know how to react when I 
found myself wanting more of life, and wanting your sister as a part of 
it. She was supposed to be temporary, not permanent."

"Does it bother you? Having her as a permanent part of your life?"

Mulder's fingers froze on the stones under them. "She's everything, 
Charlie. Without her there's no life at all."

"So I don't understand why you're telling me this, Mulder."

Mulder ducked his head embarrassed. "I don't know, Charlie. I'm not 
used to open up with anyone. Even with Scully, we talk more in our 
silences. What I told you are sentiments I've been carrying since I 
joined the Bureau. Most of them have no impact in my life anymore. I 
just felt like sharing."  

"Dana said you don't trust anyone. Why me?" Charlie insisted.

"I don't know. Maybe because she trusts you. Maybe because I want to 
befriend you. My first experience with a Scully male was terrible. I 
was hoping with you it would be different."

Mulder had three stones with him: 5/6, 1/6 and 5/1. Charlie had two 
stones that Mulder calculated were 2/4 and 5/2. On the table, the open 
ends were, in one side 2, and in the other 5, which was the only side 
Mulder could play since he didn't have any two-dotted stone. On the 
other hand, he had the remaining sixes and ones, and most of the fives. 
Whether Mulder used the 5/1 stone or the 5/6, Charlie would have to use 
the 2/4 and keep his last five. Then he would depend on Mulder to win 
this match. 

Mulder didn't want to block Charlie now that they're were finally 
heading somewhere.

He discarded the 5/6.

And astonished saw Charlie turn a 2/4 and a 6/2 dotted-stone face up 
and lay it flat on the table, before the motionless snake's epicenter.

"You shouldn't have a six-dotted stone," Mulder babbled. "You should 
have a 5/2." 

"You didn't count the game rightly, Mulder," Charlie said, taping his 
finger on the 5/2 stone amidst the body of the snake that one of them 
had already discarded. "You met Bill when our sister was dying. We were 
introduced when you're making this same sister happy. Bill saw her 
deathbed. I saw the bed you lie down with her every night. Don't accuse 
Bill of anything, not in front of me." 

"I'm not accusing him of anything, Charlie," Mulder said, struggling to 
get over this turnabout. He had offered Charlie everything with no 
reserves, and had everything he had said used against him. "I know I'm 
not an easy person, either. But you're at least trying, sitting here 
and listening to me. It's more than what he gave me." 

"It's a matter of opportunity. If I had met you where Bill did, I sure 
wouldn't be here, either," Charlie said looking at him straight in the 
eyes. "I may be the most diplomatic Scully child, but I'm not a saint." 

Then, to Mulder's surprise, Charlie got the 6/2 stone and matched it 
with the other two-dotted piece, leaving both ends of the game six-
dotted. Mulder could go dominoes in either side of the game.

He looked questioningly at Charlie, who explained, "You went beyond 
what I had expected. You deserved to win at least this match." Charlie 
reached out and offered his hand to Mulder. "I'm Charles Scully. It's 
nice to meet you."       

Mulder clasped Charlie's hand in a friendly handshake. Charlie hadn't 
blocked his game. He could finally be Mulder.

Just Mulder.


**************************


Coherence stumbled upon coordination, that collided with indulgence, 
and all of them dropped self-control from his stiffing member and his 
spinning head onto her shoulder as he let go inside of her until there 
was no where else to run.  

At the end of this orgasmic journey, lethargy enveloped him in its 
heavy arms, his tiredness not allowing him to breathe in compass with 
his needs as he was starved for air. The fingers stroking his hair were 
lazy conductors of pleasure along his used up body. So good, he nestled 
up against her, fitting his chin on her collarbone, with the top of his 
head outlining her tilted jaw. He fizzed the beginning of her name as 
she purred the end of his, and he smiled full and sated on her skin. 

Having her so solid and perfect filling up his environment, he counted 
another day that had passed by. If he added the two following days to 
come, he would sum another week. One more week and November would be 
over. Then December would come, bringing with it another roll of four 
weeks and three bonus days to be added to the calendar he had created 
since he started living in this surreal reality. Time now was not 
measured in minutes, hours or seconds; those were grains of sand that 
had been escaping between his fingers for way too long. In his new 
calendar, time was measured by tangible moments he could hold onto to 
be convinced this life was no wraith. All the tastes and textures he 
was experiencing now were too rich and well shaped to belong to a 
dream. It took him weeks to accept this simple truth, that the 
curvaceous body breathing beneath his wasn't a chimera anymore, getting 
used to take as fact what once had been an illusion. Scully was not a 
thread of hair net-like patterned with the wool of his suit jacket that 
he carried back home after a day's work, or a pillow he had caught at 
random in the several motel rooms he had spent the night when they had 
been out on a case. In his arms she was harder and steadier and no 
dream.

And no dream.

"Half a penny for you thoughts," she bargained softly.

"They're not on sale. Raise up your offer."

She chuckled low and brief; he floated in the sound, high and long. 

"I can't afford them all at once, Mulder."

"Is it a nice way of saying that I think too much?"

"No. Only my way of saying they're too precious to me."

He lifted his head, careful not to slip out of her arms, searching 
for an angle in which he would be able not only to listen to her words, 
but also to look at her face. Contentment fitted her nicely, a 
compliment that he, of all people, was bringing it back into her life.

She had spent a long time outside talking to Charlie. About the secrets 
of the universe, or about countless bouts with death. About childhood 
games or children's pranks. She and Charlie could have shared bales of 
useless things or their deepest dreams for life. Mulder didn't know. 
Whatever it was, it remained with the cold outside the minute she and 
Charlie stepped into the house.

She looked relieved, and felt like a warm spring breeze caressing his 
face, and for a moment Mulder envied Charlie for being the warmth 
Scully needed to open up and let go of her fears.

Then she found him looking at her and she smiled. Mulder melted. Her 
brother could be warmth, but he was the element that kept her fresh and 
anew. Everything he did revolved around her, to keep the heat of her 
contentment alive as long as he lived. Without knowing it, she returned 
the gesture sharing her contentment not with kisses or other open 
demonstrations of affection, but only by allowing him to fill in her 
silences, her voids.   

"I accept whatever you can give me, Scully," he said, lowering his head 
back onto her collarbone. He felt her fingers working on his hair 
again. "Small payments for the rest of our lives is a good start."

She kissed his forehead. "What if one lifetime is not enough?"

"That's what reincarnation is there for, Scully."

"I'm Catholic, Mulder."

"So resurrection is what it is, Scully." He pushed his right arm from 
under her and laid it on her stomach. Turning his lips against her 
neck, he slurred sleepy, "And you better believe I'd go after you until 
I found you."  

*****

He was still inside of her.

She smiled plenty for the simple things life had been gifting her with, 
like the weight of the head that most nights rested on her chest. Or 
for being able to be the heaviness on his chest, for having his hair 
tickling her face as she absorbed the musk and acrid odor of his body 
after they had made love. The simplicity of this primeval bond awed her 
for with none of her other few past lovers had she shared this 
connection. Mulder was more and she wondered why, what was this 
intrinsic magnetism pulling her towards him.

Her relationships had been good ones. The men in her past had treated 
her right and with property. They had loved her, but she had been 
incapable of returning the sentiment with the same intensity. With 
Mulder it came as naturally as breathing. In the beginning she had been 
scared for not knowing how to deal with the ache that stung her chest 
her being so close to him caused. Later on, as their relationship 
evolved, she found there was nothing to fear, only to accept. From the 
very beginning, since when they had first been introduced, their goals 
had been the same. As working partners it had been the truth. As man 
and woman they were, hand in hand, heading towards completion, and 
finding it in the very small things, such as in their towels hanging 
side by side on the towel rack, or during the rushed trips to the 
grocery store after work only to get a quarter of milk and guarantee 
his milky-like lips against hers as he kissed her goodnight. Or 
because...

Or maybe because, like she had told Charlie, now she had the whole 
package. They still had adjustments to be made, and there were things 
she still had to say, but they were on the right path. She had faith in 
their truth because the truth had become themselves.

She pulled a lock of hair away from his eye to trace the contour of his 
eyelid. He feathered his lips on her shoulder.  

"I thought you were sleeping," she said a little surprised with his 
movement.

"I'm almost there," he whispered.

"Don't sleep just yet. I want to talk a little."

"I liked him, Scully. He's very nice for a brother-in-law," he mumbled. 
"I was nice to him, too, and didn't push him on the floor when we were 
shooting hoops outside."

"Did you hurt him? Why did you push him onto the floor?" she asked 
amused by the psychic!Mulder that had just been waiting around the 
corner, eager to bring her brother up to their conversation.

"I didn't," he harrumphed. "He hit the floor because he plays 
basketball like he had two left feet. No wonder *I* had to teach you 
how to play baseball."

She *knew* how to play baseball way before their batting lesson in the 
summer. That was one of the little things he would know someday.

"That's why he plays dominoes."

"I've already figured out that much. Can I sleep now?" He moved his 
hand up to capture her left breast, getting ready to sleep. 

She sighed and covered his hand with hers, trying to keep him awake for 
a little longer. "I don't want to talk about Charlie."

"My other bro?"

"If Bill catches you calling him bro, Mulder..."

"He better get used to it. I'm the last bro he's getting from you." His 
sleep-induced mumbling warmed up her neck and her heart.

"I called him this evening and got his answering machine. I left him a 
message."

"Whatever."

He was far gone, she thought as she pulled another blanket over them. 
She could tell him the message had been left in their names during 
breakfast tomorrow morning. He shifted his body, finally disengaging 
himself from her. 

"I love you, Mulder," she whispered.

As he had tucked her in the night before without waking her up, she 
gathered him in her arms to place his head on his pillow. 

"U no pillow an'mor, Scul," were his last words before he started 
snoring.

She turned off her bedside lamp, another smile adorning her lips.

He was still inside of her.

**************

End of *Thanksgiving*. Get ready for *Christmas*.

Christmas 

 

The drizzling rain had been falling continuously since he had left to 
run a few errands that morning. It bothered him. It didn't soak things, 
it didn't keep things dry, its watery trickles weren't powerful enough 
to provide the wild symphony of droplets drumming on the landscape 
during a storm or, at least, a downpour. Drizzling rains were just 
bothersome. 

He pulled the hood over his head and ran the short distance separating 
his car from the Photomat. He may be averse to this poor attempt at rain 
and all, but he knew better than to catch a cold in the winter. 

The place was empty, as it should be on a Saturday morning. Just he and 
the store's clerk. Andrea, her nametag said. 

"Good morning, sir. How can I help you on this beautiful day?" 

Her friendly tone didn't make the trip to her bored face, but he smiled 
back at her. "How could I resist the call of this lovely weather?" 

"I would if I could, but my alarm clock and my bills are pretty 
efficient in this department." He joined Andrea in her chuckle. "But 
what can I do for you, sir?" 

"I'm here to get Dana Scully's photos." 

Andrea pulled a drawer open and flicked through the envelopes in there. 
"Scully, Scully, Scully," she chanted until she finally picked up a 
yellow Kodak envelope. "Dana Scully, here it is. Her name rings a bell. 
I don't know why," she said, blinking at him behind her glasses. "You 
seem to be familiar, too." 

"I'm in the photos," he said, embarrassed for being the subject of her 
intent gaze. 

"But that's not it." She looked at him a second longer until her eyes 
twinkled with recognition. "Oh yes, I remember now." There was a filing 
tray on the counter with another stack of larger envelopes. "We had a 
promotion last month. If you developed a roll of thirty-six shots, you'd 
get a free 8x10 copy of your favorite photo. Your wife's photos were 
ready on the last day of our promotion. My manager tried to get in touch 
with her, but it wasn't possible." She gave him the red envelope, 
blushing slightly. "It would be a waste if she lost the promotion with 
such beautiful snapshots, so my manager asked me to help her to pick one 
out. I hope you like our choice." 

He quickly opened the envelope, curious to see which photo had been 
chosen. 

It was beautiful. 

He and Scully were hugging each other in what he recognized as Maggie's 
living room. Scully had her eyes closed and her head tilted in a gentle 
angle towards his face, her nose pointing to his chin. His lips were 
partly open and reddened like hers, their foreheads were almost touching 
as he was looking down at her serene statement. He had the beginning of 
a smile on his lips and eyes, she had her arms locked around his neck. 
He had just kissed her, she was eager for more. 

"She's a beautiful lady. You make a beautiful couple." 

"Thank you. I'm sure Scully will like it, too" he said warmly, guarding 
the photo. "How much do I owe you?" He paid the nine dollar bill and 
thanked Andrea for the attention, then he covered his head with the hood 
again, tucked the photos in his coat pockets, and left.

While he was at the store, his prayers had been answered. The rain was 
more intense now, making it impossible for him to run to the car without 
getting soaked. He jogged to the small coffee shop two doors down from 
the Photomat and got a table. He ordered a hot cocoa and called Scully 
to tell her where he was. He sipped some of the hot beverage and put the 
photos on the table. Maybe he could find one to finally fill in the 
frame his mother gave him. 

They had lucked out. Despite the different angles and photographers, the 
photos were really nice. They had used Maggie's camera, so everyone was 
everywhere in the pictures. Louise and Scully talking at the kitchen 
table, Caroline on her father's shoulders making funny faces to the 
lens. Jason was probably the one responsible for that picture because 
Charlie made sure to have both of his kids around him in whatever game 
he played. 

He liked the ones where Maggie was being kissed by Carol and Jason in 
the backyard of his and Scully's house, and the one where the oldest 
Scully woman had reunited Carol, Scully and Louise at the front door of 
her place. 

Surprisingly he found himself in several of them. He and Charlie defying 
the cold to play basketball after their round of domino matches, he and 
Maggie exchanging salad dressing recipes ( although he had only two to 
share ), him teaching Jason how to score the perfect shot in the 
backyard. Then the ones where he was with Scully, talking, smiling, 
cooking. Just being happy. 

He smiled when he found the picture he was looking for. That was it. 

He paid for the cocoa and put his things together. The rain was not so 
severe now, so he decided to face it and ran to his car. He wanted to 
see if Scully would approve his choice. 

**************** 


She finally passed the thread through the eye on the needle, and got 
the blue button out of the needlework box. She needed to call the dry 
cleaner and make a complaint. It was the second time that month that one 
of Mulder's shirts came back without a button. She already had trouble 
enough making sure his socks were in one piece, she definitely didn't 
need to add his shirts to the list of things to worry about in their 
wardrobe. 

However, deep down she knew she enjoyed caring this way about him. For a 
long time she had imagined what it would be like to spend a Saturday 
morning doing these kind of ordinary things. Take care of her house, 
make sure her man was okay. 

She jiggled in the bed, still not totally comfortable with the 
satisfaction caused by this new Martha Stewart facade. She needed to 
loosen up, not feel the guilt of the fulfillment this caring for the man 
she loved brought into her life. Mulder was her partner in life. There 
was no shame in treating the person who changed his entire existence 
only to make her happy well.

And to be happy about it. 

No, no shame at all, she thought as she smoothed the shirt on her lap 
with simple dignity.

Right? 

Right. And right now she needed to decide what to feed him. It was past 
twelve and he should be home soon for lunch. 

She was folding their clothes when he got home. 

He let the photomat envelopes fall on the bed, dropped a kiss on her 
hair, and went to the bathroom. His hair was damp and his nose was red. 
She said nothing about it. She caught the needle again to redo a little 
sewing on her shirt. 

He came back rubbing his head with a towel. "Aren't you going to look at 
the photos?" 

"In a minute," she said, biting the thread to cut it. "Let me just 
finish it here." 

He went back to the bathroom to leave the towel in there, then he 
returned to the bedroom and lay on the bed. "I was going to finish the 
laundry, Scully." 

"It was no problem," she said, folding the last piece of clothing. "You 
put the clothes in the machine and washed the dishes." 

"I also made breakfast." 

"Only because you woke up early." She picked up the smaller envelope, 
and lay down on her stomach beside him. "You know how much I enjoy my 
weekend sleeping in." 

He ran one finger on her neck and she leaned her body closer to his. 
"You don't want me to come on to you on the weekends anymore?" 

"I can live with that." He slapped her buttocks and she yelped. "With 
you coming on to me on the weekends, Mulder." 

"Good. Now let's see the photos." 

"What is so interesting in here?" 

"You. Me. Us. Your family." He nuzzled her sweater. "And I guess we have 
the perfect picture to put in my great-grandma's frame." 

"Which one is that?" 

"Keep looking." He passed her the larger folder. "A photomat's treat to 
us. See if you like it." 

She gazed at their picture, remembering how Mulder had kissed her in 
front of her entire family when he thought they were alone in her 
mother's living room. "Our own Kodak moment. I liked it." She brushed 
her lips over his. "Is this the one?" 

"Nope. I want you to figure it out." 

She flipped through the photos, each one of them bringing back a warm 
memory to her. Their Thanksgiving holiday had been memorable, both the 
dinner at her mother's house and the lunch at theirs. She saw bonding, 
she saw warmth and harmony. She bit her lips. Carol had indeed taken one 
picture of Mulder and her kissing. It was not bad. 

She was sure the photo he had chosen was the penultimate one. 

They were sitting side by side on her mother's front porch, framed by 
the winter yellow roses in the background. Mulder had her hand in his, 
she had her eyes on their joined hands, Mulder had his eyes on her. 

She saw him holding her hand. His eyes were worshiping the universe, 
their universe. His palm was large and secure, never would let her down. 
Her hand was small but steady, delicate but strong, reluctantly at 
times, but always present when he needed it. His hand was no different; 
it stayed even when she didn't want to rely on it. His two fingers 
pressed on its back were not to hold her in place. In fact, his fingers 
were not restraining; she could go if she wished to. 

Only she didn't. 

She saw in that simple gesture completion and acceptance. In short, she 
saw them. They were far too small in the universe to change the 
variation of things. He was her missing pieces and she was his. She 
would never push him too far away that he wouldn't come back, and she 
would never let him get lost in a place she could not find him. 

With the picture still in her hands, she left the bed and walked to the 
small table next to the window. She picked up the golden frame and went 
back to him. His gaze never left her as picture and frame mated each 
other. He caught the portrait from her hands and smiled at her. 

The physical beauty of their togetherness seen by the people around them 
could be captured in large picture frames, but the beauty of their bond 
could be seen and held just by the two of them, and that was how things 
should be. 

He held out his hand to her with the promise of making a delicious, 
thick turkey club sandwich for lunch. She told him she was going to take 
care of dessert. He told her that if it was just to shove the frozen 
apple pie in the microwave oven he didn't need her help. Two minutes 
later, when he cut his finger while slicing tomatoes, she acted like she 
wasn't in the kitchen, but she did turn off the oven to save the pies 
from getting burned. He was still having problems setting the timer to 
defrost food. 

He hadn't put the frame back in its place, but she was in no hurry to 
change that. It was secure on their bed, and it wasn't going anywhere. 

****************


He remembered the weeks preceding the final holidays in the VCU division 
as being pretty busy. Loneliness and abandon made people do crazy things 
that time of the year and, as consequence, he usually had to work 
overtime trying to make sense out of the human madness in order to stop 
it. According to his mathematics, that was the last Friday of the year 
he was going to leave work at five o'clock.  

That Friday he went to work by subway, so they wouldn't have to drive 
two cars when Scully met him in town for dinner and a movie. They 
watched Shakespeare in Love in a theater showing the best movies of the 
year. Later they discussed the merits of the film and the British 
author's novels and sonnets over spoonfuls of steaming stew. 

Night was still young when they left the restaurant. Despite the cold, 
they took their time walking to Scully's car. Leather-gloved fingers 
enlaced together, they strolled downtown checking how the retailers were 
getting ready to receive Santa. The branches and trunks of the trees 
were wrapped in yellowish bright points, and every now and then they 
pointed out the windows of the stores ornamented with red and green 
satin bows and their best offers for Christmas gifts.

He drove them back home listening to the jazz music playing on the radio 
because he knew it lulled her better. And so it did. Scully was silent 
at his side, her face relaxed and drowsy. When he parked in their 
driveway she was dozing.

"Hey Sleeping Beauty, we're home." 

She blinked at him, her voice lolling in the night. "Home or at a 
stakeout?"

He walked all the way around the car to open the door for her. 
"Stakeouts are not in our routine anymore Scully. At least not in 
yours." He tugged the sleeve of her coat. "Come on. Let's get out of 
this cold."

With numb movements, she climbed out of the car and yawned. "I can't 
wait to get into bed."

He put both hands on her shoulder and pushed her towards the door, not 
finding much of a resistance in her. "I love you because you always know 
what to say to make me happy, Scully."

"Tonight I'm afraid you and your happiness are on your own, my friend. I 
want to sleep."

"I have eight inches of tricks to make you reconsider," he said, 
nibbling her ear. 

"Eight inches, all right," she snorted.

"Nine if you push the right buttons."

Without warning, she turned and shoved her hand inside of his coat. "I 
barely feel six," she said, moving her hand up and down on his crotch. 

He smiled smugly at her. "It's the weather."

"The weather?"

"Yes, the cold."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Let me show you." 

He stepped backwards until his backside touched the car. He pulled her 
hand away and opened his zipper. Her eyes became glassy and her breath 
accelerated. Good. She had understood what his real intentions were. 

He put her hand on him. "Measure it if you don't believe me," he dared 
her.

She closed her hand around him tentatively, as if it was the first time 
she touched him so intimately. Her fingers traveled along his length 
slowly, replacing the cold from the outside world for the heat of her 
gentle, virginal-like touch, starting in his spine and from there 
spreading throughout his body. 

He cradled her face in his hands to gently pull her to him. "Scully," he 
moaned softly before he kissed her. Her tongue was warm and inviting, 
and her mouth expanded as he swirled his own tongue around the inner 
walls of her cheeks. He lapped her saliva greedily, eager to drown in 
her and to make her drown in him. Scully craned her neck, offering more 
of herself to him, and taking him deeper at the same time. One of her 
hands was still around him, mimicking the lingering up and down 
movements her other hand was making on the nape of his neck.

"Scully," he called again with half open eyes. His gaze fell on her 
reddened lips and on the tip of her tongue darting forward to initiate 
another kiss. Small circles of air rose up from her parted lips to get 
lost on the chilled up night. There was the beginning of a bonfire in 
his lungs, there were whispers of fire stirring his groin. Breathing was 
becoming a heavy, hard exercise. 

"Mulder." She caressed his upper lip with her thumb. He whiffed life in 
the leather of her glove. He felt alive as fire started spreading in his 
penis. In her lips he tasted youth and love.

"Scully," he called again before he got lost in the deepness of her 
mouth, of her being. Letting go of her face, that he had been caressing 
until now, he pulled her against him. Their bodies thudded against the 
door of her car, a dry sound that kept echoing inside of his head. His 
body was trapped between Scully and her car. The wind whirled around 
them. Her kiss raised up the hair on his nape, and the exciting 
sensation of her touch whirred inside of his brain, making him weak. 
Scully fell against him first, though. He felt the side mirror being 
pushed hard against his backbone, but with a firm squeeze, Scully erased 
the pain before it registered in his head. 

"Scully," he moaned again as his head fell onto the crock of her neck. 
She groaned his name when he finally surpassed the barrier of her 
shirt's collarbone and his lips kissed the skin of her neck. She was so 
soft. 

The hand around his neck slipped to his shoulder blade. The hand around 
him tugged at him hard. He was a slave at her mercy, gasping in pain and 
in pleasure at his lover's touch. In response, he whirled them around to 
reverse their positions, trapping her between his body and her car. 

His eyes traveled up her body. Her hands, now planted on the hood of the 
car, served as her support. Her chest heaved beautifully, the intervals 
between the circles of air gaining life in the night were almost non-
existent. Her lips were moistened, and her eyelids trembled. The wind 
waggled her hair, her fair skin was cold-blushed, passion-burned.

Now he had her. He had her.

"God, Mulder."

He reached out and opened the first button on her jacket after he had 
sat her down on the hood of the car. With one hand advancing up her side 
from under her shirt to cup her breast, and the other one opening the 
second button of her jacket, he kissed the column of her throat. 

"Oh, God... God, Mulder..."

She moaned over and over as he now worked on the first button of her 
shirt. She gasped and pressed his head firmly against her chest as he 
traced the lines around the lace hemming in her bra with his tongue. 

She crossed her legs around his hips, under his buttocks. Another muscle 
in his groin stirred. 
  
"Mulder... please," she moaned in response when he lifted up her skirt.

His lips crushed her plea. She kissed him back with ardour, a passionate 
enthusiasm that he took as enjoyment.
 
Her voice, however, carried a note of fear when she pleaded again 
against his mouth.

"Please, not here."

He put less pressure on his lips upon hers. Slowly, with his head 
resting on her shoulder as he tried to control his breathing and his 
body, he understood what they'd been doing and what she might be seeing.

A summer night in August.

A motel room.

Their naked bodies entangled in the same bed.

Half Washington and Baltimore law enforcement walking in on them, 
invading their privacy.

It wasn't midnight yet and it was Friday. Anyone could have come out 
from nowhere and catch them in the act again. They were still recovering 
from that other nightmare, having a fresh start in a place where no one 
knew them or what they had endured to be together. He had been thinking 
with the wrong head and almost put everything at risk again.

He helped her down and buttoned his coat while she adjusted her clothes 
and rearranged her hair without looking at him.

"I'm sorry, Scully. I don't know what I was thinking," he apologized 
softly.
 
"Don't... don't be sorry, Mulder." She looked up at him and tried to 
smile. "I like to touch you. And I like it when you touch me. I just 
don't..." Her face was flooded in pink. He was sure it was not because 
of the cold. "Let's just not do this here."

"Besides it's cold," he said smoothing the collar of her shirt over the 
collar of her jacket.

"You won't even reach six inches if we stay here." They sniggered 
awkwardly. "I want to make love to you, Mulder," she said serious again. 
"But not here. Not in the outdoors, not yet."

For months now, making love meant locked doors and windows, and just the 
two of them inside the security of their apartments, and lately, of 
their house. By mutual and unspoken agreement, motel rooms were out of 
question, and the only time they stayed in a B&B after what had happened 
was because of a last minute decision to spend one night in Richmond. 
That night, he held a tensed up Scully in his stiff arms, the softest 
sound outside their door waking him up throughout the night. The next 
day, Scully had to drive them back home because he'd been exhausted.  

He embraced her, some of his fingers vanished inside of her silky hair. 
"I love you, you know." She nodded and sighed against his coat. "I want 
to make love to you everywhere, Scully. Anywhere. Among flowers, rocks, 
in the water. Hell, even in the air, among the birds if we only find a 
way to." Her body quivered with a small laugh against his, putting him a 
little more at ease, too. "But only when we're ready to, Scully."

"You don't mind using the bed for now?" Her question reached his ears 
muffled by the wool of his coat and embarrassment.

"Nah," he said, giving her space to face him. He kissed her nose. "Let's 
be conventional for the time being and see what happens afterwards."    

They smiled at each other for a moment, then he started guiding her back 
to the house with his hand on the small of her back.

"Among the birds, Mulder?"

"Why not? Wait until I figure something..."

"SQUINT! Where are you going? Come back here, boy!

He and Scully hardly had the time to see where the girlish cry came from 
when a furry dark ball came running in their direction.

"SQUINT, NO!"

Before he had the time to knowledge what the hell squint was, two fluffy 
paws had found their way along his legs and a wet tongue was licking his 
hand. He looked helplessly at Scully, who was staring at the animal with 
half shock, half amusement. 

"Squint." A blonde woman followed by a little girl came running into 
their small front yard with a lash in her hand. "Do you want me to die 
of shame, boy?" The puppy was happy for hearing the woman's voice he 
started jumping up and down around her. "I'm sorry, sir." It was 
impossible for her to fasten the lash on the dog's collar because now 
the little girl was running around the woman and the dog started running 
after the girl. "Lucy, you're not helping, honey," the woman more sighed 
than admonished. 

Scully came to help. She clapped her hands and whistled, calling the 
dog. 

"Come here, Skirt."

The little girl stopped running beside Scully. "No, he's not Skirt," she 
said giggling. "His name is Squint." 

Scully winked at the girl. "You sure? Your mother called him Squint and 
he didn't listen to her." 

The girl giggled again. "I'll teach you." She squatted in a frog 
position beside Scully. "Squint, come here," she squalled through what 
must be a good pair of lungs. This time the puppy obeyed and lay down 
beside them. Both Scully and the girl petted the dog while the woman 
fastened the leash in his collar.

The woman stood up and walked in his direction. "Hi, I'm Nora Thompson."

"I'm Fox Mulder, and... Scully, come here." He waited for Scully to 
approach them to introduce her. "This is Dana Scully, my partner."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Nora said. He had to stifle his laugh as 
Scully stripped off her gloves to shake Nora's hand. "I'm sorry for the 
housewarming. Squint is not usually that rambunctious, but you look a 
lot like my husband, Mr. Mulder."

"Just Mulder."

"Okay, Mulder." She cracked a friendly smile at Scully's direction. 
"Don't get my dog wrong. He's very friendly."

"Too friendly for my liking," he said with some disgust. Scully elbowed 
him.

"Mom, Mr. Mulder doesn't like Squint?" The girl said indignantly from 
her place on earth beside the dog.  

"It's nothing personal, honey," said Scully, coming to his rescue. "I 
had a dog once and they weren't friends either."

"Thank you, Scully. Now she's going to think I hate animals." She 
managed to put his most charming smile on his face. "I have two 
goldfish."

It worked. A new twinkle illuminated the girl's green eyes. "This is 
cool! I like fish. I gave one to my brother Patrick when he went to 
college. His name is Flinch and he lives with my brother in Florida. 
What are your fishie's names?"

Names? He wasn't sure the fish had names.

"Survivor and Everlasting."

The girl giggled again. "What ugly names!"

"Lucy, this is not a nice thing to say."

"But they are ugly names, Mom!"

The three adults laughed.

"I give up," Nora said raising her hand and pulling Squint along with 
her. The dog barked in protest. "Oh, I'm sorry boy. I forgot you were 
there." She patted the dog's head. "My husband walks him every night, 
but he's out of town this week."

"Yes, my father is an accountant," Lucy jumped in the conversation 
again. "He's in a conference in Chicago and he's going to bring me a 
present from there."

"That's nice," Scully said.

Lucy smiled up at Scully all proud of herself, but soon she turned her 
attention back to him. "Squint thought you were Daddy, but Daddy is 
shorter, and he has black hair and blue eyes." After a few seconds in 
childish concentration, she completed innocently, "Daddy is more 
beautiful, too."

"Lucy, say good night now and take Squint back home. I'll be right 
there." Without protest, the girl did as she was told and crossed the 
street with the dog under the attentive gaze of her mother. The 
Thompson's lived almost across from their house.

"I'm sorry for this, Mulder and..." Nora trailed off.

"Dana. Dana is fine."

"Dana." Nora crossed her arms around herself. "I'd better go now. If I 
know my seven-year-old well, right now she's turning on the TV instead 
of getting ready for bed. It's already past her bedtime, but I don't 
like to feel alone in the house. I'd like to make an invitation first." 
She grinned at them. "Ronald is coming home tomorrow, and we're having 
some friends over for dinner. Actually our neighbors. We'd love to have 
you with us."

"Nora, it's not necessary," he started.

"I was going to invite you anyway. You're our neighbors, too. I was 
going to knock on your door tomorrow, but Squint beat me to it."

He opened his mouth to talk again, but Scully cut him off. "It's a 
lovely invitation. Thank you, Mrs. Thompson."

"Don't mention it. And call me Nora, Dana. Now I really have to go if I 
want to have a good night of sleep and be well rested to prepare the 
pasta dough for our dinner." Almost as an after thought she asked, "You 
like pasta, don't you? Homemade pasta? We're having other side dishes, 
but pasta will be the main attraction of the night."

Scully smiled at Nora. "We love pasta. Don't worry." 

"Are you going to make it all by yourself?" He asked surprised.

"Oh, this is not unusual. I do it all the time. We love having our house 
full of friends. See you tomorrow," Nora said, waving goodbye.

"Nice people," Scully said as they observed Nora getting into her house. 
He put his arm around her shoulders and urged her up the front stairs. 
"Enthusiastic. And Squint is something lovely." 

"Something blind. His name serves him right," he mumbled as he turned on 
the lights in the hall.

"Finally home," she said, linking her arms around his neck after he had 
put the chain on the door and tested the knob to see if it was really 
locked.

"Finally," he said, his arms claiming her waist as his property. "You 
sure you don't wanna check how many inches of tricks I have for you?" 

"Give me a good reason to."

"Aren't you listening to me, woman? I'm offering eight inches of good 
reasons."

She cast a glance downwards his body, a gesture only perceptible because 
of the subtle fluttering of her eyelids. She bit his neck and said, "I 
dare you." 

He caught her in his arms and ran up the stairs, both of them laughing 
silly. He carried her to their bedroom and kicked the door closed.

By the end of the night, they had settled for seven inches and a half.

****************


On Saturday morning they did what they had planned to do. Mulder cleaned 
the den and worked on some reports. She tended the plants in the house 
and finished the final notes for her class on Monday, ahead and at ease 
to avoid surprises. After lunch, Mulder went to a conspiracy gathering 
with the Gunmen, and she went to the hairdresser to treat herself with a 
complete shampoo and set. Once she already was settled and relaxed, she 
let Lea, the salon's owner, talk her into getting a manicure and having 
her eyebrows done. She could have tweezed her eyebrows and polished her 
nails at home, but the final result was never nice: usually one eyebrow 
ended up a bit thicker than the other, and at least one of her fingers 
got harmed while she manicured her nails. Lea's personnel was safer.

Besides, maybe they would decide to stop by at Nora's tonight. Just to 
say hi and all. 

Or maybe not. Mulder had not expressed any desire in going out tonight. 
If he had shined and polished his favorite shoes this morning it was 
because he had some time to kill before going to meet the guys, not 
because he was considering having dinner with their neighbors. Fat 
chance. It was almost laughable, she and Mulder visiting their neighbors 
to make small talk with people they barely knew. Such a pasttime was too 
mundane, too earthly for them. They were from elsewhere. From far 
elsewhere.  

She got home around four p.m. with slightly new hair, pinkish nails, and 
with the certitude that Mulder would be the only one to appreciate her 
efforts. 

*If* he were there, which didn't happen. 

She got some orange juice and went to the sitting room, the one place in 
the house she didn't mind spending time alone, maybe because it looked 
so much like her former living room and few of Mulder's objects had made 
their trip up there. Aside the pillow he used to make himself 
comfortable as she lay against him to watch the videos he allowed her to 
see with him or just to talk, very little of his old self was visible 
there. Like very little of herself could be seen in the den. 

As she flipped through the fashion pictures in the Marie Claire magazine 
she had bought in the beginning of the week, she realized she had one 
long grey skirt, too, like the one the model was wearing. She also had a 
red polo neck tunic she hadn't worn yet. 
    
Mulder called around 4:30 p.m. while she rummaged about his side of the 
closet. He told her the guys had sighted some suspicious lights in the 
skies of Oregon. She told him she had never seen him wearing the wool 
sports coat her mother gave him for his last birthday. She could tell he 
hung up the phone puzzled. 

He called again at five to tell her the Gunmen had received a report 
from a new age group saying that it wasn't the first time those lights 
had been seen, and that a new sighting was expected on Sunday night. She 
told him that maybe they could make a brief appearance at Nora's, just 
to let her know how much they appreciated her invitation. Both hung up 
the phone making plans.

At 5:06 she called him to say that if he was entertaining the idea of 
running off to Oregon, he better be damn sure to get a one way ticket to  
Bellefleur! 

At 7:05, Mulder was sulking in a black pair of boxers, drying off his 
hair, but used to the idea of having pasta in the company of their 
neighbors. All the while as she pulled on her clothes and applied some 
soft make up, she had been wondering if she had been fair with him. 
Hearing Mulder whistle when she came out of the bathroom ready to go 
clued her that he wasn't entirely mad at her.

"We don't have to stay there for too long, Mulder," she said, locking 
the front door.

"Sure. Fine. Whatever," he said, leaving her behind. 

Or maybe not, she thought amidst an absurd flashback.

"Mulder, wait." She reached him and stopped facing him, her crossed arms 
shielding her upper body. "If you don't want to go there that's fine, 
but you say something now so we can go back home and steer clear of some 
big embarrassment."

"Does the Spooky here embarrass you?"

She ignored the sarcasm in his question to reply, "Only when some 
spooky!spirited entity takes over the man I once knew as Fox Mulder." 

The little creases of surprise waving his brow disappeared with his next 
breath. 

"I didn't say anything," he said uninterested, unconcerned. 

"You said nothing since you came back home."

"You wouldn't like to hear what I had to say."

Un-Mulder.

She pivoted on her heels fuming, hurting, hearing Mulder's quick steps 
behind her. 

"Where are you going, Scully?"

"Home."

"To do what?"

"Pack."

"Hey, hey, hey," he said with urgency, grabbing her arm and then turning 
her around. "Pack for what? Where do you think you're going?" 

"To go to Oregon," she said determined. "It's all about those lights in 
the sky and new age groups, isn't it?"

"You're not taking me to Oregon without dinner, G-woman."

She pointed at the Thompson's house. "Dinner is waiting for us there, 
Mulder, but I'm afraid you're not interested."

"Scully, come here." She let him lead her under a streetlight. "I don't 
want to go to Oregon. The lights appeared in the same route as the ones 
of the local airport."

"What about the new age group?"

"The members that reported the sighting had recently been banished from 
the group due to the lack of accuracy in their reports. Something like 
their being stoned most of the time." Mulder shuddered.

"Why didn't you tell me this right away, Mulder?" she asked, wanting to 
poison him with the bitterness in her voice.

He bent over to look into her eyes. "Because I had wanted to play with 
you a little. I miss this G-woman/G-man interaction."

Without realizing it, his words stabbed her in the very little place of 
her heart where she missed their days as FBI partners. In there 
inhabited the G-woman she once had been to his G-man. It had been five 
strenuous, dangerous years that shaped their bond with a strength that 
they might never be aware existed if the Consortium hadn't tested its 
resistance to the limits. The lights floating along Oregon's skyline 
reminded her that their job wasn't finished yet, a truth she 
subconsciously tried to suppress without a positive result. 

The knowledge that the X-Files were in Diana's hands gave her a 
bittersweet comfort, even if she didn't trust that woman and her 
partner, Agent Spender, completely. Her hands were tied, though. Now she 
was just Doctor Scully, forensic teacher at Quantico, responsible for 
most of autopsies requested by Mulder in his recent investigations 
within the field office. Like the few months that preceded her 
abduction, they found a way to keep working together. But that was all. 
When they left the X-Files, the key that held the answers to the world 
of conspiracy they had stumbled upon had been taken away from them. 
Diana and Agent Spender had it now. 

"I know you miss them, Mulder," she muttered, her eyes bending down 
towards her shoes. "But this is how our lives are going to be now. We 
don't have the files anymore. We may never have the answers we needed. 
I... You know you still have a choice. You can have them back if you 
want. Diana..." 

"Scully," he said, his index finger laying on her lips to keep her 
quiet. "I won't lie to you. I miss them like hell. Sometimes at work 
when I have one of my theories, or when I read something interesting, I 
catch myself reaching beside me to open a drawer where I'm sure I'll 
find a phenomenon that matches the one I've just learned about." His 
arms fell along his body and his eyes shone. "It's frustrating because 
they were like a friend standing there by me, even if I needed your 
expertise to validate them to others. For a long time they were 
everything I had, Scully. It's been hard to let them go, but I'm 
managing. Life without them is livable."

"I'm sorry, Mulder," she whispered, hating herself for being the reason 
why now his life was just livable, missing the time of her life when 
Mulder was at a look-across-the-room's distance, and yet still loving 
coming back to a house where the meals were shared, the bathroom was not 
as tidy as it used to be in her apartment, and the right side of her bed 
was occupied every night. She hated herself for not feeling guilty for 
being happy. She was no replacement for his life's work, but she knew 
she made him happy, too. At least a little. 

He tilted her head up. "But don't you think for a minute that I regret 
having left them behind to be with you." Mulder was struggling to find a 
new way of living in peace with himself despite the high price he had to 
pay, and, little by little, with her help and her strength, managing 
small victories every now and then. "I still want answers, yes. That's 
why I've been keeping a copy of the three most important files with me 
all this time, in a safe place. Yours, Emily's and Samantha's. Those are 
the only answers I need to find. And this," he said touching her heart, 
giving himself to her with that simple deed, "is home. I don't need a 
basement or anything else. Just this, Scully." He hesitated for a 
moment, but he spoke. "Life without you is an unbearable thought."

She looked up at him and  breathed in his closeness, in the little 
things he said and fixed the wrong moments. He was shy and beautiful and 
sincere, and she loved him simple stated. 

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles in her fingers. 

"Your hair looks different, Scully."

"I went to the stylist this afternoon."

"That's why your nails are pale pink?"

"Hum-hum."

He enlaced his fingers with hers. "The pasta is getting cold."

In front of Nora's house, there were blurred shadows moving behind the 
curtains. The sounds of laughter and the tart odor of tomato sauce and 
smoky roast spiced the air.  

In one sentence, Mulder summed up everything that lay behind the 
Thompson's door.

"It's difficult not being Spooky in this world."

The door opened before them revealing the friendly features of Ronald 
Thompson.

"I don't understand how Squint mistook the two of us," Ronald said, 
shaking Mulder's hand. "You sure play basketball better than I do."

Mulder put his hand on the small of her back and together they entered 
the house. Maybe reality didn't have to be spooky after all.

****************


In third grade he had been introduced to the principles of a few and a 
lot of by Mrs. Houston, his grammar teacher. 

It had been a sunny spring day, and he believed the sky ( which that day 
was tinged in that perfect shade of blue only seen in book descriptions 
and promised in weather reports - even and cloudless ) inspired his 
teacher to tell her little students to open their boxes of crayons and 
separate all the blue colored pencils they had. Mrs. Houston asked them 
to count how many colored pencils they had. 36, 24, 15, 8, they shouted 
enthusiastically. When she asked how many blue ones they'd found, they 
said, 3, 2, 4. He remembered there were four shades of blue in the box 
Aunt Jane gave him for his birthday - light blue, dark blue, cerulean 
and ice-blue. Mrs. Houston smiled and explained that they had a lot of 
colored pencils in their boxes, but that few of them were blue. She 
expanded her examples to how many T-shirts they had and how many were 
green. 2, 4, 5, 0. "None," Mrs. Houston corrected Kelly Anton. Or was it 
Karen Anton? He didn't remember. He remembered Mrs. Houston telling them 
to pay attention to the world, and count how many different things they 
saw on their way home. He had been eight, old enough to ride in the 
front seat of his mother's car, but that afternoon he chose to ride home 
with Samantha in the back. With his mother's assistance, during previous 
rides home he had taught Samantha how to use her fingers to count to 
ten. That day he told her that everything she could number using her 
fingers was going to be few, the ones she couldn't were going to be a 
lot of. Along Old County Road they counted 35 houses, 6 were yellow. A 
lot of houses, few yellow ones. 26 cars, 4 were red. A lot of cars, few 
red ones. 15 flowerbeds, 3 with pink azaleas. And so on. At home the 
selection continued. Samantha helped him to organize his miniature car 
collection; he helped her to separate her clothes according to the 
colors of the rainbow. 

Samantha ( and he confessed himself, too ) got confused the next 
weekend. 

The Mulders were receiving a few friends for dinner on Saturday. His 
father had gotten a promotion in the State Department, so he and 
Samantha had been allowed to stay up and enjoy the party until 10:00. 
Samantha didn't let the nanny hired to keep an eye on them take her 
hand. She needed all her fingers to count the few guests at the party.  

Few and a lot of took another dimension and proportion both for him and 
for his sister. "Mom and Daddy don't know grammar, Fox," she muttered 
with sparkles in her eyes before the vision of satin and silk and 
chiffon and other fluffy fabrics deluging in the living room, spreading 
their colors to the other social areas on the first floor of the house, 
invading the garden. Through the staircase's slots, he and Samantha 
counted and got some conclusions that had sounded meaningless in the 
spring of 69.

There was a lot of food, few of the dishes had been made at the 
Mulder's. He had been in the kitchen helping Dolores, the housekeeper, 
to polish the house's silverware when the truck from Sylvie's, a 
delicatessen in Edgardtown, delivered the appetizers and dinner his 
mother had ordered a few days before. 

His father had a lot of contacts, few were really useful like Sylvie, 
the delicatessen's owner, who would have never dislocated one of her 
trucks to Chilmark if it wasn't for his father's good name on the 
island.

Samantha said there were a lot of dresses; few were as beautiful as the 
silver one their mother was wearing. He quipped that there were a lot of 
complicated hairdos, only a few of them weren't wigs.  Their mother's 
was not included in this group. 

There was a lot of talking, few of the conversations were interesting to 
his eight-year-old ears.

Their parents knew a lot of people. When Samantha disappeared, he saw 
that few were real friends. When he started working on the X-Files, he 
saw that his parents had had zero friends.

None.

*****

Half the success of his partnership with Scully as working partners came 
from their mastery at laying open meticulously the evidence they had in 
hand. Whereas Scully's iron-grip operated sharp scalpels to dig into 
flesh, his eyes hovered into minds and gestures to interpret human 
behavior. They kept each other grounded, took care of each other's step 
and watched each other's back. 

They also talked to each other, kept each other company and kept each 
other sane. Scully was lover, passion, the friend who had become so much 
more - eyes without which he couldn't see, lungs without which he 
couldn't breathe. She was his one in five billion and the most precious 
reason he had to stay cool and not screw up with his future. The love of 
his life. Blah, blah, blah. Scully was everything. 

But Mulder could use another dozen people to populate his world. 

He considered himself half a megalomaniac for bothering to understand 
others to better help them, even when said help had not been requested. 
Nobody minded to understand, or only to listen to him for that matter. 
Too much unnecessary effort in the task. He himself wasn't so sure the 
pay-off would be worth it in the end; he could be a real pain sometimes. 
He was also committed and trustworthy, but nobody seemed to see beyond 
what was considered an arrogant and self-centered attitude. That was the 
first impression people got of him, and if they chose to stick with this 
image, it was a right they had and he had to live with their choice. 

Tonight, sitting on the Thompson's couch with a glass of wine in his 
hand and an eye trained on Scully, who was near the window chatting with 
two other women, and one ear paying attention to the ongoing discussion 
among the trio with him about Mick Jagger's impending fatherhood, his 
other eye and ear were restless trying to acquaint themselves with what 
was happening around him.

Acquaint, not judge and absolutely *not* make any smart ass remark. 
Just, like Mrs. Houston told him all those years ago, pay attention to 
the world surrounding him.  

The analysis started on the structure of the house's living room. 

Definitely larger than his and Scully's, much smaller than his parent's 
in Chilmark. Not that, size aside, there was too much to compare among 
the three houses. The furniture in his and Scully's living room was 
brand new, clear and stainless and made of comfortable material, 
designed to be practical to the use and resistant to the years. This 
little something Mulder hadn't learned with his mother, who wouldn't 
think twice before changing great parts of their house's decor every 
couple of years or so, getting rid of what she thought was of no use any 
longer, and that Scully most likely had gotten from hers. 

Different decades, tendencies and generations of pastel-colored 
furniture craned the corners of the room at the Thompson's, creating a 
relaxing atmosphere for some lazy hours spent curled up on the champagne 
colored sofa or playing on the floor in front of the fireplace in the 
winter. 

At his parents', people had room to talk and dance, the former always 
having less adepts than the latter. Their hosts for the night had plenty 
of places to sit and almost no room to dance, which didn't seem to upset 
the others guests at all. The music playing on the stereo was soft, 
fluttering among the different groups of people and tying their 
conversations together with its kind of jazzy and velvet background. 
Very late eighties, very early nineties, very charming and very nice. 

With no hired crew to serve them, only two women appeared every now and 
then to collect the dirty glasses and fill up the appetizers bows. Small 
groups of people entertained themselves in the living room or served 
themselves with cubs of cheese, olives and cut veggies while Nora 
strolled from the kitchen to her guests with a spotless apron tied over 
her silk blouse and gold studs shining in her ears, making the final 
arrangements for the dinner. Scully and two other ladies had offered 
their help, but Nora smiled and insisted she had everything under 
control. Besides, Ronald was a skilled helper and entertainer, always 
taking part in the groups and asking if they were well served.

Everything natural, normal and friendly. 

Part of his reluctance in attending the Thompson's invitation came from 
the fact that he remembered very well the *small receptions* his mother 
used to organize with his father's excuse about the need of keeping in 
touch with a *few friends* of theirs. True to her words, Nora had kept 
things small and invited no more than twenty people, most of them in 
their early forties, casual dressed with a hint of sophistication. Some 
of them he recognized as being the inhabitants of Comrade Place, as he 
heard his neighbors referring to their houses' blind street. If the 
neighborhood lived up to its pet name, he was still to find out. Up to 
now, no reasons to complain. He and Scully had had wine to drink and a 
group of people to talk to as soon as Ronald Thompson closed the door 
behind them. 

"Do you really think he was a victim? Come on, he knew where he was 
putting his... nose into." 

More laughter brought his attention back to the group he had been with. 
Two attorneys and a vet whose comic veins and humor were very similar to 
his own: dry but not offensive, intelligent but not presumptuous.

"I only feel for his kids. In the end they're the ones who'll pay the 
highest price for their father's foolish behavior." Christina Ferguson, 
one of the attorneys, said with the authority of someone who had seen 
beyond the obvious. 

"His kids must be used to it by now. It's not the first time Papa Jagger 
has been caught trysting elsewhere," Bratt Smith, the other attorney, 
retorted, leveling words with the subtlety he leveled his potted belly. 
"They are in what, their teen years? They have an idea."

"No teen is old enough to understand his/her parents sexual escapades. 
They..."

"Chris, sweetheart, put this attorney of yours to rest, please. Don't 
work for the government for free," Carter Ferguson, the vet and 
Christinaïs husband, butted in the conversation. "Do you want Mulder 
here to think you're a worker freak?" 

"I really don't..." Mulder started, to sharply be cut off by Christina's 
irate retort.

"Of course not." Christina turned her green eyes towards her husband, 
her blushed cheeks giving a healthy coloration to her tanned complexion. 
"Mulder is a Federal employee, too. He understands this sense of 
obligation we have towards the civilians. Don't you Mulder?"

"Sense of obligation is my last name," Mulder said.

"Don't give fuel to my wife, Mulder, otherwise you'll hear her 
discussion about how working with the government made her a better 
person, more giving, less selfish and egotistical..." 

Christina drank the rest of the orange beverage in her glass. "Beloved 
Doctor Dolittle of mine, shall I list how much you changed since I 
married you?"

"I'm getting fatter," Carter started.

Christina pawed her husband's stomach. "I've noticed this. Watch out, 
husband, or I will look for a young stud to care for me." 

"Jerry Hall didn't. Why would you?" Carter asked, pulling his wife's 
hand away.

"It's a matter of wallets. Yours doesn't compare to Mick's. I'd spend 
more money paying Bratt's honorary to get me a good pension from you." 

"Offer Jerry your services, Carter. She'll be left well off after the 
divorce. It will help you to pay the bills and your kids' pension. 
She'll be vulnerable, needing someone to cheer her up, and you'll get to 
enjoy the work out."

Epiphany hit Mulder a moment too late, soon after the words left his 
mouth. He spoke on the spur of the moment, encouraged by the wine he was 
drinking and the banter among the three friends very similar to that he 
had with Scully or with the Gunmen. He started sweating blood when 
Christina, Carter and Smith glared at him with their lips half quirking 
in amazement, silently shouting, 'Spooky and his theories again,' 
totally forgetting that he wasn't Spooky in that circle. He hadn't meant 
to be anything but funny, not offend anyone, but there was the real 
possibility he had offended the Fergusons, the couple who had treated 
him so nicely. 

Blood lost its warmth and he started sweating cold. Shit! What had he 
done? He could have been quiet, talked only when they talked to him, 
gossiped about Jagger's future baby and kept himself in everyone's good 
grace. But no! He had to go and do it again, say more than he was 
supposed to, make himself an ass in front of everybody. This time he was 
a dead man. Scully was going to kill him! 

He was about to open his mouth and apologize to the couple when Smith's 
baritone exploded in a laugh, soon followed by Christina, who laughed so 
hard she had to lean her head on her husband's shoulder. Mulder smiled 
with hesitation. His quip hadn't been that funny. Either those people 
needed to see more of life, or he didn't have an idea of the depth of 
what he had said.

Smith tapped Mulder on the back and he winced under the weight of the 
man's gross palm. He felt no pain, only two straight taps uniting the 
need to be accepted to acceptance itself. And it felt good, really good. 

"Mulder man, you've got this one nailed down." Then Smith turned to 
Carter and used his fingers to enumerate all the attributes Carter had 
and that might please Jagger's soon-to-be-ex. "You fit all of Jerry's 
pre-requisite, Carter: skinny, ugly and big mouthed."

"Give me some credit," Carter stretched his long arm on the sofa's rest 
and relaxed his hand on his wife's shoulder. The couple sat with their 
backs upright on the sofa, forming a solid column, square and undamaged 
by Smith's jest. "Christina's been keeping me for sixteen years now. 
Don't you think I have more than my looks to offer? Besides, I'm lean. 
You wouldn't stand a chance with this paunch you've been carrying for 
years now."

"It's Eileen's fault. Before I married her, I was fit and irresistible. 
But you and Mulder here are game, Carter." And Smith delivered another 
heavy pat on Mulder's back. 

Christina slithered her manicured and bright nails on Carter's legs and 
said, "Carter has two good reasons not to venture his... nose... forth 
anywhere."

"Do I really?" 

"But of course," she said, taking her glass and standing up. Aligning 
and joining her middle and index fingers together, with marauding 
accuracy she cut two words in the air: "Lorena. Bobbit." Showing a 
tight, satisfied smile to the male group, Christina straightened her 
back and went elsewhere.

Carter whistled low. "I'm sleeping with the killer."

"Well, I think Carter is definitely out," Smith gasped, running out of 
breath after laughing so hard. "The torch is in your hands now, Mulder."

"I can't. Scully manages scalpels."

Carter paraphrased another movie title. "Boxing Mulder."

"Modern woman," Smith buffed. "That's why I keep my Eileen. She's 
obedient and she knows where her place in the house is."

"Of course she does. In the kitchen, with a rolling pin in hand to smack 
your head if you don't show her your wallet," Carter cracked.

Smith smiled. "That's a small price to pay to have her at home, taking 
care of my kids." Smith pointed at Scully's general direction. "She's 
the petite one talking to your lady, Mulder." 

Mulder glanced at the group of women and quickly spotted Eileen. Eileen 
Smith was a tiny woman who gestured too much while talking and all the 
time tipped her head towards Scully and another woman he didn't 
recognize, either inviting them to take part in the conversation or to 
earn their sympathy. From the elderly woman she got a compassionate 
smile. From Scully she got nothing because Scully noticed he was looking 
at her. Her quirked eyebrow pleaded for his mercy and help. It took 
Mulder longer to decide whether to help her or not than it took him to 
hook out IV tubes, peel off his hospital vest, and flee to Antarctica to 
his rescue mission.   

"Your wife and I haven't been introduced yet, Smith."

Smith called out to his wife. Eileen swiftly looked at her husband like 
a trained dog. A trained dog whom on a bad day could bite its owner just 
for the fun of it, that was it. Smith beckoned her again, the imperious 
movement he had inflected in his arm the first time replaced by a 
gentler and lighter wave of his hand, confirming Carter's rolling pin 
theory. Eileen excused herself to the other woman and hooked an arm to 
Scully's. Together they went to the group, Eileen with quick, small 
steps, and Scully trying to keep paces with her. 

As the two women approached, Smith, Mulder and Carter stood up. Eileen 
smiled at Carter and kissed him on the cheek. Smith was about three 
inches taller than Mulder, with grayish hair atop a hulk body. In his 
face defined by arrogant traces, stood a pair of blue, soft eyes that 
faded in warmth as Eileen turned her piercing gaze at him.   

"Mulder, this is Eileen, my wife. Eileen this is Fox Mulder." 

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Smith." 

Eileen made a slight movement away from Smith to take Mulder's hand in 
hers without hurry, and shook it with grace and phony confidence. "Nice 
to meet you, too, Mulder. And please, call me Eileen. Only my husband 
lost interest in his first name." 

"I'll remember that." Mulder took Scully's hand in his and pulled her to 
his side. "Smith, this is Dana Scully."

Smith caught Scully's free hand - her left hand - and held it gently. 
Mulder noticed Smith's furtive glimpse at Scully's ring finger. Just 
like Ronald, and Carter and the other people they had been introduced to 
and talked to had done earlier in the evening. The only rings Scully was 
wearing were the small halos of gold hanging in her ears. 

Smith's unspoken question was so obvious, Scully looked uncomfortable at 
him. Realizing his faux pass, Smith cut a respectful nod in the air and 
let go of her hand. 

"It's a pleasure, Dana or Scully?"

"I don't have a problem with my name. Dana is fine."

Mulder pulled Scully in front of him, to the protective circle of his 
arms around her waist. She was wearing a loose blouse of some plush 
fabric, and she rested her head on his shoulder and her hands atop of 
his. He leaned his head on her temple and breathed in the perfume coming 
from her hair, spiraling his body in hers. Her belly and arms felt as 
smooth as the side of her face. 

This was correct, Mulder thought. This circle made of human flesh and 
spiritual connection was what couples, married or not, were supposed to 
give each other. This commitment poured from his and Scully's eyes. To 
others, it was the same old message Scully said she read in Maggie's 
face and he had heard in his mother's voice when they shared their plans 
to find a place to live together with no ring to attach them to each 
other.

You two what? 

Mulder masked a sigh against Scully's hair. It looked like he and his 
partner had found another group of people to look at them like they were 
aliens. And they called themselves Democrats!
 
"Okay, Dana." 

There was the space of an open hand between Smith's and Eileen's bodies, 
and a galactic distance in Eileen's face. Smith smiled and in his smile 
Mulder saw respect and a flash of dark emotion, perhaps a hint of 
sadness in his eyes. Every day he and Scully started several smaller 
circles in their lives together, and he had the certitude death was the 
ultimate factor that could prevent them from total closure. So there was 
this sting of remorse in his gut for seeing that large man becoming such 
a smidgen figure beside his wife. Vertically his and Scully's height 
difference was poignant, but from afar, in his mind, Mulder had always 
considered Scully taller than she was, but never taller than him. And he 
never saw himself as smaller than her.

Not looking at her husband in the eyes, but from above. Shunning his 
proximity in front of strangers with no second thought. Basically 
ignoring him and his attempts to get closer to her and diminishing him 
with no mercy...

He buried his nose deeper in Scully's face, forcing himself back to 
reality. No profiling tonight, he reminded himself. Those people's lives 
were none of his business and he had better things to do with his time, 
like enjoy these same people's company. Scully told him he saw hidden 
agendas in everything that passed in front of his nose. His trust no one 
motto should not be applied to his neighbors, damn it!

Scully pulled the sleeve of his sweater up and ran a hand on his 
forearm, something she started doing when they got involved. For her it 
was a simple and efficient signal to link him back to life. For him it 
was like a sexual fantasy coming to life. Oh, and that raised eyebrow 
could work wonders, too. Or turn his life into hell. Given the 
circumstances, his bet would be on the latter.

"Carter asked you a question, Mulder."

He smiled abashed and she lowered said eyebrow.

"That's okay, Dana," Carter said, winking at Scully. Then he let out a 
short lived but sincere laugh. "Typical newlywed disease. Get distracted 
by anything. Sixteen years in this life and I still suffer from it every 
now and then." 

"Hey, someone is having a good time here," Ronald said, approaching the 
group.

"We're talking about being distracted," Carter clarified as Ronald 
stopped beside him. "How long have you been distracted, Ronald?"

Ronald smiled confused. "Been distracted?" Carter nodded. "Been 
distracted by what?" 

"By the wonders of marriage."

Ronald stuffed his chest and looked at his friend, putting his left hand 
over his heart. "Twenty-three years," he answered, stretching the words 
longer than necessary. "Another couple of years and we'll have a silver 
wedding going on." 

"Twenty-three years?" Scully asked, expressing open admiration. "But you 
and Nora are so young to be married for so long."

"We had an early start. We were still in college when I proposed."  

"No shit!" Carter laughed. "College is a rite of passage meant to be 
spent with buddies, sharing beers, collecting girls. Skipping one of the 
merriest traditions America gifted us with to go to prison, having 
little wife heavy on your heels like those iron balls? Not for me." He 
shook his head. "Not for me at all. With due respect, of course, Dana 
and Eileen."

"It wasn't bad. Nora was mature and funny, a great addition to those 
crazy years. And who said we didn't have fun?"

"Did you?" Carter dared.

"You bet," Ronald granted. "It's all a matter of finding the right 
person. I found mine and had lots of good times with her before we got 
married. Iron ball on my heels," Ronald snorted. "That's bullshit, 
Carter. Don't you agree, Mulder?"

Scully hooked her ring finger to Mulder's and looked at him, intently 
and... huh... boldly. Promises of something that could turn up to be 
pretty interesting. Later. 

"Do you agree, Mulder?" Carter pressed.

"Sure he does. Look at this man," Ronald said, lifting hands and arms to 
measure Mulder's height and seriousness. "Do you really think he was 
lightheaded like you were then?" 

If Ronald only knew about all the laids and ladies he had gotten then... 
Worse, if Scully knew. It didn't mean he couldn't have some fun, though.

"Actually, I couldn't see myself married at college, either, Ronald. The 
campus was too much of a temptation." He rubbed his finger over 
Scully's, soothing - or arousing - the beast in her, leaving mysteries 
in the air. And he had no intention of having Scully find out the 
ladies' man he had been, or that despite the damage Phoebe had made, 
he'd been very much alive during all the years he spent at Oxford. But 
teasing Scully was one of the greatest pleasures of his life. That and 
loving her, of course. 

He breathed a long and intentionally annoying sigh against her hair. "I 
miss those times. Life was so good then." 

Scully ran her fingers along his forearm again. This time her nails 
demarcated a territory she had conquered when she had spelled 
'spontaneous human combustion' with that bit of skepticism in her voice 
in front of him, making him think, 'Phoebe who?' for the first time in 
ten years.

"If all of your girlfriends in England were like the one I met, your 
missing time makes perfect sense to me, Mulder." He laughed and kissed 
the upturned corner of her mouth.    

"Missing time?" Carter asked. "Do I feel something hot is up?"

"Long story. Don't bother," Mulder said, kissing Scully's face again. 
"Happens when you've been distracted for the last five years."

"You've been together for five years?" Ronald asked.

"We've known each other for five years. We've been together for little 
over six months now," Mulder said.

"The kids are honeymooners, Ronald," Carter bawled, nudging Ronald with 
his elbow. "That's why he gazes at her all the..." 

A sound like a hurtful and painful sob rose in the air, cutting Carter 
and their breathings off. Mulder, Scully, Carter and Ronald quickly 
looked at the two other members of their group. The two other talkative 
people that suddenly had resigned themselves to being tight-lipped and 
self-effaced listeners for the last five minutes.

Eileen closed her right fist over quivering lips and looked back at 
them. Her eyes were glassy and reddish, as they burned from the inside, 
but freezing those in the outside world. Her husband in particular.

"You should enjoy this distraction as much as you can, because once you 
become aware of things, it's the end." Eileen glanced at them, one by 
one. "The honeymoon is over. Everything is over."

No word was spoken aloud nor trembled. No attention was drawn to them, 
and for the other people in the immediate area, they were just another 
group having a good time. To the six people forming that inward and 
mishap 'Q', it was like a lamp had been switched off as they watched 
Eileen walking out of their group, out of the room and out of the door, 
closing the party behind her.

"Shit, Smith..."

"I'm afraid we won't make it to dinner, Ronald," Smith interrupted 
Carter, the hardness in his voice drilling small holes in the thick wall 
of awkwardness Eileen's departure erected. "Please, give Nora our 
apologies and thank her for the invitation." 

Smith left without a good-bye, worming out of the room less gracefully 
and ten feet smaller than his wife.    

"Damn it," Carter cursed softly. "Their marriage falling apart and we 
talking about the wonders of being distracted." 

Mulder snooped at the scene to confirm the obvious. He had seen that 
veiled spark of anger in Eileen's eyes countless times before. 
Sometimes, to his sadness, in his own mother's eyes. And he was no 
stranger to the guilt in Smith's. His father had looked at him that way 
when he died in his arms. The studied detachment in the older man's 
behavior as he talked about Jagger's trysting, trying to hide, and 
Mulder would bet his last penny on it, a trysting of his own, was not 
something new to Mulder either. 

The party kept going, but Eileen and Smith took some of its sparkle with 
them. He remembered that at his parents' there had been couples who 
couldn't stand each other, that would rather be burning in hell than 
hooking arms with their spouses, but in the name of etiquette and 
political interests plastered ersatz love on their faces and acts. 

The sparkles of real life were less vivid, but much more genuine and 
believable. Cutting-glass like a diamond, beautiful and painful.

"It's been a tough year for them now that the kids are gone. With Violet 
away at college, the boys married, and Smith away most of the time, 
Eileen got lonely in the house. Please, don't be uncomfortable," Ronald 
said as Scully shuffled her feet and Mulder diverted his gaze. "I know 
it doesn't look like it, but I'm not spreading any word here. I'm not 
gossiping. I just don't want you to have any wrong ideas about them." 

"I hope he and Eileen resolve this thing between them soon," Carter 
said.

"We all hope they'll be fine." Ronald shuddered. "Smith is a good man 
that made a mistake. Looking at the bright side of the situation, it 
brought Eileen out of her shell. I think Smith just wasn't prepared to 
see such a transformation."

"I'll tell you one thing, Ronald. I'd rather have Christina not by my 
side and demanding divorce and child support than seeing that kind of 
indifference in her eyes for the rest of my days. Once you get the best, 
you can't settle for anything less."

Mulder nodded his agreement against Scully's hair. No less than the 
best. Never again.

A bell chinked. It was Nora who with a big grin announced dinner was 
ready, inviting the guests to help themselves at the dining room table. 
She saw their group and went to them, the bell still jingling in her 
hand. 

"Dinner is served, my dears. Dana, Mulder, go there and serve yourselves 
as you please, okay? Christina was looking for you, Carter."

"Where is she?"

"In the kitchen. She was helping me with the plates."

"So she wants me to carry them." Carter kissed Nora on the face and 
excused himself to go after his better half in the kitchen.

Nora enlaced her left arm around her husband's waist and Ronald embraced 
her around her shoulder. "Where are Brett and Eileen? I thought they 
were talking with you." 

"They had to go. Eileen got upset. The rest you know." 

"Oh, no," Nora muted. "I was so happy when they accepted our invitation. 
I thought they were going to be okay."

"I thought so too," Ronald said. "He seemed to be fine and at ease with 
whatever you were discussing before I joined you, Mulder. He was the 
most enthusiastic one talking. What were you talking about, by the way?"

"Mick Jagger's situation." 

"You mean the baby?" Nora asked. "My gosh. Did he have the nerve?"

"Honey, this is not up for us to judge."

"I'm not judging. I'm just pointing out facts. How could he, being as 
guilty as Jagger?"

"People have strange strategies to deal with guilt," Mulder said, 
pretending he didn't see Scully raising that eyebrow again. She had 
gotten distracted with a psychologist who was also a profiler and an FBI 
investigator, so she better face the music and dance to its rhythm. And 
he was a fast dancer. "Sometimes we point our fingers at others to show 
society we're not the only ones at fault here. What we did today had 
already been done yesterday by another person, and the day before by 
another one, and so on. It's a defense mechanism."

"But before Eileen joined us, he was fine," Ronald observed.

"Her coming here triggered his guilt because she was the victim. In his 
job he seeks justice, and at home someone was hurting because of his 
actions. It's complicated when you have a conscience."   

Nora and Ronald were admiring. "You're skilled at this. What's your 
practice? Human behavior?" Ronald asked.

"I'm a psychologist."

"And I thought you were good because you're an investigator," Nora 
joked. "The FBI agents in the movies are so stupid. It's good to have 
someone proving them wrong."

"I belong to the wise guys club."

"Great, because I was already losing hope," Nora said.

Some of the other guests were coming back from the dinning room, 
carrying a porcelain plate and a linen napkin in one hand and a glass of 
beverage and proper silverware in the other. Some of the plates had 
fresh veggie leaves and thick slices of roast on them, some had pasta 
with different sauces, and others, thankfully few of them, had, 
sacrilege of the sacrileges, roast, salad *and* pasta on them.

Teena Mulder would have fainted if she had seen such insult to the 
Italian palate. 
 
"Now could the two of you take this discussion to the dining room 
because I'm starved!" Nora laughed, pulling her husband in the dining 
room's direction.

Mulder freed Scully's waist and she smoothed her blouse down. Scully was 
wearing a black turtle-neck, fitted dress, made of malleable and soft 
fabric that ended two or three inches above her knees, and a black and 
coppery trimmed blouse. The tunic, as she called it, fell two or three 
inches above the dress's hem. Black tights, black low heeled shoes, and 
the gold earrings. An annular eclipse, the moon trying to cover the sun, 
but she was more beautiful and more intense.

"Mulder? Let's go?"

"Sure."

No one was looking and Ronald and Nora were about six feet ahead of 
them. It was stupid, considering Scully had been in his arms since she 
joined the distraction conversation, and that great part of those people 
knew they lived at number ten in Conrad Place. 

Mulder wanted to hold his partner's hand and was shy about it.

Slowly, very slowly, he offered his fingers. Index, middle, ring and 
pink, stretched and fanned out to her.

"Let's go, Mulder."

She grabbed his thumb.

He loved that woman.

There was a table in the background serving as a salad buffet. Lettuce, 
tomatoes, spinach, carrots, cucumbers and several dressings and dips. He 
left Scully in that little heaven on earth of hers and went to the main 
table. 

Three kinds of pasta - lasagna, tagliatelle and spaghetti, were served 
in glass dishes. The sauces were served in brown bowls steaming on small 
heaters. Smelled good. He chose the tagliatelle and poured tomato sauce 
with basil over it twice. Scully was back from the little vegetable plot 
and met him at the table. 

"Radishes, Scully?"

"Good for my health. Could be good for yours too if you gave it a try."

"Actually I'd like to try the roast. Put a slice of it on your plate."

"Why not on your plate?" she nagged but relented, giving him her plate 
so she could cut the roast.

"You don't mix anything with pasta. That piece is fine." 

She carefully put the slice on her plate and got a slice of chicken 
breast for herself.

"Are we done?"

"Sure." He handed her the plate back. "I think it'd be better if we get 
the wine later."  

They got their silverware and went back to the living room. The only 
vacant places were the steps of the stairs, and they went to sit there, 
like he and Samantha used to do. He got Scully's plate again and she sat 
first. She opened a napkin on her lap before he handed her their plates. 
He sat one step below hers and rested his back on the wall. 

With the help of a spoon, he rolled the pasta on his fork and tasted it. 
Soft, almost melting in his mouth and delicious. So different from the 
hardened one they bought in the supermarket.

"Try this tagliatelle, Scully."

"Huh?" she mouthed, chewing on the radishes. "What?"

"Here. Try the pasta."

With care, he rolled some tagliatelle on his fork. Small pieces of 
tomato attached themselves onto the white pasta. He held the fork up for 
a few seconds to be sure the sauce would not drop on their clothes. 

Scully bent over to close her mouth on his fork but had to stop midway 
to push a lock of hair behind her ear. Task done, she bent forward again 
and tasted the dish. A small thread of pasta hung out of her mouth. She 
suckled at it gently and a tiny puddle of tomato sauce formed on her 
lips. 

Again she suckled on it, closing her eyes. 

Mulder had to refrain himself from groaning. 

"This is wonderful, Mulder."

He cleared his throat. "Yes, it is, Scully. But be less enthusiastic 
about it."

"Hum?"

"Did I tell you how beautiful you are tonight?"

Her entire expression widened with surprise. "No, you didn't."

Half recovered, he put another portion of pasta in his mouth. "You are 
stunning. And I really like your hair."

"I need to cut it. It's too long. I was going to do it today, but Lea 
convinced me to wait until after the festivities."

"Don't do this. I like it long."

"It's not practical. The bangs keep falling in my eyes."

"I'll buy you bands and fasteners."

She fed him a piece of the roast. "Should I trust your taste?"

"I have you."

"Smart man."

They ate in silence for a few minutes. The other people talked 
animatedly. They enjoyed their little corner alone, like they were used 
to. A little isolation, just to be closer to each other. Reminded him of 
older times. Intimacy without being intimate, and the sexual tension was 
better now that they knew they could find release in each other whenever 
they wanted to.

"What are you thinking about?" Scully asked him.

"Nothing special."

"Are you bored? Do you want to go home?"

"Of course not. It's good in here. The food is good and the company is 
not bad. Give me some more roast."

She fed him again. "I hope you're not talking about me."

"You're a lot of fun, Scully."

"Gee. Thanks, Caveman." 

A couple passed by them and smiled. They smiled back.

"Do you remember that woman I was talking to before Eileen joined us?" 
Scully asked. He nodded yes, slurping another bit of pasta. "She said 
you're beautiful."

"Only proves that she doesn't have eye problems."

"She doesn't, and she's lovely. I think this sweater you're wearing 
helped," she said, referring to the sandy-beige sweater she gave him for 
his birthday. He liked the black sweater she had knitted better, even 
with the three holes in it, from the points she had missed. Over a black 
long-sleeved T-shirt it looked perfect. 

She smoothed her hand on his chest, the wool turning wet-sand from her 
touch. "I like this color on you, Mulder."

"I like it too." 

He finished his pasta and Scully fed him the last piece of the roast.

"I'm full," Scully said, putting the fork and knife in her plate, "but I 
wanted to try the lasagna."

"Take it easy or it may upset your stomach again, little rabbit."

"We can share, foxy." 

"Watch your mouth."

She handed him her plate. "Just get the lasagna, will you?" 

He got their plates and stood up. "We'll finish this discussion later, 
at home." He got bedroom eyes as response.

The lasagna was cut in average squares and, as the other pasta, was 
without sauce. He chose tomato sauce for Scully and put a little of 
white sauce on the side for himself. As he was leaving, Ronald, Nora and 
two other people entered the dining room.

"Enjoying the food, Mulder?" Ronald asked as he and Nora inspected the 
bowls and dishes. "I think we need more spaghetti, honey. And tomato 
sauce, too."

"I'll tell Teresa." With Nora gone, Ronald repeated his question.

"It's delicious. Did Nora really make it all by herself?"

"She did. I helped a little and Lucy washed the vegetables before she 
went to the Ferguson's for the night," Ronald said, serving himself with 
roast. "Teresa and her daughter Joanna came later, only to take care of 
the china and because I insisted."

"She should get into the food business," Neil Sheridan, another of their 
neighbors, said. "With a hand like hers to cook, you'd be millionaires."

"She wouldn't have time to do this. There's always Lucy and the house to 
be taken care of."

"Well, if she changes her mind, tell her to talk to my accountant."

"I'm your accountant, Neil. And the answer is no. Again."

"So I'll just have to try later. Again.."

The third man, an elderly sir, finished helping himself and turned to 
Mulder. "This is a never ending discussion between these two. We better 
not get involved in it." They went back to the living room together. "By 
the way, My name is Tyrrel Carter Ferguson." 

"I'm Fox Mulder. You can call me Mulder."

"You can call me Tyrrel. Carter is Junior." 

"You're Carter's father?"

"Yes. And that beautiful old lady talking to your beautiful young lady 
is my wife." The beautiful lady in question had taken his place on the 
stairs. "She told me she liked your partner. Dana, isn't it?"

Mulder liked the use of the word partner coming from the older man's 
mouth. It sounded sincere and deprived of prejudice.

"Yes, that's her name. Dana Scully."

Both man approached the staircase and Mulder gave Scully the plate. Mrs. 
Ferguson stood up and apologized.

"I'm sorry, young man. I got your spot. I saw Dana here alone and 
decided to keep her company until you came back." She offered a hand to 
Mulder. "I'm Rebecca Ferguson. And I see you've already met my husband."

"You don't need to stand up, ma'am," Mulder said, but Mrs. Ferguson was 
already up on her feet.

"Nonsense, young man. You need to sit down to eat." 

He held her hand with both of his. Something in that lady reminded him 
of his own mother. Maybe it was the hair color. Few women he knew 
assumed the testament of the years that had passed and discolored their 
hair on its way. "In this case, please, don't apologize, Mrs. Ferguson. 
I'm glad you stayed here with Scully. She liked your company," he said, 
sitting beside Scully.

Mrs. Ferguson smiled. "I'm pleased. Young people tend to get either 
nervous or complacent around us. I think it's because we old people talk 
too much."

"My father used to say that only fools don't listen to the wisdom of  
the older ones," Scully said, cutting a slice of lasagna to feed Mulder.  

"A wise man himself." Tyrrel put a withered hand on his wife's shoulder. 
"Not everything about us is boredom. We have our own group of friends in 
Florida. We're usually going out for dinner, or getting together to play 
canasta or poker. We do yoga and tai chi chuan. It's important to be 
active or the brain dies."

"That's what doctors recommend," Scully said after she swallowed another 
piece of lasagna. "The best medication for a long life is a healthy body 
and a young mind."

"So you don't live here?" Mulder asked when it was Scully's turn to eat.

"No. We're not from Fairfax," Mrs. Ferguson said. "We've spent our 
entire life in Florida. We've been here since Thanksgiving, visiting 
Carter, but we're heading back to Florida in two days. This place is too 
damn cold!" 

"Becky, watch your mouth," Tyrrel reproved.

"Those kids know what a curse is, Ty." Mrs. Ferguson turned to Mulder 
and Scully and whispered, "Almost fifty years together and he just can't 
get used to it."

Mulder felt warm inside and wiped the sauce pooled on the corner of 
Scully's mouth. That's how he wanted to grow old with Scully, bickering, 
loving her and with dignity.

"Mom and dad, here you are." Carter put himself between his parents and  
opened his arms to hold each of them around the shoulder. "So, Mulder 
and Dana, aren't my parents the cutest couple here."

"Sure," Scully said, smiling softly. "They're very charming and 
affable." 

"Thank you, dear. You and your young man are very sweet." Mrs. Ferguson 
sounded pleased. "Nora and Ronald know how to make a party, don't they? 
They only invite interesting people. It's your first time here, isn't 
it? My memory is not as good as it used to be, but I wouldn't forget 
such a sweet and lovely couple. Would you, Ty?"

"Not in this life."

Scully's eyes gleamed and Mulder hid his delight in another mouthful of 
lasagna. The sensation of being considered interesting slowly melted and 
mingled with the pasta, adding to it the special flavor of acceptance. 

"Dana and Mulder are new in the neighborhood, Mom. They moved shortly 
before Thanksgiving," Carter said. 

"Yes. We live at house number ten," Scully said.

"Oh, Carter. There you are." It was Christina who appeared carrying two 
glasses of wine. "Hello again, Mulder."

"Hey there. Have you met my partner?"

"Sure. Nora introduced us." Christina smiled and handed a glass to her 
husband. "So, how are you liking our neighborhood?"

It was Scully's turn to answer and Mulder's turn to eat. "With the 
moving and everything else we didn't have time to explore it yet. But we 
liked what we saw. We appreciate the quietness." 

"Yes, it's a quiet place without being isolated. There's the country, 
there's the city and then there's Fairfax. And no other place in the 
neighborhood is like Comrade Place," Christina said. "And this place is 
great to raise kids, if you're considering having yours."

Scully lowered her eyes to the now empty plate, and all of sudden, 
Mulder's stomach went empty, too. Damn! When the mind took notice of a 
fact, the heart shouldn't hurt that much.

"We want to enjoy each other a little more," Mulder said, forcing out a 
smile.

"Sure, you should," Christina said good naturally, but in the back of 
his mind, Mulder detected something different in the way Chris leaned 
forward on the staircase rail, body and hands pressed on the wood and 
eyes trying to link themselves to theirs. "Diapers and bottles change 
everything. Carter and I waited for two years before we solicited the 
social worker's help to adopt our first baby."

"You adopted a baby?" Scully asked little above a whisper, little under 
a spell of hope.

"Yes, two of our three kids are adopted," Carter said. "The oldest, Ty 
III, is 12 now. Lisa, our girl, is 7, and Kevin, our baby boy, is 
three."

"Those kids are our pride and joy," Mrs. Ferguson said, mellow and 
sugary. "The moment they blinked those eyes of theirs, we were gone. We 
had no chance. They are so beautiful. Show them the picture in your 
wallet, Ty."

Tyrrel fished the wallet out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. 
The corners of the picture were starting to get worn out, but Tyrrel 
passed it to Mulder's hand with a flourish and a smile made of crystal 
and titanium, precious and solid. Scully leaned her chin on Mulder's 
shoulder as he put the picture in front of them.

Scully tugged at the side of his sweater and lifted her eyes to find 
his, that were already positioned to meet hers.

The shock began in their brows, that were starting to furrow, and in 
their parted lips, breathing mute questions, and ended with the heat 
coming from inside and that lit up their eyes and eased the muscles 
around their mouths. Their faces relaxed, their cheeks expanded with a 
puff of hot air, and their lips spread into a magic smile.

Ty III, the oldest, had a fussy toddler with thin blond air like 
Carter's and big green eyes like Christina's. In his hand he held a long 
lock of frizzy black hair of an Afro-American girl who stood behind her 
brothers. She showed a wide smile of even teeth and she had one arm 
around the toddler's shoulders and the other around her oldest brother. 
Ty III was a pre-teen who didn't seem to resent the metallic squares 
covering his teeth. His face of Hispanic traces and big brown eyes 
reflected smartness and will to live.

"You have a beautiful family," Mulder said, every drop of affection in 
his voice coming from his heart. "They're fortunate for having you as 
parents and grandparents."

"And we're fortunate for having them in our lives," Mrs. Ferguson said, 
pausing to glance at the picture for a second. "Ty and Lisa are going to 
spend two weeks with us in Florida. We're never anonymous in the crowd. 
We're a real hit!"

"And they always come back completely spoiled," Carter said jokingly. 
"My parents do everything they want."

"They only spend four weeks of the year with us, son. How can we spoil 
them rotten?" 

"You manage, Dad. You manage."

"How long did it take you to get their custody?" Mulder liked the 
interest with which Scully addressed the question. Adoption would be the 
easiest solution to their situation, and in one year or two they could 
contact the right people and go for it.

"Ty was almost one year old when the final papers for the adoption were 
in order and an aunt of his agreed to sign them. With Lisa it was easier 
because she had no relatives at all. She was abandoned in a church when 
she was three days old. She was six months old when we brought her home. 
Kevin was a miracle we weren't expecting." Christina breathed deeply and 
added softly, "All three of them are our miracles."

A women wearing a blue dress and white apron collected their empty 
plates and glasses and asked if they needed anything. Scully was the 
first one to say they were not in need of anything, and all agreed they 
were fine.

"I don't know about you, but I want something sweet. My grandchildren 
always give me sweet thoughts," Mrs. Ferguson said, wiping the corner of 
her eyes. "Ty, let's see if Nora's served the dessert." 

With a hand on her shoulder, Tyrrel guided his wife towards the dining 
room. Once the two younger couples were alone, Christina invited Mulder 
and Scully for dinner at her house.

"We can wait until this madness about Christmas is over to set a date. I 
don't cook like Nora, but my food is not bad. Would you like to go?" 

"I see no problems. Do you, Mulder?"

Even if he did, he wouldn't kill Scully's enthusiasm. 

"No. Not at all."

They drank wine and talked about work, hobbies and the fine art of being 
a housekeeper and a professional. Christina left for a tour around the 
house and other people joined them for some talk. Some stayed long, some 
didn't, but the truth was that he and Scully were never left alone by 
themselves. Christina returned and gave Scully the name and phone 
numbers of a lady who cleaned almost all the houses on their street. 
Carter was telling Mulder about their basketball team.

"Why don't you play with us?" Carter invited Mulder. "We're just a bunch 
of middle aged men looking for a good time. We need your strength and 
youth."

"Carter, offer him your bad pair of knees," Christina joked. "Don't 
believe him, Mulder. This team is as good playing basketball as I am 
pulling out a tooth."

Carter waved Christina off and started talking about this Tuesday 
evenings ritual, when they got together to train for the summer league. 
Mulder didn't even know they had a summer league in Fairfax. 

Carter was almost charming Mulder into joining their team when Nora 
appeared with a cordless phone in hand.

"Christina, it's Lisa calling to say goodnight."

"Goodnight?" Christina checked her watch. "But it's almost eleven. What 
are they doing up?" she asked, getting the phone. "Lisa, sweetie, what 
are you doing up?... Ah! You and Lucy and Bree were baking cookies and 
dancing like the Backstreet Boys?"

"Did they burn the kitchen?" Carter asked Norah.

"No."

"The house?"

"No."

"Okay, sweetie. Granny and Papa will be there in a little while. Brush 
your teeth and kiss Lucy and Kevin. Love you too, sweetie. Now let me 
talk to Bree. Bree, honey, put them in bed now. Yes, you can eat that 
last slice of pizza. I'll remind your parents to bring you some pasta. 
Okay. Bye." Christina disconnected the phone. "Bree asked to remind her 
parents of her pasta. Can I check on Ty? He's spending the night at the 
Corrigan's."

"Sure. No problem, dear. We'll wait until you're finished to make the 
arrangements for the Christmas party."

Mulder and Scully, whose attentions were volleying between Christina's 
one sided conversation and Carter's teasing, fidgeted in their places on 
the stairs. Mulder became aware of the numbness in his butt. And that 
pressure of Scully's finger in his arm had begun when? 

"Who's going to be the host this year?"

"It's your turn, Nora."

Scully whispered in his ear if they should go. He stood up and helped 
her to do the same.

"My gosh, Carter. My house was going to be the fifth. Has it been five 
years already?"

Holding hands, he and Scully started down the stairs.

"Oh, yeah. Lisa wasn't two when we moved in."

He and Scully stopped next to Nora and Carter.

"Time flies, Carter. When I moved, I had ten years to become fifty. Now 
I just have five."

Uncertainty plastered its shadow into Mulder and Scully's semblance. 
Should they interrupt the ongoing reminiscences of the past to say 
goodbye?

"I'll be fifty in three years, Nora. And don't mention Christina's age 
in her presence." 

Scully shook her head. No, they couldn't leave without saying goodbye.

"Why not?" Nora sniggered.

"Nora, Carter," Scully called softly. "We're going."

Christina approached them from behind. "Ty and Collin are playing video 
game at this time of the night. Do you think they are telling the truth, 
Carter? If they're watching porno... Mulder, Dana. Where are you going?" 

"It's late. We're going home," Mulder said.

"Can't you wait just a little longer? We're going to make the 
arrangements for the Christmas party," Nora asked.

"It'll only be fifteen minutes," Christina helped. "It will only be to 
set a date. We're picking out our secret santa and chosing the recipes 
at my house next week."

"You'll like it," Carter said. "We're only six or seven couples. Due to 
work, we can't leave for the holidays until the twentieth, twenty-first, 
so we get together."

"It's very simple. We dress fancy, have dinner, and exchange gifts. Only 
a little celebration to close the year here in the community." Nora 
smiled friendly. "It would be good to have you with us this year."

Scully looked up at him. She wanted to stay, too, but the last five 
years took its toll on them. In their experience, people didn't invite 
them without a purpose. If they could call being lured to danger, to 
hell and back an invitation.

"What about the other couples?" Scully asked. "Will they be fine about 
it?"

"You're not intruding, if that's what you're worried about," Nora said. 
"You're not here as guests. You're here as friends. It'd be a pleasure 
having you with us for our Christmas dinner too." 

Scully looked up at him again and squeezed his hand. Those people were 
not only inviting them for another dinner party. They were being invited 
to belong to another people's pages, to be truly part of a community. He 
and Scully didn't have to be lonely characters in this new chapter of 
their lives.

They didn't have to be alone if they didn't want to.

"So, will you stay?" Nora asked, her hand curling around his elbow.

They didn't want to be alone.

"If you're sure it won't be a problem to anyone, we'll gladly stay."

"Great, Mulder," Nora said, smiling at him again. Then the ever 
efficient woman went back to business. "Christina, let's gather 
everyone. Carter, get Ronald for me, okay?"

Carter smiled. "You can't fight those two." Then he patted Mulder's back 
and kissed Scully's face. "Welcome to the club."

*****

Fifteen minutes became half hour, half hour became one hour, and in 
halves the clock tickled off to two o'clock in the morning. 

They ate again, they never stopped drinking, they got tipsy and they 
danced the twist, rumba, the tango and any other dance that required 
rubber-like legs. They talked, they laughed, and they had fun. 

They stumbled down the front steps of the Thompsons supporting each 
other's weight on their shoulders. It was easier - and much more 
pleasant - than carrying the weight of their world on them, like they 
were used to.  

It was also easier than fitting the key in the keyhole on the door.

Scully stood beside him, teeth clattering and her coat closed tight 
around her body, giggling at his failed attempts to open the door.

"What do you think Carter meant by welcome to the club, Mulder?" 

There was something incredibly human about recognizing past mistakes in 
order to avoid new ones of the same category and genre. 

He had learned to make selections in small portions as life taught him 
the meaning of few in a lot of different ways. He just wouldn't be 
himself if none of those lessons rubbed off on him this evening. 
He had made some improvements in the fine art of masking what was now 
some outrageous anatomization of the human being complexions.

First: he liked that neighborhood.

Second: not everything in his life had to be like it had been for his 
parents.

Third: being drunk sucked.

The door finally opened. He pulled Scully inside first.

"Semantics, Scully. What else could it mean?"

She bobbed forward and hit his chest with her forehead. They laughed
together.

He closed the door behind them.

The world wasn't so spooky after all.

Potentiality of having found new friends? 

A lot of.

Regrets for having accepted the Thompsons' invitation?

Zero.

None.

****************


The arm covering and squeezing her bare breasts was half the reason why 
she was out of breath. The other half was because he refused to shut his 
mouth up and keep her from laughing so hard.

"Mulder." His name came out in two broken syllables as she gasped for 
air. "You didn't know those people, you hardly were at your apartment at 
all. How could you know all those things?"

Mulder lifted his upper body from the mattress and leaned up on one 
forearm next to her. The afghan slipped to his hip, gracing her with the 
view of the sparse hair covering the line of his stomach down to his 
sex. "I lived there for seven years, Scully. The pizza guy never spent 
more than forty seconds at my door. And that was when he had to make my 
change, mind you? Why did he have to spend more than half an hour making 
the delivery in the apartment fifty-two upstairs? Why was Mrs. Haley's 
delivery always the last one to be done? Why did she order pizza only 
when her husband was away? And the most important evidence." He brought 
his body deliciously closer to hers to whisper in her ear. "I used to 
hear moans, whispers. They shouted obscenities at each other, Scully." 
He rolled over her, once again entangling their legs among the 
bedclothes. "And there was this weird sound of the bed ramming the wall, 
like this." 

He started bouncing up and down over her. She thrust against him in 
response, but once again it was more because of the laughter shaking her 
body than because of arousal. She just loved it, being so carefree, 
boundless in his arms, in their bed, with him. She loved to find desire 
darkening his eyes as they hovered over her body, his bedhair mussed on 
its right side where he had laid beside her, and loosened on the left 
side, where she had run her fingers while he had loved her in the 
predawn this morning.

Giddy, lightheaded, tender. A playful, naked Mulder in her bed was more 
invigorating than a bottle of dry martini knocked down at once in her 
throat. She loved being drunk by his tenderness, by his touch. By him.

Always by him.

"What did they put in your macaroni, Mulder?"

He rolled off her to lie down on his back. "Nothing wrong with the 
macaroni, amore mio." She kissed his cheekbone despite the terrible 
Italian accent. "It was the company."

The company had kept them up at the Thompson's until two o'clock in the 
morning. She believed the last time she had enjoyed a group date like 
the one yesterday had been when she was still dating Ethan, and it was 
long before their relationship went down hill. Mulder didn't talk too 
much about the time he had been married, but judging the way he had 
first reacted when Ronald took him to a group away from her, she 
believed his history wasn't any different.

"I thought you'd be angry with me, Mulder." She hid her face on his 
shoulder, a perfect excuse to kiss his collarbone.

"Me angry with you? Why?"

"You didn't want to go."

He chuckled. "You were lucky they had good food."

"And good talk." 

"And good talk," he agreed, drawing her atop of him. 
"I had a terrific realization last night, Scully." 

"A terrific realization?"

"Yeah." He peppered a trail of kisses all the way up from her throat to 
her chin. "People can be interesting without mentioning UFOs or 
government conspiracies."

"Hum." She had both her hands around his shoulders, her chest pressed 
against his. "Little gray men and hidden agenda." She nibbled his 
earlobe. "You were wonderful."

"Really? I wasn't spooky, was I?"

"No, you acted like the Oxford educated man you were supposed to."

"Was I snobbish?" 

"No," she said between a soft laugh and a hum while tasting the most 
delicious pouted lips he had offered her that morning. "Not snobbish. 
You were wonderful."

"Wonderful?" Under the covers, his hands were sprawled on her buttocks, 
his crotch rasping her entrance. The thermometer in her spine went from 
hot to burning, her heat ready to explode from excitement. 

"Hmm-hmm. Intelligent, witty, charming." She punctuated each of his 
qualities with a kiss on his lips and a wiggle of her lower body over 
his member. "You were wonderful." 

"It's the first time you've called me wonderful so quietly, Scully." His 
lips were greedy against her skin. "It's always, wonderful, yes... Gimme 
more... Don't stop!"  

"Mulder!"

He laughed out aloud as she gave him several tender loving slaps for his 
daring in painting such a colorful picture of her sexual boldness when 
they were together. 

A hand running between her legs, a kiss strategically placed upon her 
jugular vein, and ten minutes later he was proving his point with 
merits.

"Anyway," he restarted when they were all done, and she peacefully went 
back into his arms, "what were we talking about, Scully?"

"I was saying how wonderful you were." 

"Oh, yeah. And I was agreeing with you." 

"Hmm-hmm." She nuzzled her cheek on his neck. "You were wonderful." He 
laughed languidly. "At the dinner, Mulder."

After dinner, coffee and liquor were served in the living room, along 
with diverse topics of conversation, from politics to the problems 
within the third world. From the reasons why Quentin Tarantino and Ed 
Wood were important to the cinematography industry. From why The Beatles 
and The Rolling Stones could not be compared to each other, to why all 
these boyish music groups should be banned from Planet Earth or, at 
least, from the States. During the few hours she spent in the Thompson's 
living room, she rediscovered how prolific and entertaining the world 
could be.

"Hey, you sleeping?"

"No, I was just thinking." She snuggled closer to him. "Have you noticed 
the changes in our lives, Mulder?"

"How so?"

"A few months ago you wouldn't have gone to a party like the one last 
night even if I had begged you to, Mulder."

"A few months ago I wasn't even sure I could talk to anyone else besides 
you, Scully." 

She looked at him. His lips were turned upwards in a shadowed sad smile. 
Their connection was immediate, not only because they were lying in 
their bed completely naked under the blankets, nor because a few minutes 
ago her view of the world had been different as he helped her to ride 
him to their climax. Her link to this man went beyond the realm of their 
body junction, beyond the checkbook and credit cards that since last 
week she carried in her wallet, and that had their names on it. Although 
they were together for the right reasons, the gloomy events that had 
joined them still remained very much alive, threatening to never 
completely disappear.

"I often wonder why we spent so much time looking for aliens in the sky, 
Mulder. We could so easily have looked into the mirror."

"I think you're blowing it a little too high, Scully. Excepting when you 
spread that green goo on your face, I don't see you as a reticulean." 

She smiled, but didn't let his light quip keep her from exposing her 
point of view. 

"We are the living proof that there's more than one way of being an 
alien, Mulder. We could go after murderers, clones, shape shifters, goat 
suckers." He snorted against her hair. "But last night we were afraid of 
attending an invitation to spend an evening with a half dozen couples of 
normal people. This goes beyond my comprehension, Mulder." 

"I think it's too early to understand anything, Scully. You and I are 
still too new at this, at least as a couple. But I think last night we 
did well. We didn't freak our neighbors out. Hell, we were invited to 
their Christmas party." 

"Yeah, their Christmas party. It was nice of them inviting us, wasn't 
it?" Supporting her chin on her left hand, she raised her head to talk 
with him, looking straight into his eyes. "We have a real marathon ahead 
of us this Christmas. The party at Quantico, the party at Nora's. We 
still have to decide what to make of ourselves on Christmas morning, 
though."

"Are you up to all this socializing?"

She felt the trepidation in his voice shake the resolve she was feeling. 
She wasn't going anywhere without him. "I think it would be good for us, 
Mulder. There's nothing wrong with us," she hurried to add when she saw 
a hint of confusion in his face. "I just think we owe this to ourselves, 
being around people that like and respect us for what we are, for what 
we discovered we can be. Don't you?"
 
"I have more than I deserve right here, sharing this bed with me. But 
I'll go with you if that's what you want." He kissed her lips and pulled 
her head back onto his shoulder. "After all, we're wanted, Scully, and 
there's no 'Dead or Alive' warning hanging over our heads."

Sleep and Mulder's soft breath were making their way into her when the 
phone rang. She reached out over him to get the phone on his bedside 
table.

"Hello." 

"Dana?"

Mrs. Mulder spoke timidly and low, threading with uncertain sutures her 
way back into her son's life. Scully knew Mulder shared this 
uncertainty, himself not so sure about his place in his mother's life. 
His own insecurities had blocked him the past two weeks; he chose to 
feed his worries about Teena by checking on her and seeing if she was 
doing okay in the Netherlands at Aunt Rose's, her youngest sister.

"Mrs. Mulder. How have you been?" She sat up in the bed, holding the 
blankets under her arms. Beside her, Mulder smiled inwardly. Both of 
them were used to this shyness while talking to each other's mother. And 
so would be her mother and Mrs. Mulder if they had the slightest idea 
that their kids had been naked and in the horizontal.

"I'm fine, Dana, thank you. The Netherlands are always beautiful this 
time of the year."

"So I've been told, but I've never been to the Netherlands."

"You should, dear. Even the snow here is different."

"I see."

Next came the silence of two heartbeats, but for Scully it was like the 
silence of a long journey in which you didn't know what to say to your 
companion. Not awkward, but the kind of space that needed to be filled 
with sounds she didn't know how to utter. She wished Mrs. Mulder were 
still just a prosaic woman for whom she felt obliged to care for only 
where Mulder was concerned. During the past few months, though, Teena 
had become a new person to her, a woman with real substance and rich 
essence. This change caught her so off guard, she didn't know how to 
react. Her mind kept buzzing with words to say, her throat burned with 
them, but they found no articulation in her tongue.   

"Is Fox there with you, Dana?"

"Yeah, yeah. He's right here."

"Can I talk to him? It's just for a little bit."

"It's no problem. He's right here." She choked the desire to shout at 
Teena that she was a mother and had every right to talk to her son 
without having to ask for permission. "Mulder, it's your mother," she 
said, shaking his shoulder.

He kissed her wrist, and sat back against the pillows. "Mom. Found a 
phone that connects to the U.S.?"

Scully rolled her eyes and pulled his hair to keep from hitting him with 
a pillow, or to strangle with the sheets in the bed the man that 
yesterday morning was grumbling that his mother must have been having a 
great time with her sisters and nephews and nieces since she hadn't 
bothered to call yet.

"Mom... No, Mom... Listen, that was a joke. It's okay. And you? I was 
worried."

When she felt the knots on his shoulder loosen, and that the line of 
communication to his mother had been cleared up, she left bed to prepare 
her bath. 

"She's not taking care of me, Mom. It's almost noon and I didn't even 
have my breakfast yet."

He ducked his head in time to dodge the pillow flying in his direction.
 
She washed her hair and shaved her legs quickly because, like Mulder, 
she was starved, too. She brushed her teeth and padded back to the 
bedroom.

Mulder was drooling on her pillow, snoring and tugging at the bedclothes 
like a baby. 

She did what her heart was telling her to. 

She knelt down beside him to count how many times his eyelids trembled 
against his cheek in REM dream movement, how the air he was breathing 
made the afghan's fringe flutter against the blue and white striped 
sheets. How the tightly stretched lines in his face smoothed out to make 
him look younger. And more beautiful. 

They had missed so much, lost so much. Sleep robbed him of the lines 
fate had sculpted on his face and carved in his ferocious tongue. Sleep 
made him cloudless, weightless. She wished she could keep him younger 
and unadulterated with her love. In a perfect world, her wish would 
become true.

In real life, he was no less beautiful because he was hers. 

Her stomach roared again. Before the embarrassing sound woke him up, she 
finger-kissed his lips and went downstairs.

It was Sunday, one of the few days of the week they had the opportunity 
to have lunch together. She wasn't about to waste it, so she got an 
apple and a bottle of water in the kitchen, the 'Brave New World' 
paperback she found in the den last week, took them with her to the 
living room, and made herself comfortable on the sofa to spend some time 
in quietness. Three chapters later it was impossible to pretend she 
wasn't hungry.

From the refrigerator, she got a cucumber, a tomato, lettuce and some 
olives. She mixed the ingredients and put the salt and lemon aside to 
spice the salad later. First she needed to fix something for Mulder. 
Maybe a couple of tuna sandwiches and some french-fries. 

She put the pan with oil to heat on the stove, then got a little pack of 
potatoes from the freezer, Mulder's idea of being practical. Every month 
he got a large bag of potato crisps, divided them into smaller portions, 
and stored them in the freezer. Many Saturday evenings they had been a 
great side dish for the hamburgers they ordered at Dino's for dinner.

She was about to go upstairs and rouse him when he emerged into the 
kitchen, his arms loaded with the sheets of their bed.

"No coffee," he said, eyeing the empty coffeemaker on the counter.

"I'll make some."

He nodded and headed to the laundry room in the basement. Even with his 
little nap he looked drained. Well, three times in eight hours, after 
all the wine they had last night, was an impressive mark for a man his 
age. 

He announced his return burying his nose on the crock of her neck. 
"Morning again. Or is it afternoon?"

"Afternoon," she replied, spreading the mix of tuna and mayonnaise on a 
slice of toast. "You're getting old."

"Don't remind me." He poured himself some coffee. "Need help?"

"Check the potatoes and set the table. I'm almost finished here."

She prepared a couple more of sandwiches and salted the french-fries 
Mulder had put in a china bowl. Behind her there was the domestic 
symphony of clattering plates and clinking glasses, and the hiss of a 
can being opened. 

"Soda or juice?"

"Juice. Orange juice."

A few moments later he stopped at her side with oranges enough to fill 
half a jug. "I added orange juice to the shopping list. I'll stop by the 
grocery store tomorrow after work."

"All right."

The whirr of the fruit processor was the only sound breaking their 
comfortable silence. When they were finished, he helped her to take the 
food to the table. Mulder put a sandwich and a generous portion of fries 
on his plate, but kept stealing the salad from hers. 

"What have you done to me, Scully? I'm having salad on a junk food day."

"There are four tuna sandwiches and a bowl of fries right in front of 
you. Leave my salad alone."

"And what's this thing in your cucumber? Looks like tuna." He stole the 
sliced evidence from her plate. "Tastes like tuna, too."

"Because it is tuna, the extra portion I made to dress my salad," she 
said, catching the mayonnaise dripping from his sandwich with a french 
fry, then munching on it. "Are you going to make another complaint at 
your mother that I'm not taking good care of you?"

"No use. My mother adores you," he said, swallowing another mouthful of 
her salad. "She'll probably take your side on any discussion we get 
into.".

She was too stunned to slap Mulder's hand away when he grabbed another 
bit of her salad. 

"Your mother adores me?"

"Sure. All I'm going to get is an earful if I tell her what happens 
inside these four walls. She thinks you're perfect, a real saint. Hum, 
this thing is really good, Scully." 

"What did she say to make you believe she adores me?" Recovered, she 
forked three potatoes from his plate, and arched an eyebrow when he 
frowned at her. Everything was fair in food war.

"Well, a little praising here, another one there. You know how subtle my 
mother can be." She gave up on robbing him of his fries when he poured 
ketchup all over them. "Today she said it was a pity that you never got 
to see the snow in the Netherlands in December, so she asked 
me why didn't I pack a little case and take Dana to Europe to spend the 
holidays with our family?"

There was a long gap until those three elements - Christmas-Mulder's-
family - joined up in the same sentence hit on her.

"I... I beg your pardon, Mulder."

"My mother invited us to spend the holidays with her family in the 
Netherlands."

"Go to the Netherlands?" she repeated, oblivious to the fact that it was 
the second time in less than five minutes that Mrs. Mulder put in check 
one of her most notable skills. She couldn't think, whereby she couldn't 
argue. Listening was everything she had left. And Mulder took advantage 
of this. 

"Yeah, Scully. The Netherlands. You know, that little country in Europe 
bordered by Germany, Belgium and the North Sea. The Orange Country also 
known as Holland. The country of the great mills and goats. The 
windmills and wooden shoes. The..." 

"I know something about the Netherlands, Mulder."

"Good. Saves us time. So, what do you say?" 

"Say about what?"

"Going to the Netherlands." 

She paid attention to the sounds in the kitchen, trying to find in the 
resonance of his rushed biding the real meaning behind this sudden 
invitation. Okay, Christmas was about family and loved ones, so people 
usually got a little nostalgic about it and all. But Mulder? If it 
hadn't been for the conversation she had with Teena back in the summer, 
she might never have found out Mulder had two aunts. Cousins? She had 
her suspicious that he might have some, but since he never brought this 
subject back into light after Daniel and Emma spilled some beans to her 
at the beach, she hadn't asked any more questions. She had always been 
curious about his past, though, about how it had been before Sam was 
abducted. Daniel told her a few things, and yes, he had mentioned some 
relatives. 

Then again, it hadn't been enough. 

Mulder was a maze of fascination that she, loaded with an enormous 
supply of patience, was treading, learning, and taking the most she 
could out of this experience. 

But if destiny was gifting her with a shortcut...   

Well, a trip to the Netherlands would without a doubt put faces to the 
names she had heard of. If she played nice and was careful and 
observant, his relatives might act as breadcrumbs thrown along her way. 
She would crawl after them, gather all the information about how much 
the events in his childhood defined the man she fell in love with, close 
the gaps she hadn't been able to fill in by herself. She wanted to know 
everything about him. Up to this moment time had been an influential, if 
not the most influential, ally. Now there would be the help of people 
that loved him, cared for him, that wished him nothing but the finest of 
life.  

She looked at him.

Mulder was effervescent at others whereas he was almost totally stilled 
when the spotlight was turned at his personal life. The greatest of the 
miracles had been his coming after her not once, but twice, and staying. 
Leaving work, buying a house, settling down. He had initiated a new 
circle with her. Now maybe he felt like it was time to pick things up 
with his family from where he had left off. 

Were there many years to track, many pieces to tie? 

"It would be a change, Scully."

Mulder finally got the sandwich from his plate and started taking small 
bites of it, shifting gears from high speed to carefulness. For once he 
was willing to savor, to try. She had no right in denying him this, the 
sensation of going back to a safe and warm place. That was what he told 
her last year when she shared her plans to fly to California to be near 
her family at Christmas, that everyone had the right to go to a warm 
place. She had taken his words as a pun about the weather in California, 
but had there been some sadness, maybe longing, concealed? She didn't 
remember.

She didn't remember so many things.

But she did remember that warmth had become chilly. 

Warmth had become chilly.

She really didn't have to ask. She didn't even say the words aloud. His 
off-centered look told her everything she needed to know, uncovered his 
sham.

It was December.

The holidays were coming.

The Netherlands was icy-cold.

His family would be there.

No one knew, just them.

They could have a fling with rapture.

They could forget.

Better, he didn't want her to remember.

But how could she not?

"Don't do this, Mulder. Please, don't do this," she whispered, getting 
ready to fight the tears burning in her throat. 

"I'm sorry," he said, taking her free hand in his. "This is not the way 
I had wanted to handle this subject, Scully. But this is something we 
have to deal with. *You* have to deal with."

"So let me deal with it the way I know. Don't try to take me somewhere 
else only because you think it would help me. It won't."

"And if I wanted to do this for ourselves?" he asked softly, his hand 
still gripping hers. "You said we deserved these changes, Scully." 

"We do. But we can't change the past, Mulder."

"No, we can't. But we can change the future, Scully. Make it better." He 
let go of her hand, giving her the space she needed. "Let me do this, 
make it better for you." 

"I have you, Mulder." 

He smiled at her and got another sandwich. As he had done earlier, he 
ate and savored. She swallowed her salad and digested. Wrath and 
indignation reigned in anything related to last year's Christmas, so 
rather than nourishing the dark side in her, she chose to enjoy what God 
had given her this year. This Christmas she didn't ask for anything she 
couldn't have. She just wanted this, the safety of her house, the man 
she loved beside her. She had been given even more. There were their new 
friends in the neighborhood, the Lone Gunmen and even some co-workers 
that liked her at Quantico. There was her family, although she wasn't 
really sure she wanted to be around them this year. On Thanksgiving 
Charlie had assured everybody he was coming back for Christmas, and her 
mother told her over their weekly lunch together that Bill was coming, 
too. She hadn't been pushed, but as her mother drove her back to work, a 
silent question hung inside the car.

Dana, are you coming too? 

Part of her had wanted to make plans right there, en route to Quantico - 
what dishes to cook, what desserts to prepare. Sleeping arrangements and 
organized trips to the mall to choose the perfect gift for each one of 
her relatives. Dress herself in vivid colors, pick up a tasteful tie for 
Mulder and go to her mother's to be with her family for the festivities. 

A tiny, very small part of her wanted to do that.

And to look at Matthew. 
 
"All I want is for you to be happy, Scully. I want it to be perfect."

She nodded and stood up to get the salt on the counter. There were 
several levels of happiness. She reached a level on which she could 
stand on her own feet. And there would always be Mulder's hand to keep 
her balanced, safe.  

Despite the inner battle she was going through, in the places inside of 
her filled by Mulder she found coziness and benevolence. *He* completed 
her, *he* made her whole. *He* made her a better person.

He deserved a better person.

She got the bottle of salt and grounded it fiercely, holding herself 
onto the moments she had shared with Mulder since they found each other. 
The strength of his beliefs hadn't changed; there was no reason to 
change hers.
 
But still she needed time to analyze, understand and accept. 

Or not.

She walked to the table, but instead of sitting back in her chair, she 
stopped behind him, the bottle of salt in her hand, and hugged him 
crisscrossing her arms around his torso. "I promise you I'll think about 
it," she said, kissing his hair. Everything about him was thick. His 
hair, his arms, his shoulders. Yet, independent of how many times he had 
been in her arms, his softness still startled her. "I just want you to 
know that nobody can give me what you do, Mulder. I'll be fine anyplace 
you take me to as long as you stay there with me. I need you there 
beside me." 

"Ditto," he said softly, his hand running on her forearm.

She kissed his hair one more time before taking the seat beside his.

"Tell me about them."

He did. He talked about the fire cracking in his aunt's house while he 
and his cousins and Samantha played in the snow outside. He talked about 
childhood games and Christmas mornings full of wonderment and joy. 
Nothing extraordinary in events, but precious nevertheless because he 
was sharing them with her. 

He talked and all the while she listened, feeling the presence of a big 
pair of baby blue eyes and pout-like child lips smiling at her in the 
corner of the kitchen, warming up the room. 

Chilling up her bones.

****************


A cluster of snowflakes followed Scully as she rushed into the mall 
lobby. In her hurry, she collided with a woman who was on her way out. 

"I'm so sorry," Scully apologized, thrusting out cold fingers to help the 
woman get a hold on the packages her previous gawkiness almost sent down 
on the floor. "Are you all right?"

The woman, a young mother, with one hand steadied herself on the white 
handle of the stroller she had been pushing in front of her. The other 
hand moved toward the baby safely strapped and soundly asleep inside the 
stroller. 

"Oh no, Miss. That was my fault," the woman said, lifting up shy eyes to 
Scully. "I should pay more attention while pushing this big loan in front 
of me. Are you all right?"

"I'm all right," Scully said, wishing the bump wouldn't leave a bruise on 
her thigh. "And the baby? Is it okay?"

"It's a she, and she's fine. She didn't even stir." The young woman 
smiled and unruffled the yellow blanket covering the baby. "She's 
exhausted. We've been at the mall the entire morning. It was exhausting, 
but we had fun, didn't we, sweetie?" the woman cooed. "It's her first 
Christmas, and I wanted her to have all of it. Santa Claus, the 
reindeers, the snow. Now we're heading home." 

Scully nudged a smile onto her lips and stepped aside so mother and 
daughter could continue their journey towards the parking lot and away 
from her, from the pain that had no other remedy than the one prescribed 
by time.

"I think I made it special for her," the woman said, paying very little 
attention to Scully's tribulation or to the wind rippling the flakes of 
snow, softening their slow trip down the paved floor. The yellow wad of 
wool in peaceful slumber in the stroller had all of it. "We adults should 
do the same. Find magic in the small things, I mean. Don't you think?"

"Sure, of course," Scully said to be polite and because it seemed right 
for her to agree with that statement so she could shorten that 
conversation. Most of her days were good, so talking about children, 
seeing mothers around their babies or hearing her co-workers talk about 
their kids was not so painful. The talk with Mulder yesterday, however, 
opened a door that kept beautiful little girls who bled out green and 
morphed into scary monsters locked in a 4D world she had no intention of 
visiting anytime in the near - or any distant - future.

Was that how it was going to be? Year in, year out mourning and hurting, 
unable to keep it behind her, or to remember her little girl as healthy 
as she had looked like in that birthday party photo she kept in a drawer 
in her desk, in the sitting room? 

"Miss, are you sure you okay?" the younger woman asked.

Scully blinked and shuffled the weight in her heart to her arms, letting 
them lay limply on her sides. She smiled at the younger woman, whose 
concern and some sort of contrite feelings had tapered her brown eyes. 
Out of cowardice, Scully admitted, she looked down at the baby to put a 
show to the I'm fine she had muttered to the other woman. After all, it 
was just a baby. She didn't have to stare long enough at its face to find 
more than the ordinary curves every healthy infant showed. It was only as 
pleasant as the taste of lemonade with mint or as the sight of the sun 
trundling out the clouds when the forecast report had promised a rainy 
afternoon. A sweet and lingering surprise, but not life changing. Not 
like being alive after a bloody battle against cancer, or finding magic 
in the way Mulder's large body surrounded her fragile one and in the way 
his sobs wracked his back when she told him she was in remission. 

Or in remembering the way Emily had smiled at her for the first time.

The baby sighed and curled one little gloved hand under its chin. So much 
like Scully once had the opportunity to see her daughter doing.

"My daughter slept like this," Scully said softly, the words flowing 
faster than the needed time to consider what she was revealing. It ached 
less than she thought it would because it was a truth she yearned to 
share, but couldn't with anyone who knew her if she wanted to avoid the 
when-had-you-been-pregnant kind of question such statement would cause to 
arise. It was a truth and one of her fondest memories of that little girl 
whose passage in Scully's life had been too brief, but fulfilling in the 
sparse moments she saw herself as a mother.

The woman kept her eyes low and the smile on her lips. Woeful, but 
understanding.

"Somewhere, somehow, you'll find it again," the woman said, touching 
Scully on the shoulder, her fingers hard on Scully's bones, soothing in 
her skin. Scully saw then that the woman was no taller than her, but also 
impossibly stronger and kinder. Just like Mulder made her feel. 

Mulder. Her magic materialized.

There was magic in having Mulder coming out of the bathroom fresh and 
humid from his bath and ready to go to bed with her, or breathing against 
the back of her neck or against her cheeks in the morning. There was this 
ritual she indulged herself in once or twice a week. She propelled her 
eyes open two or three minutes before 6 a.m., just before the alarm clock 
went off, to watch him sleep. Mulder's left hand usually curled under his 
chin while his right one stayed under the bedclothes, touching or not 
touching her, but unfailingly spanned in her direction. She knew it 
because she was used to patting the mattress in search of his hand and  
gripping his fingers, holding onto them until he woke up, smiled and 
rolled over her to make love to her, or just hold her against him until 
it was time to face the world outside their bedroom.

"I've found it already. Or rather, it's found me," Scully said, realizing 
how true her statement was. 

"I'm glad, Miss," the woman said, pulling the hood of the stroller over 
the baby's face. "Not everybody can find it a second time. I'm glad you 
did."

"So am I." 

The woman bent down to touch the baby's face the same way she had touched 
Scully's shoulder the minute before, maybe attempting to acquainting 
herself with the reality lying in front of her, that magic had a contour 
and shape, and radiated warmth. Then the woman pushed her hat further on 
her head and slung the plastic bags on the stroller's handle, getting 
ready to go.    

"You and your loved ones have a Merry Christmas, Miss. And may this magic 
never abandon you." 

"Thank you. The same for you." With the mother's unspoken permission, she 
ran a finger on the baby's chubby face. "And for you too, little one," 
Scully whispered, a sentiment akin to misty manifesting itself in her 
eyes. 

The young mother trudged her way through a thin shower of snow towards 
the quiet parking lot. Scully went to the opposite way, towards the 
crowd, the turmoil, the numbness. This strange, brief encounter wouldn't 
affect her. She wasn't broken. Not yet.

Not ever, she mentally corrected herself. She could make it. She hadn't 
nursed this multi-coated woman whose strong personality had shielded her 
of anything all those years for nothing. When a facet failed her, another 
one surfaced to hold her on her feet. 

There was this Doctor Scully, respected, analytical professional who had 
an office to work at, a cubbyhole actually, but with her name on the 
door. There was the daughter because Margaret Scully, an extraordinary 
woman, called her sweetie or honey, or kept herself quiet, respecting 
Scully's wish for silence, offering motherly sanctuary even when Scully 
was not at her best as a daughter. She was someone's sister because there 
were two men on the west coast who loved teasing her for her height and 
loved her unconditionally even if they didn't agree with the life she had 
chosen to live. She was someone's aunt because two miniature people in 
Denver called her Aunt Day. She was someone's lover and beloved because 
Mulder, amidst global conspiracies and missing sisters, had made her the 
center of his life. 

And she was a survivor because, despite everything, she still had the 
capacity to love and to live. Forgive she couldn't and justice she 
wanted, but then she never said she was a saint, or that she had, more 
than the patience, the discipline of Job. She wanted the people who had 
harvested her children, done all this damage to her body and that stole 
her innocence, to burn in Hell. Slow and easy. 

She wanted her faith back. Not the faith that made her believe in God or 
light a candle for her family once a week. She wanted the faith that made 
her believe in the purity of humankind just because since she was a 
child, she'd been taught that men were supposed to be the image of God. 
She had faced too many demons. She wanted the same faith that five, six 
years ago would make her regret having ill wishes towards another being. 

And she, like a perfect Dorian Gray would be there too, making company to 
the men she so much despised and have nothing to do with, but to whom she 
felt linked to by the silence locked inside of her. Everything that 
didn't work in her, every flaw she had, every bit of guilt she carried 
was known to few and undisclosed to others. To Mulder. 

But for now, more than anything else, she allowed herself to believe she 
had everything. She was sister, daughter, aunt, lover and beloved. She 
was a complete woman, as complete as she could be without digging any 
deeper into the other areas of her needs, to the few squares that would 
never be ticked off, that could join those several parts of her and 
finally make her whole. 

Whole or not, she needed to brush off this basket case of woman who 
threatened take her over and gather all her facets, so when she found her 
mother, Margaret would be able to recognize her little Dana.

She scanned the Potomac Mills' lobby. Too late she found out that Potomac 
Mills was more than a shopping site. It was a sighting obligation for 
tourists. Scully felt like a tourist herself. Almost four months working 
back at the Academy and she still felt totally lost in the town. The 
first time she had taught at Quantico, she had been engaged to too many 
projects to get herself into what Prince William County had to offer. She 
intended to mend it in spring, when she and Mulder would be able to spend 
some pleasant hours wandering around the city before going back home for 
the night. Or maybe, if they were too tired, Manassas had plenty of 
lovely inns for them to spend the night. The weekend, if they wanted to.

If they could. Her gut, master of her courage and actions concerning this 
simple will, reminded her. The matter of getting over what happened later 
in the summer and move on, allow herself some respite with Mulder without 
the fear of having the door to their room knocked down in another bust, 
and see her pride dissolving in a puddle of shame and mortification under 
the heating glow of the flashlights pointed at their bed in a motel 
bedroom, running beneath Mulder's nude and goose-pimpled back. 

Motel rooms invasion, deceased daughters, childless unions. The afternoon 
had been planned in order to distract her from a few things, and to make 
her celebrate a few others with her mother. Instead, there she was 
wandering from one unpleasant event to another when she had promised 
herself this small break last night, just before she fell asleep, sharing 
her pillow with Mulder in exchange of having his body wrapped around 
hers, his tongue deep inside her mouth, and his heart inflating energy 
into hers. That breath of life made her whole, and that was how she was 
going to keep herself at least until after the festivities. That was what 
Mulder deserved. That was what she deserved.

And that was the last time she mourned for the things she still didn't 
have. 

Margaret was standing in front of Disney Catalog Outlet. The simple 
vision of her mother standing side-by-side to a Mickey Mouse personified 
Santa ( or a Santa personified Mickey Mouse ) jingling a bell, with an 
ice cream cone in one hand and a couple of shopping bags in the other 
stirred up part of the tranquility Scully lost the evening before. Her 
mother had always been a center of comfort. While the Captain had been 
the authority figure who taught his brats the benefits of standing still 
and on square feet and shoulders, with Margaret they learned that arching 
arms and hunching backs to give giant bear hugs was the right anesthetic 
to any kind of ache the world caused.

Scully quickened her steps to accelerate her own process of cure. 

Margaret had this mother-radar that shifted to whatever directions her 
children came from. It had always been like this; no Scully children got 
lost if Margaret Scully was around to find and guide them. 

Her mother's smile navigated Scully through the sea of people and 
shopping bags venturing at the mall the week before Christmas. Were they 
alone and was she the little girl she was feeling like right now, Scully 
could have broken into a gallop in her mother's direction. However, 
upright back and squared shoulders, the adult part of her walked her to 
her mother with the monosyllabic and expandable cacophony of hums on the 
hall muffling the anxious thuds of her high heels on the floor.

"Dana, my dear," Margaret said, pulling Scully into a motherly hug.

"Hi, Mom," Scully said, arching her arms and hunching her back the way 
her mother had taught her to, fighting tears she had no reason to drop. 
"I'm so happy you could come, Mom."

"It was just a little detour, but I had some shopping to do anyway," 
Margaret said, her voice tinged with sweet chaff against Scully's face. 
Then Margaret braced her closed fists on Scully's shoulders, the bags she 
was holding brushed Scully on the back, and pushed her daughter away to 
look at her face again. A restraint search that fooled Scully no longer. 

"I'm fine, Mom." 

But her mother kept searching, husking her daughter's face fiber by 
fiber, contour by contour until Scully saw several points of luminosity 
gather around her mother's eyes, cleaning off some of the worry Scully 
had seen at first. It would do for now. 

Margaret released Scully's shoulder and thumbed her cheek and chin to say 
with determination, although her voice twitched with affection, "I'll 
hold your to your word, Dana." Margaret smiled again and handed her 
daughter the shopping bags. "Here. I have something for you." Fumbling in 
her purse, her mother produced a candy cane painted with thin red sugary 
stripes wrapped in a plastic bag. 

"Oh, Mom," Scully said, the vision of the lollipop gleaming like a dream. 
"I love those! Where did you find it?"

"Courtesy of a Mickey Santa Claus," Maggie said, pointing to an empty 
space right beside her, "Who was here a minute ago."

"Must have gone back to the store," Scully said, fingering her gift. 
"What did you tell him to make him give you a lollipop?" 

"He was distributing it to the group of kids that had formed around him." 
Margaret laughed. "He didn't want to give me one, but I told him my baby 
girl was coming and that I was going to save it for her."

A small laugh escaped from Scully's mouth. "Mom, sometimes I can't 
believe the things you do."

"I only do it for my family and only when it's really necessary," 
Margaret said, capturing Scully's hand again. "How's Fox? I haven't seen 
him in a while." 

"Working like crazy. This time of the year is very hectic at the Bureau.  
He's fine, though."

"Send him my love." Margaret pulled Scully into another quick embrace. 
"And you Dana? Are you really okay? I tried to talk to you on Saturday, 
but I just got your machine."

"I'm fine, Mom. Really," Scully said, kissing her mother on the cheek 
again. "When did you call?"

"Just after eight." Margaret let go of Scully and got busy with her ice 
cream. "I wanted to invite you and Fox for lunch on Sunday."

"Mulder and I had dinner at a neighbor's house on Saturday. Probably that 
was why you didn't find us at home."

"You met your new neighbors?" Scully nodded, tucking the candy cane in 
her coat's pocket. "Interesting. You never mention them."

"Actually, that was the first time we saw and talked with them for real. 
They were nice to Mulder and to me. They invited us for their Christmas 
party." 

"How sweet of them, Dana. Are you and Fox going?"

"Oh, yes. It'll be before the twenty-first, giving us plenty of time 
before Christmas." Scully felt her shyness winning over the satisfaction 
in her voice. "I'm looking forward for this, and so is Mulder."

"This life suits you, Dana." Squeezing her daughter's fingers, Margaret 
asked if there was a special place they should start their shopping spree 
from. As Scully shook her head no, Maggie steered her towards the Disney 
Outlet's window. "I think I'll buy Matthew a stuffed plush Donald, the 
Duck. Tara said it's his favorite."

With little effort because her mother hadn't been waiting for this, 
Scully freed her fingers and juggled them in the air for a brief moment, 
trying to recuperate the contentment that, from the conversation with 
that lady at the entrance of the mall until her mother mentioned Mathew, 
had suited her like a glove. 

A loose glove as it was, for the moment didn't come back. It fluttered, 
fluttered high, and got lost in space, easy carried away by the impact of 
that little name, that little person, in her life. A kid. Her nephew.

"It's a good choice," Scully said, controlling her voice the most she 
could, this artificial quietude making her words thick and heavy. Her 
mother's face stiffened, solidifying muscles that up to now had unbent 
easy smiles. 

Maggie looked over past Scully's shoulder. With stiff movements, Maggie 
walked to a place somewhere behind Scully, a place that remained ignored 
because Scully didn't look back and Maggie didn't call for her daughter. 
At the store's window, Baby Donald stuck its pink tongue at Scully. 

Maggie came back wiping her fingers with a MacDonald's napkin, the ice 
cream gone. "Yes. I guess so," her mother said, mincing her previous 
spontaneity into those calculated and, apparently, harmless statement. To 
Scully, however, it was like her words and her following attitude were 
coated with salt.

"Mom," Scully called softly. 

"Dana, let's walk." 

Mother and daughter retreated themselves from the store's entrance, 
leaving the multitude of videos, toys and children playthings behind 
them. The discomfort, aches and pain followed them like twin shadows. 

"Have you had lunch, Dana?"

"I ate before coming here. Do you want to stop and eat something?"

"I'm fine, dear."

They stopped by Linens N' Things. Margaret bought a couple of inexpensive 
but high quality twin sheet sets, daisies and lilies for Caroline and car 
racing for Jason. Scully bought a couple of expensive extra deep cotton 
sheet sets for her and Mulder's bed, beige and blue, two of his favorites 
colors, not because they needed it, but because she could afford them. 
God helped her, but that afternoon Scully needed to have something she 
could afford just for the luxury of being in command of something, 
anything. At the cashier, Margaret frowned when Scully signed a check of 
US$ 167,00, but said nothing, for what Scully was thankful. 

And their journey continued.

"How long do we have before your going back to work?"

"I have a class scheduled at four. If I leave at three it will give me 
plenty of time."

Maggie checked the clock suspended on the ceiling. Five to one. In tune 
with Scully's wristwatch.

"All this free time on a week day?"

"We have only two groups now. One had classes with me in the morning."

"And the other group will have class at four," Margaret concluded.   

"Yes, that's it."

The mall itself was an endless source of subjects for any light 
conversation. The people strolling around, the prices of the goods, the 
list of presents yet to be written. On a normal lunch date Margaret would 
ask how Mulder was doing and how were her classes at Quantico before they 
started talking about the rest of the family and her mother told her what 
was the next project in the church or what she had been up to during the 
past week. Scully often had her own amenities to share about this newly 
found life as a couple. In return Margaret always let slip a thing or two 
about the years she had been married to the Captain.
  
Today it resumed to more walking, more window shopping and any little 
talking about family Margaret started was studied and conscious. Jason 
joined the school's baseball team. Caroline was not doing so good at the 
ballet lessons, she would rather be playing baseball with her brother. 
Louise was starting on the new job on January fifth and Charlie had 
finally accepted Microsoft's proposal. Bill was going to be home for a 
couple of months before going back to the sea, and there was nothing new 
about Tara, which didn't surprise Scully at all. Any news on Tara would 
link them straight to Matthew. 

Matthew was a next to forbidden topic between Scully and her mother. A 
don't ask, don't tell kind of subject. And that was the best Scully could 
do despite her mother's dispirited taking in the situation. Maggie had 
tried, telling her Matthew was a cutie and adorable baby boy. Scully was 
positive her mother was right. A child needed love, and Tara and Bill's 
hope had stored five years of love to be given. According to Margaret, in 
the rare times she mentioned Matthew, there were pictures all around the 
house. Besides, he was the only grandson and nephew on Tara's side of the 
family. He was well cared for. On the Scullys' side, her mother and 
Charlie did all the honors without needing her help. Louise, Carol and 
Jason had lots of affection to give, too. Mathew didn't need her 
presence. If he needed, she couldn't give it to him right now. She wasn't 
ready to be his aunt. 

"I love Matthew," she said, coloring her statement with the same emotion 
she had used to tell her mother she had cancer. She wanted to live, fight 
for her life. But that day she was hurting so much inside, her voice was 
gray, blanking the orange, reddish tonalities of the tumor growing on the 
wall of her nasal cavity. 

Margaret accepted the flier an elf was handing out. "I know you do, Dana. 
He's your nephew. I just wished you didn't love him only because he's 
family."

This embittered truth unfurled itself in Scully's conscience, causing 
more pain than the cancer that almost killed her last year. She loved her 
nephew, and she knew her mother accepted this truth for what it was. She 
knew her mother forgave her for every excuse Scully gave not to look at 
the photo albums Bill mailed Margaret every month or so. Tara had emailed 
a complete set of the pictures from Mathew's christening. Most of the 
pictures were blurred because of Tara's lack of skill with a scanner. The 
ones that weren't, such as the one of Lacey, Tara's sister, holding 
Mathew while the priest poured over his hairless head the baptismal 
water, got blurred for the tears in Scully's eyes. She didn't have the 
courage to delete the folder, but felt no guilty when bunches of needless 
messages buried Tara's good willed attempt to approach aunt and nephew. 

She loved Mathew. He was conceived when she was dying, he was born the 
same week they buried Emily, yet she loved him. She outlived the cancer, 
and she was going to outlive this pain, too. And she loved that little 
boy with the same fierceness she loved Carol and Jason. At her own time, 
she would be able to show him how much so. 

At her own time.

"You're adjusting your life to so many things right now, Dana. I can't 
understand your reluctance towards Matthew."

Margaret was not one to put any kind of pressure on Scully, her brothers 
or sister when they were children. Living on the base, with a father that 
most of the time wasn't there and in strict surveillance was stress 
enough for any kid. Margaret had grown to be a very comprehensive mother. 
From all the phases of her children lives - Bill's stubbornness, 
Melissa's mysticism, Scully's rebellion, and Charlie's false nonchalance 
- she had first listened to punish only if necessary. She brought this 
same comprehensiveness to their adult lives. She supported and suffered 
with them. She never complained about the pain some of their choices 
caused. Just as she wasn't complaining now. She wanted to understand 
something Scully was having a hard time understanding herself. 

"I love Matthew, mom," Scully said, arms firmly crossed over her stomach, 
the residence of a wasted womb, procreator of this late sadness. "He is 
the only event that made last year's festivities worth something for me. 
But he also reminds me what I lost, what I wasn't supposed to have found 
out. My reluctance comes from this."

"Dana." Sorrow softened her mother's expression. "You lost, but don't 
forget what you got and what you'll never lose. You'll never lose us, 
Dana. And Matthew is a part of us."

"I know. That's why I love him."

They continued their walk down the mall. Maggie entered another linen 
store to buy sheets for Bill's and Charlie's beds. Part of their 
Christmas gift, she had said. Scully added two comforter sets to their 
chart, one for Caroline and the other for Jason. Maggie chose one for 
Matthew. Maggie paid for the sheets, Scully paid for the comforters. The 
salesclerk attending them stuffed their goods in huge plastic bags and 
offered their storage service. They could get their goods when they were 
done with their shopping. Scully expected her mother to say they were 
through. Instead, Maggie thanked the offer and said she would come back 
later to get the packages.   

They stopped at Books-A-Million where Maggie went in search of a book on 
gardening for Nana, the old lady and good friend that had been a neighbor 
of hers since the Scullys moved to Baltimore. Scully went to the section 
about history, looking for a book on civil war for Langly. Mulder 
suggested the gift yesterday afternoon, when they were in the sitting 
room, he sprawled on the sofa reading a George Orwell's piece and she 
sitting at her former desk to start their Christmas list. He said Langly 
had more intellect and sensibility under that head of long blond hair of 
his than his we-will-we-will-rock-you facade let show. In respect to this 
sensible side she had forgotten Langly had, she picked up a hardcover 
atlas that illustrated the sites of the eighteen most important battles 
of the conflict.

On the other side of the store, her mother, with the help of a 
salesclerk, who had another couple of customers around her, singled out 
some editions of books displayed on a rack. She picked out one of the 
books, shuffled through it, to then tell the salesclerk assisting her, 
probably a college girl hired for the season, something about the book. 
All Scully knew was that her mother needed something about simple 
domestic solutions for fertilizing. Margaret as a customer was a 
persistent person who knew exactly what she wanted and how she wanted it. 
So, for clerks in general, Margaret also being public-spirited and funny 
was more than a treat. The young girl would be all right. 

It was 2:13. Rushing her mother was pointless; that was probably their 
last stop before Scully headed back to Quantico. Scully put the book in a 
plastic basket and gestured to her mother she was going to the thriller 
and mythology sections. Mulder had hinted about some books he would like 
to read on their vacation. His started on the twenty-first; hers started 
the day after tomorrow, on the sixteenth.

Books for vacationing!Mulder were not hard to find. In ten minutes two 
tittles by Joseph Campbell and one by Anne McCaffrey were making company 
to Tom Clancy's Jack Ryan adventures in her basket, food for her little 
Harrison Ford fetish.  
   
The book about Irish legends waved its thick, red flag at her when she 
was going back to the gardening aisle. She had always loved Irish 
legends. It reminded her of Grandma Scully and a time of her life when 
she thought magic was a small parcel, bright colored and fluffy as a 
bunny, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Magic was a vision of 
herself sitting on her grandmother's lap and the rocking chair ticking 
away time and stories. 

She got a book at random and opened it. The pages were different now. 
They were smooth and laminated, and modern technology had mixed hues and 
shades to the coloration of the pictures. Orange faded in lieu to adrift 
shades of purple, hidden behind sprayed blotches of pink. The prince came 
from behind a cloud of blue and white curtain that thin lines of gray ink 
arched in the right place had drawn the head and body of a horse. 
Flipping through the pages, she saw well defined fairies and elves and 
dwarfs. Scarier too, like they had souls of themselves. In her 
grandmother's volume, the colors defining the characters were unique and 
distinct. The shades were made in black and white against the yellowed, 
ancient pages. 
                                                 
Hooking the basket with her books in one arm to better balance the book 
in her hand, Scully turned the oiled pages with care, mimicking the 
movements her granny used to make. The memories of her grandmother were 
few and fading, however she remembered her granny's intense and angry red 
hair, liquid and pure blue eyes, and the scary and lively Irish legends 
she used to tell. The Grogoch, the Pooka, the Banshee. But it was the 
legend of the Changelings, the deformed creatures the fairies swapped 
with healthy children that made Scully cry at her Granny, begging her to 
stop that tale because she was scared. Granny had soothed her, promising 
those creatures would forever remain fantasy and ceased to be as soon as 
Scully closed the book. Her grandma stopped. She never said that name 
again in Scully's presence. At least, her Granny had listened to her.

Or maybe, when she was a child, she hadn't been afraid of screaming, of 
showing her fears.

The weight of the books inside her basket tipped the handles of the 
basket down, grounding her back on earth. She wasn't going back to that 
place. 

Scully closed the book and put it in her basket.

She wasn't.

Her mother was sharing a table with three other customers, all of them 
not spending more than two seconds of attention to each page they leafed 
on their books. Her mother had three books pilled on her right, and the 
book opened in front of her had pictures of a vase of geraniums and 
another one of leaves, her fingers traced straight lines under the words 
she was reading. The place on her mother's left was empty, so Scully sat 
down.

Her mother looked up and smiled. "Did you find what you wanted, Dana?"

"Yes," Scully said. "I got Mulder a couple of books and another one for 
Langly." 

"Langly? One of Fox's friends, with long blond hair?"

"Yes," Scully said, accepting the cup of coffee the store's maiden 
offered her. "How about you, Mom? Did you find a suitable book for Nana?"

Margaret perched up her reading glasses. "I guess so. Here they're saying 
a mix of rice water and eggshells is good for the leaves. Makes them 
greener. I could try this theory before turning the book over to Nana."

"Interesting. And very domestic." Scully sipped her coffee and set the 
cup back on the table. The coffee was terrible, bitter. Just what she 
needed. "Should I start collecting eggshells? Mulder's arteries will love 
it."

Margaret chuckled. "If you're sure he won't mind..." 

Scully smiled softly. "He'll thank you afterwards, mom."

Still smiling, her mother turned her attention back to the her book. 
"Just one more minute, Dana. I just want to finish this paragraph. Will 
you need a ride back to work?"

"That's okay. I'll just take a taxi."

Scully put the basket on the table and her gaze landed on the Irish book 
again. Very early in her life, she learned to fight her fears by facing 
it. Most of the times it worked, and she would be damned if it didn't 
work now. 

Scully got the book and set it on the table. She opened it to the table 
of contents. 

Preface and Chapter 1: An introduction to the Celtic culture. 

Chapter 2: A short passage on the Celtic lands in the beginning of the 
times.

Chapter 3: Places and events.

Chapter 4: Fairies.

Chapter 4.6: The Changelings.

She closed the book.

She was damned.

"What's this?"

Her mother was staring at the book, her eyes curious and suspicious. 
Scully pushed the book in her direction. "Ancient Legends of Ireland," 
her mother whispered, reading the cover. Margaret turned and returned the 
book in her hands, looked over a page or two, and gave it back to Scully 
with a smile. "When you think your kids had overgrown it..."

Scully got the book and smiled jerkily. "I like this book. Reminds me of 
Granny." Of a time when she just had to cry and the Changelings would go 
away. "I've missed it over the years."

"Missed it?" her mother asked confused. "What happened to the copy Granny 
left you on her will? I thought you had taken it with you when you went 
to college."

"I had, but I put it back in your house before I moved to D.C." 

"Well, we can look for it next time you visit. Is it in the attic?" 

Scully put the book back in her basket. "Let's keep it this way, Mom. I 
don't want Mulder running into that book." 

She didn't meet her mother's eyes.

The silence that followed, a forced complicity she knew her mother did 
not approve, told her things would remain the same. 

When she did dare look back at her mother, she saw gray eyes obfuscated 
by frustration and sadness. She saw an understatement that spoke of love 
and forgiveness. And concern.

"He loves you, Dana. Tell him."

Scully sipped her coffee, wishing the cup were large enough to hide her 
face. One day her sin would grow so big that no cup in the world would be 
large enough to stash her face. Or even worse, when Mulder found out, she 
would become so little, she would fit in any doll's teacup.

Scully stood up, getting her shopping bags and books. This was not the 
place nor the time to talk about it. There would never be a right place 
or a right time. 

"I have to go back to work." 

Her mother followed her to the cashdesk. 

Efficiency meant more money around Christmas time. The stores had learned 
their lesson well. So, despite the ten people or so ahead of Scully and 
her mother in the line to the cashier, in less than five minutes a young 
man was ringing up their books. 

Maggie paid for her purchase in cash to save time. Scully didn't have 
that much money on her, so she had to use her newest credit card, the 
Amex Gold Mulder had gotten her when they opened a joint account, to pay 
the bill. 

Back to the mall's hall, Margaret checked her bag, folded it and put it 
inside a bigger one. Like they had started their journey, they walked 
side by side, keeping each other's company in their thoughts. They passed 
in front of a candy stand that had sunflower seeds. Scully bought a bag 
for Mulder, an offering to make up for things that he didn't know.

The cashier was counting pennies to give Scully her change when her 
mother said, "Last night when I talked to Louise, she told me Charlie 
wrote 'red ribbon' in front of Fox's name on their Christmas list. When 
she asked why, Charlie told her he was going to wrap you up in cellophane 
and stick the ribbon on your forehead, because Fox wouldn't mind getting 
the same gift twice." Margaret chuckled mirthlessly. "Dana, he only saw 
Fox on Thanksgiving weekend and he could see how much that man loves 
you."

Scully put the change in the Salvation Army collection box on the counter 
and thanked the cashier, who was shuffling glances between Scully and the 
bag in Scully's hand, as if trying to find similarities between her and 
the seed shells.

There were many, after all.

"Mom, do you remember when Granny told the Changelings tale to Missy and 
me, how scared I got?" Her mother nodded. "That night I carved a cross on 
the frame of my bed. Granny said it kept the Changelings away."

Her mother smiled, but the sadness was still in her eyes. "I remember it. 
I caught you rasping the knife on the bed, remember?" 

"I do." Her smile matched her mother's, but soon faded, leaving in her 
face only the sadness. "That Christmas you got me and Melissa a cross, 
Mom, to keep us safe. Last year I gave Emily my cross with this same 
purpose in my mind. I bought Mathew a cross and shipped it to California 
for his Christening. Tara said she hung it on his crib afterwards. When 
Mulder and I started our relationship, I almost carved one on the foot of 
my bed, too. I know it's silly, but..." Ashamed, she shut herself up.

Her mother pulled her into another embrace, to which Scully reciprocated 
just as fiercely. There was no reason to be ashamed or frightened. She 
was her mother's child. 

She was her mother's child. 

The people walking at the mall got teary for an instant because of the 
teardrop falling from her eye.

Just one.

"Your faith will guide you and protect you, Dana," her mother said 
against her hair. "Hold onto it and never let go." 

The afternoon didn't work out the way she had planned. Instead of closing 
doors. It gave spaces to let more demons come out and invade her life. 
She needed to find in herself the will to fight them back and find her 
peace. 

When they broke apart, her mother cupped her face again. Her beautiful 
mother. The rock, the foundation that had kept her family as one in the 
most turbulent storms of their lives, despite of all their losses and 
misunderstandings.  

Her mother opened a smile at something she saw beyond Scully's back. She 
took Scully by her hand and pivoted her around with an urgency generated 
by uncontrolled verve.

"Mom, where..."

"Come with me. Hurry!"

They fumbled with plastic bags and coats flapping their hems against legs 
that rushed towards a store. 

Santa Mickey Mouse had his back on them as he jiggled his bell in front 
of Disney Outlet, charming people to go inside the store.

Margaret tapped Santa Mickey Mouse on the shoulder, who turned to see who 
his audience was. When he saw Margaret, he jumped slightly in feigned 
surprise. Or sheer annoyance, since they couldn't see the poor actor's 
face hidden under that mask shaped with that required silly Mickey Mouse 
smile. 

Margaret held Scully's hand and brought her closer to Santa Mickey Mouse. 
"I told you my baby girl was coming, Santa," Margaret said playfully, 
squeezing the fingers of a now embarrassed Scully. 

"Mom!"

Santa Mickey Mouse turned his static eyes and smile at Scully. He reached 
inside the bag in whose front there was a black Mickey Mouse head cut off 
in the red fabric, and pulled out a big red pin with Disney's trade mark 
symbol emblazoned in it - another MM shaped head with the words 'Disney 
Outlet' in yellow beneath the head. His hand drew an artistic slope in 
the air as he offered Scully the memento. At that point, a small crowd of 
children and parents had grouped around them, waiting for their turns to 
talk to their biggest idol. The parents smiled amused and the children 
cooed them with 'oooooos' and 'aaaaaas.' Weird but fascinating.

"Thank you," Scully said, feeling shy and silly for letting this ingenue 
flirtation flatter her up. "Would the gentleman pin it on my coat?" she 
asked, pointing the lapel of the wool coat she was wearing. 

Santa Mickey Mouse looked behind him, at the kids, with his hands 
covering his mouth. The children mixed advertisements and cheered their 
master hero chanting, "Just do it, Mickey!" Santa Mickey Mouse jumped and 
nodded with enthusiasm. The parents laughed, her mother laughed and 
Scully was swept over her feet by all this silliness.

Task accomplished, twisting his fists, Santa Mickey Mouse joined his 
palms and entwined his fingers in front of his belly. Head bent sideways 
to lean on his slightly upward left shoulder, he shuffled his right feet 
on the floor, whisking imaginary grains of sand with his big slippers, 
which also had big Mickey Mouse ears. He was waiting for a reward and his 
little friends decided to help him again.  

"Kiss him, Miss," some kid cheered. 

"Yeah, kiss him," another voice, an adult, shouted.

And in a minute, not only the people that had made a small circle around 
them, but also the ones inside the store, joined the animated choir. 

"Kiss him! Kiss him!"

Helplessly, Scully looked at her mother, who just shrugged and kept 
clasping her hand. Scully curled a palm on her face and shook her head, 
not believing what was happening.

And Santa Mickey Mouse waiting on his toes.

It did it to her.

She exploded in a fist of giggles and kissed the nose of the one who had 
become her hero of the day for making her feel so good.

Her hero jumped and jumped high-fiving the air. The crowed, that was not 
small anymore, broke into childish cries of delight and adult clasps of 
hands.  Her mother, the crowd's cheerleader, kissed Scully on the cheek 
and hooked her arms with Scully to get them to the entrance of the mall. 
And Scully, that was in the center of everything, waved awkward but 
steady fingers at her audience, thanking them for the one minute she had 
forgotten how many things she still had to work on. For the one minute 
when the Changelings had been chased away by other people's joy. For her 
one minute of fame. 

For her one minute of magic.

***************


Christmas 8

The mirror was sweating, so Mulder blew a warm breath against it and 
rubbed the corner of his closed fist and wrist on the glass to free the 
knots of water binding there.

Starting from the middle of his face, first he saw an hesitant drop of 
water hanging on the bridge of his nose, then eyes that were bloodshot 
and didn't block out the fatigue of a day that had started sixteen hours 
ago, a forehead that he was too tired to crease with worry, and finally 
lips that were full and red, and that had missed Scully's skin and mouth 
and comfort dearly, almost to the point of physical pain.

Not that in his state of exhaustion he would be able to do anything, but 
sometimes all he needed was to lie down with her, having only their 
weariness separating their skins from total junction as he molded his 
chest to her back, his arms to her waist, the palm of his hands to the 
length of her fingers. The trick was efficient for both. Scully often 
fell asleep in minutes, he followed her in seconds.

He draped the damp towel he had rubbed his hair with on his shoulders 
and got the comb lying on the counter. The threads were damp and untidy. 
He discarded the possibility of getting another clean towel to finish 
the work. Sleeping with damp hair in winter was not a smart move. His 
fears were not placed in pneumonia or a bad case of the flu, but in the 
woman in the bedroom. Being involved with a doctor didn't mean getting 
discounts on medicine or getting free samples of it; it meant the lack 
of medicine at all. For him it was all right. He hated medicine anyway. 

He took two seconds to stare at the mirror. He looked like crap, even 
after a long shower, the second since he took those dozen laps in the 
swimming pool at the old Hoover building's gym. He had spent the day in 
Falls Church, assisting the local team on a kidnapping case that came a 
hair's breadth from becoming a bloody hostage situation. Eight hours 
freezing his butt off at a parking lot across from a church, the hostage 
site, following the action from afar inside the FBI's van, churning his 
brain up on a last minute profile. He hadn't saved the day alone as the 
team under SAC Woods supervision were the real heroes, but he had done 
his part. Yet, when he saw the kidnapper, who was also the victim's 
father, being handcuffed and dragged to the local police car, 
despairingly claiming that he would kill himself if he spent another 
Christmas away from his son, Mulder's heart, guts and other entrails in 
his body shrank with remorse. First thing in the morning he was calling 
his mother.

He brushed his teeth and tried to do something with his hair one last 
time only to find out the passion he had to save the world didn't apply 
to his stylist skills. He turned off the bathroom light first to then 
open the door. Not up to any kind of chat, if Scully was asleep, he 
would like to keep her that way.

She wasn't. The suit he had discarded on the bedroom's floor had been 
placed somewhere else along with his shoes, socks, underwear and tie. 
The covers had been pulled down and the decorative pillows stacked by 
the foot of the bed. Scully was leaning on a couple of pillows on her 
side of the bed, covered from feet to chest and with an open book in her 
hands. 

Must be a good reading material. He entered the room bared chest, damp 
hair, shoeless, flushed and smelling like clean flesh and she not as 
much as lifted her eyes from the book. 

He fell heavy on his side of the bed, the mattress bouncing under his 
weight. He glanced over his shoulder. Scully just turned another page. 
He sighed aloud and shivered. Scully got the glass of water on her 
bedside table. He pulled on his wool socks and cursed the cold in the 
room. 

Not even a distracted 'what' from the other side of the bed.  

Mulder stood up and, annoyed, walked to the dresser. If Scully was going 
to ignore his presence, why had she stayed up and waited for him? Was it 
too much to ask for a little bit of attention after the dog's day he 
had? 

Okay, okay. So there was a bit of misinformation in his last mental 
curse. Scully had opened the front door before he had the opportunity to  
put the key in the lock. She helped him out of his trench coat and hung 
it in the hall closet. She had brought him coffee in the den. She had 
heated up dinner for him. She had kept him company in the kitchen, 
putting away leftovers and cleaning up dishes while he ate. She had been 
awfully quiet, watching him as if roughing out his face, his movements, 
to fill in the rest of him with her enchanted eyes, barely hidden 
glances that wanted to reveal something he was suddenly curious to find 
out. 

Opening the second drawer on the left, he looked for some old T-shirt 
that Scully hadn't stolen yet and he could wear to sleep. His choices 
were almost non-existent.   

"You should have pulled on a T-shirt before coming out of the bathroom." 

He turned to look at her with a holey FBI T-shirt from his trainee days 
in his hand. He pushed the hem of the T-shirt down the waistband of the 
flannel pants he was wearing and replied, "I didn't know you were paying 
attention." 

She smiled at him. "I always pay attention, Mulder. I'm just a better 
poker player than you are."

He walked to their bed, trying to hide a smile behind his version of a 
poker face. His face felt all funny. His cheeks got all rubbery and his 
lips and eyes a mass of twisted muscles and fallen eyelids.

He climbed up the bed and got under the covers beside her. "You are, 
aren't you?" She nodded, her nose again buried in the book. "You can win 
me over anytime, you know?"

"Uh-uh."

He lay down on his side and reached out for her, his hand laying on her 
legs. She was wearing flannel pants, too. "But I think it's not 
happening tonight, is it?" 

She looked at him and touched his nose. "Will you be too disappointed if 
I say no?"

"There's always tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow," he said, glad for 
having a way out without bruising his manhood.

She muttered something in agreement with him and turned another page. 
Mulder laid his head on his folded forearm in hopes to keep his pillow 
dry and closed his eyes. There was a switch on the wall behind Scully's 
nightstand and she used it to turn off the lights. He felt only the 
light from the lamp burning his retinas, accentuating the badly animated 
action movie going through his mind as his breathing evened. 

Snow-falling-parking-lot-cops-blue-and-red-lights-cops-shouting-child-
crying-father-begging-mother-pledging-different-ending-kid-dying.

Snow-falling-parking-lot-cops-blue-and-red-lights-cops-shouting-child-
crying-father-begging-mother-pledging-different-ending-kid-dying

Snow-falling-parking-lot-cops-blue-and-red-lights-cops-shouting-child-
crying-father-begging-mother-pledging-different-ending-kid-dying

His body falling. 

Diana's earlier proposal at the border of the swimming pool.

A hand on his shoulder shaking him.

"Mulder? Mulder, come on. Wake up."

His body bulked and his eyes flew open. He saw Scully's head bolted in a 
halo of orange light. He blinked once, twice, and furthered his nose on 
his forearm for a few seconds until he felt he was more coherent.

"What happened?" he rasped out. 

"You were restless in your sleep, grinding my legs. Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm just tired." He closed his eyes and rubbed his thumb on her 
leg. "I'll never get used to a hostage situation. All that fuss with 
reporters and those bunch of people swarming around like flies on shit 
just get on my nerves." 

"You did well, Mulder. You stayed level headed until the end," Scully 
said, her thumb running softly on the back of his hand. "You're a good 
professional, and you know it."

Scully talked dirty to him, put fingers in orifices and pushed nerves in 
places of his body that would make his Id blush, yet he only felt 
embarrassed when she made this kind of comment on his professional 
abilities. Go figure. 

"If you're saying I've become a by-the-book agent, I'll get offended," 
he said, brushing his cheek on his forearm to sooth the burning creeping 
there.

"Don't worry, Mulder. The footnotes on your book give you personality." 
Scully adopted the same leery tune he had. She could read him even when 
his face was hidden from her, but this was something he already knew. 
"If it'll make you feel any better, you were gorgeous in that flash on 
CNN."

"I just wanted to find a quiet place to write my part of the report. You 
know you're not in charge through the amount of paperwork you have to 
sign. SAC woods is a nice guy. He deserved a better fate." 

"Uh-uh."

He tried to relax setting a rhythm to his breath, expanding nostrils and 
inflating lungs gradually with his thoughts. Pleasant thoughts. A work 
he was getting to enjoy again. This house. This bedroom. The knees of 
the woman he loved under his hand. 

The Knicks and Red Skins campaign. If he had enough sunflower seeds to 
last until the end of the week. If he'd finally have the time to take 
his car to the detailer tomorrow. 

His files, what were Diana and her partner doing to them, if he should 
accept her offer to take part in some of the investigations, if he 
should tell Scully today Diana had offered him participation in her 
investigations, if he should feel this excitement only because there was 
a very vague possibility he could step into that basement again, if he 
wasn't betraying his very own words when he told Scully the other night 
he didn't need a basement... 

The laps he had taken at the swimming poll after he came back from Falls 
Church hadn't spent all the adrenaline the day's activities had stored 
inside of him. He had taken a shower then, took another one now, and his 
body still resisted sleep. 

He moved closer to Scully and turned his head in a way that his eyes 
were pressed against his forearm. The light coming from the lamp wasn't 
an inconvenience, but the more darkness, the better. 

"Are you going to spend the night reading, Scully?"

"Is the light bothering you?"

"No, but I'm agitated. I can't sleep," he moaned

"Do you want a backrub?"

"Not tonight." He flipped over and stared up at her. Her face was full 
and innocent, and he heard the soft whisper of her hesitation in the air 
separating them. "Talk to me. Tell me how was your day."

"I told you already. I met my mother at the Mills. We did some shopping, 
talked some. Nothing exciting or interesting."

It was the lack of importance in her words that caused him this 
discomfort. Something was bothering Scully, but the respect she had for 
him, his need for some space and privacy, was keeping her from talking 
with him. The unplanned meeting and conversation with Diana had indeed 
closed him off to the world. Was he the bachelor of six months ago, a 
VCR and a triple x movie would be enough to numb him down for a few 
hours. There would be no other needs to be taken care of but his own. 
Lying in a bed that wasn't only his, he wasn't the loneliest number 
anymore, and his other half needed him. More than that, she was letting 
her need show. To what degree he didn't know, and it wasn't important. 
If she wanted to talk, he would listen. And if she didn't, he would be 
there the same way until she got the message that he wouldn't let go, he 
would be there for the long run.

"Everything about you is exciting and interesting, Scully," he said 
softly. "Tell me, what did you and your mother do? Aside flirting with 
Mickey Mouse, I mean." 

In her laughter he didn't find contentment enough to make him happy, but 
that was a start. "Mickey Mouse flirted with me, Mulder. Although I 
accepted his little dandy gifts of sweets and jewelry, I didn't return 
his sentiments."

"A candy cane and an onion sized can pin? What a joke!"

"Really? I thought it was lovely," Scully said playfully. He lifted his 
head towards the light so she could see his oversized and over-creased 
frown. "But don't worry. I'm faithful and I just have eyes for you, 
Mulder." He kissed the thumb on his lips, feeling the warmth on that 
little patch of skin. "Besides, he didn't give me his phone number."

It was too easy for him to seize her thumb with his mouth and bite her 
skin hard enough to tear another laugh from her, this one with the right 
tune of mirth to his ears.

"You're not going back to that mall without me, girly. Did I make myself 
clear?" he demanded with her thumb still inside his mouth. She agreed 
around another round of laughter and he let her go.

He returned to his former position as she got back to her book. He 
dedicated a few minutes to that quiet act of observation, seeing the way 
her index finger traveled from top to the bottom of the page, and how 
she used her nail and thumb to lift the corner of the page to turn it 
and continue to read. The smile on her lips and eyes broke apart as she 
progressed, immersed in a world to which he did not belong since he 
realized he had no idea of what that book was about.

It was not one of her medical books. Of this he was sure. She kept 
medical books, forensic magazines, notes and research in the sitting 
room, on a bookcase that came from her apartment when they moved in. 
They had space in the den and he had told her that more than once, but 
she insisted in having her working space kept at a place she was 
familiar with. So she sealed her things up and scrawled MSR - the code 
he had created for that room - on the box. The sitting room was small, 
but Scully knew how to be selective, how to make use of small spaces. 
Her home office was made of a desk and the four-shelf bookcase that 
fitted everything she was in immediate need of. Besides, the way she 
read medical books was different. She usually had a notepad, pens and 
fluorescent markers in hand. She never blinked or flinched, her face was 
always set, with muscles that got frozen with concentration. 

No, definitely no medical book. There were small lines in the space 
between her eyebrows and on the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were 
rounded up, vibrating perhaps with the beginning of a smile, or perhaps 
with some kind of reluctance, most certainly fear. But fear of what?

"Scully?"

"What?" 

"What are you reading?" 

"I was wondering when you were going to ask," she said.

You were fearing it, Scully, he thought, watching the way her face 
closed off, how an instantaneous lifting and peeling of emotions put 
back together her features to make her look all composed and fine by her 
own definitions - valiant and indestructible. For whom? Of what? And 
why?  

It was not totally dark and it was not in her best intentions to look at 
him in the face because she had too much to lose. So Mulder let go of 
the legs he had been holding like logs of wood when he saw himself 
adrift in his lonely nightmare and doubts to fumble with the satiny 
fabric bordering the edges of the blanket covering them. He only knew 
how to deal with her vagueness by being himself physically vague towards 
her. Tonight she needed the friend she had called on in a cold February 
morning to share the burden of the tumor growing in her nasal cavity. 

There were places he was scared of going back to, and there were 
charades he would rather never assume again, but what could he do? 
Although he had jumped body and soul into this relationship, Scully 
sometimes had the necessity to test the waters first, dig one toe at 
time and see how steady and how far the halos of water echoing around 
her skin would go before they faded away. One day she would jump head 
first, arms open and fearless in him. Until then, all he could do was 
show her that she was safe and that, no matter what or in what capacity, 
he would be there for her.

Always.

"I'm asking now, Scully," he said, the words concentrated, with only the 
friendship he had for Scully binding them together, not showing in his 
voice the struggle he was going through to get himself fitted in the 
friend's skin. "What are you reading?"

"It's a book on Irish tales and legends." 

She closed the book and showed him the cover. Scully had half turned on 
her side to put the book on the loosened patch of blanket between them, 
blocking part of the light coming from the lamp on her nightstand, so 
all he could make out were diffused lines and mist colors blotched on 
what seemed to be a hardcover.

"I don't remember seeing this book around here before," he said, 
squinting his eyes to read its title. "Did you buy it today?"

"Yes." She gently pried the book away from him and laid it back on her 
lap. "I also bought a book for Langly, one Tom Clancy, two Joseph 
Campbell and one book by Anne McCaffrey for you. Now you can stop 
nagging me."

"Why?" he asked, already frightened by her answer. They had barely 
started. She couldn't be calling their section off already.

"I finally used the Amex gold you gave me," she said with a smile in her 
lips but not in her eyes. 

"Ah, this," he said, drunk by the relief her words bumped into him. 
"Thanks for the books, but don't go wrecking havoc on the card or I'll 
take it away from you."

What little humor she had in her smile gave space to some sadness around 
her lips. "You wouldn't," she said, strangling the words with her 
breath, almost like a sob. 

"No, I wouldn't," he said, itching his fingers in her direction, 
stopping his advance when he got too close. It wasn't time. Not yet. 
"Everything I give you is yours to keep, Scully." 

It was her fingers who crawled the last millimeters of sheet to cover 
his hand with hers. "Thanks for giving it to me in the first place, 
Mulder." 

"The credit card?" he asked only half joking.

"Yeah. The credit card, too."

He turned his palm up and closed his fingers around her wrist, under the 
sleeve of her pajamas top. Somewhere between his pinky and index fingers 
there were arteries full of blood that kept her alive and warm. He 
caressed her wrist bone and smiled at her in the partial darkness. He 
wished he could be an artery too, bringing into her life pure thoughts, 
pure vibrations, be purification itself for her. 

"What are the tales about, Scully?" 

"Stories my grandmother used to tell us when we were kids. My father's 
mother lived with us when we were growing up, Mulder. She died when I 
was seven." 

"What was her name?"

"Muriel. It's the Irish name for sea." 

Scully drew her knees up to her chest and leaned her head on them, out 
positioning the shape of the lamp with her skull. She was looking at 
him, but her hair was slicing the light coming from the lamp in thin 
threads, not strong enough to make her face visible and outlined to his 
content. There were whispers of her semblance, in what he could make out 
a kind of clenched misgivings where the resolution to talk to him 
surpassed the sadness in her voice. 

He did not blame her for retreating herself to a dark corner to talk to 
him. He had the feeling she was going to tell him more than just a few 
Celtic legends. She was going to confess to him more than a supposed 
fascination about dwarves or unicorns or any other fantastic creature, 
more than what he was expecting or could expect. He thought about making 
some crack about this sudden belief of hers in little green men and 
horses bearing horns on their foreheads now that they didn't have the X-
Files anymore, but unconsidered the idea. After Diana's proposal today, 
all things X would be considered off limits until he figured things out. 
At least her hand was still in his, reminding him of why he was holding 
her in that bedroom, in that life, in the first place. 

"She used to tell us stories about knights and warriors, fairies and 
dwarves. Missy loved the fairies. Bill made a couple of wood swords so 
he and Charlie could practice." She let out a small laugh, rich with 
memories. "Bill was so tall and Charlie was almost a baby waving up a 
sword he could barely hold upright. Melissa used to give Charlie some 
orange juice sweetened with honey, saying it would make him strong 
enough to beat Bill. Never worked, although most of the times Bill let 
Charlie win the battles to make him happy. It used to be nice."

"I like the idea of Charlie beating Bill, Scully. He's my official hero 
now." Mulder caressed her wrist bone again when they stopped chuckling. 
"So Missy loved the fairies, and your brothers liked to pretend they 
were knights. But what about you, Scully? Who were your favorites?"

"The fairies, too." His surprise must have made a special appearance in 
his eyes because next he saw the bluish glint of Scully's teeth as she 
grinned at him. "Yes, the fairies. And when I say fairies I don't mean 
those small ladies with translucent wings. I'm talking about creatures 
that resemble dwarves." 

"Dear diary: tonight my heart leaped with joy when Scully admitted she 
believes in dwarves and green creatures that live in forests." 

"You can eat this silly grin, Mulder," she said, herself biting back her 
grin. "I don't really believe them, but I liked the concept of life they 
had to understand the world and give a meaning to it. The Egyptians had 
theirs, as well as the Greeks and Romans and the Africans. Irish people 
are not different."

"I know they're not, Scully. Aside from the Wiccas witches and 
leprechauns, I can say I'm more than ignorant about Irish culture. I 
partnered you for a good reason."

"Free history lessons?"

"And to learn you better," he said, removing the hand under his head to 
touch her face. "Tell me more about it. Why did you choose dwarves over 
warriors?"

"I didn't want to disappoint my mother, I guess. There were several 
tales about those fairies. The Pooka, the Banshee, the Grogoch. 
Leprechauns themselves. I saw... See them as messengers of life and 
death and misfortunes, but they weren't the cause of it."

"They didn't have the power you believe God has," he concluded.

"Exactly. I think they were more like fate. My grandma used to say they 
were the means men created to explain adversities and troubles. I 
remember the Leprechauns were the only creatures my grandma had 
something good to tell about, and even in their family there was a 
faction, the Cluricauns, who stole or borrowed almost anything. The 
Cluricauns also harmed sheep, goats, dogs and even domestics fowls to 
ride them throughout the night." Her eyelashes snapped against the heel 
of his hand as she blinked. "She used to say that when she was a child 
she could hear them escaping through the lands her father worked in. She 
believed in them."

"And you, Scully? Did you believe in their existence?"

"They were... *are*... myths, Mulder."

"Yes, I know. And as you said, they're man's creations to explain what 
can't be explained or understood, or to give a new sense to the world. 
At five, six, you didn't have this scientific support to understand the 
world, Scully. You just had what the adults shared with you."

"I understand." When Scully scooted back against her pillows, he feared 
this time their conversation was over. She just used her free hand to 
get the book that was pressed between her thighs and chest before 
resting her head back on her knees. "I believed in God, Mulder, but I 
respected my grandmother's beliefs. I'm sorry to say you're not the 
first nutcase in my life. Grandma Muriel was my favorite grandmother, 
though."

He tickled her chin and she skimmed away. A small tee hee came from her 
direction. "Come on, Scully. Confess I'm your favorite partner, too."

"I don't know. You're my only partner."

"I'll let you out off the hook with this one."

Scully fell silent, and he decided to give her two or three minutes to 
absorb the meaning of their conversation. Being a man who chose myths 
over religion, Mulder could understand why Scully lived her life the 
other way around. This grandma Muriel might have sowed the seed that 
Mulder was harvesting now, almost thirty years later. For a woman who 
had been raised inside a doctrine that, although not so rigid but 
respectful of Christian's individuality, was based on rational concepts 
and in which certain behavior before God, men and the sacred beliefs 
were expected, his partner was one of the most open minded people he had 
ever met. She had her faith placed upon a God she strongly believed in, 
and at the same time, she had that willingness to listen to him. Most 
people who had crossed his life snorted and turned their faces to the 
other side whereas Scully listened. If she was going to believe was 
another different story, but she was there. She was good at that because 
she respected, and he admired her for having her source of strength, and 
for respecting others who had different opinions on the subject. The 
scientist in her rolled her eyes and searched for an explanation, moved 
by the part that was human and never walked away.

And she was a strong person. The years they spent working together, the 
things they had seen, softened her skeptical side a little. Well, she 
really didn't believe he rescued her from a spaceship, or that she was 
infertile now because aliens had abducted her four years ago. However, 
she stayed and helped him with his investigations. Not only to find out 
a rational explanation to what happened to her, not only to find those 
answers. She followed him because he believed and she respected his 
reasons to believe in such. And despite everything - Emily, Antarctica, 
three months of her life - she might have had issues with her beliefs, 
but she never gave up on her faith or on her God. 

She was far more a believer than he had ever been.

"You said some names I've never heard of before, Scully. What are Pooka 
and Banshee?" he asked, going back to a neutral subject.

"The Pooka is a fairy who appears at nightfall, assuming a variety of 
different forms, in different places, bringing misfortunes. It can be a 
hairy bogeyman, an eagle with massive wingspan, a black beast with 
curling horns. When it appears, chickens don't lay their eggs, cows 
won't give milk, crops are trampled...  This guy is a lot of trouble."

"And there's no way to stop it?"

"Actually there's a way, yes." She paused to push a strand of hair 
behind her ear. "Using a special bridle containing three hairs from the 
Pooka's tail, you can control the magic horse and stay on its back, ride 
it to its exhaustion until it surrender to your will. After that, you 
can get anything from it, baby," she said, slurping 'baby' with her 
tongue and making him shiver.

"But of course it was almost impossible to do this..." 

"Just one man was known to stop the damage caused by the Pooka. His name 
was Brian Boru, the King of Ireland. He got the deal that the beast 
would no longer torment any Christian people or ruin their property, and 
secondly that it would never again attack an Irishman, unless he was 
drunk or a burglar. In this case, I mean, if this poor soul were a 
burglar, the Pooka would attack with no mercy."

"No attacking Irish and Catholic people?" He whistled low. "I guess the 
Pooka has been skipping his homework for sometime now. And what's the 
Banshee?" 

"The Banshee is the fairy that announces the death of people. It can 
appear in three forms: a young woman, a stately matron or a raddled old 
rag, representing the triple aspect of the Irish goddess of war. She 
sometimes appears as a washerwoman apparently washing the clothes of 
those who are about to die. Sometimes she doesn't appear at all, but if 
you hear her mourning call, it's a kiss bye-bye."

He flinched. "Shit, Scully. Is it the kind of story to tell a five-year-
old at its bedtime? Sounds like a Grimm's original tale."

"Mulder, have in mind they're only myths."
 
"All that I have in mind is that you listened to those stories until you 
were seven. Don't try to tell me you weren't afraid of them. You were 
only a child."

"You said it yourself. They were death angels of sorts. When you're a 
child, you don't think about death. It's something so distant, you think 
it will never happen to you." Her free hand moved up to the back of her 
neck as she tilted her head down. "Neither I nor one of my siblings ever  
lost a friend when we were growing up, Mulder. I came to associate death 
to aging, and I had a galaxy of future ahead of me. When my grandmother 
died, my world was shaken. It was the first time someone so close to me 
had died."

"Did you believe in the myths then?"

"Because my grandmother had died?" He nodded. "No, not at all. I felt 
her loss very deeply, of course, but the conversations my mother had 
with us were essential those days. Every day for the period of a month 
more or less, she would tell us something good about my grandmother. How 
she enjoyed caring for her grandchildren, how much she loved knitting 
and sewing, good beer and good laugh. Little by little I realized that 
my grandmother had been a good woman, so I chose to believe God had 
taken her to a better place because she had been special. Myths were 
agony and my grandmother deserved Heaven."

He smiled. "You must have been a spoil sport, Scully. 

"A spoil sport?"

"Of course. How did your siblings and friends play pranks on you? You 
weren't afraid of dwarves, leprechauns, ghosts. You were a Superchild. 
Unless you're trying to fool me now," he completed, dropping tunes to 
seriousness and leaving all playfulness behind.

"Fool you?" she whispered, turning her head away towards the light, 
leaving him alone in the dark with only the soft catch in her voice to 
clue him. She had noticed that he wasn't kidding anymore, and every last 
word he'd said was true. 

"Hey, don't be upset," he said, letting go of her hand and moving closer 
to her. "I didn't mean to upset you, Scully."

"You said I'm fooling you, Mulder." She faced him again with her eyes 
shining. "In your dictionary it's technically a lie. Isn't it what you 
meant, that I'm lying to you?"

"I meant that it doesn't stop here. There's something upsetting you and 
you're not telling me for some reason." He caressed her face, evaluating 
the weight of his words very carefully. "You're the strongest person I 
know, Scully. You don't have to prove me anything else, or be brave all 
the time. If you were afraid of any of those creatures, you can tell me, 
because if you believed in them, I know I'll believe them, too. I would 
never think any less of you because of that."

He felt her eyes on him, draining his energy, feasting herself with his 
strength, with his acceptance. She drew a deep breath and smiled at him. 
Stretching her legs in front of her, she put the closed book face up on 
her lap. She opened the book and stared at its page. He waited for her 
to leaf through it until she found whatever she wanted him to see. 
Instead, she just looked at the open page. He waited for a sign, 
something like the tilt of her head, or a planned, emotionless speech 
about the origins of the fairy. 

When she spoke, it was to make him a shaky invitation.

"Come here."

A simple request since the biggest effort she had already made. Left to 
him was the mission to cruise the final distance between them. And so he 
did, wrestling against the final inches of sheet that kept them apart 
with the energy of a knight who had just slain the last dragon coming 
between him and his castle. With the force of his elbows, he crawled his 
body up against Scully's rigid side as if he were climbing up a wall 
made of stones until his head reached the level of her breasts. Gripping 
her forearm like he would grip the edge of the windowsill keeping him 
from the highest of the falls, he thought about what was to be revealed 
to him. The brick he was holding onto was steady and hard, but the 
absence of ground scared him. 

When they worked together, Scully had trusted her career, her 
friendship, her life and her safety to him. Since last summer, she had 
been trusting her love and her body to his hands and heart. Now he was 
about to be entrusted with her weakness and fears. Scully had been 
strong for him more times than he cared to count. Doing their work, even 
in their weirdest and hardest days as FBI partners, he had counted with 
some backup to do his job. In the field he could use his profile gift to 
predict the future through the mind of a criminal. He had been trained 
to watch his partner's back and to rescue her when she was in danger, or 
die trying to do so. He had weapons, men, labs and technology to protect 
her, to care for her like she cared for him as a fellow agent. He knew 
how to be strong for his former partner. What he was supposed to do for 
this Scully who had flirted with Mickey Mouse and believed in the fairy 
tales her grandma named after the sea had told her in her childhood was 
a mystery, a totally different story. He feared he would fail her by 
falling, and that, with his fall, he would bring her down with him.

It almost made him back off and leave her alone to the darkness she was 
immersed in. Half a second later, he chastised himself for simply 
allowing the sole consideration of this. They had been a team within the 
X-Files and they were a team now at Comrade Place number 10. They had 
stumbled into each other's opinions and points of view, stepped on each 
other's toes, and were narrow-viewed through each other's squinting 
eyes. He admitted they had hated each other once or twice since they 
met, and that sometimes ignoring her was easier than loving her. But 
they had always managed to pull through their differences and reunite in 
that point of intersection where their road divided in two. He had 
traveled one of those roads - if not both - alone before, and he hadn't 
liked the experience. Maybe they could find a way to adapt their 
differences and let their intuition take the lead and see what happened. 
But there was one thing he was sure of. The road she took was the one he 
would follow right after her, shadowing her steps and clarifying his.

Not many things changed in their transition from the basement to the 
house.

He straightened his neck to take a peek at what shape fear had assumed 
these days. 
 
The page of the book was bathed in glistening light. The letters were 
black and small, font six or ten or some number between. The fairy books 
he remembered had their letters drawn with such good care, it looked 
like they had been written by hand. The book on Scully's was pure 
technology. It was very beautiful and well made, just not magic enough 
to his taste.

Atop the page, he saw the portrait of frailty in the form of a creature 
sitting on a dirty wooden floor. The creature was wearing huge brown 
boots, the appropriate size to support very long legs. Only the legs 
seemed to be made of flesh wrapped around thin bones with no tissues, 
muscles or fat coming between. Its legs were long and bony, clad in 
brown tights visible until the length of its bent up knees and 
disappearing under the hem of its brown pants' legs. The creature was 
resting its back against a wooden barrel, whose full form made the 
creature look even more weak and breakable. Mulder didn't know if it was 
because the creature's back was hunched and the shoulders slumped, but 
it looked as though there was no proportion between the size of its 
upper body, that was very small, and the, he couldn't help but notice 
again, long legs. 

It had some musical talent. Ten fingers ill-lanky and yellow-fleshed 
held a flute to a mouth that was just a thin line going from one 
cheekbone to another. The eyes were two small points framed by ancient 
and tired eyebrows, shadowed by a loose brown hat, and separated by a 
wrinkled nose. The face was also yellowish and spiked with a thin layer 
of stubble. It was a hybrid, a man who had conserved the body of a 
child, or a child whose face was drenched in a cynical, evil smile. 
Those fixed eyes that carried all the mysteries of the world almost 
moved him. 

But if it hadn't moved Scully at all, he would hold his sympathy for a 
while longer.

"What's this?" he whispered, his voice transfixed by the gruesome 
analysis of the picture before him.

"It's a Changeling," Scully whispered back.

"I know. I saw the name. All I wanna know is what this thing is," he 
said, conscious of the fact that he had whispered yet again, unconscious 
of why they were exchanging shushed information when, from what brand of 
milk they should buy to what were the news on the Consortium, any voiced 
discussion they started had flowed loud and clear. However, there was 
something about that creature... that Changeling thing, that made him 
think of underground and soiled, sour things for that creature was so 
horrendous and worthless, keeping it from the light of the sun - and 
with no voiced knowledge of its existence - would be an act of humanity. 
"What did it do to deserve this appearance?"

He could feel Scully thinking, the chain of undercurrent words running 
non-stop through her mind, so fast she couldn't grasp and align them 
together and in order. Elements to add, to be multiplied, subtracted and 
then divided between the two of them, hopefully in equal shares of 
50/50. 

"The Changelings are the children of the fairies, Mulder," Scully said 
in soft tunes, looking at the book in front of her.

"Fairies like the Pooka and the Banshee?"

"No. Fairies like the aesthetic beings we grew up hearing about."  

"But they are so beautiful, delicate. How could them give birth to 
this?" 

"They are the product of a difficult pregnancy, Mulder. Most of the 
fairies' children died before they were born. The ones who didn't were 
often stunted or deformed. Or both."

"You mean that this thing," he said, tapping the page with his index 
finger, "is a baby? It looks like an old person!"

"Some Changelings are old fairies disguised as a child. I think this one 
is one of them."

"You think?"

"The Changelings are pretty much a mystery for me, too. Granny just 
talked about them once. And even then, I got so scared I asked her to 
stop."

She dimmed the light from the lamp and leaned back against the pillows 
on the headboard. She turned her head slightly towards him, and on the 
side of her face bathed by the weak flash of light he could see a faint 
smile signing her admission of fear, that she was no Superchild, no 
Superwoman. She could be pathetic, too, and she could say things that 
would not make any sense if he didn't know her so well, even if at 
times, like tonight, he got glimpses of her he didn't know at all. 

There she was, showing him a new way to fall in love with her all over 
again.

"What do you know about them, Scully?"

She cleared her throat, forcing out part of her assertiveness when she 
spoke. "They are not wanted by their mothers, Mulder. The fairies can't 
accept children that are no less than perfect. The Changelings are not 
only ugly; they're also ill tempered and whinny. They're a nightmare."

"You're saying that the fairies had no wish to keep their babies only 
because of their appearance?"

"Yes." Scully had her jawbone hard lined and her eye, the one he could 
see, blinking. "Their repulse was so strong, so irrational, they took 
healthy babies away and left the Changelings in their places." She 
blinked one more time before lowering her eyes to his hand, which was 
covering the wizened creature. "Mulder, do you believe we're supposed to 
learn something with those myths? That they only exist to teach us a 
lesson?"

"I have the same belief you do, Scully, although I don't think those 
stories exist only for a moral lesson. There has to be an origin, a 
beginning somewhere. Otherwise word wouldn't have spread. Not without a 
reason, anyway."
 
"The day my grandmother told us their story, she said the Changelings 
only existed in books. But I think we have our own Changelings to live 
with."

"How so?"

Scully shuddered, cocking her head to her left. "We have nursing homes 
and orphanages everywhere, Mulder. There are also children with some 
kind of disability, handicapped, not wanted casualties living at charity 
institutions, wishing nothing else but to be loved."

"Don't generalize things, Scully. I agree that some special children, 
most of them maybe, live in these conditions. But there are the ones who 
are loved. Sometimes the parents just don't have the needed structure or 
emotional support to care for them properly." 

"And when someone wants to love them properly, but can't?" She licked 
her lips and covered his hand with hers again. "Sometimes it's just not 
their fault, Mulder. You may want to do the right thing, but sometimes 
it's just not possible."

He had a flashback of earlier, much earlier this year when 1998 was not 
but a few days old, of Scully shooting at him that same look of pain and 
hopelessness in a scenery made of white flowers and white candles trying 
to disguise the death of someone so young, and a casket whose bottom was 
covered with grains of sand. 

Not tonight, Scully, he wanted to implore despite the knowledge that he 
had no right and no other obligation than giving her his support. 

But to his complete outrage, he still pleaded with vehemence.

"It's not the same and you know it, Scully. She was beautiful. She was 
loved and wanted. You don't believe she was an aberration. Don't do this 
to her. Don't do this to yourself."

"You said she wasn't meant to be and maybe you were right. What lesson 
was I supposed to learn with that episode, Mulder?" she spat back just 
as vehemently.

Being a kid who had always been moved by essence and shapes, who had 
always loved to stick his fingers in everything, it was not until he was 
six years old that his parents found out he had some kind of eye 
problem. 

It happened after some outdoor gathering promoted by the State 
Department. It was one of those picnics where mothers were in charge of 
the food and fathers in charge of drinks. Kids where in charge of making 
everything easier and normal in order to provide some nice shots for 
those circulars so common at public departments. That year his mother 
had gone on a urgent trip to the Netherlands, so his father drove him, 
Samantha and their usual nanny to New York to spend the day in the 
company of mothers who chatted nonsense and fathers who had those 
subliminal conversation as they barbecued and drank beer while monitors 
organized games and competitions to entertain the kids. In one of the 
competitions, the kids had to go hunting for the bowls of strawberry the 
monitors had hidden in some strategic, easy places to be found: near 
rocks, under trees or among bushes. In short, places where red could be 
separated from green without problems. Samantha had stuck her hand in 
his, relying on him to help her to find the bowls. Although he got a 
little annoyed because he had wanted to run with the older kids, but 
couldn't because Samantha's little legs and unsure steps were not going 
to keep up with his, he did not push her away. Since he was very little 
he had been good at finding missing dolls, lost keys, or plots friends 
his age were trying to hide from him. Finding strawberry bowls in 
Belmont Lake State Park was going to be a piece of cake. Little did he 
know that Samantha's adoration would turn into bails of frustration as 
time moved away without them finding any bowl, because all he saw were 
bushes and variations of green.

He had the first glimpse of hurt and defeat when he and Samantha went 
back home with only three bowls of strawberries whereas the other kids 
left the picnic carrying seven, eight of them each.

He was having that same glimpse now.

In his colorblind world, Mulder experienced shades of red only when he 
was distraught. Not the color red itself. That was impossible for him to 
perceive. Only the color he had seen - and associated - to red that day 
the three times he found the strawberry bowls. It was like the mix of 
yellow and blue had gone unbalanced, too dark to be quiet and narrow. It 
was yellowed and bitter like the bilious sensation raising in his throat 
and choking his senses, the words he wanted to spit at her but couldn't 
if he didn't want to hurt her - and himself - any further.    

And you sure have some terrible timing to agree with me.

"I'm sorry, Mulder," Scully whispered, her face, her voice and 
everything else in her washed up with remorse. She must have read the 
words within him, what was absolutely not a surprise in their case. "It 
was totally out of line. I'm sorry." She cupped his face and bent 
sideways to kiss his forehead. "I don't blame you for telling me that, 
Mulder. I know what you meant with those words." She kissed his forehead 
again. "I don't blame you, Mulder." And again. "I don't blame you." 

He lifted his eyes again and focused his breathing on her face, on the 
fact that, by reaching out to touch him, she had finally left her hiding 
place to join him in the search of the light they should share. 

So many things she didn't know.

She didn't know he could have loved Emily. Not like a father loved a 
daughter, or like a surrogate uncle. He could have loved her because, 
even not wanting to accept this, he knew she had been Scully's, the only 
chance she'd have to become a mother, the only child Scully could have 
claimed as hers. 

He tried to understand her pain. He tried to compare it to the pain he 
felt when she walked down the hospital corridor after she promised him 
she would fight for her life and he stood there, holding that tiny 
cylindrical vial in his hand. He felt so small and insignificant when he 
put all the children he had hoped to have with her someday back in his 
pocket. He felt powerless when, a month later, he got the final report 
from a fertility clinic in Canada saying they were sorry, but all the 
ova were most likely not viable anymore. 

He felt like a monster when he threw their children into the same sea 
Scully had told him her family had thrown her father's ashes four years 
before. 

He felt relieved every time he remembered their grandfather could take 
care of them for their parents.

Relieved, not healed.

"Do you know a crucifix keeps the changelings away, Mulder?" Scully 
asked, bringing her lips back to his forehead for a brief kiss. "She 
wore my cross that last week." 

"She wasn't a Changeling, Scully."

"I know she wasn't. I just wanted to keep her safe."

"You did. She knew you loved her." He laid his hand on her abdomen and 
inhaled the breath of hope he did every time he emptied himself inside 
of her. "If you had gotten her custody, I'd have supported you, Scully. 
I don't know how, or in what capacity, but I would have." He looked up 
at her and tried to smile. "She was yours, Scully. I could have loved 
her because she was yours and no judge, black-lunged-son-of-a-bitch 
Cancerman's experiments, or Mulder's big mouth can change that." 

Two tears unattached themselves from her eyelashes as she tried to 
smile, also.

"Maybe someday I'll find out what I've done to deserve you, Mulder."

She covered his hand with hers. 

Shreds of light.

"Something good, something bad. Who knows? I just don't care as long as 
we stay here, together." 

He looked at the Changeling picture one more time. It sure looked like 
something that could use some little love. And that made all the 
difference. It could never be one of their children, or Emily, because 
they had been loved. Some children were made out of love, some weren't, 
but theirs would be. Whether was it by in vitro fertilization, by 
adoption, by some ova donor, their children would be a product of love. 

Lowering his head to her breasts, with their hands resting on her 
stomach, despite Diana's proposal and his earlier confusion, there was 
something warm untangling itself inside of him. It felt good.

And, somewhat, peaceful.

"Your hair is wet, Mulder. It's dampening my shirt."

"Take it off and it won't be a problem." She pulled his hair. "Ouch, 
Scully! It hurt. Listen, I'll take mine off if you take yours."

She sighed but made him scoot up, so she could get rid of the sweatshirt 
she was wearing. *His* sweatshirt. As he had promised, he took his off, 
too, and put his head back on the place it fitted like a second skin.

There was one more thing they had to do to make it really right.
 
"They can't be so bad, Scully. Tell me their story."

"I told you I don't know their story very well."

"And when has it ever stopped you?"

Her hand trembled under his, and he listened a heartbeat that had gone 
too strong. Pulling her hand from under his, she turned up the light of 
the lamp on her bedside table. She aligned the book along her thighs and 
a luminous shaft fell over the Changeling. Horrendous like before. Not 
so frightening, though. 

Another deep breathing reverberated under his ear.

He gave her the time she needed to get used to the light.

When she did, she started reading aloud the words from the book, 
recording them in their memories.

"It appears that fairy women all over Ireland find birth a difficult 
experience. Many fairy children die before birth and those that do 
survive are often stunted or deformed creatures."

Not their children. Not their children at all.

He closed his eyes, inviting sleep in.

If it did come.

***************

  


Disclaimer: The ones you don't recognize belong to me. Mulder, Scully, Mrs. Scully belong to CC and 1013. No profits are being made here.

**************

Christmas 9

The snow had a brief cycle of life when observed through the rearview 
mirror of her car. It started on one border and died about three inches 
below, without accumulating on its brim. 

Its life lasted long enough to allow her to make some new 
considerations. Such as whether getting out of the car, opening the 
trunk, getting the grocery bags, and running to the house was worth the 
effort of opening the car in the first place. After all, she had food, a 
tank full of gas that could generate warmth throughout the night, and if 
her memory served her right, there was a fleecy blanket in the trunk, 
too. She had some chocolate bars in the glove compartment, and if she 
needed more, there were some in one of the grocery bags. Mulder wouldn't 
be a problem. All he would have to do was jump from his car to hop into 
her back seat with her, ignore the possible fog on the windows and make 
out in the backseat. Play innocent kissing and cuddling. They were 
resourceful people; they could find ways to spend time with creativity. 

Blowing a sigh of resignation, she unlocked her door and grimaced when a 
gulf of icy wind hit her full on the face. They were also responsible, 
and in case of doubt, fate was not to be tempted. Moreover, she and 
Mulder knew not to start something they could not carry to term.

She had broken enough cycles yesterday. Today she needed a beginning and 
an end without skipping life.

Her feet touched the ground and she felt the snow squashing to the shape 
of the sole of her boots: large on the sides, narrow on the tip of her 
toes, square and slightly deeper where her heels dug in the snow. 
Asymmetrical and reliable on the three planes of her feet that kept her 
up and advancing one carefully planned step at time towards the back of 
the car. The progression was slower than usual, but at least this time 
she did not wobble on her way.

She pushed the hat she was wearing down the tip of her ears, quickly 
grabbed the bags of groceries, and locked the truck of the car. Another 
minute and home, warm home, was going to be more than a product of 
wishful thinking. She could already feel the heat coursing through the 
cold veins in her face.

"Hey, Dana!"

She thought it was the wind drawing out sounds in the air, although the 
two open syllables that formed her name could not be mistaken with low 
and whirling whispers. Still, she resisted and didn't look back.

"Dana!"

It came out again, this time followed by the two honks of a horn. 
Strangely, it was the horn that made her believe she was hearing her 
first name pronounced so naturally, and most likely on that street. It 
was a foreign sound to ears that had, except by Mulder, grown used to 
hearing her last name preceded by a title in recent years: Resident 
Scully, Recruit Scully, Doctor Scully, Agent Scully. Miss Scully in the 
building she had lived until a month ago. Rarely had she been Dana 
outside her family circle and for a couple of friends and relationships 
she could count using half the fingers on one hand. 

Dana. It sounded right.

But she still didn't know who her caller was.

Ignoring the cold for the moment, she turned her body on the pathway of 
the yard to find a wine colored Explorer parked by the curb and a woman 
waving an ungloved hand at her. Christina Ferguson with a new haircut 
that made the curls in her dark hair more visible and loose accompanied 
by a girl almost Carol's age, Scully recognized after squinting her eyes 
against the falling snow.

Holding the bags of groceries tighter against her chest, Scully made her 
way to the car.

"Hi Christina."

"How are you, Dana?" Christina asked with a thin and elegant smile, 
killing off the engine. "Let me guess. Suffering with the cold."

"Enough to be happy about not having to wake up so early in the morning 
to go to work," Scully said, greeting Christina with sincere 
contentment. "I wish I could say the same about Mulder, though." 

"Poor thing is still working?" Christina's chuckle was an exuberant and 
contagious ringing spreading in the air. "There's this old saying, cold 
hands, warm heart, and even warmer feet at night." Christina winked at 
her. "Works with Carter when he's grumpy," she whispered.

Scully felt her cheeks burn slightly, not remembering when had been the 
last time she heard one of her girlfriends share bedroom secrets and 
magic recipes with her. 

"I'll try it with Mulder," Scully said, hiding her embarrassment behind 
a cocky smile. 

Scully noticed the little girl with deep brown eyes and dark complexion 
looking at her from the passenger seat of the car. Lisa, Scully 
remembered. The girl's face was perfect, her skin satiny and smooth, her 
cheeks rounded up and full like her eyes. Smart and curious eyes, Scully 
recognized as the girl studied her with an awareness not common to girls 
her age. Seven, Christina had said at the Thompson's dinner party. She 
seemed to be too smart and conscious of her place on earth. Influence of 
her parents, without a doubt. Being the adopted African American 
daughter of a white and somewhat wealthy couple should be something hard 
to endure. Besides the complex of have being rejected by her own 
parents, although Christina and Carter seemed to love their children to 
the core, there was the ignorance and prejudice of other people to deal 
with. She hoped that, with the Ferguson's protection and love, Lisa and 
her brother Ty, III would be spared of it in their lives.

Since Scully didn't belong to this circle of ignorance that surrounded 
the world, she smiled at Lisa with affection. Lisa opened a tiny smile 
in return and got closer to her mother, not in a shy reaction, but to 
better scrutinize Scully.

Christina ruffled the frizzy hair lying loose on the girl's shoulders. 
"Lisa, this is a friend of Mommy's. Her name is Dana Scully. Dana, this 
is Lisa, my little girl," Christina introduced them with words fueled 
with pride and something else larger than life. Motherly love, Scully 
thought. "Say hello to Miss Scully, sweetie."

"Hello, Miss Scully," was the thin reply that Scully noticed could grow 
louder and friendlier as coexistence and confidence built up between 
them. 

In some way it resembled hers and Mulder's reaction at the Thompson's 
the previous weekend. It was a sin to someone so young to feel the need 
to protect herself from other people's attitude. 

"And what a beautiful girl you are," Scully replied, taking care not to 
be too sweet. Christina would probably never speak to her again if she 
thought her child was being the object of commiseration. "I have a niece 
that is just like you."

The girl's lips got the shape of a puzzled and capital 'o', and 
Christina's face got plastered with a subliminal warning smile.  

"Like me?" 

"Like her?" Christina parroted, now with both hands pawing her 
daughter's shoulders.

"Oh, Yes. My niece, Caroline, is beautiful and smart like Lisa is," 
Scully told them. "I think they are even the same age."

A twinkle of enthusiasm lit up Lisa's eyes some more, its whisper 
gripped something in Scully's chest. 

"How old is she?"

"Six."

"Six?" Lisa repeated, offended. "She's just a baby! I'm seven!" 

Scully almost dropped the groceries, and Christina accidentally honked 
the horn of the car again so unexpectedly their laughter came. 

"Yes," Scully said, fighting a lost battle with seriousness. "Carol is 
younger than you are, but you'll like her."

"You'll have to take care of her since you're the oldest, Lisa," 
Christina managed among her gasps for air.

"Let's see." Lisa shuddered; unaware she was the reason of the adults 
amusement. "Maybe when she comes to visit you we can play together. Does 
she live here in Fairfax?"

"No, she lives in Denver," Scully said, noticing how Lisa kept her nose 
upwards as she spoke. "She was here for Thanksgiving, though, and I 
believe she's coming back for Christmas."

"We won't be here for Christmas. We're going to Florida tomorrow," Lisa 
said a little disappointed. "Maybe next time she comes she can play with 
Lucy and me, right, Mom?" Lisa turned her pouted lips at Scully. "Don't 
worry, Miss Scully, because Lucy and I will take care of her."

Scully didn't resist the charm of the girl's smile. "I'm sure you will, 
Lisa." 

"Cool!" As if remembering the final word was not Scully's to be given, 
the girl wore the cutest begging-puppy eyes to her mother. "Can Caroline 
play with Lucy and me when she visits Miss Scully, Mom?" 

"Of course, Lisa. If her mother agrees." The last observation was 
clearly directed at Scully.

Scully could go on and on about Louise's international accomplishments 
as a social worker through the years, if she hadn't known beforehand 
it'd be a waste of her time getting in an argument with an attorney. 
That would be Mulder's department, because he might lose the discussion, 
but he always managed to piss them off first. She only said, "She won't 
mind, Christina."

Christina settled their pact with an ostensive nod of her head, and then 
she turned her eyes down to Lisa. "You have a date, Miss," she said, 
tickling the girl's belly, who skimmed away laughing.

Scully held the bag tighter against her chest. When Christina looked 
back at her, the laughter in her eyes gave place to comprehension, a 
connection Scully had noticed at the dinner party. Christina didn't know 
the details, but the journey wasn't unknown to her. The girl sitting on 
the passenger seat and the baby carrier on the backseat of Christina's 
SUV were the living proof of that.

And as usual, when the subject was miracles, there were no words to 
describe or to make people believe in them. No attorney could muster up 
explanations, no forensic pathologist could slice and dice thin air in 
search of evidence. It was all about making believe, and the Fergusons 
had believed.

Scully felt a nudge in her chest she hadn't felt in a long time. It was 
so brief, smaller than a grain of mustard, but it felt so good and 
compelling, daring her to hope.

Daring her to believe again.

Her smile was thin as two little crescendos lifted the corners of her 
mouth. The same happened to Christina when the two women stared at the 
little girl whose eyes sparked with life.

"Well, I know you are a busy woman with a partner to care for, so I 
won't take any more of your time, Dana," Christina said, pushing a loose 
curl behind her ear and smiling like the last thirty seconds of their 
conversation had acquired a totally new meaning. "I was going to call 
later, when I got back from the mall, but since you're already here... 
Are you and Mulder free tomorrow night at around 8:00, 8:30?"

Still a little dazzled, Scully turned her senses to the cold snow 
falling on her face and cached around her feet. 

"I think so. Why?" 

"Perfect! We'll be meeting at my house to catch up with a few details of 
our Christmas party. We need you and Mulder there. Can you make it? The 
two couples that weren't at Nora's will be there, too, so you'll get to 
know them."

"For me it'll be okay, but I don't know about Mulder. I'll have to ask 
him."

"Call me when you know for sure. And even if he can't come, you just 
stop by tomorrow. One of you will have to be there to make it work."

"Fine. I'll talk to him." 

"Mom, aren't we going to go ice-skating anymore?" Lisa sighed, cutting 
the adults off with childish impatience. "It's getting late and we still 
have to pick up Lucy at her house!"

"Of course we will, Lisa. As soon as I finish setting things with Miss 
Scully and as soon as you apologize to her."

Scully was a little taken aback by how quickly stern had replaced 
Christina's good mood. In a blink of an eye little Lisa was apologizing 
to both of them.

"It's just that we're going ice-skating with my friends before my 
brother Ty and my grandparents and I go to Florida tomorrow. I won't see 
my friends until the end of January. It'll be only next year!"

The girl's little drama made Scully and Christina laugh again, ruining 
her grim!dour!mommy persona when she cradled her daughter's face and 
kissed her, making Lisa laugh and Scully's heart jump and beat faster.

"Next year will be in two weeks, Lisa." Christina choked in her laugh. 

"It's too long," Lisa whined.

Christina rolled her eyes. "I better go, Dana. Only a Ferguson can stand 
another Ferguson when all this bellyache starts. Besides, it's a long 
journey to the house across from yours and from there to the mall twenty 
minutes away from here. With traffic!" She started the car and pulled it 
out the curb. "See you and Mulder tomorrow."

"We'll be there."

"Bye, Miss Scully," Lisa shouted. "Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy 
New Year!"

On the other side of the street, Nora came out of her house hand in hand 
with Lucy. She saw Scully and waved her hand in a mute greeting. Scully 
smiled back and turned to finally get into her house when Lucy climbed 
up into Christina's car. She needed to keep the warmth inside of her.

Inside the house she turned the heat on and went straight to the kitchen 
to put the grocery bags on the counter. She pulled off her coat, rolled 
her gloves into a ball and threw them inside her brown hat. It was a 
family heirloom coming from Mulder's grandfather that had been lost in 
the back of his closet until he dug it out and shoved it in his bag when 
he rescued her in Antarctica. 

She filled the kettle with water to prepare some tea before she started 
dinner, just some Irish stew and soda bread. 

She put the milk, juice, eggs, and butter in the refrigerator and the 
apples, bananas and mangoes in the fruit basket at the center of the 
table, clearing off a reasonable area on the counter to shove the bread 
dough. 

She put two aniseed tea bags in the kettle and went to the front hall, 
where she placed her discarded coat, hat and gloves in the closet. She 
ran her finger down the sleeve of Mulder's coat and quickly closed the 
door, dashing upstairs to change her clothes.  

Back to the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of tea and got a couple of 
crackers from the jar. She didn't mind when the tea burned her lips. She 
was feeling better already, and the hot beverage warmed up everything 
inside of her a little more. She sat down at the table to skim through 
the newspaper while she finished her simple meal. 

The phone didn't ring until after she had tied an apron around her waist 
and peeled the potatoes and carrots for the stew. 

"Hello," she answered with hopes it wasn't anyone from Quantico 
requesting her expertise now, a mere twenty-five hours before her 
vacation time. 

"Four thirty in the afternoon and you're already at home? I need a job 
like yours."

"You couldn't stomach the autopsies, Mulder," she said, smiling.

"You're probably right. I prefer warm, soft bodies."

"Not your line of work, indeed. The bodies I work with are all hard and 
cold. Smelly."

"Hard is good," he hummed. "There's this small body living in my house 
that loves hard. Her perfume drives me crazy." 

Her body sang and tingled.

"Where are you Mulder?"

"At work."

"You better be alone in your office."

"All by myself with the door closed," he promised with the eagerness of 
a boy scout ready to serve. "What do you have in mind?"

She turned on the tap and washed the vegetable with the phone 
precariously balanced between her shoulder and her chin. 

"Nothing. I was just curious."

"You boon. And to think that I just called to..." 

"Say I love you," she completed Mulder's tempo with her best Stevie 
Wonder style, what wasn't an unforgettable addition to the music world. 
In their little universe, though, it was almost everything.

"I knew it," he said softly, and in her mind's eye it also had the 
twitch of a smile. "But actually I called to know if you want me to get 
something for dinner."

"No. I'm making dinner already."

"Feeling domestic?"

Not really. She was in debt to him, for what he had been doing the last 
couple of days, for listening to the things that made her weak and 
turning them into a fount of strength. For keeping the real life 
Changelings away from her dreams by falling asleep with his head on her 
breasts the night before. 

"We have to eat, don't we, Mulder?"

"What are you cooking?"

"Irish stew with a special treat for you." She filled the bowl with 
water and left the vegetables soaking in it while she diced the onions. 

"Oh! What's this?" She closed her eyes and saw him leaning back on his 
chair, hands crossed behind his head, and a smirk almost splitting his 
face in two. "What are you treating me with?"

"Bacon." 

"Bacon is good, but I thought it was dessert."

"I'll put it in your hands," she said, putting a couple of onions on the 
chop board.

"You?" 

"Dessert."

"I love you Scully."

His words hit her heart as soft as the strokes of a wind breeze on her 
face. So good, so complete, she closed her eyes and touched her lips 
against the mouthpiece of the phone. It was hard and tasteless, in 
nothing resembling his full-fleshed lips. Nevertheless it was a comfort 
to know that he existed, that he loved her. 

"Scully? Are you there?"

That he was Mulder.

"When are you coming home?" she asked just above a whisper.

"I'll be there in a couple of hours," he said lightly as a smile. "I'm 
just finishing a few things here."

She heard someone calling his name and he rushing this person in.

"I have to go now. I'll be there in a couple of hours." He clicked off 
the phone.

She knew he would. That was everything.

It took her another cup of tea to recover and finish her work with the 
onions. It also took this long for the phone to ring again. This time it 
was her mother on the other side of the line. 

"I'm fine, mom. What about you?"

"Fine, dear. I went shopping some more this morning. I wasn't sure you'd 
have been able to keep me company again."

"I was busy this morning, finishing a few reports." With the help of a 
knife, Scully put the diced onions in another bowl. Next she put the 
cuts of lamb on the chopping board to work on them. "If you had called, 
we could have planed something for this afternoon."

"I had plans, Dana. I spent the day with Ruth and Stella. Do you 
remember them?"

"Sure. Mrs. Keller and Mrs. Dickinson, isn't it?" She cradled the phone 
between her chin and shoulder to better cut the meat. "Where did you 
find them?"

"I never lost contact with Stella. We went shopping together and ran 
into Ruth at the mall. We had such a good time, remembering the days we 
were all stationed here in the US before your father retired." Her 
mother laughed and Scully caught herself smiling, too. "We're taking our 
catching up to a restaurant. I just stopped by to leave my packages and 
to freshen up a bit." 

"This is good, mom. You enjoy yourselves tonight."

"Thanks, dear. I'm sure we will," Margaret said. "But Dana, I'm also 
calling for another reason."

"What's that, mom?"

"I know you were upset yesterday, Dana. This time of the year is not 
easy for any of us."

Small rivulets of unshed blood surfaced on the chunk of lamb beneath her 
fingers as Scully forced the sharpness of the knife on the tender, red 
meat. 

"We deal with it the way we can, mom."

"Yes, we do. But it's even better when there's someone to help us," her 
mother said gently. 

Scully cut another chuck of meat and put it aside. This recipe required 
two and a half pounds of lamb. She had bought three pounds and a package 
of rashers of bacon just because the excess of fat made Mulder like the 
stew better.

"I know, mom. It's been easier for me. I..." she paused to breath. 
"Having Mulder makes all the difference, mom."

"Imeant your brothers and I."

Both her eyes flew wide open all the way up to her brow. 

"You can't ignore that Mulder now is part of it, mom."

"When hasn't he been part of it, Dana? And I don't mean it in a bad way. 
You've changed so much since you met him, just like Charlie and Bill 
changed when they formed their own families. The difference is that they 
never forgot."

"Forgot what?"

"That they could still draw strength from us," her mother said. "I 
really can't complain, because I can see how happy you are with your new 
life. But we miss you, Dana. We have for so long."

She pushed the knife against another chunk of meat, not giving the blood 
sticking to her fingers time to dry off. And she pushed again, rasping 
the knife against a nerve that wouldn't let go.

"Mom, Charlie and Bill draw their strength from somewhere else, now. I'm 
trying to do the same here."

"Are you really?"

"Yes, I am," she emphasized. "I talked to Mulder yesterday. I told him 
about the Changelings and Granny Muriel. We read my book together." 

"You mean your book?"

"The book I bought yesterday." Scully could feel the excitement coming 
from the other side of the phone fading with her mother's next breath. 

"I'd thought... For a moment I thought you'd told him." 

"Mom..."

"Dana, I didn't call because of this." Her mother had never been good in 
hiding her true feelings. Right now Scully could feel how disappointed 
she was. "You're not a child. You must know what you're doing."

Scully moved the phone from one ear to another. It didn't relieve the 
pain she started feeling in her shoulder and neck.

"I know what I'm doing."

"I hope so," her mother said. "But I told you I'm not going to pry into 
your life with Fox. I'm calling to talk about the holidays. You know 
both your brothers are coming this year. It's going to be important to 
have you here with us, Dana."

The same chunk of meat. Another nerve.

"Mom, I have to talk to Mulder first. His mother invited us to visit 
their family in the Netherlands. He's excited about it."

"Oh! I, I had no idea," her mother stuttered. "You said he never visits 
his family for the holidays, choosing to be alone. I've always thought 
he and his mother didn't get along well."

"They're making amends, Mom. You remember we spent the weekend of his 
birthday with her, don't you?"

"Dana, you don't need to be defensive. I'm glad Fox and his mother are 
giving each other another chance. I'm surprised, yes, but I'm also happy 
for him." 

"I know you are, Mom," Scully said, her conscience telling her to take 
it easy. "I'm sorry if I was rash."

Her mother chuckled. "No more than usual. You've always been very 
defensive towards Fox. Now that he is *your* Fox we have to be very 
careful."

"He is not my Fox," she said embarrassed. Her mother laughed. "Besides, 
I'm not sure it's a good idea to keep Mulder and Bill in the same room 
for more than a few minutes."  

"Your father and I raised our children right, Dana," her mother said. 
"Your brother and Fox are both adults, both passed the age of wrestling 
with each other. Don't use it as an excuse to avoid your family."

"It's not an excuse; it's a fact. Bill doesn't like Mulder and the 
feeling is mutual. Mulder hasn't forgotten what Bill said last time we 
talked."

"Have you forgotten?"

The back and forth movement of the knife was silent as she tried to 
remove one by one all the whitish threads knotting the center of the 
meat in a large and resistant cobweb of nerves. 

"Dana, your brother regrets what he said. He just cares so much about 
you."

"I know he does. It doesn't give him the right to have any say in my 
life, though." 

"It gives him the right to want what's best for you," her mother struck 
back. "He and Tara changed their plans, Dana. You know this year they 
should go to Tara's house. Charlie is coming too, and you're already 
here."

"It's not only me this time, Mom."

"Christmas is next week. How are you and Fox supposed to get tickets to 
Europe on such a short notice?" 

"His uncle is a significant stockholder of the airline company. Mrs. 
Mulder said he can put us on any flight, at any time to the 
Netherlands."

"Oh!" 

Scully sympathized. She was as astonished when a discomfited Mulder gave 
her the history of his family dividends. 

"That's hard competition," her mother said, attempting to bring back 
some humor to their dialogue. Scully took the bait in the name of 
familiar peace. 

"You knew that already. But no money in the world is worth missing your 
turkey, Mom."

"Money, no. But the right company is." Scully winced when the saliva she 
had just swallowed slurped loudly in her throat. "I have to hang up now 
if I want to be at the restaurant in time, Dana."

"That's okay. I have to finish dinner anyway. I'm making some Irish 
stew, and I still have to prepare the dough for the soda bread."

"Your father loved your Irish stew. He used to say it was thicker than 
mine."

"It was all about how many potatoes you used, Mom. Nowadays I have to 
use bacon. Mulder likes it greasy," she explained because there used to 
be a little stir in the family whenever Bill or Charlie, who knew close 
to nothing on cooking, changed the family recipe to impress some love 
interest. Scully was the last traditionalist soldier to fall down in 
this line of resistance. 

"Bacon," her mother snorted. "Another concession made for Fox. Talk to 
him and call me later, Dana. Bye."

"Goodbye, mom. And enjoy your dinner," Scully said, ignoring what her 
mother meant with the word concession.

In a big casserole she browned the lamb, bacon and onions, seasoned them 
with thyme, salt and a little pepper, and while it simmered on very low 
heat, she went down the basement to get the basket of laundry Mulder had 
left there on Sunday. Usually it was Mulder who cared for the laundry 
and took their suits to the dry cleaner, but since she needed to wait a 
little while until there was enough meat broth to add the vegetables to, 
she was going to fold their clothes and put away the ones that didn't 
need ironing. 

Fifty minutes and three phone calls from Mulder later (Any preference 
for dessert? Is cheesecake okay? How's your diet today?), the vegetables 
were cooking slow and easy with the meat, and she was back into the 
kitchen watching handfuls of flour, salt, sugar and soda drop into a 
bowl as she aerated the mixture for the bread when the phone rang yet 
again. 

"Mulder, take any dessert you want, okay? It's not Friday, I can take 
anything," she lectured, her annoyance coated with honey.
                                                                                                                              
"Dana, it's me. Mom."

"Oh. Hi again, Mom. I thought it was Mulder. He's called three times in 
the last forty-five minutes." She scooped up another handful of the 
mixture. "Weren't you supposed to be at the restaurant by now?"

"I am at the restaurant. I excused myself from the table and came to the 
ladies room to call you."

A cloud of flour rose from the bowl when the mix fell heavily from her 
hands. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Dana, I'm fine. Don't worry about me." Her mother vacillated for a 
moment, and Scully in a flash knew she was having second thoughts. Her 
apprehension grew tighter in her chest. 

"What is it, mom?"

Another few seconds of reluctance that tickled like hours in her chest.

"Dana, yesterday, when you and Fox talked about the Changelings, did you 
tell him about your cross?" 

Her cross? What she had told Mulder about her cross? What was the matter 
with her cross?

The bread forgotten, she tried to remember what mention of the crucifix 
she had made in their talk. 

Only once, when she told him crucifixes kept the Changelings away. 

Oh, she had also said that Emily had worn her cross during the last week 
of her life to keep her safe. Through the years, Mulder learned how 
important her religion was to her. The greatest proof was that he had 
first rescued her cross to then look for her in the spaceship, or 
whatever, in their Antarctica adventure. It had also been the first 
thing he did when she woke up in the military facility they had been 
taken to afterwards. He fastened her cross around her neck. Very 
different from the first time he returned it to her, when she came back 
from the coma her abduction had induced her into. He had remembered to 
give it back to her only when he was already leaving her room in the 
hospital.

"I only told him crucifixes kept the Changelings away, and that Emily 
had worn my cross last year. Why, mom?"

"Dana, pay attention and don't forget what I'm about to tell you. When 
you were kidnapped, Fox found your cross. He tried to give it back to 
me, but I told him to keep it and return it to you himself." Her mother 
breathed and Scully forgot how to do the same. "Dana, I told him I gave 
you the cross on your fifteenth birthday."

The kitchen was comfortable and clear. The appliances were cream 
colored, the cabinets made of clear wood, and she always kept the 
flowers on the windowsill watered and the leaves were healthily colored. 
The mangoes, bananas and apples gave a different touch on the table, and 
the clock on the wall had vegetables of all colors painted on the beige 
background.

The bowls she was using were multi-sized and blue. 

Her eyes had closed off in the dry, white contents she had sieved in one 
of them. The soda bread mix.

Bright. 

Blinding.

Hurtful.

"What?" 

"Dana, I'm so sorry," her mother said. On a misery contest, she and her 
mother would end up tied.

She bit her tongue. Scorn was not her strongest suit, had never been.

"Dana?"

"I'm fine, mom."

Denial was.

"Are you sure, dear?"

"I'll be okay." 

"You are a wonderful person, Dana. Fox is fortunate for having you in 
his life," her mother said softly. 

Dear God, how she wanted to believe this, that the events of the last 
five years happened for a purpose, that she could forget this Pandora's 
Box she had created for herself existed. 

How she wanted to leave this part of her life uncharted and away from 
this mess. 

She was a woman who assumed her mistakes, never relying in anyone. So 
she knocked back her angst and self-pity, pretended not to see the 
shadow of her sin hanging over her head, and talked to her mother.

"I'll be fine, mom. Don't worry about me. Go back to your dinner."

"Are you sure, dear? I can be there in twenty minutes."

"No. I'm fine."

"Right, right," her mother relented. "Call me if you need anything, 
Dana. Anything. I may not agree with you, but you're my daughter. Your 
brothers and I will stand by you whenever you need us, sweetie."

Her mother clicked off without saying goodbye. She was speechless for an 
entire minute, with the phone in her hand and the dial tone serving as a 
hollow company.

Her faith, her religion, did not belong here.

She finished aerating the mix and added enough buttermilk to make a soft 
dough. She saw the soda reacting to the buttermilk and kneaded the dough 
lightly. Too much handling could toughen it; too little handling and it 
wouldn't raise properly. She cut a floured cross on its top and put it 
to bake in the pre heated oven.

Mulder arrived carrying a white box with dessert along with a bottle of 
wine and a smile of anticipation. He sniffed the air and kissed her, 
sharing with her the flavors of his watered mouth. He invited her for a 
quick shower before dinner and she accepted. Her eyes were heavy, and in 
the shower, her back pressed against the tiles, with her legs straddling 
the shoulders and neck of the man kneeling down in front of her and her 
fingers lost in the wet web of his hair, she let the water wash off her 
face as he sucked her dry to her orgasm.

In the kitchen, dressed only in their underwear and bathrobes, Mulder 
poured them some wine as she served the steaming stew in china bowls. 
Just in time, she took off the pan with the bread from the oven and 
immediately wrapped the loaf in a tea towel before its crust hardened 
too much.

She taught Mulder how to check the bread in order to see if it was ready 
to be consumed or not. She rapped her knuckles on the bottom of the loaf 
and it sounded as hollow as it should be.

***************



Those garlands interlaced more than Christmas spirit and beauty. Each 
branch of fake polyester leaves and satin bows also coiled the colors of 
money, the symbols of power, richness and prosperity growing and 
sprouting. There was no better place for the ornament to be hanging from 
than the streetlight posts in front of the Chevy Chase Pavilion, with 
its exclusive stores on Wisconsin Avenue. 

For him it was more than Christmas spirit, more than money, more than 
anything. Green and gold, colors of his past and present entwined at 
last, spreading from there to the future. And around Christmas time, 
nonetheless! 

A pregnant enthusiasm, not evident to the eyes but clear in his core, 
grew inside of him. The world was green and gold and perfect.

Corny, cheesy and spooky.

He had called his mother yesterday, on a Tuesday evening, just because, 
more than a pang on his conscience, he felt like talking to her again. 
After they'd had dinner, Scully had been with him in the sitting room 
serving as his pillow while he lay sprawled on the sofa, his ears full 
with the sounds coming from his aunt's house. His mother had wanted to 
close the door and shut the sounds off of that organized riot out of his 
uncle's den. He asked her to keep the door open and the sounds on. 

He had wanted to remember.  

In 1963, the year Mulder first visited Aunt Roosje, his mother's 
youngest sister, there were two cousins and another one on the way 
waiting for his company to play in the wide fields of Frisland, where 
Aunt Roosje had settled since her marriage to Uncle Friko in 1958. The 
farm was large in the concept of an adult. For a child it had been 
endless.

He associated the time that preceded his teen years with open spaces and 
freedom, whether it was Quonochotaug in the summer, Friesland in the 
winter or Marta's Vineyard in the rest of his ordinary days. He had been 
free to run, to live and to experience. And it had been good, he thought 
as he lifted his briefcase and shopping bag to sidestep two pre-teens 
dashing towards the video arcade behind him. Kids needed space to 
exercise and just be kids. 

And what a rascal had he been! Always wearing Band-Aids and scrapes. 
Once a cast on the arm during the two weeks his family spent in 
Friesland, at his uncle and aunt's farm. His mother told him the tree he 
had fallen from was still there, going on as strong as ever.

A distant relative of his, he didn't remember who, used to say that 
there was a smoldered fire burning in every Frisian citizen. His Uncle 
Friko's, Frisian by birth, had let the ever slow burning fire in his 
quiet behavior crackle to life during the few minutes they spoke, and 
Aunt Roosje's voice thinned in virtue of the tears she shed on the phone 
when she talked to him. Mulder battled his vocal cords to keep his own 
voice steady when everything in him was melting and liquefying, creating 
a blockage in his lungs. The air that couldn't go through the airway in 
his throat thickened his heart, which at this point was under strenuous 
risk of bursting out. 

He hung up the phone over one hour later, whole and exquisite. He had 
looked up at Scully to promise the telephone bill was on him that month 
to find the book she had been reading placed spine up on the coffee 
table, and her beautiful face filled with contentment because of him. He 
squeezed her knees from under the blanket covering them, and encouraged 
by her smile, he gave free rein to his tongue.

He talked about the house and other constructions on the farm, how he 
and his cousins used the barns and chicken coops to play hide and seek. 
Scully laughed when he told her that game also brought his and his 
cousins first experience with laundry: his mother and aunts grew too 
tired of cleaning clothes coated with hay and chicken poop.

He told her he became one of the best polo players in Oxford thanks to 
his uncle's lessons on horse back riding and that he and his cousins one 
night smuggled a quarter full bottle of scotch into the barn and had it 
with milk. They were grounded for the rest of the weekend.

He and Samantha learned how to ice skate on the pond on his uncle's 
property. His uncle taught them how to carve wooden shoes using a 
pocketknife. His mother had the pairs of shoes Uncle Friko had made for 
him and Samantha somewhere in the summerhouse.

His favorite horse had been sacrificed a couple of years ago, and Krika, 
Samantha's pet chicken, had died the year after her abduction.

Uncle Friko asked the size of Scully's shoes, and Aunt Roosje was 
delighted to know she could speak German.

His mother said Aunt Roosje could adapt one of the rooms for him and 
Scully, and that his cousins were looking forward to seeing him again 
and getting drunk in the barn without being grounded in the morning this 
time.

There were memories he couldn't reproduce with his voice, like laughter 
pinpointed by delight and wonder, or how large and yet how small his 
universe had been then. He had relied in Scully's understanding, in the 
way she decoded what was there, lingering in his silence, dangling on 
the tip of his tongue, and reflected in the sparkles of his eyes.

And Scully just listened, her fingers stroking his hair and her eyes 
focused somewhere else.

Later last night in their bed, with Scully thoroughly spent and asleep 
in his arms and his nose buried in the hair spread over her neck, for 
the first time he had really considered getting the tickets his uncle 
had offered and taking Scully for a holiday visit with his family. 
Scully had liked Daniel and his wife Emmanuelle when she met them in the 
summer at the beach house. They were going to be there along with their 
children and his other cousins and kids. Scully was going to like the 
quiet reserve of that branch of his family that lasted until the first 
glasses of uncle Friko's special brand of Jenever, the traditional Dutch 
gin distilled right there on the farm were served. At least that was how 
it used to be when he was a child.

That was how things used to be and how he remembered them. The cold, the 
Christmas tree, the decoration, the presents. The tradition and that 
thing called happiness he was just getting to know again.    

Now he had to reconcile with time. Mrs. Scully was probably waiting for 
him at Starbucks. Although they had not set a time, around 6:30 had 
been...

20 minutes ago!  

He strolled faster through the mall. Such a great start! The first time 
Mrs. Scully made him a social call at work, the first time she invited 
him for a cup of coffee, and he had left her waiting for almost half an 
hour. 

And he was going to meet her carrying a Victoria's secret bag!

Yeah. Right.

Mrs. Scully had been married once, so she was acquainted with what 
happened between a man and woman who lived at the same house and had 
been involved for some time. Heck, she had given birth to the results of 
such acquaintance four times! Yet, there was no need to flaunt in her 
face the evidence that he and her daughter were more than innocent 
roommates. 

Just in case, he let his briefcase cover the pink shopping bag as he 
smiled at Mrs. Scully, who was waving her hand at him at a table in the 
area reserved to Starbucks Coffee. Yeah. A convenient day to take work 
home with him.

"Hi, Mrs. Scully." He stopped at her side, unsure of how to greet her. 
Mrs. Scully solved his little dilemma by tiptoeing to press sticky lips 
to his cheek.

"Fox. It's such a long time," she said, her breath smelling like 
cappuccino. "How have you been?"

"Fine." He pulled Mrs. Scully's chair away, just taking a seat himself 
when she was already settled. "I'm sorry for my delay."

"That's okay, Fox. Dana told me how busy you've been lately." She smiled 
at him. "Thank you for sparing some of your time to meet me."

"Don't mention it." 

Mulder cringed at Mrs. Scully's formality. His place in Mrs. Scully life 
was obscure. Without a doubt they were more than acquaintances, but they 
barely could be called friends, and he wasn't family because, although 
he didn't foresee a future with any other woman but Scully, he and his 
partner weren't legally married. 

He really liked Mrs. Scully, though. If he avoided being alone in her 
presence it was because he felt clumsy on the inside and robotic on the 
outside when she was too close. Today he was also curious in both ways, 
his tongue asking about the family and his elbows leaning on the table, 
his back straight and inflexible. Unfortunately, a phone call from Mrs. 
Scully stirred some terrifying memories for him, from the time Scully 
had been abducted and Mrs. Scully called to know if there had been any 
news on her missing daughter. In fact, his heartbeat just came back to 
its normal rate when Mrs. Scully told him she just wanted to talk to him 
after he was finished with work. And that was how he had spent the rest 
of the day: diving into work and ignoring the teasing from one of his 
partners, Agent Hernandez, who had first answered the phone. 

When the missus's mother steps in it's because you screwed up good, 
buddy. 

He had, twice. In the shower and in bed, but he wasn't about to let his 
coworker into it.

It'd do no good to Mrs. Scully either.

He was sure it was not the reason why he was chatting with Mrs. Scully 
about trivialities alone together in a crowded mall.

He was going to have a headache, either from the noise or anxiety or the 
unshrinking smile he was forcing out. 

She held out her spoon to him when the trivialities were running low for 
two reasonably intelligent people. "Would you like some ice cream, Fox?"

"A cappuccino, maybe. Scully and I are meeting with some friends, and 
we'll probably have dinner with them. Would you like anything? Another 
bottle of water maybe," he offered, pointing the almost empty bottle in 
front of her. "I'll get it for you."

"Thanks dear."

He smiled and went to the counter to place their orders. 

"So those friends you're visiting, are they your neighbors?" Mrs. Scully 
asked when he got back to the table. He nodded and sucked off the foam 
in his cappuccino. "Dana said they're very nice people."

"Yes, they are. It's a decent place to live in."

"Dana's told me so. She likes it there." Mrs. Scully rasped the spoon on 
the ice cream with the same precise and careful movements Scully used to 
eat hers. "I really appreciate it, Fox. What you've been doing for 
Dana."

"And that would be..." he half asked, leaving his ignorance out in the 
open for her to fill it in.

"Your understanding, Fox," Mrs. Scully said. "And this stability. I 
rejuvenated five years these last few months."

"It came with a high price."

"I know. More the reason to appreciate your effort." He was ready to 
protest, but Mrs. Scully shook her head first, beating him to it. "I 
know being with Dana obliged you to make a difficulty choice, Fox."

"A choice no one believed I could make," he reminded her.

"It was something hard to foresee," Mrs. Scully said, her kindness and 
energy strongly blending like oil and vinegar would never be able to. 
"Sometimes a mother's instinct can go wrong, but I was right about you. 
You are a good man."

"I... Thank you, Mrs. Scully," he said, disarmed by her sincerity. "I 
don't know if I deserve it. My reasons were selfish."

"In this case I choose to believe that being selfish was not a sin," she 
said. "I have a request to make you, Fox, and I hope you feel the same 
way about it."

She put the spoon she had been holding on the saucer under her ice cream 
cup and squeezed his wrist. He looked at her a little startled. Mrs. 
Scully's eyes had the same transparent honesty as her daughter's. They 
were hurting and apologizing to him. They were also transmitting the 
certainty that she was about to do something she believed was right, and 
that he would have to accept whether he wanted to or not. He worried his 
lips with the certainty he was going to hate it. 

"Fox, please don't think I want to rule your life with Dana, but you 
can't take her anywhere this year." 

His clumsiness made him release the grip in his lips and move back 
against his chair, when all he had wanted to do was bite them hard and 
invade Mrs. Scully personal space, moved by the indignation taking him 
over.

"How... What... What are you talking about?"

"She told me you were invited to visit your family in Europe by your 
mother, Fox. This year it wouldn't be a good idea, though," Mrs. Scully 
said, accommodating sense and sensibility in a situation that, in order 
to work out, required more than this shitty willingness to be 
magnanimous.

"Is there a good reason for us not to make this trip?" His throat felt 
like sandpaper as he spoke. "It's a two week trip that won't harm her. 
After the year we had, we deserve this small break."

"Of course you do, Fox," Mrs. Scully said, her hand now a dead weight 
covering the tight clenched knuckles of his hand. "Any other year it 
wouldn't be a problem for me, but this year it's different."

"And what's so different? Is it me? Is it my family?" He shut up, 
attempting to coax his temper back into a cooler position in the 
thermometer heating up his spine. 

"It's not you or your family, Fox," Mrs. Scully said, her voice also 
slightly altered. Her hand now trembled over his. "It's not you alone, 
anyway. What happened last year hit us hard, Fox. So hard we lost our 
sense of direction. I'll be the first to admit that we let Dana down. I 
want the opportunity to undo this mistake this year. That's the only 
reason I'm asking you to postpone this trip."

"This is not a simple request to postpone this trip, Mrs. Scully. You're 
asking me to completely forget it." 

"Fox, no. I'm asking for some time to fix this family. We're not used to 
having rifts in this family!"

Buzzing inside and out, increasing and deafening, ringing loud to the 
point of federal offense. More offensive than Mrs. Scully's insinuation, 
than his rage, than the pain that for a moment left him dumbfounded, 
until the offense loosened his tongue, sarcasm and venom.

The only thing that kept him from lashing at Mrs. Scully, from returning 
with the same cruelty and frenzy this wreckage she caused in him was 
that, by looking at her face, he found that same set of locked jaws and 
affronted eyes looking back at him. They could have been his. If the 
eyes were the mirrors to the soul, what image was the one he saw 
reflected in Mrs. Scully's? If it were the one of himself, what had he 
become? What was he turning Mrs. Scully into?

"Fox, this rift is not your fault. None of this is. But God, I am 
afraid," Mrs. Scully said, her words as stretched as the strings of a 
guitar ready to burst would be. "Fox, Dana's not talking to Bill, and 
I'm afraid she'll come to resent Matthew in the future if we don't do 
something now" 

"Your son put himself in this position. Despite what he did, Scully 
called him the day after Thanksgiving. He never called her back."

"Something must have happened. Bill would never ignore Dana. And it 
doesn't change the fact that she needs her family now. She's confused, 
Fox, and I'm afraid it'll cause even more damage to her relationship 
with Bill. For God's sake, she's rejecting his child."

The absurdity of what she had said was still lingering in the air and he 
was already shaking his head with a microscopic, dismissive smile. 

"Rejecting his child? Scully would never..." He snorted. "You don't know 
her." 

"What?" 

"You don't know her," he accused again, his anger nourished by her 
ignorance. "If you really knew Scully, you'd give her the credit she 
deserves." 

That. He had said it with all the letters. 

And Mrs. Scully, with a fury that inflamed her eyes and blistered her 
solid white face, shoved his hand away as if in this conversation, at 
that moment, he was the intruder who had wrecked someone else's plans 
before they got the chance to become real. 

"And if you knew Dana at all, you wouldn't give her more credits than 
she can carry," Mrs. Scully hissed, her voice plastered with a kind of 
fury that could have surprised an outsider who dared measuring her 
fragility according to her smallish frame. 

Not him, however. Life in the past twenty plus years had molded him to 
accept the worst from the people he associated with. Mrs. Scully was 
being too kind; her buttons had been pushed far enough since he met her. 
A snap of fingers, the blink of an eye was all the time he needed to 
relive all the reasons Mrs. Scully had to vent her fury at him. 

Saying that he hadn't expected this upsurge from Mrs. Scully would have 
been a lie. For four years now he'd been bracing himself every time his 
association with her family resulted in a loss: whether a comatose 
daughter had been returned from her abduction or another one had been 
murdered. Or last year with the Emily torment. Or last summer when she 
welcomed him and Scully back from Antarctica at the airport, Scully 
displaying lovely shades of frostbite in her face, and he the purple 
blot where that bullet had grazed his head. Yeah. An outburst from Mrs. 
Scully was a coming, and six months ago he would have been ready for 
that, to offer the other side of his face to the next blow because that 
was what he deserved.

But not now. Not when he had quit his work, bought a house and was 
leading a normal life with the only woman he had ever loved. Not when he 
was doing the right thing for the right reason and with the right person 
for the first time in his life.

Not when he was at the apex of a fucking flat triangle of perfection.

He clutched his clenched fists tighter against his midsection. Mrs. 
Scully flinched. Mr. Tension, the third party hanging around their 
table, finally took a seat right between the two of them, staying put as 
if to see whose armor made of eggshells was going to chip first.

It was Mrs. Scully's, along with some of the harshness surrounding her.

"Fox, this is getting out of hand. I called to talk to you, not to pick 
a fight. And we will fight unless we stop talking about Dana like she is 
a person split in two. She's not your Scully or my Dana, Fox. She's a 
whole person. Her own person."

"So this meeting is pointless, Mrs. Scully," he said, the small signs of 
his frustration weakening his voice and betraying his own words. "You 
don't believe Scully will resent your grandson as much as I do, or that 
she and Bill will never talk again. Her kindness and good sense are 
above this."

"She's just human, Fox. She's bound to fail and make mistakes."

"She's not mean."

"She's not perfect," Mrs. Scully soothed. "Fox, perhaps the best way to 
help Dana right now is by accepting that she's just human and needs our 
help. Your help. She needs you more than she will ever let you know. 
What makes it so hard for you to believe this?"

"You don't understand, Mrs. Scully."

"I want to, Fox."
 
He had arguments. He had lots of them to present, to highlight his point 
and justify his insistence on taking Scully with him to Europe, that she 
was not helpless, that they didn't need anyone and could take care of 
each other. He could make lists and provide evidence to attest what he 
would tell her as being the truth, that he and Scully had no beginning 
and no end. That they were infinite, endless.   

They never made it into words. 

Mrs. Scully didn't understand Scully the way he did, hadn't been part of 
the changes on the tides the way he had, because he had been in the 
center of just about everything that was important in Scully's life for 
the last five years. Recently he had gotten this weird notion that 
everything that had ever happened in his life was caused to prepare him 
to meet Scully and to stand for her. Mrs. Scully was aware of the bond, 
of the love. She knew some of the scars and sacrifices. She had a small 
notion of their world. 

But she didn't know them, and them was something too complex to her 
understanding and acceptance.

He couldn't explain it and he really didn't want to. Rationalization was 
Scully's job in their relationship. Scully validated everything that 
came out through his mouth. He had the abnormal theories; she did the 
dirty job to give him credit before the world. All he could do was trust 
her to do this again, to credit his beliefs to Mrs. Scully. To make them 
whole before her mother's eyes.

"It'll be Scully's decision, then, Mrs. Scully. I won't interfere."

Little by little, Mrs. Scully looked five years younger again, and 
awkwardly she showed her gratitude. "That's all I ask of you, Fox." 

In silence he observed Mrs. Scully pulling out a napkin from its holder 
and folding it into a square. Next, she pressed the napkin on several 
wet spots her bottle of water had left on the table. The napkin 
shredded, the water and friction of her fingers rolling it into several 
tads of white paper. She folded another napkin and repeated the 
operation for a second then a third time until the spot was totally dry. 

"This conversation doesn't have to be a secret kept from Dana."

He almost dropped his chair standing up. What the hell was she 
suggesting? That he should be the one to tell Scully all this crap? 

"Be my guest and tell her what happened here then, Mrs. Scully."

She flinched and asserted a barely noticeable nod. 

He ought to leave and get the hell out of this place and away from these 
people before he did something he'd really regret. Mrs. Scully and Mr. 
Tension could get to know each other without his presence.

With the frenzy of a lover pulling on his clothes after a one-night 
stand that had gone wrong, he gathered his briefcase, shopping bag and 
discarded coat. In his haste to pull on his coat, he knocked the 
Victoria's Secret bag on the floor, leaving a puddle of silk next to 
Mrs. Scully's chair legs. He kneeled down on the floor to get the 
garment, not before leaving an indecent curse afloat in the staled air 
around them.

"Fox?"

With one knee supporting the heaviness of his body, one hand keeping the 
pink bag open and the other one holding its former contents, he stilled 
his gaze up at her direction.

"Fox, I just wanted to say that my daughter knows how to make wise 
decisions. You're the biggest of them. Thanks for being there for her." 

He did the second best thing he could have done for her at that point.
He stood up again and put the Victoria's Secret bag on the table, 
unashamed of the red silk thing all made of slits and lace and low 
neckline cuts he had bought Scully or of what it represented.

"If we decide to visit you, I'm not sleeping on the sofa."

The first best thing he did soon after. He left.

***************

Christmas 10b

"Christina, hang on a moment. I think I've heard him. Mulder? Is that 
you?" 

The restrained smile on Scully's face disappeared when she came from the 
living room and saw him standing at the doorway. "Yes, Christina; it's 
him." She nodded at something Christina had said, her attention on him. 
"Okay. See you soon." 

Scully clicked off the phone and stared at him, brows arched and arms 
crossed in front of her, waiting.

But not for too long. 

"You're aware Christina told us to be at her house by 8:30, aren't you?"

Mulder shrugged and swiveled around, depositing his keys on the narrow 
table in the hall, where all the see-to-it-later things landed. 

"It's past nine o'clock, Mulder."

He opened the hall closet and shoved his briefcase inside. "I got caught 
up in traffic."

"Agent Preston said you had left shortly after six."

"I ran a few errands before taking the bus." 

"I told you to call me when you got to the commuter parking lot. 

"I wanted to walk, Scully! I was late anyway, and it's not like we're 
glued at the hip, or anything! If you really wanted to go, you'd already 
be there! It's not like you need me for anything! I thought you already 
were at the Ferguson's!"

Her brain was cooking up a response as harsh as his little venting; her 
good sense put the fire out. This discussion wasn't worth the effort. He 
wasn't worth the effort.

Taking advantage of the open closet door, she got her coat and his 
stupid grandfather's hat. 

"There's yesterday stew in the fridge. Green Tupperware." 

Her hand was wrapped around the doorknob when he asked her to stop.

"What?"

"Just give me a minute."

She opened the door. "I don't have a minute."

"I will..." He stopped, his mind cleared off of what to say next. "It 
will be only a minute." 

She held his gaze for a moment. "Fine," she said, bending the word like 
a nod before she closed the door again and took the phone back to the 
living room. Leaving the shopping bag on the hall table, he went off 
down the hall.

Inside the bathroom, he rested his back against the locked door and kept 
his eyes wide open. With each breath he took, he also steamed off vapors 
of frustration and stiffness as he felt his rigid body loosing up and 
his knees half buckling. 

As his back slid down on the door, his head made a similar descending 
movement. His neck arched and his Adam apple moved up, gasping for air 
with each movement. The fluorescent light gleamed right over his eyes. 
He didn't flinch, he didn't blink nor wince. He accepted. If he didn't 
know himself so well, he'd believe he was praying, saying thanks to a 
god he was told to believe in, but had never seen. 

No, not really. 

There, half slumped against the door and with one elbow resting against 
the toilet lid, he took in his surroundings. From the light glowing on 
the ceiling to the black granite counter opposite to him, he recognized 
everything in that little temple, small but supplied for his needs. Some 
angles smoothed in their contour, hard in the material. Delicate like 
the small vase of foliage placed beside the bottle of liquid soap on the 
granite counter. Fuzzy like the towel placed next to the mirror hanging 
on the clear wall.

Bright but dark when necessary; smooth without losing its hardness and 
strength; small but sufficiently sized to hold him.

His fortress. His Scully.   

If Mrs. Scully had aimed for this, to make him question the strength of 
his fortress, the weight of burden his fortress carried on her 
shoulders, Mrs. Scully had made her point. Because her accusation and 
the interminable commuting ride he had taken back to the townhouse had 
done what Cancerman and his cronies had spent five years trying to 
accomplish without success.

How much of the burden Scully carried did he pretend not to see?

He had always been in a comfortable position when things came to 
Scully's conflicts. It was very easy for him to push her to talk about 
things that were troubling her because he knew she'd never address them 
to him. He was doing his civic duty by offering her a shoulder he knew 
she would not lean on to then lick his wounds and pity himself like a 
puppy booted out by his owner. Rejected and unlovable; part of the 
history of his life. 

Then there was the other part, less beautiful, sadder, because it was 
made of the times she had turned to him to say what having cancer had 
been like, or about how scared of dying she had been, or about the 
absence of another desk in their former office. Openings he had closed 
with his own rage and fear, inopportune and unsuitable innuendoes, plain 
and simple insensitivity. 

Mrs. Scully thanked him for being there for her daughter. Had he really? 
The other night, the Changeling story night, had been the exception of 
the exceptions, and even so there had been that fraction of a second he 
wished he could have left things unsaid. 

Was he, from the beginning, making things all about him all over again? 
Scully had accused him of that once. Not everything was about him. So 
why did people insist on giving him the impression of the opposite? 

Unimportant bullshit. For him, at that moment, the most important thing 
was that he had recognized his partner in her posture, in the way she 
had looked at him with unflinching eyes and determinate posture, in the 
way she bitched about his being late.

That was the woman Margaret Scully hadn't met, the woman he came to 
respect, to appreciate, to devote his life and everything else he 
believed in. That woman could do anything.

"Come on, Mulder!"

Including going to the Fergunson's and leaving him behind if he didn't 
hurry up. The wake up call he needed. 

"In a moment."

Standing up, he went to the sink. He splashed some cool water on his 
face. In the mirror he saw five o'clock shadow spread out on his face. 
Nocturnal, rough. Sandpaper. However his features were lighter and 
relieved because he had come back to the right house, had found the 
right woman waiting for him to kick his ass.

Margaret Scully never knew that woman. Her loss, because he had, and 
with that woman, for her, he could do anything.

Scully was waiting for him outside the house. The long coat she was 
wearing left no more than the hem of her slacks to be seen in the night. 
No cap in her head, no sad or melancholic look on her face. Just old 
Scully waiting for him on a winter night, like she had done thousands of 
times before, when they worked together. He could almost anticipate her 
reading a case file, and him leaning into her personal space, sharing 
the air around her. Her pretending not to see him, rolling her eyes to 
his theories, following him to the edges of the world because that was 
the right thing to be done.

She looked at him and arched an impatient eyebrow in his direction.

YES! 

He felt like shouting 'I TOLD YOU SO! I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO!' all the 
way up to Baltimore, like dancing to the rhythm of the samba his heart 
was drumming in his chest at Margaret Scully's door, like kissing 
Scully's eyebrows until they stuck to that position on her forehead and 
never let go so her mother could see it.

That was the woman her mother had never met! That was *his* woman! 

One step behind her, she walked and he fluttered down the street. Their 
blind street was made of two long blocks. The Ferguson's lived at the 
end of the second block. 

Carrying the expression to the most primal of its law enforcement 
meaning, he stayed behind to watch his partner's back. He measured, 
froze and framed everything in her; from the movement of her shoulders 
knocking the chilly air out of her way, to how her boots steadily 
touched the pavement. Her coat was open, stuffed up by the night air. 
The contour of her hips and buttocks were there, hidden somewhere. But 
her balance. Oh, her balance! It never changed, it never faltered, 
always swinging to the rhythm of her confidence. 

He tucked his hands inside his coat pockets. He resisted the urgent call 
to place his hand on the small of her back, to let his fingers span down 
on the curve of her hip. It was killing him, but he would rather die and 
keep her figure whole and untouched than change anything in her. He 
drank her, he swallowed her with his eyes, immortalized her in the curve 
of his lips when he said her name softly, just in his imagination, just 
for himself. Scully.

Scully.

"What?" Scully asked, glancing back at him.

"What what?"

She tipped her nose at him. "Did you call me?" 

Had he? Her name was the first thing that came to his mind in the 
morning, the last word that faded at night. He could have called her, 
who knows? Tonight it was going to be his little secret, though.

"Don't think so."

"I could swear you'd called me."

"Spooky, isn't it?"

"No more than usual." She shrugged off and looked ahead of her. Not 
quickly enough for him to miss the glimpse of a smile playing on her 
lips. 

A few more steps and she turned to him again. 

"Mulder, I wish you'd stop walking behind me. It unnerves me when you do 
that."

"Got a better view from here."

"Getting ready to stab me in the back again?" 

The bitterness about his asinine reaction from earlier blended to her 
words, and it felt like a paper cut in his finger. It hurt, but soon 
would fade to be forgotten. The same would happen to her. He knew it.

"I'm checking for wings."

"Wings?" she asked, not so dismissive this time. Actually, he could feel 
curiosity pouring from her studied nonchalance. 

He knew it.

He approached her and breathed on her neck, "Last I've heard, angels had 
wings on their back."

The next step came to a halt when she half swirled around to face him, 
her face quirked to the left, her mouth open, her eyes rounded by 
surprise. If he were shorter, or she taller, they would have been nose 
to nose. In this position they were delight to delight. 

She shook her head and, just as brusquely as she had stopped, she 
started moving again. He was on his way to be forgiven.

He KNEW it.

"You must run through those pick up lines again, Mulder. This one was 
plain tacky."

"You mean no chick will give me a second thought if I keep them?"

"Let's say you'll be stuck with me for the rest of your life if that's 
the best you can do these days."

"It's a good thing I'll never need those pick up lines in my life 
again."

From behind her he felt her smiling again: more stars gathered up in the 
sky.

HE KNEW IT!

"Just move your ass over here, will you, Mulder?"

One stride and he was walking beside her. "I'll really miss the sight," 
he sighed loudly.

"Your loss."

No, never my loss, Scully, he thought, looking at her profile from under 
his eyelashes. There was another sign that he recognized, the small 
bending of lips that was a smile without being, that screamed things 
like, 'what am I going to do with you, you nut?' Only Scully could make 
him feel this good by being silently addressed as a 'nut'.

In truth, nothing had changed. Her strides were cadenced and quietly 
energized whether he observed her from behind or sideways. Her profile 
was the same one he remembered from older days. Fresh and anew, 
determined. 

They reached the end of their block in silence. Another block to go. Not 
alone, he thought, hearing some hurried footsteps and his name behind 
them. 

Ronald with one hand was carrying a plain box and with the other was 
pulling Nora, who was pulling Lucy, who was holding something against 
her little chest. 

"Scully, wait." Scully looked at him. "The Thompsons," he said, pointing 
at Norah, who waved the hand linked to her husband's.

"At least we're not the only ones late," Scully retorted through the 
corner of her mouth.

"I hope their reason for being late was more pleasant than mine," he 
muttered to himself. Scully didn't hear him as the Thompson's greeted 
them with their usual joviality.

"Took me almost an hour to take this woman out of that kitchen," Ronald 
complained, shaking Mulder's hand.

"He's impatient because I didn't let him try the rolls at home," Norah 
said, good natured as always. 

"Come on, Nora. You know how much I hate being late," Ronald said in his 
defense. 

"Blah, blah, blah. Is it like this for you, Dana?"

"Usually I'm the one doing the blah, blah, blah thing," Scully said, 
smiling sweetly at Mulder.

"Of course. It's usually me that spends an entire hour in front of the 
mirror in the bathroom applying lipstick and stuff on my face." Mulder 
blinked at Ronald. "By the way, is my mascara okay, Ron?" he asked 
dramatically, getting another roll of the eyes from Scully. 

Ronald laughed and Norah intervened. "Let's get going. You can complain 
and walk at the same time."

Instead, the Thompsons told them about their previous Christmas parties. 
Besides exchanging presents, they also assisted a childcare center in 
their community, sponsoring a Christmas party with Santa Claus, gifts, 
drinks and foods. At the Ferguson's, Christina greeted them at the door.

"Ah, the missing people," Christina said above the laughter coming from 
another room in the house. "Come in. Everyone is in the living room. 
Lucy. So you're staying here with Kevin tonight?"

"My mom said I could. Is Bree here, too? I brought my books and colored 
pencils."

"Yes, she's upstairs. You got here just in time to help her putting 
Kevin into bed."

"Cool!" Lucy said, dashing ahead of the adults towards the stairs.

"Say hi to the others in the living room first, Lucy. And remember: 30 
minutes and it will be bedtime for you, too," Ronald oriented, helping 
Nora out of her coat. "I doubt she heard me."

"It's a slumber party for her. Let her be," Christina said, putting 
their coats in the closet. "You missed the first pizza."

"I brought cinnamon rolls. They're still warm," Nora said, showing off 
the box of roll like a peace offering. They smelled really good.

"I'll take them to the kitchen," Christina said, accepting the deal. 
"Take Mulder and Dana to the living room and introduce them to whoever 
they haven't meet yet. I'll be back there in a moment with another 
pizza."

There were three couples in the living room. They had been introduced to 
Neil Sheridan and his wife Marleen at the Thompson's the weekend before. 
Nora introduced the other two couples, Melinda and Joseph Stewart, Kelly 
and Matt Reyes. 

"So how did you find Comrade Place?" Melinda asked, moving herself and 
her pregnant belly closer to her husband to make room to Mulder and 
Scully on the sofa. "There's not much publicity of this place around 
here."

"By accident," Scully said, sitting beside Mulder. "Mulder got lost. We 
were going to visit a condo near here."

"You couldn't have gotten lost at a better place," Joseph said, resting 
his hand on his wife's knee. "Everything around here is excellent. We're 
surrounded by natural parks and fifteen minutes away from town. And it's 
a safe place. The crime rate here is zero." 

"No place in the world is entirely safe, Joseph," Christina said, back 
from the kitchen with a steaming pizza in hand, followed by Carter, who 
was carrying another pizza and a bottle of wine. 

"Christina, don't. No violence, no work today." Carter extended a warm 
hand to Mulder. "How have you been, coach?"

"They talked you into training our team?" Matt Reyes leaned forward to 
grab another slice of pizza. "Talk about violence. What did they do to 
your husband, Dana? Lobotomy? No sane person would agree to coach our 
team."

"They found the right person," Scully said, serving her 'husband' a 
slice of anchovy pizza in a paper napkin. "Mulder is an expert in 
helping the helpless. But are you guys that bad?"

"Worse," said Nora.

For all Mulder cared, perhaps-5'7-tall, green-glassed, myopic Matt Reyes 
could be the poster boy and biggest promise of that team, lobotomy could 
be a routine procedure within suburbia basketball leagues, he could 
assist those man in winning Fairfax County Championship; Christina, 
Carter, the Thompsons and the other guests and their loud conversation 
could melt away. 

Correction: the other people in the room and their loud conversation had 
melted away. Shortsighted, his view was limited. He just had eyes for 
Scully because Scully was dressed in black and had locked herself behind 
her crossed arms and legs. She was deep in the conversation, listening 
and questioning, hearing things that sometimes would make her chuckle. 

Understated, self-contained. Restrained in herself.

Scully. Yes, that was his Scully.

High with satisfaction, and more to distract himself while the women 
continued their chit-chat on who was going to bring what that didn't 
hold his interest at all, he turned to the other side to pretend to be 
taking part in the grandiose plans of his pupils-to-be for the spring-
summer seasons.

"Last year we scored some pretty mean baskets.

"Yeah. The problem is that the other teams scored more."

"I can bring the second dessert if you don't mind eating chocolate 
cake." 

In the end, what shifted colors, voices, the whole atmosphere back into 
focus was not the weight on his thigh that cut his laughter off. It was 
the warmth spreading out on a little patch of skin, gripping one side of 
his thigh, near his knee. 

"Mind? Are you kidding? I've craved for chocolate this whole pregnancy!"

He was not strange to this heat; it came at night or in the sunlight, 
under the covers or over layers, other times adrift in thin air. Always 
in private, when just the two of them were together in the room. 

"... and two bars of chocolate in the frosting." 

He was not used to this feeling in public, in the presence of strangers.

Scully was discussing dessert recipes and sipping her wine with her hand 
casually resting in a respectful place on his thigh. 

"You'll like it."

Scully hadn't meant to touch him. He did all the touching in public. It 
was the routine they had fallen into when they worked together, and they 
liked routine. Mulder was still Mulder, Scully was still Scully. Scully 
did not touch Mulder. Mulder never gave Scully the space to do so: 
Mulder did it first. Mulder needed the reassurance of her presence, 
needed to remind her that he was there. Needed to remind himself that 
Scully was there, because Scully was the element that turned the mundane 
actions of waking up and breathing into living. 

"All done. Dana, second dessert. Melinda, you got your chocolate. Now 
you and Baby Junior get into some agreement, because we demand that 
turkey again..."

Perhaps Scully was just distracted, engrossed in the conversation. He 
was sure Scully wasn't even aware of what she was doing. 

He jerked up his knee. If he shifted a little, Scully would let him go.

"Dream on, Chris!"

Dana didn't. The warmth, the weight were still there. 

Voices raising in protest, others demanding said turkey and the men in 
the other group justifying their failure this last season to him forced 
Mulder's intellectual presence back in the room, whereas his thoughts 
were searching for Scully and finding her nowhere. 

"I've always said we should practice three times a week."

"You'd have a heart attack if you practiced three times a week."

Touching him wasn't something Scully would do consciously.

"I don't do CPR on a man!"

It was something Dana would.

Out of pure despair, Mulder was chuckling in his mind. He was being a 
fool. Hadn't he been Scully's personal octopus in front of these same 
people the other night? Hadn't he kissed her cheek, and fed her 
tagliatelle sitting on the stairs of a couple they had met 24 hours 
before? Hadn't Scully fed him back, enjoyed and reciprocated his 
caresses? 

"... and I was in the middle of the kitchen, with the bloody knife in 
one hand..."

So what was so wrong?

"... the slaughtered turkey in the other crying, 'you're the said man in 
the house, you wanted the fresh poultry, you clean it up!..."  

What was so wrong? What was so wrong was that, in public he was, had 
always been, the active part of this relationship. *He* held Scully. He 
touched Scully. He kissed Scully and showed her around as his. Fantasies 
#1 to #256 had been realized. He had plans to realize all the 88.945 in 
the next fifty years.

"...and the turkey bouncing..." 

In none of the other 88.689 remaining fantasies had he ever, not even 
once, dreamed Scully would start a public display of affection with him. 

"...Joe was more afraid of the turkey than I was."

"Ol' Joe in a blue funk because of a dead turkey." 

"It wasn't dead! It freaking bounced!"

This heat willingly burning the little patch of skin on his thigh in a 
stranger's living room was part of the list of things that would never 
be. Tonight it was, but he never did miracles well.

The roar of laughter around him startled Mulder. Joseph was performing 
his version of a bouncing slaughtered turkey while the others cheered 
the best way they could. Scully rested her head on his shoulder, her 
hair spreading on the dark fabric of his jacket and her body shaking 
against his side. 

The hand on his thigh was gone. The crystal sound of her laughter 
wrapped his thoughts in a tight knot, causing his heart to jump from his 
gut to his throat. There it remained, pulsing, blocking his words. 
Keeping him alive in a world Mulder didn't fit, because Scully wasn't 
there.

"Is everything okay, Mulder?"

Mulder felt his face burning, his eyes popping up. Christina was looking 
concerned at him, and so were Nora and Ronald. The others were too out 
of it to notice him. Scully, swinging into doctor mood, lifted up her 
face from his shoulder and checked him out, her hand already on his 
forehead.

"You're flushed and cold, Mulder. What's this?" Cool and in control, she 
checked his pupils. Her warmth was impregnated in him. "Are you feeling 
dizzy or something?"

"I'll get him a glass of water," Ronald offered.

"No," Mulder said, brushing Scully's hand and warmth away, out of his 
sight and body, calling the Bozo facade he had stored in his sleeve into 
action. "I'm okay. Wasn't prepared for the turkey's performance. Do you 
have this swing to bounce the ball, Joseph?" 

Joseph chuckled awkwardly. "Not even close."

"Give him a turkey in the court and let's score," Mulder suggested. The 
guys laughed. The concern in their eyes didn't bother Mulder as much as 
Scully hovering all over him. "Scully, I'm okay. Go back to your 
recipes."

"Are you sure?" Christina voiced the question Scully asked with her 
eyes.

"I'm okay." He moved further away from his former partner's reach. "I'm 
fine."

"Okay, then." 

Christina and the other women got back into the discussion of their 
menu, the men to their basketball rambling, Scully back to being Scully, 
with that veiled softness he knew so well.

"You do look tired," she said. "Maybe you shouldn't have come. Can you 
wait a little longer? We'll be through soon."

Through? When had they really started? 

"I'm okay, Scully." He closed his eyes, being gross and ignoring the 
rest of the world as he knew it. "Finish whatever you're doing and don't 
worry about me."

Minutes that lasted like hours later, Scully was carrying a couple of 
cinnamon rolls in a disposable plastic container while he had the name 
of their Secret Santa in a paper folded and ignored in his coat pocket. 
Scully knew the name. He didn't know anything else.

Snow was gathering on the top of his grandfather's hat. Scully had 
pulled it on when they left the Ferguson's. The hat held her hair, the 
container in her hand restrained her movements. She walked beside him in 
silence, her thoughts and eyes miles away. He told himself it was okay. 
He was used to loneliness. 

"The luncheon at Quantico is tomorrow. Maybe you can come?"

"I can't give you any guarantees, Scully."

"I know. But it would be nice to have you there."

If he just didn't need her so much. Love her so much. 

"I'll try to be there." 

Dana smiled at him. 

Missed her so much.

Their house was a growing spot illuminated by the street lights when she 
told him something he had been told first hand.

"Mom called yesterday. She invited us to spend the holidays with her. My 
brothers are coming. She wants us all to be together."

"Did you tell her about my mother's invitation?"

Her free hand disappeared inside of her pocket. His hand emerged from 
his pocket with the keys to their door dangling from his fingers. He 
didn't want to have anything in common with her. 

"Huh-huh. I also told her I needed to talk to you first."

"Do you want to go?"

They stopped on their driveway. The Christmas lights on the other houses 
were on, bathing their house with borrowed light. Mulder didn't know if 
they had been on earlier. He hadn't noticed anything different.

"When we were growing up on all those different bases, Daddy started a 
tradition with us," Dana said, a small smile flirting with her lips. "It 
was more like a game he had invented to play with Bill. Melissa, Charlie 
and I got into the game because life was still the same when we were 
born. Dad didn't want us to miss him the Christmas evenings he wasn't 
going to be at home. Every year my siblings and I bought a new ornament, 
and when we put it on the tree, we would say, 'this one is for Daddy.' 
When I was ten, we had filled up a box with those ornaments. Up to this 
day, my mother still has this box. The last Christmas we were all 
together, we didn't offer anything to my father because he had been 
there with us." 

The Christmas lights twinkled like shooting stars. He hadn't given them 
the deserved attention for ages. 

"I want a Christmas tree, Mulder. I don't know why we haven't bought one 
yet."

"What's the point? We won't be here for Christmas."

"It doesn't matter. It will still be Christmas."

He looked at their neighbors' houses. Their eyes did not meet, but their 
thoughts, he could tell, had met somewhere, collided, and gone separate 
ways. Dana's to the several bases and houses she had grown up in; his to 
everything Scully had lost in the last five years.

He would be lost without her. He feared he was going to lose Scully if 
he got everything Dana was offering.

"It will be your decision, Scully." 

"It's your life, too, Mulder."

"It's your decision," he insisted. "Whatever you decide to do, we'll do 
it."

"Thank you," Dana whispered.

His eyes chanced her one last time. At times he imagined what she had 
been like as an infant. If the color of her hair had advanced from 
babyhood to adolescence unchanged, if her skin had always had that 
texture and perfection, if her lips had always been so perfect. So 
rarely had she showed him pictures of her childhood, so rarely had he 
seen the stilled image of her as a little girl.

Tonight she was all there beside him. All faces and dreams, twinkles and 
memories. The little girl her mother had told him about, the one he gave 
too much credit and burden to carry, the one he refused to see how 
narrow and fragile her shoulders were.

He'd have pinched himself painfully, blinked himself awake, denied 
himself the truth if this dream could just be. He couldn't, neither 
could she be just what he had dreamed of her. 

"I think I'll stay here a little longer, Mulder."

She was smiling at him without suggesting anything. Just because.

His heart beat faster in his throat. Dana congested his chest. 

"I'll go in. There's something I have to do inside."

"Okay."

He tried. He really tried to leave, but he couldn't accept the idea that 
the last five, almost six years had been all a dream. It was impossible, 
it didn't make any sense. And for once in his life he needed it to make 
sense. He needed it to be about something other than himself. He needed 
to make it be about the woman he so urgently needed to convince himself 
existed.

"Scully?"

"Hum?" she asked, beaming a cluster of Christmas lights in her eyes.

"I have something for you." 

He and Agent Jackson had been on their way back from Georgetown to the 
Bureau at lunchtime when they stopped at a little store that sold female 
stuff tucked between a jewelry store and a drugstore on Wisconsin 
Avenue. Jackson had wanted to buy a present for his wife that was 'PG 
rated,' he'd said, referring to the Victoria Secret's bag Mulder had 
mysteriously appeared with fifteen minutes after they had parted ways in 
Georgetown after a trip to the local police station. At the store, 
Jackson went to the perfume section while Mulder, wandering between 
aisles, found bands, fasteners, hairpins and other stuffs that caught 
his attention. Before he knew it, he was filling a basket with ladybug 
rubber-bands, Garfield and his friends and Loony Tune character's 
hairpins, plain colored bands and headbands, and a couple of scarves 
that could also be used as bandannas. He also bought a wood box to put 
the hair stuffs an adult would use, as well as the scarves, and had the 
salesclerk put the ones made for a child in a sachet bag, that he had 
put in one of his pockets and forgotten.  

"I've got you something."

He patted his pockets in search of this small cloth bag. Pants pockets, 
overcoat pockets. Pants pockets again. It had to be there! Breast 
pockets, back pockets. It was so small, but he was sure it was there! 
Where...

"A Victoria's Secret bag can't fit in your pocket, Mulder."

SCULLY! He laughed, desperate for any trace of her he could gasp.

"No, not that bag. That bag is for my other girlfriend." 

Hell! Where had that come from? His girlfriend, his lover, his life was 
the woman looking confused at him, at his conviction. She was Scully, 
the only one, the last one.

"What I want to give you is... here. Here, Scully!" he repeated, handing 
her the small yellow bag, needing to say her name and make her real. "I 
had promised you bands and fasteners, remember, Scully?" 

Scully put the container with the rolls on the hood of her car, and 
stuck her right hand inside the bag while the right hand fingered the 
bag from outside. The minute her eyes locked with the ladybug rubber-
band, the light of her smile alone could have replaced the Christmas 
luminosity of the entire neighborhood. 

His smile faded. 

Hers was the 'Mulder-you're-out-of-coma' smile, the 'Mulder-I'm-in-
remission' smile, the 'I'll-fight-for-my-life' smile.

No plastic ladybug, Sylvester and Tweety and Garfield and none of the 
others silly cartoon character hairpins now crowding the palm of her 
hand deserved that smile. 

It was a waste. No one was dying.

"Do any of these match whatever is there in that Victoria's Secret bag, 
Mulder? I can model it for you."

Dana was shaking the ladybug rubber-band under his nose, smiling 
promises and offering herself, flesh, bones and spirit to his pleasure. 

Ladybug was rolling her eyes at him the way Scully should be doing with 
hers. Her delight should have been his to enjoy and hers to hide. Scully 
would have asked if he hadn't found any fluorescent little green man 
earrings in the catalogue to order.

Scully would have kept her delight, the pleasure he knew she would find 
in his gifts for herself. 

She would have been reserved.

The clarity of Dana's smile crushed him some more.

She would have been... Scully.

"Raincheck, okay? Tonight I have work to do."

"Right."

No resigned 'fine', but an embarrassed 'right' as Dana put ladybug and 
friends inside the yellow bag again.

He left Dana all by herself, dreaming at the neighbor's Christmas 
lights.

Inside the house, his legs weighed like they were made of lead as he 
walked down the hall to the den. His head hurt and his world had gone 
blank. What happened to the life he had six hours ago? Six years ago? 

He shed off his wool coat and let it slip into a puddle at the coat 
hanger legs.

Had he had a real life until six hours ago, he wondered, switching on 
the lamp on his father's mahogany desk. Had it been real like the small 
image of his disfigured self reflected on the computer monitor? Had he 
really touched it, smelled it, made love to it? Had he really?

On the curb outside the mall, after the meeting with Mrs. Scully, he had 
looked at his image in the windshield of a parked cab and had smirked. 
Sheathed in the dark gray coat and black accessories, it was like the 
ugly weather had finally caught up with him. The outside world had 
greeted him with its heavy lead sky and season racket turbulence. The 
snow had ceased to be, leaving behind it its last vestiges of clouds 
weighted by the humidity of the air that seemed to be falling down from 
the sky. 

The gray cluster of clouds had followed him all the way back to Reston, 
dissipated for a few hours and returned, finding him back at his own 
house, closing around him in the den. 

He wasn't one to curse, but fuck! Fuck! Fuck! And fuck it again! 

He switched on the computer. His image disappeared. In its place came a 
rain of gray static until the screen became blue and the computer booted 
up. 

Suffocating, he pulled the scarf off his neck, and wrapped it in a tight 
ball around his fingers. Layers and layers of Scully handwork for his 
birthday. He undid his work to redo it all over again. Over and over.

He checked his emails without reading, the scarf a soft ball around his 
hand.

The Lonegunmen usual junk. 

Useless spam. 

The New York Times.

D_Fowley_fbi. Urgent Message. Signs/XFiles. 6:30 PM. 

He leaned his elbows on the desk.

Signs/XFiles.

He unrolled the scarf on the desk, layer after layer. With one finger he 
traced the stitches that formed the scarf. Scully had made them firm and 
of the same size, so close knitted he almost couldn't see his finger pad 
on the other side. Firm and flawless. He ignored the three holes Dana 
had left in the end of the scarf, where its fringes had been cut. If the 
scarf was rolled up, there would be no holes, no flaws. Nobody would 
know they were there. Not even Scully. 

He would. Dana would.

Signs/XFiles.

Dana was outside, gazing at the neighbor's Christmas light. 

The XFiles were safe. Had always been.

Diana needed his help. Dana needed a real Christmas, her childhood 
memories.

He rolled the scarf in a ball for the last time.

He opened Diana's message because he could help just one of them. 
Because he couldn't give Dana the Christmas she wanted.

And because the XFiles were safer.

Had always been.

*****
Christmas 11

"Doctor Scully?"

Two of the students in front of her looked over their shoulders, 
following her gaze to a spot ahead of them. Agent Mark Preston was 
tapping the thin air in front of him, asking her to wait just a moment 
and at the same time distributing gentle smiles and congratulations to 
the newly graduated agents as he half crossed the room in her direction. 

She wished the students, or better, newest agents with the Bureau around 
her, good luck on their new careers while she waited for the man that 
Rita Perez, the staff assistant in Scully's department, compared to a 
walking volcano brimmed with ice.

Scully had to agree with her. There was a disturbing touch of divinity in 
that man that made him one of the most beautiful - if not the most 
beautiful -  men she ever knew. He was built like perfection, a paragon 
of grace and intelligence, calm and confidence. Lean and tanned, he could 
have been an Olympian god born and raised in California with light hair 
flecked in gold, and green eyes that at first glance were shallow and 
ordinary, but that a second later hypnotized and beckoned attention to 
them like the sea making an irresistible invitation to its depth. 

Despite Agent Preston's fine stamp, Scully was one of the few women in 
Quantico ( and according to a green-grudging Mulder, in the whole Bureau 
) not swept over her feet by his explosively cool appeal. Agent Mark 
Preston was a dream that had become true too late in her life. Like her, 
he lived his marriage of sorts with the Director of Laboratory Forensic 
Science in Quantico, Doctor Karl Foreman, Scully's boss, despite what the 
Bureau and the rest of the world had to say about it. 

"Good afternoon, Doctor Scully," Agent Preston said, smiling at her.

"Good afternoon, Agent Preston. I'm glad you made it," she said, waiting 
for something she knew wasn't coming anymore.

"I'm not staying," Mark said, like to justify and apologize for his being 
there. "Just stopped by to get a few reports and lab results from your 
people. Mulder was coming too, but just as we were leaving, he was 
solicited at another place."

"Things haven't changed in the new unit, I guess," Scully said, more 
upset with Mulder's absence than she would like to admit.

"How so?"

"Within the X-Files, missing birthday parties and other celebrations was 
expected, because it was a division made of two agents. I thought in the 
new division he would be able to cut himself more slack."

Agent Preston's chuff was half caught by his teeth. "I get you haven't 
had many experiences in the field before the X-Files, Doctor Scully?"

"The X-Files were my first field assignment, yes. Why?" she asked, 
defying Agent Preston to downgrade her and Mulder's assignment in the X-
Files in her presence.

Agent Preston sprawled both hands in front of him. "I didn't mean to 
belittle you or your work in the X-Files, Doctor Scully. I'm not in any 
position of pointing fingers at anyone for obvious reasons. Accept my 
apologies if I offended you with my question."

She felt her face burn with embarrassment and regret for her rudeness. 
Agent Preston was a decent man, and thank God the same could be said 
about the other three agents working under Mulder's supervision.

"No, you accept my apologies, Agent Preston," she said. "I get a little 
edgy when people make any mention of our work in the X-Files. We didn't 
get much respect working in the basement. I'm sorry."

"Apologies accepted, Doctor Scully," Agent Preston said, and she smiled 
back at him relieved. "I asked because if you had worked in other 
divisions, you'd know that the FBI doesn't cut anyone slack. The bigger 
and better the team, more work it gets. Mulder is one of the best. 
Everyone wants his expertise. That's the pay off he gets." He chuckled 
plainly this time. 

"I'm glad he's working with people that respect him. Mulder is driven and 
stubborn at times, but you couldn't have gotten a better agent on your 
team."

"Don't worry. We're getting it."

"Good."

A group of the three agents that had lasted all the autopsy classes from 
beginning to end excused themselves for a moment to thank Scully for the 
gruesome hours of entertainment and enlightening biology classes, and to 
give her a small vase with a single dandelion. Touched by that unexpected 
gesture, she admired all the petals of the flower, careful to keep the 
yellow bow tied around the vase in place. 

"You seem to be doing fine around here, too," Agent Preston said when the 
agents left. "Karl said that you did a terrific job these past months."

"Doctor Foreman has been generous with his compliments."

"Karl is not generous, Doctor Scully. He's fair and serious, so if he 
gave you a compliment it was because you deserved it." Agent Preston 
touched the leaf of the flower, as if the gesture had been reserved for 
another person. "Mulder is very proud of you. After what happened to both 
of you... It requires a lot of guts to be back where you are."

Scully remembered that night as being about blurs and hazes, flashlights 
in her eyes, screams in her ears, goosebumps in her flesh and shame in 
her spirit. After all these months, all those mixed emotions were still 
printed in the business suits she wore in the classroom at Quantico, in 
the dark blue scrubs she wore at the autopsy bays before the students 
looking at her as the translator to the answers for the life and death 
mysteries the corpses lying on the table had and that the agents-to-be 
sought. 

"We had to get over it. We had been through some worse scenarios before."

"I know it, Doctor Scully. I've been at that same place before." 

"You've made it here today, too."

"I wouldn't have made it alone."

One of the reasons why she didn't see Agent Mark Preston as a Narcissus 
was exactly that. Agent Preston saw more than mirrors.

"That night. You were there, weren't you?" she asked.

"I covered you with my jacket."

"A jacket," she whispered. She remembered something soft and blue being 
wrapped around her shoulders. She had no idea it was Agent Preston's 
jacket. "I think I lost it."

"I have others, Doctor Scully. You shouldn't worry."

"We left wearing the same clothes. I must have left it at the motel," she 
said, looking at the flower. "Is there still word at the Bureau of what 
happened? I can't ask Mulder without upsetting him."

"People are forgetting."

She looked over at the agents reuniting with their families to continue 
the celebration somewhere else. "Many of these agents are heading to the 
Hoover or to the field office to assume their positions. Some may work 
with Mulder or come back here to have me collaborating with them. I don't 
want them remembering me as the woman caught in bed with her partner."

"They won't, Doctor Scully. At this place you're much more than that." 
Agent Preston smiled at her. "So, any plans for the rest of the 
afternoon? You're officially on vacation now."

"Wife duties. I'm going to the shopping mall to get my dress for 
tomorrow, get Mulder's suit at the dry cleaner, get a Christmas tree." 
Scully said, not resisting the sincerity of his smile. Mulder wasn't 
overdoing it when he said it was easy to talk to Preston. "Then I'll go 
to my mother's to have another dress for another party adjusted, and go 
back to my house to make sure Mulder keeps everything in place and in 
order. Busy schedule for someone on vacation?"

"Very busy," Agent Preston agreed with her. "Still better than a dull 
life. Two parties to go, a thoughtful mother that doesn't mind sewing for 
you, a partner to go back home to. Karl would say that you're suffering 
from RoJD."

She frowned. If Agent Preston weren't smiling, she would get worried to 
death. After the cancer and Emily, she loathed any kind of exotic 
diseases of unknown origin. 

"RoJD? What does it mean?" 

"Reverse of Job Distress. Do you know the story?"

"Job's story, from the Bible?" Agent Preston nodded. "Yes, I do. But what 
does Job have to do with it?"

He shrugged. "I'm not very religious, so I'm not familiar with the 
history. He's the fellow who lost everything and never complained, isn't 
he?"

"Actually, he did, but he came to accept his fate. He never blamed God, 
though."

"You've just shot down Karl's theory," Agent Preston said playfully. "But 
it's still a reverse of sorts. He complained because he lost everything 
at once; you're complaining for getting the full package at once." 

Agent Preston played with a petal of the dandelion. He had bigger hands, 
but the dandelion didn't break. The vase weighed like nothing in her 
hand, but she held it tighter. 

"It's a joke Karl used to say... you know... Before."

She understood him. Before. She understood him.

"Does he..." 

Agent Preston shook his head before she was finished. "I realized the 
moment is more interesting than living in the past, and that the future 
is too uncertain for me to really care." Agent Preston cleaned his hand 
on his coat and touched her shoulder. "I have to talk to Karl before 
going back to the office. I'll see you and Mulder tomorrow at the dinner, 
Doctor Scully?"

"Yes, sure."

"Okay," he smiled again. "See you then. Take care."

"See you tomorrow, Agent Preston."

Agent Preston left, leaving behind him the Job Reverse theory and Scully 
looking for the moment, that was nowhere near her to be seen or felt or 
appreciated. 

*****

How had he missed the bad coffee and greasy atmosphere of roadside 
diners, right along with overweight cooks and ill humored waitresses, 
greasy dripping sandwiches and onion rings. He had missed going out of 
town on a case, leaving behind him red dusty or gray powdered asphalt, 
depending where he and Scully were heading to. He missed his bad jokes 
and Scully fake annoyance ( Scully real annoyance ), the give and take of 
theories and their skeptic/believer arguments.  

How he had missed crop circles and lights in the skies and paranormal 
phenomena, things he could not explain and that would make him work day 
and night to surpass the limits of his imagination and knowledge and come 
up with a solution for the insoluble. And how damn much he missed getting 
a kick by challenging Scully to follow his train of thought, just to have 
them shot down by her skeptical mind, then work twice as hard to prove 
how right he'd been all along.

He even missed having informants and the peril of deserted alleys and 
secrecy black clothes as he stole off-limits data from military 
facilities that he wasn't supposed to know the existence of with a 
penlight caught between his teeth, but that he did anyway thanks to 
anonymous tips smuggled under the door of his old apartment.

He missed ditching Scully and going on an adventure of his own because 
that had been his nature since before he met her. He missed the security 
of the supernatural, because it was easier and less hurtful dealing with 
the unknown when it was out of this world.

He missed having more lives than a cat, and he hated the prospect of 
never dying again.

Had it been four months ago, he wouldn't be ogling the pictures Diana was 
showing him with hungry, starved eyes, to the point of perversion, 
because until then the power to touch and solve the unknown had belonged 
to him. Having Diana feed him crumbs would be a humiliation hadn't she 
needed his help. Missing the luncheon at Quantico would have been a 
ditching, hadn't he been working. So he pushed his envy and guilt to a 
place he could ignore until later and told Diana his theory.

"What do you know about chakras, Diana?"

"Chakras? Not too much, I must confess. It's not exactly my field," Diana 
said, checking a picture with interest. "I know they're points of energy 
that can be found in several parts of the body."
 
"It's a good start, but there's more to it." Mulder got the stack of 
pictures and sat next to her at the table. He aligned the five pictures 
in sequence. "You told me the crimes happened in this sequence. If you 
pay attention, you'll see the marks are centered and descending. The 
crown of the head, forehead, throat, heart, solar plexus. I got hold of 
some literature last night before bedtime, and found some interesting 
things about what each chakra is associated to. I printed them. They may 
help you," he said, getting the white envelope in his briefcase.

Diana read and double-checked the lines he had highlighted in yellow, 
asking him a few questions along her reading.

"You said the chakras are descending. How so?"

"Each chakra is connected to a part of the body, as you can read here," 
he leafed through the pages until he found the one he was looking for. 
"See? Each chakra is related to a part of the body and the emotions 
believed to be connected to them. They start in the crown of the head and 
end in the root."

"Root?"

"Yeah, you know, the crotch." 

"Oh!" Diana jerked as if her mind had finally connected with the rest of 
her. "But it still doesn't explain the marks."

"Look closer, Diana. They are the same: the petals on the crown of the 
head, the circle and triangle representing the third eye, the triangle 
within the sun and the circle within the triangle representing the throat 
and so on. They were even painted in the same colors, see?" he asked, 
lining the pictures she had brought along the pages he had printed. 

Diana read the paper and traced lines on the contours of the pictures and 
lights glowing in them like inner auras.

"Yes, you're right. They are the same. But what would lead someone to do 
this?"

"I believe you'll find your answers if you read these files." 

"Believe? Isn't it accurate information?"

"There are some minor discrepancies between how different spiritual 
organizations define each chakra. Nothing major, but they may be crucial 
in your investigation. You told me very little on the profile. If I had 
more information on the victims, I could give you a straighter answer."

Instead of giving the details he needed, she looked at him with genuine 
interest. "So you have a theory. I'd like to hear about it."

"I think whoever did this was trying to save these people." Excitement 
made his hand shake slightly as he traced invisible circles around each 
chakra with a capped pen. "If these people had some medical condition 
related to these parts of the body, perhaps that's what the UNSUB was 
trying to do."

"I see your point, Fox. But to heal the supposedly damaged body parts 
should have been removed. The whole bodies were intact, however." 

"What leads me to my second theory. Chakras are also known to be centers 
of consciousness. Did the victims have any special talent?"

Diana studied the pictures again and pursed her lips, as if remembering 
something. "Not a medical condition, Fox, but now that you mentioned 
it..." Diana got a notepad from her briefcase and showed him her notes. 
"Luke Smith was a brilliant student, Amanda Perry was a self-confident 
salesperson, the best in her department, David Canon was the best promise 
at the publishing company he worked for. They were the first, second and 
third victims." He linked everything she said to the pictures and the 
information he had printed. They all connected to the energy those body 
parts provided.

"Crown of the head, forehead and throat. Let me guess: the fourth victim, 
heart, the fifth victim, solar plexus." 

Diana nodded, checking her notes and smiling. "Right on the spot! But 
then, I'm not impressed. You've always been a gifted profiler, and your 
openness to the unknown makes you more than brilliant, Fox. It makes you 
unique."

He chuckled. "It's the Spook in me."

His heart did that flip dance it did every time he found support for his 
theory, the pitch of his voice raised to high five the air. His body 
slumped against the backrest of the chair and he exhaled a sigh that for 
him had the same effect of an utter growl, finally letting out the 
monster ball weighting in his stomach since last night.

Diana shook her head, those dark brown eyes of hers burning deep into his 
arrogance. "No, Fox. It's you back to the place you belong."

He enjoyed breathing freely for some time, tracking all the rise and fall 
movements of his chest that unclogged his heart and reminded him what 
normalcy was like.

Diana glared at him for another moment, and then they both fell back on 
the task of getting a better definition in the new profiler they were 
creating together, going back to a routine in which Diana never asked 
where his wild theories came from, just took notes and agreed with 
everything he said. 

In the end Diana promised that if she and Spender got the UNSUB, she 
would have a surprise in the store for him. He wished she would, not 
because he was that much interested in what she had to offer, but because 
he was a good profiler, and he was ten times better when it involved an 
X-File.

And because, as she had said, he was too damn good at what he did.

And it was too damn good being back to business!

*****

More than graying its hardcover, the dust collected on the book her 
grandmother had left her added to it the strange notion of nostalgia, of 
things that would not age or soot. 

She wiped at the cover with the palm of her hands because the sensation 
of the dust rolling under her bare skin reminded her of how things should 
be. Get control, get rid, get clean. Get over it.

"ATCHOO!"

"Bless you, Dana," her mother said in the corner of the room. 

Her mother was fixing a simple yet elegant dress Scully had bought almost 
ten years ago. At that same corner, the sewing machine that one day had 
belonged to Grandmother Muriel groaned metallic and un-greased. 

Scully liked that atmosphere. The sneeze, the sewing machine crying and 
her mother working, humming a Celtic song Grandmother Muriel had taught 
her. Images of days past, in that same attic, when life was simpler and 
her grandmother alive and robust, happily working because she liked to 
have 'a few pennies of her own to spare.' Happened that Scully had no 
word of the money, but the book was hers by right. The hours sitting on 
her grandmother's lap had granted her this priceless gift.

Sitting by the legs of the empty rocking chair, disregarding the grains 
of dust twitching her nose, Scully leafed through the pages. The book had 
so much dust, even more memories. She inhaled them, and smoothed them 
with her hands, because she was back home, to a time when she believed 
the moth staining page fifty-three and her beloved Grandmother Muriel 
lived in a dollhouse with pink flowerbeds on the same street in heaven 
for God made no distinction among living beings, and Hell was just a 
forbidden word to be said in the presence of her parents.

The sewing machine groaned and stopped. Things were hardly the same 
anymore.

"Come here and try on the dress again, Dana. I think now it will fit."

Scully looked up to find her mother, glasses perched up on the bridge of 
her nose, examining the machine's work, not hiding her dismay seeing how 
thin and narrow, how much smaller the dress had become.

Scully was shocked herself.

"Mom, it's supposed to have a loose bodice," she said, tying her hair 
with ladybug rubber band.

Scully took off her sweater and stepped out of her jeans. Her mother 
helped her to put the dress on in front of the mirror, which was near the 
electric heating her mother had in the attic.

It was an ankle length, sage colored piece with loose polo neck Scully 
had gotten for her parents' thirtieth anniversary party. Pre-Mulder, pre-
X-Files, pre-cancer she had been fuller and the dress had fit her 
perfectly. Now, it too needed adjustments.

"I advanced almost one inch on each side. I left a couple of false 
stitches on each side just in case." The mirror uncovered her mother's 
twisted lips and grim face as she zipped up the dress. "Guess we can make 
them permanent stitches."

Making ninety degrees turns in front of the mirror, Scully liked her 
looks in the dress. She looked thinner, but her face hadn't been that 
healthy in years. "No permanent stitches here. I can barely breathe."

"You are too thin," her mother said, helping her out of the dress. "You 
should have gotten some weight back by now."

Scully pulled her clothes back on. "I'm thin, not underweight, Mom. I 
have your build, not Dad's."

"Oh, right." The scissors cut little clicks in the air as her mother got 
rid of the false stitches. "Oh right. My build and your father's 
stubbornness."

Her cell phone chirped. "I'm an explosive mix, Mom." 

"Poor Fox."

Scully chuckled and answered the phone, recognizing the number on the 
digital display. "What, Mul..."

"There's a tree on your car and mine is missing," Mulder rushed out in 
one breath.

"I couldn't cross town with a tree strapped on the roof of my car, so I 
borrowed yours when I stopped by to leave *your* suit and change 
clothes."

"Cross town? Where to?

"My mother's." A loud bang of something being slammed shut made her 
wince. "Mulder, it better not had been a door." 
 
"It's still a door; it slipped. What are you doing at your mother's?" 

Scully saw herself trapped between his usual wittiness and rare display 
of impatience. "She's fixing my dress for Saturday. And you? What are you 
doing?"

"Right now, trying to figure out a way to bring that big load inside the 
house." 

"And have my walls stained? Don't touch that tree until I'm back," she 
said louder to be heard over the sewing machine groaning back to life.

"No arguments from me," was Mulder's terse reply jammed with the 
mechanical groaning of the sewing machine and liquid swirling down his 
throat. "When are you coming back?"

"Mom invited me to have dinner with her. She won't mind if you join us."

"No. Thank her for me," he added out of breath and courtesy. "I have 
stuff to do."

"What stuff?"

"Office stuff," he said, revealing nothing at all over the clink of 
something glassy.  

"So I guess I'll see you later."

He swallowed again before answering, raspy and burning, "Stay at your 
mother's if it gets too late."

"Mulder?" She paused, not sure of why he sounded so, by all means, 
impatient and wretched. 

"What?"

"I'll see you later."

"Call me if you decide to stay at your mother's." And that was his 
goodbye.

"Fine," Scully muttered, tuning off her cell phone. "Girls night. Mulder 
isn't coming."

"I wasn't expecting he would come," her mother said more to the thread 
she was moistening with the tip of her tongue than to Scully.

"Why not?" Scully pulled a chair and sat opposite to her mother at the 
sewing machine. "It wouldn't be the first time he'd come here to meet 
me." 

Seconds passed by until her mother finished another stitch and answered 
her question. "Circumstances were more pleasant then."

"How so?"

Her mother cut the thread and tied it twice, then she checked how strong 
the stitch was. "It wasn't snowing and you said how hard he's worked 
lately."

"Mom, forty-eight hours after he had escaped the hospital, after a bullet 
had grazed his head, he was in Antarctica to rescue me. Bad weather 
excuse and exhaustion can be ruled out."

"Then maybe he thinks you don't need to be rescued in your own house. Let 
him have some time for himself, Dana," her mother sighed, exasperated. 

Scully inhaled her frustration and observed her mother pushing the iron 
pedal of the sewing machine using both feet. The pedal was heavy. As a 
child, using legs that were too short to reach and feet not strong enough 
to move the pedal, Scully had tried to help Grandmother Muriel with her 
sewing. As an adult she turned to handwork and dressmakers. And to her 
mother for last minute adjustments.

"What did you use to do, Mom, when dad was at the sea and you missed 
him?"

"Huh?" her mother asked, obviously not connecting the situation to her 
question. In fact, everything was disconnected.

"What did you do when you missed Dad?"

"I had all the different parts of him running around the house," her 
mother said, thinking a little. "You and your siblings were my comfort."

Brushing off this comfort she'd never have, she asked again, "And the 
other needs, Mom? The ones we could do nothing about?"

Her mother blushed slightly and fidgeted in her seat. "Oh, those. I 
waited for him. I learned how to be patient because of him." 
 
"I understand." 

Her mother stopped and looked at her. "What's bothering you, Dana? Are 
you mad because of what I told Fox?"

"It wasn't because of my cross," she said, after a while. "It was 
something a man that works with Mulder told me today. He was joking, but 
this is nagging me."

"And what was it?"

"Do you think I complain too much, Mom?"

Her mother looked at her surprised. "You never complain about anything, 
Dana. I wish you complained more."

"And I wish I were stronger, Mom," she said, lowering her eyes. "I wish I 
could fix things better."

"What needs fixing?"

"I don't know. Mulder wants to take me to Europe because of what happened 
last year. On Monday, before I met you at the Mall I ran into this woman 
who was pushing her sleeping baby..." Scully inhaled again, and blinked, 
and hated herself for doing this. "Mom, I'm living with a man that is my 
whole world. *I* am his whole world. I have a family that I love, a job 
that I like. I'm alive and I am thankful for everything, I truly am. But 
today I complained because I had to buy a Christmas tree for my new 
house, to get my lover's suit at the dry cleaners, drive all the way to 
Baltimore to have my mother fix my dress for a Christmas party in my new 
neighborhood, because those people like Mulder and me."

"You weren't really complaining, Dana."

She smiled sadly. "No, Mom. I said it lightly. Then, leaving Quantico to 
run all those errands, I yearned for more, Mom. I wanted Mulder choosing 
a tree with me, I wanted a snow-less December." She lowered her eyes 
again. "I wished it didn't hurt so much for being Christmas. It's awful 
because I'm having the chance of experiencing another Christmas after the 
cancer, my first with the man I love. I wish I hadn't asked you to lie to 
Mulder about my cross, so I could show him my book, Mom, but I can't 
because he'd never forgive me for keeping this big part of me a secret."

The fabric of her dress swished like a sob as her mother pushed the pedal 
again and let the sewing machine make all the crying for them.

"The second time I went into labor, your father was away," her mother 
said, riffling through unhappy memories. "Bill Junior was eleven months 
old, and your grandmother took us to the hospital. It was a high-risk 
pregnancy, it wasn't time for the baby to be born. Your father was due 
home the next week. I woke up two weeks later, Dana. My little girl had 
already been buried. I never saw her face, never held her."

"Eilis," Scully said the name of the sister her mother never talked 
about.

"Consecrated to God. Your father chose the name." Her mother wiped her 
eyes with the palm of her hand, her feet steady on the pedal. "God had 
taken back something that wasn't his anymore. I felt betrayed, Dana, 
because He hadn't given me the chance to prove that I could be a good 
mother to my girl. I questioned His wisdom and His rightness. I blamed 
him because he was being unfair."

"Mom," Scully started, but empty thoughts won over her.

"For a long time it was easier being guided by my rage than by the love 
of your father, by the love of my son. I wanted my daughter back, but 
that wasn't going to happen anymore." Her mother smiled sadly at her. 
"All I wanted was a second chance to make things right. I had failed to 
see that being alive was granting me that second chance. Deep inside it 
felt like I had failed your father, Dana. I wanted to make it right 
again, but was too blind to see how."

"It was the kind of control that you couldn't have, Mom." Suddenly the 
necessity of proving to her mother that her wishes had been granted, that 
her mother had gotten more, a life to strive for, grew so urgent in 
Scully the words flooded disconnected. "Mom, you had Charlie and Melissa, 
you had me. You always made it right for us, Mom. You're our heroine."

Her mother shinned raw and glassy, reaching over to touch Scully on the 
face. "Not a heroine, Dana. I was a tired mother of four, the lover of a 
man who used to spend half of his time over on the sea. I wanted more, I 
made mistakes, but I might have done good things, too, because I had more 
blessings than losses. I still do, Dana."

Scully leaned on the palm of her mother's hand, pillowing her fears and 
frustrations, wishful thinking and hopes for a better life on her 
mother's five strong fingers, her wedding ring a hard strip against 
Scully's cheek.

"What do I do with the losses, Mom?"

"You fill them with what's good," her mother said gently. "You have a 
good life, Dana. A man that just exists because you are alive. You have 
us, your brothers and me. But where are you?"

"I'm adrift, Mom. I'm a woman adrift and suffering from RoJD."

"Dear God, Dana! What's this? Are you sick again?"

"NO, Mom! No." She kissed the palm of her mother's cold hand. "I'm not 
sick. That's Mulder's colleague's joke: Reverse of Job Distress." 

"Oh, that," her mother chuckled, rather embarrassed and relieved. "Nobody 
is entitled to be Job, Dana. Not in this world. But the circumstances 
that made us complain are the same ones that make us want to get more, 
and later, to realize how much we really have."

"In other words, that make us the fools that we are."

"Yes," her mother chuckled again. "Recognizing it is the first step."

"To do what?"

"To see how fortunate we are." Moving her fingers, her mother tilted her 
head back up. "It's out there for you to find, dear. If you have to go to 
Europe with Fox to find it, go. But if you have to stay here with us, 
don't hesitate, Dana, because anywhere you go will just be a geographical 
site if it doesn't give you the answers that you need."

They were in the attic, and it was snowing outside. The bulb on the 
ceiling provided artificial light, the electric heater warmth. Her 
mother, wisdom, and Mulder, her fill-in the gaps.

Her mother sounded like Mulder. The truth was out there.

"If we stay with you, Mulder will sleep with me."

Her mother's chest heaved, and Scully saw the beginning of a protest born 
and die in her lips. "Try the dress on again, so we can discuss it over 
dinner," her mother stressed out.

Again she shed off her clothes and pulled the dress on. Again, in front 
of the mirror, her mother zipped up the dress. Again Scully turned and 
returned, smoothing lines and studying her figure in the mirror now that 
the false stitches were gone.

"Breathe to see if it's still tight, Dana."

She inhaled, she exhaled. Inhaled. Inhaled again. Exhaling wasn't easy.


*****

Three minutes later his mother hung up the phone. He still tried to talk 
her into flying back to the US and stay with him and Scully. She said she 
couldn't do this to her family, and he saw the last Christmas luminosity 
fade away in her detached speech as she wished him happy holidays. This 
year he wasn't even going to get a card.

Dana had made her choice.

He sat behind the desk that had belonged to his father facing the 
darkness he had inherited from life.

She wanted to stay. No explanations given, no attempts to ask him how he 
felt about it. She told him she wanted to stay, that they could try to 
fly his mother back. She wanted to stay. And that was final.

Fine, he had told Scully. She had sat there, before him, looking straight 
at his eyes, and she had bought his words. Or she had just simply ignored 
the ache and anger and fear rippling inside of him. Or maybe she just 
didn't know how to deal with him anymore. Or the other way around.

He had stood by his promise, but he had placed his bet in the wrong 
person. Dana had wanted to stay, when on a normal situation Scully would 
send signs for him to find a new bizarre case file to take her away from 
a confrontation with her family.

But of course he wouldn't have any to offer her. He had lost everything. 
Everything.

His body reached the doorway to the living room before his mind had the 
time to process he had stood up and left the den in the first place. 
Scully was sitting on the floor by the coffee table sticking butter-less 
popcorn onto a thread. One after the other, the popcorn gathered together 
creating a long string of fake snow. The cold inside the room was real. 
She had empty shoe boxes beside her and a distant glow in her face. She 
was smiling, appreciating her handwork. In the background, the ornaments 
she had hung on the tree glowed by the fireplace light.

He loved her. He could refer to dictionaries, poets and philosophers to 
rationalize his sentiments and justify the sacrifice he was making for 
her, but it would be an unnecessary work. If all the truths he sought 
were as clear and simple as the love and devotion he had for her, his 
life would be so much easier.

Without noise, he moved back down the hall. She should have sensed his 
presence, adoring her in the shadows. Dana just had eyes to the pieces of 
her Christmas past she was biding together.

Year after year left by himself all over again.

In the living room there was Dana. On the walls of the house there were 
the pictures she had chosen. In the den there wasn't him, and in the 
kitchen the furniture she had paid for. He had no room in his own house. 
He had no space in his own life.

Tucked in a corner of the kitchen, between the refrigerator and the 
cabinets there was a door rarely used. A door he had forgotten existed. 
At the Hoover building, he found his salvation opening a door like that.

He made a mental note to smear oil in the hinges because they cracked as 
he pulled the door open. He didn't switch on the lights. He had tumbled 
enough descending ways to learn he should take one step after the other.

He found piles of boxes that were collecting dust because of his 
negligence to give them the attention they deserved. Tomorrow had become 
the day after tomorrow, and the day after, until it became a couple of 
months. 

It didn't matter now. He was back. It was high time he tended for the 
things he had left behind. He could start with the folder in his 
briefcase Diana had left with him.

The basement was large. If he planned right, he could have an independent 
area for the laundry room and storage. He would contact the Skipper 
brothers and have them built shelves and cabinets. He would make sure to 
have some locked with keys. 

He needed to contact his bank manager to make a transference to his 
private account. After all, he needed to buy a new slide, projector, TV 
and VCR sets. He needed a new computer, and he was going to have the 
Gunmen over to think about some surveillance devices. 

A new desk. Only one. As it had always been.


Christmas 12a

It looked like his old office. Smaller, if possible, and with a desk more 
littered than his. On the walls there were posters covering all the 
entries of a believer dictionary, from Anomalous Luminous Phenomenon to 
Zombies. And maps, lots and lots and lots of maps.

The crop circle slides - Diana's reward and the reason for his being 
there - were being projected on a screen next to the door, and Chuck, or 
Churbby, well, Diana's friend, made the voice over with a passion that 
made Mulder long for old days.

"If I had more time, I'd have more interesting things to show, Agent 
Mulder. But Agent Fowley called in such short notice, I didn't have 
enough time to collect more material."

Chuck was not your everyday kind of paranoid guy. He was well articulated 
and used more science than passion to make himself coherent.

"Chuck is in touch with the best agencies all over the world, Fox," Diana 
added.

"My contacts are reliable, my material comes from people that need more 
substantial evidence than mere enthusiasm."

Mulder nodded and cracked open another sunflower seed.

"And who are your contacts?"

"Chuck can't reveal his sources, Fox," Diana said, making it clear to 
Mulder this question was off limits. Chuck's grateful look didn't go 
unnoticed by Mulder, but he dropped the subject.

"I can attest you, however, Agent Mulder, that all the material I'm 
showing went through major analysis before I took them in my collection."  

Mulder nodded and cracked open another seed.

"And why exactly do you need this collection?"

"Because, like you, Agent Mulder, I believe there's more out there than 
just stars, gases and rests of other planets. I've followed your work for 
years, and without Fox Mulder there wouldn't be a reason to keep this." 
Chuck spread his arms, which were almost as large as the room, showing 
that Mulder had a legacy to claim as his own after all.

"I'm glad I could be of some help," Mulder said, torn both by 
embarrassment and pride.

"Your passion is inspirational, Agent Mulder. If we just could have 
another dozen people like you..." Chuck's voice trailed off. "If you'll 
excuse me, I'll make some coffee."

Mulder could swear he heard the other man sniffing.

Diana turned off the projector and switched on the lights. "You have to 
forgive, Chuck. He's overwhelmed with your presence here."

"Do you mean he was really crying?"

Diana smiled. "Hum, well, yes."

Mulder sucked on the shell of another sunflower seed. "Oh my. That was a 
first."

Diana chuckled and sat on the stool next to his.

"So, what do you think? They're from out of this Earth, aren't they?"

"Pun or no pun intended?"

She sneered with the corner of her mouth. "Can be with pun, but I'd 
rather have a straight answer."

Mulder scanned the last slide Chuck had showed with the magnifying lens 
Diana had brought. The circles spread like soap bubbles on what once had 
been an ordinary wheat plantation with sheer perfection, amazingly 
beautiful in their complex design of intricate rings of all sizes.

Mulder had memorized scripts of what to tell Scully in that situation, to 
make her accept it was worth a shot risking a trip to England to take a 
closer look at them. With Diana and guys like Chuck he could save his 
breath. He was the spell god of the truth.

"They're perfect, Diana. You have some precious source. I'm jealous. 
Where did you find this guy?"

"What do you think I did the years I spent in Europe? I contacted some 
groups, took part in some investigations. That's it." She looked to the 
wall where Chuck had projected the slides. "They were hard times. I had 
to do something to keep me busy."

Mulder broke the shell of another seed. From this one he just sucked the 
salt before spiting the shell out. Maybe he could use the scripts he had 
made up to convince Scully, after all.

"Your friend seems to be very serious. I'm jealous of his material. The 
last slide was perfect, Diana. The shapes are very distinct in size. Do 
you see how they diminish, creating the impression that they're running 
away until they totally disappear? I mean, whoever was here was in a big 
hurry."

"Fox, don't do this."

He bit his lips and looked up at Diana. She had that mix of fond and sad 
smile that made him feel like loosing up his collar so he wouldn't feel 
so uncomfortable and out of breath.

"I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry. We have more serious issues here. Do you think the 
slides are fake?"

"Fake I don't know, but suspicious. Why would someone send your friend 
those slides now?"

"Whoa!" she said, lifting up her hands in mock surrender and indignation. 
"Are we under investigation? If so, you won't get anything from me 
without my lawyer being present."

He laughed embarrassed. "No, of course not. As I've said, your friend's 
material is really good. It's the heritage I got for working with Scully 
this long. I told you she makes me work hard for proof."

"I'm not Scully. She's no longer part of it. You don't have to work hard 
to prove me anything, Fox."

"She's been part of it for five years now. She's the only element that 
can't be switched off."

"Well, so why isn't she here right now?" This time her indignation and 
hurt were real.

He had this tendency to be a son of a bitch at times. Diana knew that 
already, so no need to voice the words. Apparently she still could get 
his silent messages.

"Chuck got these slides last summer, around August or September. He had 
contacted me, but you had your own issues to care for then." Oh, and 
lash. She still could lash with the subtlest ways that cut deep, slow and 
hard. "This phenomenon follows a kind of schedule we couldn't figure out 
the reason yet. Chuck was hoping we could join forces to find out..."

His cell phone chirped and he went cold inside.

"Mulder."

"You better be in your house already, Mulder."

Shit. 

"Preston, what time..." 

"5:35. Reception starts at 8:00 on the dot."

Double shit.

In a haste Mulder turned off his cell phone, pulled on his jacket and 
almost ran over Chuck and a tray with cups of coffee on his way out. He 
vaguely heard Diana say something about calling Chuck later as she ran 
down the stairs after him.

"Fox?"

A taxi. Where the hell could he find a taxi?

"Fox?" Diana held him by his shoulders. "What the hell was that? You 
almost threw Chuck down the stairs."

"He's okay, isn't he?"

"Yes, of course. Just broken hearted because his idol didn't stay to have 
a cup of Brazilian coffee with him."

Her humor wasn't helping.

"Diana, I have to go."

He whistled, but the taxi that passed him by had passengers.

"Go where? What's the problem?"

"Scully. I... Shit, Diana. What time is it?"

"Time? Twenty to six. Why?"

He organized his thoughts. They were in Culpeper. Culpeper was one hour 
and twenty minutes away from Reston. If he hurried, he could be there at 
seven. Add Christmas traffic to the equation and the conditions of the 
road. It was snowing.

Shit! Holy shit!

"I should have left at five. Shit! Where are the taxis in this fucking 
town?"

"Mulder, calm down."

"Calm down? What part didn't you understand, Diana? I. Should. Be. On. 
My. Way. Home. By. Now." He swirled around himself, but all he saw was 
snow and Diana backing off. "We are going to Quantico ball. Scully told 
me this the whole week not to be late. Damn!"

"Fox, there's time. It won't hurt to miss the beginning of the 
reception."

"Scully wants to see the beginning of the reception. Shit!"

"Fox, calm down. Where's the reception?"

"Herndon, I think. It's fifteen minutes from home, but how the hell will 
I get to Reston until 7:00?"

"What time does the reception start?"

"At 8:00."

"I can drive and drop you by at your house."

Mulder left her talking to herself. Crazy people did that all the time, 
and she must be crazy to think he would let Scully see him inside Agent 
Fowley's car with said agent by his side!

"Okay, Fox. I can leave you somewhere near your house."

There were no taxis. He needed to accept her offer.

Diana was doing her best to drive carefully and talk to him to keep him 
sedated. All he did was check his watch every sixty seconds. And mutter 
sixty shits per minute. 

Shit.
 
Shit. 

Shit. 

Shit.

The drumming started after Diana threatened to throw him out of the car 
for the second time. 

When they turned right on Village Road, he was at peace with his fate. He 
was going to die a very painful and slow death. Scully made her living 
managing sharp objects. His death request would be to have her cutting 
his tongue away, so in his next life he won't be able to say, "Sure, 
Diana, let's talk to your friend in Culpeper County. I just have to be 
home by six."

Seven o'clock. Shit!

"Fox, don't start again. This car is stinking already."

"It's my body decaying. I'm a dead man."

Diana bit her tongue. He saw the amusement in her eyes.

"I should have left the first time Preston called. Hell, I asked him to 
call me so I wouldn't be late. But the slides were so... Damn it! I 
shouldn't have come!"

Diana pulled over.

"What the hell are you doing? I'm already late!"

"What are *you* doing, Fox? Why do this yet again?"

"What are talking about?"

"Fox, you are doing it again. It's exactly like when we were married." 

How dare...

"You have no idea of what you're talking about," he spat at her. "This 
has nothing to do with the time we were married, Diana."

"You're doing to her what you did to me. But with her it's worse, Fox, 
because she walked out, and you walked after her."

"You want me to believe you have Scully's best interests at heart?" he 
snorted. "Give me a break, Diana!"

"I have my interests, Mulder. Agent Scully knows where they lie and so do 
you. Let's see how long it will take you to see where you belong."

He banged the door on his way out of the car.

Between taking a taxi and finally stopping at the front of his house took 
him another seven minutes. Convincing Scully, who was pissed off at the 
door, that he, Mulder, was going to drive her to the reception took 
another three minutes and a hundred dollars to get rid of the taxi driver 
she had hailed and who was asking her if she wanted him to call the 
police.

"Ten minutes," he promised, flying up the stairs.

Shower, four minutes.

Combing hair, shaving, four minutes. Stopping the bleeding from a cut, 
twenty seconds.

Changing clothes, three minutes. 

One minute to use the bathroom and have an overall view of himself.

They left at seven thirty seven. Due to some traffic, Mulder parked the 
car in front of the hotel at seven fifty-six. 

At seven fifty-eight, the muscles on Scully's back moved against his palm 
as he escorted her towards the area were the reception was being held. On 
the other side of the hotel.

At eight-oh-two, he and Scully gave their coats to the hostess hired to 
greet them and check their places in the room.

At eight-oh-three, he saw that Scully was wearing a midnight blue dress 
with spaghetti straps as she rushed into the room, ahead of him.

And at eight-oh-four he saw Preston greet him with a dirty look as Scully 
walked up the stage to accept an honorable mention award for her 
contribution in the last trimester Doctor Karl Foreman had just 
announced. 

"It was a surprise to have my name mentioned at the luncheon yesterday. 
I'd like to thank all of you for welcoming me back. Without your help I 
most certainly wouldn't be here today. And my heartfelt thanks to my 
partner, Fox Mulder. Without him, there would be no purpose to being 
here." She looked at him and Mulder felt his heart freeze. "Without him, 
I wouldn't have come this far." 

Mulder was speechless.

The people in the room clapped their hands in that bureaucratic manner 
that in another circumstance would have made Mulder twist his lips with 
disdain. This evening he had eyes to the diamonds sparking in Scully's 
ears as she made her way back to their table, holding the flowers and the 
small plaque in a tight grip.

She was so wrong.

Without him in her life, she would have made it there sooner.

Shit.

*****

Christmas 12b


From her advantage point she saw Mulder nodding and talking to a chatty 
Karl at their table. His focus, however, was on the dance floor, where 
she waltzed with Agent Preston among other couples.

Mulder was so far from being himself. A glowing shell he had been, 
speechless, responding to stimulation activated by others: talking just 
when someone talked to him, laughing when someone cracked a joke, eating 
the food served in his plate. She liked to fantasize her awarded 
accomplishments in the last trimester had trigged this semi-catatonic 
state. If she didn't know him so well, she would believe the fantasy. 

In truth she had known it was guilt muttering him, and now that her head 
was cooler and her anger and hurt had worn off, she could see he had done 
everything he could to be there for her. In twelve minutes he was sitting 
clean and beautiful and a hundred dollars poorer beside her, driving like 
crazy through the streets of Washington. He had delivered her just in 
time to walk up the stage and get her award and flowers, and had been 
fazed since then. 

He adored her and he was sorry, even if he couldn't have done anything to 
be there earlier. He had been working overtime to be able to take the 
two-week vacation they had planned; she was the one on vacation already. 
He had wanted to go to Europe, she had wanted to stay, and stay they 
would.

He was truly sorry for being late, and so was she for being less than 
comprehensive. Reverse of Job Distress. She was sorry.

"Am I such a bad dancer?"

She tightened her grip on Agent Preston's broad shoulder. "Pardon?"

"If I'm such a bad dancer," Agent Preston repeated, his face bearing a 
gentle smile. "Suddenly you've gotten all stiff. I haven't stepped on 
your toes, have I?"

"No, you haven't stepped on my toes yet," Scully said, loosening her 
fingers and hips, trying to find her pace along with the chords of the 
piano and guitar tuning them. "Don't worry about me. I'm the one wearing 
high heels."

Agent Preston steered them in a semicircle so now both had momentary 
views of their significant others.

"Once at a cousin's wedding all the little girls at the party had wanted 
to dance with me. I spent the next few days with my feet going from a 
basin with cold water to one with hot water, but all the little girls 
happily had stood on my toes."

She got a glimpse of Karl talking to Elise, Agent Preston's sister, who 
also was at their table, and Mulder fidgeting in his seat, stretching his 
neck to find them in the colorful sea of chiffon, satin and tuxedos. In 
sympathy, Elise pointed him the right direction.

"I remember doing this with my father," she said. "Stepping on his shoes 
while we swayed around. He was a good dancer."

"He taught you well. Dancing, not stepping on anyone's toes, Doctor 
Scully."

"He did," she agreed, observing Mulder observe them.

The band started another melodious tune intimate in nature, slowing the 
movement of the other couples and bringing their bodies closer to each 
other. For a moment, she and Agent Preston stood on the dance floor with 
their hands clasped, facing the enigma of what to do next. Then Agent 
Preston looked ahead of him and smiled. He gently let go of her waist and 
squeezed her hand.

"You should save this dance for someone else." 

Agent Preston tipped his head towards their table. Mulder was advancing 
in their direction, his gaze bare and intense on her, determined to have 
his first dance of the night. Agent Preston kissed her hand and left her 
standing there, waiting for the maestro of her life. 

He stood in front of her, arms, legs and tuxedo in a breathtaking view. 
Her legs shook atop her heels, her breathing accelerated, catching and 
flaring her nostrils. Mulder had taken the music into his eyes, and she 
danced to the chords of him. 

The music led them to reach for each other in scales: His arm fluttering 
around her waist, her hand swimming on the softness of the fabric 
covering his chest, feet moving in slow zigzags. 

Fingers entwining over his heart, legs leading them in the dance of a 
lifetime, eyes completing the breadth of their song, they swayed.

"I thought you didn't want to dance with me." 

"I wanted to, Mulder. You didn't ask."

"Did I have to?"

She smiled at him. 

"Absolutely."

His smile and her dress swishing against his tuxedo. Eyes closed and the 
pressure of his digits on the small of her back, they danced away to a 
song they knew by heart. Close to perfection she was.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you," she said, her hand slipping on the lapel of his jacket. "Did 
you like the surprise?"  

"Surprise?"

"Yes. The award, the speech..."

The piano and the guitar, and his frozen feet.

"Were they for me?" 
 
"Yes. That's why I wanted you to see everything from beginning to end." 
She smiled softly. "They were for you."

His eyes widening to the size of his sigh.

"Scully."

And,

Oh, God. No.

His guilt.

She saw the alarm and regret taking over his face. In his blink of eye 
she wished she had said nothing. Still they swayed mismatched heartbeats 
and the drums. However the song she thought would never end had been cut 
short. And then the lights went up and the musicians rearranged their 
tempo into a faster pace. 

"We should go back," he stated.

"Yes." 

They stopped dancing over the dead, and moved back to their thriving 
table.

"Back so soon?" Agent Preston asked.

Mulder pulled out the chair for her and answered, "It's not our rhythm." 

"You can try again on Monday, at your party," Elise said, trying to be of 
some help.

"Your party? What party?" Scully asked.

"People from Hoover, Washington, Norfolk and Richmond field offices are 
holding a party at the public tax payers' expanse on Monday," Agent 
Preston told her. "Hasn't Mulder told you?"

"No," she said, looking at Mulder. Her partner's only answer was to dive 
even deeper in the guilt only she could see. 

From then to the end of the party, every click of crystal wine glasses, 
clatter of silverware, chirp of laughter and chatting, every new chance 
she took at the dance floor with Dr. Foreman, Agent Preston or Mulder 
himself, the slush rolling under Mulder's car as the valet brought it 
back to the front of the hotel, made it clearer and clearer that their 
dance around each other was far from having an end.

Occasional stars faded on the windshield of the car, and the illumination 
coming from the streetlights was gothic and insufficient. However the 
shadow veiling Mulder's face was darker than the night and thicker than 
the silence around them.

She wished she could tell him he wasn't at fault with her, but when it 
came to Mulder, him and the palm of her hands could be twin siblings. She 
wished this comparison weren't so accurate, because sometimes while 
washing her hands after an autopsy, or at the kitchen sink washing 
vegetables for their meal, drops of water glistened and magnified lines 
that for her were new, but that deep down she knew they had been there 
all along. With Mulder it was the same. Most of the times it was a joy 
seeing some traces of Mulder magnify and glisten, but others they seemed 
to sulk and disappear. Unfortunately, as of lately she seemed to be the 
causative element glistening in the wrong way.

She could try and talk to him. When he was in this mood, her eloquence 
was known to be as good and useful as wild wind swirling across a deep, 
desert valley, being carried miles and miles to no end only to fall on 
deaf ears.

Moved by some uncharacteristic romantic idealism, she morphed into wind 
yet again.

"Thanks for coming with me, Mulder." 

He let out a sad snort. "Don't thank me for this, Scully."

"Why not?"

"Because if you thank me it'll sound like I was doing you a favor. Being 
there with you was nothing more than my obligation."

"Don't take me as your obligation, Mulder, because I am not. And I have 
no intention of ever becoming one." 

Her voice was low, but far from being soothing. Her way of warning him 
that nothing would prevent a raging storm if he ever again suggested she 
was his obligation.

For three quarters of mile or so they were lulled by the heating air in 
the car humming warmth onto them, until the weight of the things left 
unsaid could no longer be ignored.

"Is this how you take this whole situation, Mulder? Coming with me this 
evening, going to the Thompson's tomorrow, or visiting my mother next 
weekend? Is it all part of a supposed sense of obligation you have with 
me?"

"No."

"Because I don't want to corner you into doing anything you don't want 
to."

"You are not," he said with impatience, showing some real emotion for the 
first time since she confessed her award was her surprise of the evening 
for him. "I wanted to be here with you just about as much as I want to be 
at the Thompson's with you tomorrow."

"It could mean that you didn't want to come here, and want even less to 
go to the Thompson's tomorrow."

He snorted again, this time in utter disbelief. "It means that I want to 
be around you, Scully!"

"So stop acting like your guilt is doing all the talking - or the lack of 
it - for you!" she hissed back at him.

The veil blackening his face cracked, and she saw a furtive gleam in his 
eyes before he focused his attention back on the road. Oh, God, she 
evoked in her mind, her eyes stinging. She hadn't meant to make him cry. 
Or to cry herself, for that matter. 

Mulder drove the rest of the way in silence, and she remained there with 
him, the back of her gloved hand rasping the window of her door, her 
knuckles scratching the dark, ripping the night open. Occasional stars 
with brief life bled over them until Mulder parked the car at their 
driveway.

She climbed out of the car first and got her flowers and award on the 
back seat. 

She left fake gold award on the table in the hall, took the flowers to 
the kitchen, and wiped the corner of her eyes before Mulder stepped into 
the house.

She arranged the flowers with care in the vase Jason and Caroline gave 
her as a housewarming gift and moved back down the hall.

Mulder had peeled off his gloves and was touching her award with the tip 
of his fingers. She put the vase beside the award and arranged the 
flowers some more, all the while feeling and ignoring his gaze on her.

"Work is an obligation. Having three new partners to be a sorry 
replacement of *one* you is an obligation. Chasing aliens and saving the 
world is an obligation." His fingers trembled when he touched her hand. 
"But being with you is the only thing that makes my life worth living." 

She didn't know who kissed who first, who pulled whose coat off first.

"How can you doubt me?"

...tumbling on heels and legs that were not hers... Almost falling 
backwards... Strong hands gripping her buttocks...

"I don't, Mulder... I don't..."

Lips and hands everywhere, pulling up clothes, pulling down zippers, 
cutting sequence of words and thoughts...

"I love you, I love you..."

...a long padded surface, legs spread on armrest, high heels dangling 
from her feet...

"I wanna be with you..."

"Me, too. Oh, god! Me too."

Impatient hands pulling down her silk hose, a leg between hers bristling 
her bare skin, a bulge nudging her thigh, adding fuel to the bonfire in 
her...

"Only you and me, Scully... You and me."

"Oh, yes..."

Hands pushing her damp panties away, buttons pressed against her belly, 
hands struggling to freed him...

"I love you."

A finger inside of her, a hand, hers, nudging her clit, a cushion 
muffling her moans... 

God!

A hand too rough to be gentle pulling hers away...

"Let me," she moaned.

"I should be doing this for you."

Fingers moving in and out of her, a thumb rolling her away...

"I am no obligation."

"Obligation no. After all this time... Essential. You are essential."

His face disappearing behind a cloud of stars, her body quivering spent, 
soothing kisses along her airline.

"I love you. You are everything. I love you."

The world coming together again with his beautiful face to greet her. 
Mulder fell over her, stealing breath and kisses from her lips. She 
responded in kind, rocking her body under his, getting a hold the 
erection poking her thigh, helping him to stroke himself.

"Scully..."

Locking her legs around him, caressing him from beginning to end.

"Scully."

Panting in his ear it was alright, she wanted him.

"Move. I need you now. Move."

Her tongue linking the sweat in his skin as he moved up...

"NOW!"

Him inside of her, moving her with him fast... faster...

"scullyscullyscullyscullyscullyscullyscullyscully..."

She drawing blood from her pursed lips to hear him call her and call her 
and call her, his ass trembling in her hands.

She loved him. She loved him with a strength that made her scared and 
weak, that made her judge the wisdom of giving herself so freely to 
someone. But she loved him and there was nothing else she could do to 
change it. 

"Essential. You are essential, too, Mulder," she mumbled against his 
shoulder as he exploded inside of her, hoping he wouldn't listen to her 
over his cry, praying he would believe her in his heart some day.

The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the sweat sneaking 
down on Mulder's throat and chest as he breathed. She felt his arms 
around her and his chin on the side of her head. They were sticky all 
over. She felt cold.

"You shivering," Mulder slurred against her temple.

"It's cold."

"I'll let you go. Just give me another minute."

When Mulder eased himself out of her, she scooped up against the arm rest 
of the sofa. Mulder did the same, sitting opposite to her. His pants had 
slid to around his thigh, her lipstick had smeared the front of his 
shirt, their body fluids glimmered in his flaccid penis. His eyes were 
dilated in deep green and she had finger-pull combed his hair in a punk 
style. One of his shoes was gone.

She pushed damp threads of hair away from her face. Her dress had been 
rolled up and pushed down to a thick strip of silk around her midsection, 
her pantyhose torn all over, one high heel forgotten on the rug on the 
floor, the other nowhere in sight. 

She needed a minute or two to understand what had just happened, but the 
first thought that hit her made her panic.

"Mulder, the door! Did you lock the door?"

She stood up on shaky legs, badly straightening her dress and kicking off 
her pantyhose as she wobbled to the door. 

"Scully, I locked it," he said, straightening his pants and following her 
at the same time.

"Did you use the chain?"

"Of course. It's past one in the morning, Scully. No one will come here 
at this time." He took her hand, touched her face. "Relax."

She covered his hand with hers and sat on the coffee table. In four 
months it was the first time they had real intercourse in a room without 
a door to be locked, she realized. They had fooled around in every room 
of the house, but they had moved away to safer areas before things had 
gotten too serious. 

It was pathetic. They were in their house.

"I want it to end, Mulder." Mulder squeezed her hand and sat beside her 
on the coffee table, their hands still entwined. "It's been four months. 
It should be over by now."

"We should do something about it."

"We should," she said in agreement. "But what?"

"It's not our nature to hide, Scully. And we've been hiding since that 
night."

"I know, but we've been doing fine, Mulder."

"I don't question it, but we don't settle for fine." He let go of her 
hand, giving them some space. "Look, we'll be here for the holidays. 
Let's go away for a while after Christmas. We could find a nice inn in 
the countryside to spend New Year's Eve."

She had wanted to stand up, fix her hair the best way she could without a 
comb and frantically look for her high heels as soon as Mulder finished 
saying the word inn. Instead she stayed in her place, looking at him, 
struggling to keep a straight face.

"You know we need this time, Scully." 

"I also need a bath and my high heels for obvious reasons, Mulder," she 
said without thinking. Mulder smiled. "But a trip? Why now?"

"Why not now?"

"Because..." 

She found no words to support her argument, so Mulder kept firing his.

"I have the same fears you do, but we can't stay here forever." She 
opened her mouth to protest, but again he was quicker than she was. "I 
wake up in the middle of the night to make sure the door to our bedroom 
is locked, Scully. I check all the doors and windows before going to bed. 
Sometimes I wake up thinking the light of the sun is a flashlight in my 
face." He snorted, nudging a sad smile from her. "It's been hard for you 
to relax, too. I know it. My paranoia is rubbing off on you."

"Don't think you've got all the praise. This is a collective paranoia of 
ours as far as I am concerned." Both smiled wryly. "But I still think it 
is too soon. We don't need to add more stress to what's already 
happening."

"And what's happening?"

"We both know my mother's was not your first choice, Mulder. And then 
there's this new neighborhood, this new house, your current assignment. 
The loss of the X-Files." Mulder flinched and lowered his gaze to his 
lap. It hurt more than she could ignore. "So why do this now?"

"Because as you said not so long ago, that's how life is going to be from 
now on."

And with that there was nothing else to be said. He was right. He knew 
that, she knew that, they knew what to do next, and she was aware that if 
it didn't work, nothing else would.

She stood up and started collecting their clothes. "I have to clean this 
mess. Why don't you take a shower while I do this?"

"I can help you."

"No. I can do this." She pulled on her high heels and finally looked at 
him. "I can take care of it."

"You don't have to do this alone. You know it."

"I do, Mulder. I do."

He left, stepping hard and with purpose on the carpet, then on he 
hardwood floor in the hall, on the steps of the stairs. She would deal 
with him later, when she was stronger.

Scully checked their coats, saw they were okay, and put them on an 
armchair. The sofa needed some serious cleaning, and she busied her mind 
having supposedly harmless thoughts, such as how Mulder disliked that 
sofa, saying it was too small. They couldn't return it now. Everything in 
this relationship was non-returnable, non-refundable. Whatever they lost 
would be gone forever. She couldn't bear the thought of it.

She picked up his jacket from the floor and hugged it to her chest. 

Why everything had to be so complicated for them? No matter how hard they 
tried to play simpler, something would come up to remind them who they 
were, where they had come from, what had happened. 

She nuzzled her face in his scent and sat on the other armchair. Almost 
instantly she felt something hard poking her buttocks. She turned 
sideways and patted the cushion with her free hand, and came up with the 
leather-bounded Bible Mulder gave her. With his jacket still tight 
against her chest, she opened the bible to the page she had last read 
when they left for the party.

For he maketh the sore, and bindeth up: he woundeth, and his hands make 
whole.

He shall deliver three in six troubles: yea, in seven there shall no evil 
touch thee.

In famine he shall redeem thee from death; and in war from the power of 
the sword.

Thou shalt be hid from the scourge of the tongue: neither shalt thou be 
afraid of destruction when it cometh.

At destruction and famine thou shalt laugh: neither shalt thou be afraid 
of destruction when it cometh.

For thou shalt be in league with the stones of the field: and the beasts 
of the field shall be at peace with thee.

And thou know that thy tabernacle shall be in peace: and thou shall visit 
thy habitation, and shalt not sin.

Thou shalt know also that thy seed shall be great, and thine offspring as 
the grass of the earth.

Thou shalt come to thy grave in a full age, like as a shock of corn 
cometh in his season.

Lo this, we have searched it, so it is; hear it, and know thou it for thy 
good.

She read the passage over and over again. She memorized some of the 
lines; she gave sense to most of them. She counted her losses and 
miracles again and again. In numbers, the blessings had been greater. In 
intensity, there was still so much pain.

So much pain.

"Scully?"

She jumped in her seat. 

"Jesus, Mulder! Don't do this!"

"You never showed up, I couldn't hear you. I came to see what happened."

"I was reading. I..." 

She was still clinging to his jacket, the bible was open on her lap, and 
Job himself was looking at her as if the Lord was about to strike him 
with another raging undeserved punishment.

Suddenly it was too much. She climbed up the stairs and went straight to 
the shower.

She indulged herself under the spray of hot water, shampooing her hair, 
lathering her body with her favorite soap. 

She rubbed her body dry, she pulled on her lover's sweatshirt, saw her 
hair float red and intense as she blew it dry.

She thought about Mulder and about their lives. 

She counted time backwards to five years ago to revisit the Dana Scully 
of those days, a person that hardly fit in the new skin she had grown. 
This new Dana Scully had sharper senses and less innocence, had no fear 
of the unknown but was utterly scared of her own feelings, and for that 
she could not see what she was receiving.

The woman she was facing in the mirror was receiving from life in spades. 
The losses came as downpours, intense and devastating, but brief; the 
gains drizzled in her life everyday, continuously.

In storm days Mulder had offered her an umbrella that didn't prevent them 
from getting soaked to their bones, chilled beyond their skins. They 
stood there, side by side, the raging wind threatening to take their 
protection away, until fate accepts that together they're stronger, 
invincible.

On drizzling days, instead of accepting the hand he offered her, inviting 
her to come out of that precarious shelter they had built, she chose to 
hold the umbrella by herself. His hand remained stretched towards her and 
within her reach.

I still have my work. And I still have you.

You are the only one I trust.

The truth will save us.

You're my one in five billion.

I can't do this without you.

Don't make me stop now.

Come live with me.

His requests were downpour. Life with him was drizzling, from beginning 
to end.

She turned off the light and stepped into the bedroom. Mulder was sitting 
on the edge of the bed, reading the bible in his hands with care. He 
wanted all of her, but he was happy with pieces. It was time to put the 
shreds of her self back together.

She sat beside him and laid her head on his shoulder. He embraced her and 
she closed her eyes, waiting until he was finished. She could wait 
forever.

Finally he rested his chin on the top of her head.

"Why Job?"

"Because sometimes it's good to understand," she said, her need for a 
meaning greater than his. "Make the reservations for New Year's Eve." 

"Are you sure?"

"You are. I trust you." 

She got the bible from his lap and remembered the words. For thou shalt 
be in league with the stones of the field: and the beasts of the field 
shall be at peace with thee. 

There was a little more to say.

"The party on Monday is important to you, isn't it?"

"Not like tonight was for you, Scully. I'm not receiving any award." She 
smiled against his neck. "But I'd like you to see by yourself that I've 
been doing okay. So, yes, this party is important to me." 

"I'll go with you."

"People from that night will be there. Probably all of them."

"And so will you. I trust you to be there for me again."

He pulled her to his arms and buried his nose in her hair, protecting her 
in the cocoon of him. That was it, what she wanted, needed and had.

"I love you, Scully."

He kissed the top of her head.

"I'm scared," she said against his collarbone.

He bent his head down, she lifted hers. Their lips met.

"And so am I."

He made sure the doors and windows to their bedroom were locked while she 
pushed down the bed comforter. He glanced at the bible on her bedside 
table before lying atop of her.

They kissed. They undressed. They touched. 

They didn't spark. 

********
Christmas 13

Scully rolled on her back, exposing her left hand and shoulder to the 
cold air in the bedroom. A string of m's escaped from her parted lips and 
her eyelids trembled. 

In the chair across from the bed Mulder held his breath until her fingers 
stopped moving and the soundtrack of her soft snores once again vibrated 
in their bedroom.

He quickly finished tying his running shoes and pulled on the nylon 
jacket he had left on the back of the chair. A midnight burglar wouldn't 
have been so careful walking around as he was being that morning not to 
disturb Scully. 

The night before they had rubbed each other's skins clean of the day's 
toxin, their open pores welcoming the fresh air into their system. He had 
rested assured that, by pledging his love for her while he pushed his 
body in and out of hers, he had printed in her all of his pride and need. 
She let him drown what should have been a fair argument in their fluids, 
and she fell asleep listening to his heart and believing.

He woke up feeling like he had taken too much and had too little to 
return. She had recurred to the Bible. Job. She had been reading Job, the 
one that had learned to live with losses. Mulder wanted her to have 
everything.

In his dreams of romance and heroism, he took Scully to the moon and saw 
the universe through the wonder in her eyes as she touched and explained 
matter and energy and the solar system. She had rewritten Einstein, and 
he would listen to her rewriting the universe because he knew she would 
provide her balance of things. 

In his awake moments, the answers remained out there, out of their reach, 
visible in the twilight, but hidden in the morning. 

Last night, in the darkness, when they had been enormous, larger than 
life exploring each other, there had been no secrets for him and Scully 
in the universe of their bed. Now in the morning, her face free of any 
make-up and framed with vibrancy by her hair, Dana looked so small, lost 
beneath layers of light-shaded bedspreads and the constellation of 
freckles taking over her face.

Dana. Scully.

It was so damn cold and he belonged in that bed with her, covering her 
shoulders with the extension of his arm, being the compass to fingers 
that seemed so lost against the white pillow cover, sharing the warmth 
that came from her and reached him in waves. 

He closed the door to their bedroom without noise. He had to remember how 
to navigate in the universe by himself.

At the driveway across from their house, Ronald Thompson touched index 
finger to forehead saluting Mulder, who returned the gesture, and 
relieved saw the other man going back inside carrying the morning paper 
with him. If on a good day Mulder dispensed carrying on a chat that early 
in the morning, on a bad day he couldn't stand the thought of another 
human being standing so close to him.

There was a sun hidden behind the white clouds plastered against the blue 
sky. The cold was alive, stilled around Mulder. He outstretched his arms 
high above his head before starting a small section of exercises to get 
ready for his morning run. 

Right leg against his ass. Count to ten. Left leg, ten again. Repeat the 
exercise twice more. Bend left knee, bend right knee. Left, right. Left, 
right. And breathe. Breathe to burn nostrils and lungs, to water eyes and 
set fire in limbs. To cleanse nothing inside of him. 

At the end of ten minutes, he felt like he had been beaten up, and from 
there he got the strength to jog to the end of their block and back to 
the front of the house, getting his legs ready for the run that was to 
come.

"That's what we've got do not to hurt at the end of a morning run?"

Mulder looked behind him and saw Ronald walking in his direction.

"That's what you gotta do to hurt both before and after the morning run," 
Mulder said, diminishing his pace to wait for Ronald.

Ronald whistled, zipping up the front of his jacket. "I'll pass it. 
Aching afterwards is enough for me." 

"There's no way to do this without aching, and once you're all geared up, 
there's no way to stop."

"That's why I don't even start! And don't let me stop you. I see you're 
in a hurry," Ronald said, patting Mulder on the shoulder.

"Perhaps we can do this any other time," Mulder suggested, hopping down 
the street backwards.

"Me running with you?" Ronald laughed. "Forget it! I'm a faithful 
believer Robert E. Simmons Jr. was right when he envisioned Reston."

"How so?"

"Reston was created to be a place were people could walk to stores, 
schools, recreation and even to work. Although the work part was a 
fiasco, I enjoy walking around here." Ronald grinned. "Besides, you move 
too fast for me."

Mulder shrugged, and in his mind he encouraged his neighbor to have it 
his own way. And judging the way he was moving, Christmas would come and 
go without Ronald reaching the curve that marked the end of Comrade 
Place.

Faster Mulder moved. It was a down way, and those days Mulder seemed to 
be having a thing for moving south. Downhill, literally and willingly.

His feet pounded on the wet ground, the only sound breaking the otherwise 
silent white morning, whose thin lines of sunlight pierced through the 
white clouds. Remainders of snow gushed under his feet and trees with 
leafless, bony branches stood their guard on the sidewalk. 

The tunnel that led to death was reported to be white and brilliant in 
the same magnitude it was cold and endless. But Mulder was alive, because 
he breathed and burned when everything else around him was dead for the 
winter. He knew there was an end to the road he had taken. He also knew 
it was in his nature to veer into another one, and another one, and 
another one.

But when his feet met pavement on the next curve, he stopped abruptly, as 
if he had reached the edges of a precipice. Sweating, with his heart 
beating inside his throat, he supported his weight on his elbows and on 
the hands on his knees. 

He wished Scully hadn't needed to link herself to Job. He wished twice as 
hard she would never connect him to her losses and grief. He had lived 
the damage it made to his first marriage, and although he probably had 
lived more good than bad moments with Diana, the grief in her accusatory 
eyes when she told him she wanted out of their marriage had been, hands 
down, the most intense.

Hurting and burning, Mulder stared up the block of streets he had just 
run down. His body ached and he wanted to stay motionless like that, but 
he couldn't let go of the call to move farther away from what he needed 
and wanted, and that was quietly waiting for him in his bed, on the other 
direction. 

If Scully ever looked at him with that same intensity, mother ship 
herself could come and suck up Mulder, because there wouldn't be nothing 
else on this planet for him.

"Told you you move too fast."

"Guess I'm not the young stud I believed I was," Mulder gasped at Ronald, 
who looked at him worried.

"Are you okay, Mulder?"

Mulder nodded, breathing through his mouth. Other than being scared of 
having Scully finally realize she'd been wearing Job's shoes with him, 
Mulder, stepping on her toes for way too long, he could say he was fine.

"You don't look fine," Ronald pulled on his jacket sleeve. "Sorry for 
startling you."

"I'm okay, Ronald. Really," Mulder said, straightening his back. "I 
pushed it this morning. Scully and I had a late night with the dinner 
party at Quantico. I should have done as she did and stay in bed this 
morning."

Ronald laughed. "I'd say we're both crazy for leaving our beautiful 
significant others behind to venture out in this cold morning, but since 
we're already at it, why don't you slow down and come with me?"

"Where?"

"A bakery store in Lake Anne. I'm going to buy breakfast."

"We have bakery stories around here," Mulder said, but Ronald was already 
moving down the street.

"Nora's favorite is in Lake Anne." 

Mulder was known to be a coward when the subject was Scully, so he 
postponed his going back home and waking Scully up to have a serious talk 
with her. Increasing the velocity of his steps, he caught up with Ronald 
at the end of the street.

Mulder followed Ronald along deserted roads and plowed pathways where the 
trees were still naked and the sun hidden behind white clouds, however 
something thrived with life while Ronald told Mulder what he knew about 
Reston history and locations, always pointing up places and saying names. 
Mulder learned that Ronald worked in Town Center the whole week, and that 
sometimes it was good to take a different direction. 

Wanting to believe, Mulder let his neighbor lead their way.

Sugar was a Scully thing, but no way one could resist the warm and sweet 
scent coming from the bakery store Ronald steered him into about forty 
minutes later. 

It was a small place whose main ornaments could be seen on the counters 
and tables spread around the room where rolls, Danishes, eclairs and 
multi-flavored muffins glistened sugary, topped by cherries and berries. 
Cakes iced with whipped cream and strawberries were kept at the right 
temperature in glassy refrigerators to starving eyes. Sleepy attendants 
wearing orange caps and aprons over white sweatshirts moved behind the 
counters attending the few customers who had ventured out that morning. 

With a watering mouth and a stomach that suddenly had grown lots of empty 
spots, Mulder followed Ronald around.

Ronald greeted some of the customers, and most of the attendants had 
stopped what they were doing to tell him good morning. Ronald called them 
by their names and made some small talk, asking about family and if this 
or that had turned up all right, while he and Mulder walked to the row of 
booths on the corner of the room. Ronald stopped at one overlooking rows 
of several kinds of bread. Mulder had barely sat on the booth next to him 
and a man in his late sixties with whitening blond hair and German 
features and motion approached them from behind the counter carrying a 
couple of menus. 

"Good morning, Ronald," said the man with heavy accent, stressing a's 
that shouldn't exist in that sentence. 

"Morning, Mr. Schoeller. How have you and Mrs. Schoeller been?"

"Fine, fine. My Helga has hat zat back problem again, but ozar than that 
we're fine." He turned to Mulder and smiled. "See you fount a companion 
zis morning."

"This is my new neighbor, Fox Mulder. Mulder, Mr. Hans Schoeller, the 
owner of this place."

"Nice to meet you, sir. How have you been?" Mulder asked, smiling.

"Fine, fine. Betta now I haf a new costuma," Mr. Schoeller laughed, loud 
and lively. 

"Mr. Schoeller is always very receptive," Ronald provoked, chuckling too.

"Becoss he's your frient," Mr. Schoeller said, both his hands gripping 
Ronald's shoulder and his eyes registering all his sincerity. "Zis man is 
worz golt!"

"He's embellishing it," Ronald said, waving his hand in a friendly 
dismissive way.

"I am not," Mr. Schoeller said, shaking Ronald's shoulders. "You help all 
my personnel with zeir taxes every year for free!"

"They snatch an extra croissant in my bag when you're not looking," 
Ronald shrugged, giving more importance to the smuggled croissants than 
to the priceless help he gave that people. "And I'll start pushing for 
two if this is how long I'll have too wait to have my latte served." 

Mr. Schoeller served Mulder a stern look softened by the affection in his 
eyes. "He doesn't mean it. And for you, Mr. Mulda?"

"Just Mulder. I'll have a latte, too." Mr. Schoeller left a menu with 
Mulder and went away to place their orders.

"What can I take with the latte?" Mulder asked, skimming the food in the 
menu. 

"Anything here is good, but if you wait a little, a new batch of 
croissants is coming in about," Ronald checked his watch, "three 
minutes."

"Three minutes? You know the schedule of the batches?" Mulder asked, 
closing the menu.

"I come here every weekend, and I usually get the seven thirty batch."

"You've missed this batch." 

Ronald smiled. "All because I got Mr. Schoeller a new customer. It will 
earn me two extra croissants. Besides, there's a new batch every forty-
five minutes. I have my latte and croissant, read the paper and wait the 
next batch to get Nora and Lucy a couple of fresh bagels or whatever 
comes from that door." 

"Every weekend the same thing."

"Every weekend. Saturday is Nora's baking day. Sometimes she tries to 
bake bread, and the truth is her bread sucks," Ronald confirmed, smiling 
to the woman who brought them their lattes. 

Mulder's naive interest triggered by his hearing the word Truth fumed in 
the air with the vapors of the steaming beverage he was taking to his 
lips. He was still to learn how to tame this untrammeled reaction now 
that the Truth could materialize in front of him in the form of a stack 
of unmarked crop circles pictures Diana had showed him, or of a housewife 
with a bad hand for bread. 

"Must be frustrating," Mulder said, enjoying the company, the food and 
the joke far better than he had enjoyed the same package just the day 
before.

"You have no idea of how much! I don't believe in such a thing as 
perfection, but try to convince Nora of this."

Like Ronald, Mulder sipped his beverage, but whereas for the older man it 
was a visible pleasure, for Mulder it was just something to do with his 
tongue and hands while his mind drifted to past definitions of 
perfection. 

Samantha dressed in a bathing suit running on the beach with her arms 
open and the braids on each side of her head flying like the wings of an 
airplane in the sun. His mother and father enjoying a glass of brandy and 
each other in the living room of their old house in Chilmark. Phoebe in 
bed in winter mornings and Diana with flowers in her head walking down 
the improvised aisle in her parents garden on their wedding day. 

He could open decks and decks of snapshots from those days. The feeling 
that he had been at all those places pricked under his skin, but he could 
see himself only in a single shot: down in his former basement daring 
someone inside the FBI Most Unwanted's liar. He stopped being a sense 
memory that day.

As Mulder put his mug back on the counter, the light glowing in the 
lampshade above shone on his beverage and he got a glimpse of himself 
reflected on the brownish liquid. He was lines and scratches that a 
cartoonist decided to save at the eleventh hour because maybe there was 
something that could be done to make him be more than a trembling rough 
draft of the son of a bitch he saw in his latte. 

Mulder looked at Ronald. His latte buddy had his arms resting on the 
counter and his shoulders slumped over, as if the rest of his body was 
trying to catch up with his head, hovering over the mug in front of him. 
A real man who made life perfect to himself.

Sometimes Mulder hated it, that he couldn't have a better grip on the 
son-of-a-bitch version of himself. He wished he could talk about Dana the 
same natural and unplanned way Ronald mocked Nora's bad hand for cakes. 
He wished Scully's failures weren't connected to his presence in her 
life.

A young attendant put a plate with their croissants and two little cups 
with butter and jam before Ronald. He took a chunk of his croissant and 
spread the butter on one half. "Heaven," he sighed full mouth. 

Mulder observed the butter melt and disappear as he coated his own 
croissant. "What do you do about it?"

"About what?" Ronald asked, half munching, half blowing the steam off the 
hot bread.

"Norah must know you don't like her bread."

"She sure does," Ronald said, biting another large chunk of croissant. 
"She also knows that there's hardly a thing I don't like in her. The 
trick is to let her know she aces in almost anything else. It gives her 
enough reason not to fill in for divorce."

Mulder drew off a large amount of latte, swallowing his bitter divorce 
along. He almost gagged.

They used their forty-five minutes to have another latte, Ronald with a 
bagel and Mulder with a raisin muffin, and the small talk Ronald loaded 
him with. 

Mr. Scholler himself packed their fresh bagels and rolls, winking at 
Ronald when he showed him the two extra pastries in his bag. Mulder got a 
couple of bagels with real cream cheese and full-filled cream donuts, one 
for himself and the other for Scully. He wanted to get a strawberry pie, 
but he just had twenty dollars on him. He would make sure to have more 
money next time he went back there. Or maybe he could take Scully there 
one of these days.

If Ronald had been all talk and slow walk on their way to the store, to 
Mulder's amusement and relief now he was all legs walking fast to keep 
his family heavy-bagged breakfast warm when they reached Comrade Place.

Exactly one year ago from today Scully was telling him about her plans to 
go to the West Coast with her mother. Monday would mark another disaster 
anniversary: the first phone call Scully got at her brother's, and he 
didn't even want to go to December 31. 

It wasn't in his power to erase the past or neutralize the damages 1997 
had made. He couldn't dig inside of Scully and root up all the pain. Not 
because his arms weren't long enough, but because there were places in 
Scully he hadn't been allowed to touch yet. He let her shepherd him, 
trusting she knew where they were going. With restrictions, hence his two 
imposed pit stops. 

Yet it seemed, Dana had taken the lead, planing holidays with her family 
and attending social functions. Reading the bible and not giving him the 
earful he deserved for almost making her miss her moment at the dinner 
last evening.

She wasn't asking for anything, only taking what he had offered. He was 
the one who had stopped giving. She had recurred to the bible and Job. He 
didn't know what he could do to change the situation, to make it perfect 
to her. Perfection and Mulder were slots and dabs that didn't fit. He was 
stubborn for keep trying.

He wasn't like Ronald, who seemed to be okay with the concept of as good 
as it get lifestyle he had chosen for himself. Mulder had been tailed to 
fly higher, over clouds, and get a blurred image of what had been left on 
Earth. Even so, from high above he would still recognize Scully, follow 
her and guard her. 

At Comrade Place number 10 the curtains of the windows in the living had 
been pulled apart.

"It seems your lady is already up," Ronald said.

"I hope she's already had her first cup of coffee or I'll catch hell. 
Scully isn't a morning person."

"Breakfast may help." Ronald extended his hand. "It was nice walking with 
you, Mulder. I hope we can do it again."

"In spring. It's too damn cold to just walk," Mulder said, shaking 
Ronald's hand.

Ronald laughed. "You can get used to this. Well, I'll see you later."

"See you."

Mulder closed the door behind him and pulled off his damp jacket looking 
outside the window in the living room. Christmas had hit Comrade Place 
full force. On the corner of the room, he saw Scully's monster Christmas 
tree could use some more ornaments. 

Scully was at the kitchen table with her glasses on. She stopped reading 
the newspaper to look at him.

"Where have you been Mulder?"

He dropped the bakery bag on the table.

"What is this?"

"Breakfast. Eat it now while it's still warm."

She opened the bag and grabbed a piece of the donut. The sugar gummed up 
on her lips and fingers and he wanted to kiss her.

"It's delicious! Where did you get it?"

"Lake Anne. I walked there with Ronald."

"To Lake Anne in this freezing cold?" she asked, grabbing another bit of 
the donut. "Mulder, what were you thinking? Go take a shower while I fix 
the rest of breakfast. Are you still hungry?"

"Not much. Just spare me one of the bagels."

Mulder stayed there a moment longer, watching Scully walk to the counter 
to set the timer of the coffee machine with the steps of someone who knew 
where she was going, and the look of someone who knew something was 
missing but refused to say what it was. 

In their bathroom, under the spray of hot water, he wondered if Scully 
missed switching off Christmas lights.

*****



 Christmas 14

Scully rinsed the last bowl and put it on the drainboard. Drips of water 
rained on the sink as she shook her hands, looking outside the window. 
After the last snow spell, the sky was all bright and blue, but she 
wouldn't let herself be fooled by the lingering weather truce. A storm 
was on the way. It could happen tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, but the 
week wasn't going to come to its end without another strike of power from 
Mother Nature. 

Wiping her hands on the hem of her apron, she walked to the table where 
the cake was cooling down. She covered the cake with a clean dishtowel 
and, not hungry after mixing and whisking the cake dough, she moved back 
to the living room. At the bay window the view was merrier, with snow and 
Christmas ornaments sharing the front of the houses on the street, and 
billows of gray smoke curling themselves above brownish chimneys.

She looked at her half-decorated Christmas tree. Such a huge tree needed 
more ornaments than the ones she had, and Mulder had had no contributions 
of his own to give. She had been living on patience these days, and on 
patience she would live again. So if the front of their house had no 
Christmas lights, ribbons or garlands to greet them, patience. She had 
done her best, exhausted her sources. Mulder had no interest in coming up 
with sources of his own, and she was tired of useless efforts.

Pulling on a jacket, she locked the door and crossed the street to the 
Thompsons to offer Nora her assistance. At least there, polishing silver, 
washing dishes, dusting, vacuuming, or whatever Nora asked her to do, the 
outcome of her efforts would be immediate, tangible. Real.

The silver bells the Thompsons had hung on the door jingled as Lucy 
opened the door to her shouting, "I got it! I got it!"

"Hi, Ms. Scully," Lucy greeted her, faces pink and Squint and her father 
on her tails.

"Lucy, how many times have I told you not to open the door without me or 
your mother around?" Ronald Thompson queried, holding his daughter by the 
shoulders. "I've told you, baby, it's dangerous."

"But it's only Miss Scully, Dad. I saw her crossing the street."

Just them Ronald Thompson looked past the door and saw Scully standing 
there, a bit uncomfortable with the situation. "Lucy, the point is, it's 
still dangerous. What if Ms. Scully wasn't coming here? What if it was a 
stranger?"

Lucy's lips trembled. "But I knew it was Miss Scully, Daddy. I told you 
she was crossing the street. Don't be mad at me."

Ronald caught her up in his arms. "I'm not mad at you, baby. I worry, 
that's it. Come on. Wipe those beautiful eyes and go get your jacket and 
ice-skates. Please, Dana, come on in," Ronald said, watching Lucy and 
Squint go up the stairs. "Kids! You can never be quick enough for them. 
She knows she's not supposed to open the door when she's alone."

"I saw terrible things in the place I came from. You can never be too 
careful with kids these days," Scully said.

"We don't want to scare them off, and they're too young to really 
understand, but we do what we can. Be ready for yours," Ronald said, 
smiling.

"I'll keep that in mind," Scully replied, eyes down, smile askew, the 
extra lump in her throat twitching. "But is Norah in?"

"Oh, yes, yes. She's in the kitchen. She's been there since early 
morning. See if you can take her away from there for a few minutes." 

"I'm afraid I'll talk kitchen duties with her, but I'll do my best." 

On her way to the kitchen, Scully got a glimpse of the tree and its 
branches with red and yellow glass balls and longing silver tinsels 
resting safe in a corner in the living room. Each doorframe had a silver 
bell framed by a mistletoe and a red ribbon. The smell of sugary spice 
that had greeted her when Lucy opened the door was stronger in the 
kitchen. The walls, the whole atmosphere of the house pulsated carols of 
Christmas past, and Scully asked the angel trumpeting a silent song on 
the kitchen door what had possessed her to think Nora needed her help.

"Dana, what a nice surprise!"

A little startled, Scully looked ahead of her to find Nora smiling at the 
kitchen table. A smile so brilliant and natural that made Scully want to 
run back to her house and half decorated tree because she feared that was 
all of Christmas she could handle.

"Nora, we're going!"

"BYE, MOM!!"

"Bye, sweets! Be careful at the lake!" Nora shouted back to her family. 
Squint barked. "You be careful, too, momma's ball of fur." When the front 
door thudded closed, Nora sighed relieved. "A couple of hours in peace, 
at last." 

The daze slowly drifting off, Scully walked to the table. "I came to see 
if I could be of any help, but it seems like you have everything under 
control."

"I had the house cleaned yesterday, and Lucy helped me to polish the 
silver this morning. Right now I could use the company of someone that 
doesn't demand my attention every five minutes," Nora invited, already 
pulling a chair for Scully. Albeit reluctantly, she sat down.

On the table there was a vast assortment of dehydrated flowers, multi-
sized and shaped clear glass vases and a couple of bags with small 
pastel-polished pebbles of irregular shapes. There was also a tray with 
several cut strings peaking out of geometrical tin molds and bottles with 
different pigments and scents. 

"Are those candles?" Scully asked.

"Yes." Nora stuck a branch of blue iris in a glass globe whose bottom had 
been filled with polished pebbles. "They're the evening decoration. We're 
sharing the cook responsibilities, so I had loads of free time to do 
this."

"And what are you doing now?" Scully asked, eyeing the glass globe in 
Nora's hand.

"Decorative vases. I saw them on one of those daytime TV shows and bought 
some magazines." Nora selected a branch of Snap Dragons and carefully 
fixed it next to the Iris. Their colors contrasted beautifully. 
"Everything they said is a lie. It's not cheap nor easy, but it's so 
beautiful I can't resist." Nora chuckled and Scully caught herself 
smiling. "Can you give me some pebbles, Dana? This branch is a little 
loose. No, the smaller ones. Thanks. So, how's the cake for the party 
tonight?"

"Cooling on the kitchen table. I baked a medium pan. It's enough, isn't 
it?"

"Oh, sure! Marleen will bring another dessert and we'll be full with 
dinner. Melinda makes the best stuffed turkey I've ever had." Nora put 
aside the vase she had been working and got another one. "I hope you and 
Mulder enjoy our gathering."

"We will. It was very nice of you to invite us."

"It was our pleasure, Dana. We wanted to cause a good impression on the 
law enforcement. Does Mulder work in the tax department?" Nora, 
whispered, some of her good humor rubbing off on Scully.

"Mulder? No, he wouldn't have lasted a day in the tax department. He's a 
profiler, one of the bests ever within the Bureau. Now he's a field 
agent, only going back to profiling occasionally."

"Have you worked with him?"

"We used to be partners. Everything I know about field work I learned 
with him," Scully said with a small smile that had surfaced as she 
remembered how easily Mulder molted into the environments they worked in, 
becoming as vast and silence as open fields, standing as tall and solid 
as the buildings in the city, growing as thick and dense as the countless 
forests they had explored.

Turning as cold as the icy ground in Antarctica in a blink of eyes. 

"So you used to be a field agent, too? The kind that carries a gun and 
all?" Nora asked with interest, to what Scully nodded, pursing her lips. 
"Oh, Dear! And here I am talking about daytime TV shows, homemade candles 
and decorative vases! I must be boring you to tears." 

"No, you're not," Scully rushed to say. A part of her, however, the part 
that had seen the other side of life, that had fought what there was of 
worse on Earth and that had done her best to make it a safer place, 
couldn't phantom how someone could live on so little.

"You're not," Scully said again. "For an outsider like you, perhaps 
there's something glamorous in being a federal agent, the authority and 
all. For us that have been there, done that, it's a dangerous line of job 
that made us proud of course, but that has problems all the same. We're 
low paid, Nora, and if something goes wrong, we're the only ones to be 
blamed for our stupidity. If we do something good, we did no more than 
our obligation. And that's how life goes for us."  

"Are you still a field agent, Dana?"

"Not anymore. I'm a pathologist, one of those who do the background work 
looking for evidence and get even less recognition."

Nora got a bunch of pebbles and started whisking the yellow ones out of 
the pile. When she was done, she got another pile and started all over 
again. "I'm a housewife, Dana. Do you want any less recognition than 
that?" Scully sat aback and felt her face getting pink with awkwardness.
"You've made the same face Christina makes when I talk to her about 
this." 

Nora grinned and Scully felt even more embarrassed. 

"I may have a job, but I've also always cared for my house," Scully said 
a little too passionately to be natural, squeezing her way out of this. 
"I certainly know how hard it is and respect the women who can make it."

"You know, the other way around is also true. I got a degree in business 
administration and the greatest job offer I couldn't have ever dreamed 
about getting. On the other side of the country. I didn't think twice to 
kiss it bye-bye when Ronald proposed for the second time," Nora said, 
arranging a new layer of yellow pebbles in the vase. "For most people I 
knew at that time, I was out of my mind, giving up a job with the 
promises of a millionaire future to get into a marriage at twenty-two. I 
got the husband, the marriage, the kids, the dog."

Nora talked without bitterness or self-deprecation. Perhaps with a little 
embarrassment, yes, but not like someone who regretted, who wished things 
were different or had the curiosity to know what the other choice would 
have been like. 

Less than ten minutes ago, Nora had told her she could use the company of 
someone who didn't demand so much of her for a couple of hours. Scully 
knew a couple of hours was all Nora would be able to tackle. Scully knew 
because with her it wouldn't be any different. This need to be around 
Mulder, to have his energized silence or loud ramblings buzzing around 
the house, sometimes getting on her nerves, sometimes making her company, 
had become the most essential part of her. Without him she could 
function, without him she could carry on. Without him, without it, she 
could exist, but *be*? 

No, never.

"Gosh, Dana! Here I am bothering you with my housewife talking again," 
Nora said in terms of apology, but with a smile that told Scully she was 
far from being sorry for exposing that part of her past that made her be 
the happy woman, mother of two she was today. Scully felt that 
satisfaction full of flaws and occasional frustrations pouring from the 
other woman to channel into her. 

"You were not bothering me, Nora. Not at all," Scully said, smiling. "It 
seems like you've only gained with your choice."

Leaving another bunch of pebbles piled on the table, Nora fully looked at 
Scully. "Sometimes seeing Christina or some other friend from college I 
still have contact with, I wonder, what if? If I had taken the other 
choice, life could still have been good for me, for Ronald. But what 
about my children, my life in here?" Nora opened her arms wide, the shape 
of her hands making a faint shadow on the table, spreading wings that 
protect the house from all the evils. "Even with everything that doesn't 
work, this is perfection, Dana. *I* wouldn't be able to live without 
this."

Scully shared a smile with Nora and helped her to separate more pebbles, 
orange this time. Her fingers lingered on the lilac stones she found, 
their unbalanced tones of purple and white reminding Scully of cold 
winter wind with the promise that spring would come next.

Nora pushed a tall glass vase in Scully's direction. "This is one of my 
favorite colors, too. Why don't you try it?"

The vase had the texture of paper and the fragility of fine crystal. 
Scully feared she was going to shatter it in thousands pieces.

"Nah!" Nora assured her. "The opening of the vase is wide. The trick is, 
take your hand inside until you're almost touching the bottom. Just then 
open your hand and let the pebbles go."

Scully did as she was told. The smallest pebbles shushed on the glass 
like rain blessing the earth. Lots of rain, lots of blessings tuned their 
work for some time.

"Nora?"

"Hum?"

Scully admired the long, purplish rose she had stuck in her vase, for 
once giving a new life to the dead rather than demanding answers from it. 
"We gain because we chose right."

Nora petulantly waved a yellow branch of buttercup in the air. "But I get 
to see the classical Marta Stewart!"

With different pitches but akin enthusiasm, both women laughed and 
continued their work talking about trivialities and bad shows on TV, and 
the prices of good at the local supermarkets. Nora served them a chewy 
homemade apple bread ( "Marta Stewart can go wrong, too", she said in her 
defense ) and they drenched it down with lots of strawberry tea. Slowly 
the packages of pebbles ran empty as they brought to life artificial 
flowers through their glassy memorial service. When the last vase was 
finished, Nora stood up.

"They're ready to be filled with water, then we can add the paraffin to 
the top."

"They're candles, too?" Scully asked with silly wonderment and Nora 
nodded. "I couldn't have imagined it."

Nora laughed. "I told you that Marta Stewart is a genius. It's a shame 
that woman is not better appreciated."

"Nora, I can't believe you're still here!"

Scully looked up to see Ronald Thompson entering the kitchen, rubbing his 
hands together to skip cold.

"I can't believe you're already here!" Nora retorted. "You'd promised 
Lucy the whole week you'd take her ice-skating to stay there half hour 
with her?"

"Half hour?" Ronald challenged, serving himself a cup of tea. "We were 
out for over two hours, and we've been outside for the last fifty minutes 
with Mulder. By the way, Dana, the front of your house looks... 
interesting," he said, chuckling.

"Three hours?" Nora looked at the clock on the wall and covered her lips 
with the tips of her fingers. "Dana, we've spent half the afternoon 
here!"

But Scully had her mind in another matter. "The front of my house? What's 
he...?"

Ronald chuckled. "You better go there to see. Lucy is helping him. 
Where's my tool box, Nora?" 

"In the basement, where else?"

"Okay. I'll lend Mulder my new hammer. His is too small," Ronald said, 
using the kitchen passage to go to he basement.

"Nora, I have to go," Scully said, standing up. "I don't know if I trust 
Mulder with a hammer, old or new."

"You shouldn't! They get all macho using their tools, but never know what 
they're doing with them," Nora chuckled. 

Scully pulled on the jacket she had left on the back of the chair and 
patted the keys in her pocket. Her heart raced with chilling 
anticipation, afraid to wonder what Mulder was coming up with.

"Dana, here. Take this." 

In her hands Nora had the first vase Scully had made 

"Nora, it's for tonight," Scully replied.

"It's yours. Take it," Nora insisted, shoving the vase in Scully's hand.

"I..." Scully swallowed her words, pushed back the emotion building tears 
in her eyes. "Thank you very much, Nora."

"Thank you, Dana, for everything. It's been a fun afternoon." A crash and 
a curse were heard in the basement and Nora rolled her eyes. "Told you 
so! Now go save your house that I'll see if I can still save my 
basement." Waving goodbye, Nora disappeared at the same door her husband 
had. 

With the solitaire rose standing lonely and still, but full of life in 
the lilac ground, Scully left the Thompson's house.

First she saw Mulder standing taller on the second or third step of the 
ladder they had bought for the moving in. Lucy was sorting through a big 
box at the bottom of the stairs to the house. Lucy came up with a string 
of something red and gleaming. She climbed up the remaining stairs and 
gave Mulder the string. When Lucy was back at the bottom of the stairs, 
sorting through the box again with Squint at her feet, Mulder started 
hammering the end of the string above the door. He had already done the 
same with the living room window - where he had also put some green 
strings - and the banister of the front stairs.

The cold dried off the tears filling her eyes. 

The closer Scully got to their house, the louder the crescendo of 
Mulder's banging the wall and Lucy's rambling got.

"I still think Bugs Bunny plays basketball better than Michael Jordan, 
Mr. Mulder."

"In the movie Michael Jordan taught Bugs Bunny everything."

"But Bugs Bunny played better than him! Next you'll tell me that Popeye 
is stronger than the Powerful Girls!"

"But he is!"

"He's not!"

"Hey, hey! What's happening here?" Scully patted Squint's head, avoiding 
looking at Mulder. Not yet.

"Hi, Miss Scully!" Lucy said, standing up. "I'm helping Mr. Mulder."

"I can see. You're doing a nice job. The front of the house looks 
interesting with all those apples. Are they edible?"

Lucy giggled. "You can't eat them, Miss Scully."

"I thought so." 

Scully passed under the ladder to get to the front door.

"You shouldn't do this, Scully. It's bad luck," Mulder, who had a nail 
craved between his teeth, warned her.

Scully smiled up at the blue sky, but mostly at him and his exposed belly 
bottom, loving the way he breathed and made her alive. 

"It's my choice."

From above Mulder cracked a smile, and Lucy came up with a new argument 
to prove her heroines' supremacy over Popeye. Inside the house, Scully 
put the pie for their late lunch in the oven, listening to Mulder's 
hammering over-tuned and highly blessed Christmas carols on the
walls of their house.

Later in the evening she and Mulder shared a table with some good people 
that knew nothing on alien conspiracy to take over the world. She saw 
Mulder grinning like silly when Neil Sheridan helped himself with a third 
slice of the cake she had made and offered her society in the candy shop 
he was to open with Nora some day. She saw Mulder turning red when they 
shared a caste kiss after all the Secret Santa gifts had been given and 
opened, and Christina handed her a surprise housewarming gift in the name 
of the whole neighborhood.

And even later, behind the security of locked doors and windows in their 
bedroom, as she held Mulder inside of her in their bed, grasping his back 
just before night exploded in a rain of falling stars, she realized how 
right her life was, and that it had been her choice that led her to that 
moment.

Her choice.

And she always chose right.

*****

Part three of this series has not yet been written but Dri still has plans
to finish it.  Keep an eye on her Live Journal to see how that's coming along.
http://dri-br.livejournal.com/