Build a man a fire, and you keep him warm for a single night.  Set a
man on fire, and you keep him warm for the rest of his life!
==========================
My fanfic wants to keep you warm:
http://www.avalon.net/~publius/MyStories.html
And here's the page of recs that light *my* fire:
http://www.avalon.net/~publius/MyRecs.html

TITLE:  Summer's Lease 
by Brandon D. Ray

BEGUN:  December 25, 1999
FINISHED:  January 26, 2000

EMAIL ADDRESS:  publius@avalon.net

DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT:  Anywhere is fine, so long as my
name stays on it and no money changes hands.

FEEDBACK:  Go ahead; knock yourself out.

SPOILER STATEMENT:  Most of the mythology episodes
from "Redux II" through "Amor Fati".  Also: "Lazarus", 
"Fight the Future", "Tithonus" and "The Unnatural".

TIMELINE:  Takes place in the summer of 2000.

RATING:  NC-17

CONTENT STATEMENT:  MSR.  Explicit sex.  MulderAngst. 
ScullyAngst.  Sc/O (past)

CLASSIFICATION:  Story, Romance, Angst

SUMMARY:   Just as Mulder and Scully have finally 
consummated their relationship, a man from Scully's
past reappears.  But will his intrusion bring the
partners closer?  Or drive them apart?

THANKS:  To Brynna, Robbie, Sharon & Trixie, for 
beta etc.

DISCLAIMER:  In my dreams...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Summer's Lease

by Brandon D. Ray
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate: 
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, 
And summer's lease hath all too short a date 

                  Sonnet #18
                  William Shakespeare

PART 1:  JUNE

========= 
Chapter One 
=========

Scully no longer enjoyed waking up alone.

In the past, it had been different.  As recently as six
months ago, she had cherished those first few moments of
consciousness.  They had been her quiet time; her refuge. 
They had given her an opportunity to center herself and get
her emotional bearings, before she had to face the rest of
the world.

But now everything had changed.  Now, she was with Mulder. 
And while they didn't sleep together all that often, Scully
was finding that she missed him more and more on those
mornings when he wasn't there.

The thing was, this wasn't supposed to be one of those
mornings.  Scully frowned as she regarded the indentation on
the other pillow.  He had been there last night, when she
went to sleep.  His sleepy, bedroom eyes were the last
things she saw before she drifted off.  She also had
distinct recollections of cuddling up against something warm
and comfortable in the middle of the night.  So he had been
there.

The question was, where was he now?  It was Sunday; they
didn't have a case pending, and he didn't have any plans
that she knew of.  So where was he?

She rolled over in bed, and squinted at the clock.  11:45. 
And Mulder's clothes were neatly folded and hanging over the
back of the chair in the corner, so the odds were good he
was still here in her apartment somewhere.  A slow smile
spread across Scully's face as she considered the matter. 
Apparently it was time for a Mulder Hunt.

She threw back the covers and rolled out of bed.  Pausing
only long enough to grab her robe and pull it on, she
stepped out into the hallway and headed down to the living
room.

And there he was, just as she'd more or less expected.  Fox
Mulder lay sprawled out on her living room carpet, reading
the Sunday funnies, wearing nothing but his glasses and a
pair of light gray boxer shorts.

Oh, boy.

Scully paused for a moment in the entryway, and allowed her
gaze to rake over ther partner's body.  He seemed to be
absorbed in the newspaper, but she knew better; Mulder was
always aware of her presence.  No matter how quiet she tried
to be, he always seemed to know when she was there.  As she
lingered over the planes and angles of his shoulders and
upper back, he raised himself up slightly and stretched
theatrically, causing the muscles in his back to ripple in a
most satisfying way -- and Scully felt a smile spreading
across her face.

Without giving it another thought, she stepped lightly
forward, shedding her robe as she went.  As she approached
Mulder's prone body, she dropped to her knees, straddled his
hips, and stretched herself out on top of him.  She leaned
down, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the back of
his neck.

"Well good morning to you, too, Agent Scully."  Her
partner's amused voice rumbled through his back and against
her chest, low and intimate and pleasing.  "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," she breathed, allowing her lips to browse languidly
around to the side of his neck.  "Right up until the moment
that I woke up and discovered that you'd deserted me."

"Deserted you, Scully?" he asked, gesturing awkwardly at the
newspaper in front of him.  "Never.  I just had to get my
'Dilbert' fix."

Scully flicked out her tongue, and traced the line of the
tendon running from Mulder's shoulder to just below his ear
-- and she smiled happily as he shivered slightly.  "So ...
did you get your fix," she whispered,.  He didn't answer,
and she took his earlobe between her teeth and bit down
sharply.  "Mulder?  Are you ... satisfied?"

Stil he didn't say anything, and now Scully brought her
fingers to bear on the problem, sliding her hands under his
arms and around to his chest, until she found his nipples. 
They quickly puckered under her ministrations, and then she
pinched them each firmly between thumb and forefinger, at
the same time biting down on his shoulder, not quite hard
enough to draw blood.

Mulder moaned.

"You know, Scully," he said, obviously trying desperately to
maintain a facade of cool, "if you really want to get
anything out of this, you're going to have to let me turn
over."

"I dunno, G-man," she murmured, now licking delicately at
the spot she had bitten.  "I like you just the way you are. 
Vulnerable, that is.  Helpless."

"Helpless?"  Mulder flexed the muscles of his butt, causing
them to rub against the insides of her thighs, and sending
bolts of warmth shooting through her abdomen.  "You think
I'm helpless?"

"Y-yeah ...."

But she didn't have a chance to complete the thought. 
Suddenly, Mulder was a flurry of motion, and Scully couldn't
suppress a low shriek as he bucked and heaved beneath her. 
And the next thing she knew, she was lying on her back, with
her partner hovering over her, his weight balanced on his
forearms, and a gleam of desire in his eyes.

"You cheated," she complained, even as her hands were
lightly tracing the outlines of his shoulder blades. 
Mulder's smile broadened, and he lowered his head and
applied his mouth to her neck -- and for a few minutes, Dana
Scully lost the capacity for speech.

God, he was good at this.  She knew from gossip she'd
overheard from time to time in the ladies' room at the
Hoover Building that other women in the Bureau suspected
what Mulder could do with those full, sensitive lips.  But
only she knew.  Only Dana Scully had firsthand experience
with this particular extreme possibiity.

Mulder's hips shifted against her pelvis, and Scully became
aware that her fingernails were digging into his back, and
that she was biting down on his shoulder again.  She could
not remember ever letting go like this with a man -- not
with anyone before Mulder.  But at times during their
lovemaking she would lose herself for what seemed like hours
-- and then suddenly she would come rushing back into her
own desperate, needy body.

The first couple of times it happened, the loss of identity
and control had scared her.  It went against her every
instinct to let it all go like that.  But she had quickly
become addicted to the feeling, finding it to be
surprisingly liberating and intoxicating.  Somehow, it made
all her troubles go away, at least for a short while.

As long as it was Mulder, she thought, distantly and
disjointedly.  Only Mulder could make her feel safe enough
to allow this to happen.

She let go of him long enough to slide her hands down his
back -- and frowned as her fingers came in contact with
something other than skin.  Boxers, she realized.  The louse
was still wearing his boxers.

"You're overdressed," she complained, slipping her thumbs
into the waistband and tugging downwards.  Mulder chuckled
softly, still caressing her neck and shoulder with his lips
and tongue, and lifted his hips slightly, allowing the
elastic to be pushed down off them.

Oh, yessss ... that was much better.  Scully murmured
something inarticulate as Mulder's erection sprang free of
its cotton prison and brushed lightly against her soft mound
of curls.  She shuddered, and couldn't keep herself from
rubbing her body against his, taking special care to grind
her groin against his.

She heard her partner chuckle again, and she lifted her
mouth from where it continued to bite, nibble and lick at
his neck and shoulder, and looked up into his eyes.  He was
gazing right back down at her, and Scully found herself
suddenly short of breath at the naked passion and desire she
saw there.  All of that was for her; every last bit of it. 
They were both on fire, and there was only one way to quench
it.

"Mulder," she whispered, bringing her hands up again to
clutch at his shoulders, and at the same time wrapping her
legs loosely around his waist.  "Mulder ... do me.  Do me
hard."

Mulder chuckled again, and dipped his head to capture her
lips with his own.  He shifted his hips slightly, and
somehow managed to enter her without the benefit of a
guiding hand, sliding in all the way to the hilt in one
hard, smooth, stroke.

Scully's eyes fluttered shut at the instant of their
joining, and she moaned into his mouth, her tongue meeting
his in wordless celebration of the union.  Her fingernails
were digging his back again as she tried to pull him closer,
and Mulder, himself, was making low, gutteral noises of
pleasure.

Abruptly, Mulder withdrew from her, only to slam back in,
even harder than the first time.  Scully tightened her arms
around him, and threw her hips upwards into his stroke.  It
was so good; so very good.  It was just what she wanted;
just what she needed.  And then he repeated the motion, and
again, and again ... and with each thrust she felt herself
flying higher and higher ....

They broke the kiss, and Mulder pressed his forehead down
against hers.  Scully forced her eyes open, wanting to see
him, wanting to taste him with her eyes as well as her
mouth.  His own eyes were squinched tightly shut, his
features were contorted in passion and pleasure, and he was
breathing through his mouth in rhythm with his lower body's
hard, steady, strokes ....

Her own body was responding, of course, keeping perfect time
with his, rising up to meet his downward motions.  She was
already so close; so very, very close.  Scully could feel
her control slipping away once again, and she willingly let
it go, allowing her love and need and desire to take over
....

And then she was there, the wave was cresting, and it keep
building and building and building, it was never going to
stop, it would just carry her along, and it would carry
Mulder along, too, and he was groaning and crying out as he
emptied himself into her spasming body ....

"God."

Scully was distantly aware of her partner's voice floating
to her from ... somewhere.  She realized that her eyes were
closed, and forced them open once again, to see Mulder's
face hovering over her, his eyes a dark, dark green, his
features soft and open and slick with perspiration.

"Scully," he whispered, reaching up with one hand to stroke
her face.  "Oh, Scully."  He shook his head and smiled
ruefully.  "We should videotape ourselves sometime.  We
might be excused from the annual physical training
requalification."

Scully couldn't keep herself from bursting out laughing. 
"God, Mulder," she giggled.  "You're such an idiot."  She
cupped the back of his head with one hand and drew him down
for a soft kiss.  "But you're my idiot.  And I wouldn't have
it any other way," she murmured against his lips.  She moved
her hips slightly as her tongue gently explored his mouth. 
He was still semi-erect and inside her; perhaps, if she
played her cards right --

And the phone rang.

For a moment she was tempted just to let it go -- but Dana
Scully could no more ignore a ringing telephone than she
could uncritically believe in the existence of
extraterrestrial biological entities.  And so she broke the
kiss, and sighed, and with an apologetic smile to Mulder she
slipped out from under him and crawled over to the end table
next to the sofa, grabbing the receiver from its cradle just
before her voicemail would have picked up the call.

"Scully."

"Dana, this is your mother."

"Mom."  Scully suddenly felt nervous and a little
embarrassed -- as if she were a teenager who'd been caught
with her boyfriend in her bedroom.  She had not yet told her
mother of the advent of her personal relationship with
Mulder.  This was at least partly because of her memories of
the stern disapproval both her parents had expressed when
she was with Jack Willis.  "How was Mass?"

"Church was fine," her mother replied -- and Scully thought
she detected an odd note of ... tension? ... in the older
woman's voice.  "I'm sorry you weren't able to be there. 
Father McCue sends his regards."

There was something wrong, Scully thought, turning in place
so that she was sitting with her back leaning against the
sofa.  Oh, her mother did nag her from time to time about
her poor church attendance, but this was something else --
something with more of an edge to it.

"Dana, Jim was in church this morning."  Mrs. Scully's voice
was flat and unemotional, as if she were reporting that it
was raining.

"Jim?"  For a few seconds Scully was unable to process her
mother's statement.  Jim was in church?  This morning?  She
detected motion out of the corner of her eye, and realized
that Mulder was climbing to his feet, presumably in search
of coffee, and perhaps clothes.  Before she could
second-guess herself, she reached out and grabbed his hand,
firmly holding on until he settled back down.  She then
pulled slightly on it, and he scooted over until he was
sitting next to her on the floor.

"Yes, Jim," her mother affirmed, after a moment or two of
silence.  "You do remember Jim, don't you?"  The edge in the
older woman's voice was even more obvious and pronounced
than it had been at the beginning of the call.

"Of course I remember him," Scully replied, more sharply
than she'd intended.  She felt Mulder's arm sliding around
her shoulders in apparent concern, and she sighed slightly
and leaned in against him.  "How ... how's he doing?"

"He seems to be fine," Mrs. Scully answered.  "He's just
moved back to the area; says he's taken a position at Johns
Hopkins."

"Johns Hopkins," Scully repeated flatly.  "That's in
Baltimore."  A feeling of unreality was rapidly descending
on her.  She felt numb; dazed.

"Yes, it is," her mother replied, her tone confirming her
daughter's unspoken commentary:  a man who was working and
-- presumably -- living in Baltimore had driven all the way
to Alexandria, in order to attend the Scully family's
traditional church.  "He asked about you," the older woman
continued.  "But I didn't know what to tell him."

Scully paused and thought about that one for a moment.  What
should her mother have told him?  That she was doing fine
without him?  That would have been the simple truth, but it
wasn't Mrs. Scully's style -- and besides, there were other
issues.  Scully shook her head.  This wasn't getting her
anywhere --

"Dana, I've invited him to dinner on Friday.  I'd like for
you to be there, too."

Scully pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it
for a few seconds in disbelief.  Had she heard what she
thought she'd heard?  She was suddenly acutely aware of
Mulder's body tensing next to hers, and his arm around her
shoulder tightening a little -- and she realized that he
didn't understand any of what was going on.  She reached out
with her free hand and lightly stroked his knee, trying to
reassure him, and returned the telephone receiver to her
ear.

"Mom," she began, "I don't know --"

"Dana!"  Now it was her mother's turn to speak sharply. 
"It's just for an evening.  It won't do you any harm at all,
and it might do some good."  Finally, her voice seemed to
soften, just a little.  "And it would mean a lot to me ...
and to your father, I'm sure."

Scully closed her eyes in resignation.  Anytime her mother
invoked her father's memory, she knew she'd lost.  And so
she sighed, and said, "Fine, Mom.  I'll be there.  What
time?"

"Eight o'clock will be fine," her mother replied, her voice
low and calm once more.

"Eight o'clock," Scully repeated.  "On Friday.  And mom ...
it's just for dinner.  You do understand that, don't you?"

The pause was just long enough that Scully wasn't sure
whether to take the answer at face value.  "Of course, dear.
 Now I've got to run.  You have a nice day, and I'll see you
on Friday."  And the connection was broken.

Scully sat quietly on the floor for several minutes after
the call ended, leaning against the couch, still holding the
receiver in her hand.  This was not happening.  It couldn't
be happening.  That part of her life was long since over;
she'd moved on, and she didn't need to revisit it ....

She was brought back to the present as Mulder gently took
the receiver from her hand and leaned across her to place it
back in the cradle.  She turned her head and continued to
watch him as he settled back down next to her, his other arm
still around her shoulders.  His face was bland,
expressionless -- but she knew that was just a facade. 
Inside, she was sure that he was full of worry and concern
over her, plus a healthy dose of his own trademarked doubts
and insecurities.

She had to put a stop to that.  Now.  The problem was in
figuring out just how to go about it, and what to say.

The old Scully -- the Scully of six months ago -- would not
have had any difficulty dealing with this, of course.  The
old Scully would have ignored the matter, and gotten up to
dress and fix breakfast.  And if Mulder actually dared ask
any questions, the old Scully would have simply told him
that she was fine.

Fine.

But the old Scully was gone, she reminded herself, as she
cuddled a llittle closer to her partner drawing strength and
reassurance from the warmth of his body and the feel of his
skin against hers.  The old Scully was gone, and in her
place was the new Scully.  The new Scully had committed
herself to a personal relationship with Fox Mulder, and she
was determined to be open and honest with him about her
wants and needs -- and she was equally determined to do her
best to see to *his* wants and needs.

She was drawn from her introspection as Mulder abruptly
shifted his weight; in the next instant, he'd scooped her up
in his arms and pulled her into his lap.  Scully's body had
tensed as he started to lift her; now she forced herself to
relax, and she allowed him to cradle her securely against
his chest.

This was better, she thought, as she brought one hand up to
rest on his shoulder.  Much, much better.  Just being in
contact with Mulder helped her to ground herself, and regain
some perspective.  This really wasn't that big a deal, after
all.  It was embarrassing, and it was probably going to be
awkward, but that was all it was, and she could deal with
that.  *They* could deal with that, she amended in her mind.

"I suppose you're wondering what that phone call was all
about," she said at last.  Mulder didn't say anything, but
began gently stroking the outside of her thigh with one
hand.  "Mom ...."  She let her voice trail off, unsure what,
exactly, she wanted to say.  Dammit, it shouldn't be this
hard.  Why was she having so much trouble finding the words?

"I take it your mother bumped into someone at church this
morning," Mulder said at last, his voice low and hesitant,
as if he were afraid that he was treading on eggshells.

"That's right," Scully agreed, nodding her head against his
chest and silently blessing him for helping her move things
along.  "His name is Jim.  Jim Street.  He's someone I knew
... a long time ago."  Scully realized that the moment of
truth had arrived -- and she had a sudden rush of empathy
for how Mulder must have felt the day that Diana Fowley
reappeared in his life so unexpectedly.  She took a deep
breath, and added, "In fact, he's my ex-husband."

The silence that followed this announcement was nothing
short of deafening.  For a pair of minutes, Scully clung to
Mulder's chest, just listening to his heartbeat, not daring
to lift her gaze to meet his.  Waiting for a response.  Any
response.  Finally, she could stand the quiet no longer.

"Mulder?  Are you there?"

"Yeah, Scully," he replied, his voice sounding rough and
uncertain.  "Yeah, I'm here.  I was just ... you took me by
surprise, that's all."

"I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," he insisted.  He
sounded stronger now, more confident, and his hand resumed
stroking the outside of her thigh -- and Scully breathed a
small sigh of relief.  Apparently it was going to be okay. 
At least, so far.  "As I said, you startled me, but it's
fine.  I just ... didn't know."  Brief pause.  "Is it ... is
it something you want to talk about?  You seemed to be
pretty upset."

Scully suddenly felt very vulnerable.  The urge just to put
it all back in the box and tell him that she was fine was
nearly overwhelming.  She'd already done so much today;
wasn't it enough?  She fought down the temptation, though. 
The old Scully is gone, she reminded herself firmly.  The
old Scully is gone.

"I guess ... maybe a little," she said.  "But it's all very
complicated and confusing, and it's come up so suddenly. 
I'm not entirely sure what I think about it yet."

"I see."

The sudden note of reserve in Mulder's voice caused Scully
to realize that she'd made a mistake, and she lifted her
head off his chest and sought out his gaze.  His eyes were
now a cloudy, gray-green color -- a color she'd come to
associate with hurt and unhappiness.  Dammit; she was
screwing this up.

"Mulder," she whispered, lifting her hand from his shoulder
and tracing the outline of his lips with her fingertips. 
"It's okay; I don't mean anything like that.  This ... this
isn't going to affect you and me, and what we are to each
other.  Not in the slightest.  I promise.  What's bothering
me is ... well ... there were some issues of closure.  I'd
pretty much gotten past them, and put it all behind me --
or, I thought I had.  But now Jim's back, and so some of
those old feelings are resurfacing.  Not feelings about
him," she hastened to add.  "Feelings about how it ended. 
That's all."

Mulder nodded slowly, and she felt relief spreading through
her as she saw his eyes clearing a little.  "Okay," he said.
 "I understand."  Again, there was a brief pause, and he
added, "Was it... bad?  The marriage, I mean?"

Scully shook her head, and laid it back down on his chest. 
"No," she replied.  "Most of it was pretty good.  It's just
the ending that was bad.  But he didn't abuse me or
anything, if that's what you're thinking.  And he wasn't
unfaithful."  She fell silent for a minute, trying to decide
what else to say.  But it really was complicated.  Finally,
she said, "If you don't mind, I'd like to take some time to
think about it.  We will talk about it; I promise.  I should
have told you about this a long time ago.  But not right
now.  Okay?"

"Sure, Scully.  I understand."  Once again his hand started
the rhythmic stroking of the outside of her thigh.  "But if
there's anything I can do, just say the word."

"I will," she replied.  And then, suddenly, it occurred to
her that there *was* something he could do.  It would be
asking an awfully lot of him ... but it would help her cope
with all of this; she was sure of it.  New Scully, she
reminded herself.  And she added, "Actually, there is
something.  As you probably worked out, Mom invited me to
dinner on Friday -- and Jim's going to be there.  I didn't
feel free to say no, but I really don't want to go, and --"

"And you want me to whip up a ghost hunt to get you out of
it?"  For the first time since the phone call, she heard
what sounded like amusement in her partner's voice, and she
couldn't help but smile against his chest.

"No," she said.  "That wasn't what I meant.  Although it
won't break my heart if something *does* happen to come up."
 She lifted her head up again; she wanted to see his face,
so she could gauge his reaction to what she was about to ask
of him.  "But what I meant was that I was wondering if you
would be willing to come with me on Friday."

Mulder's eyebrows shot up in apparent surprise.  "You want
me to go with you?" he repeated.  Scully nodded
apprehensively.  He wasn't going to refuse; he couldn't. 
Now that she'd actually asked him, it was really hitting
home how much she wanted him to say yes.  He went on, "But
... of course, if you need me, you know I'm there for you. 
But I haven't been invited."

"Yes, you have," she said steadily, still looking him square
in the eye.  "I've invited you."

"It's your mother's home, Scully," Mulder replied gently.

"Yes, it is," she answered.  "And she's always insisting
that it's still ours.  All the children, I mean.  And if
it's my home, then I'm entitled to bring home a ... a guest,
if I want to."

"Scully --"

"Mulder, this is important to me," she interrupted.  "I
don't know quite why Mom is setting this whole thing up." 
She shrugged helplessly.  "I guess I don't really think
she's trying to get me and Jim back together, but ... well,
she and Dad didn't take the divorce very well.  And since I
was the one who ... who did it, they held me responsible.  I
had my reasons, but that didn't seem to matter to them. So
... please?"

Mulder still hesitated.  At last:  "She still doesn't know
about us, does she?  Your mother, I mean."

Scully shook her head.  "No, she doesn't.  So maybe it's
time she found out."  She cupped the back of his head with
her hand and kissed him gently.  "Please, Mulder.  For me?"

Finally, he smiled.  "Okay, Scully," he replied.  "For you."
 And he returned the kiss, and after that there was no more
talking.

================END CHAPTER ONE================

========= 
Chapter Two 
=========

Mulder swore softly and hit the brakes, narrowly missing the
battered Oldsmobile that didn't seem to want to let him
merge onto the highway.  Then he pressed down on the
accelerator again, and the car surged forward; a moment
later, they were over in the left lane, rolling smoothly
towards Washington.

Finally.

It had been, Mulder reflected, a long week.  A week that had
started far too early on Monday morning, when Skinner called
and dragged them out of a warm bed to send them off to
northern Minnesota to investigate a series of mysterious
disappearances.  A case that had dragged on for four days
without any visible signs of progress -- until, suddenly,
all of the victims had reappeared in their beds early this
morning, with no memory of what had happened or where they
had been.

At least it was June instead of December -- and wasn't it
lucky that Skinner hadn't known that Mulder and his partner
had been in the *same* bed when he called them at just past
five on Monday morning?  Mulder shuddered as he remembered
his hand reaching out sleepily for the ringing telephone. 
Fortunately, Scully had gotten to it before he did ....

They didn't usually spend the night together on what they'd
come to refer to as "school nights", but she'd been so
obviously shaken by the phone call from her mother, and the
prospect of meeting her ex again on Friday, that Mulder
hadn't had the heart to go home that evening.  And, wonder
of wonders, she hadn't questioned the arrangement when he
suggested it was time for bed, but had simply nodded, and
watched with an unmistakeable air of solemn gratitude as he
crawled under the covers next to her.

As he maneuvered through the early evening traffic, Mulder
wondered for at least the hundredth time why the whole thing
was upsetting her so much.  This guy, Jim -- her ex-husband
-- she said he hadn't been abusive or unfaithful.  She'd
even said that most of the marriage had been good; just the
ending had been bad.

But something, obviously, had been wrong enough to make her
divorce the man, despite her parents' disapproval, despite
her religion's attitude towards divorce and despite what he
assumed would be her own determination to make that sort of
a relationship work.  If he knew anything about Dana Scully,
he knew that she would have taken her marriage vows very
seriously.

Something had clearly been wrong.

He glanced briefly over at his partner, to see that she was
staring distantly out the passenger side window. 
Unfortunately, she hadn't brought the subject up again that
Sunday afternoon or evening, and Mulder had been reluctant
to raise it himself.  She'd promised they would talk about
it, and he hadn't wanted to push things, assuming that they
would have all week to find the right time.  It was her
life, after all, and her story to tell, and Mulder had an
acute idea of what it was like to have a ghost from the past
pop up unexpectedly.

But then Skinner had called, and they'd hurried off to
Minnesota, and they'd been so damned busy chasing false
leads and getting nowhere that they'd had no time for a
serious discussion.  And now here they were, heading back to
Washington on Friday evening, having arrived at the airport
just in time to keep the dinner date at her mother's place.

With Scully's ex in attendance.

God.

Mulder hadn't quite decided how he felt about all this.  On
the one hand, he knew full well that he had no room to
complain about her having kept it from him.  At least *her*
old flame was presumably not a Consortium agent.  He was
probably a very nice guy, in fact.  Mulder wouldn't expect
anything less from a man Scully had once thought well enough
of to marry.

On the other hand, he couldn't help but feel threatened by
the sudden reappearance of a man from her past.  The
rational part of his mind knew that he really had nothing to
worry about.  The two of them were together now, and it was
real and solid -- and Scully had reinforced that for him on
Sunday, both verbally and otherwise.

She'd also seemed to be a bit more affectionate than usual
during the few minutes of personal time they'd managed to
snatch here and there while they were working the case.  In
fact, her concern over his feelings, when she obviously had
plenty of her own worries to deal with, had moved him more
than he cared to admit.

But that hadn't been enough to keep his insecurities
completely at bay.  A quarter century of being betrayed and
abandoned by one loved one after another had conditioned him
to expect to be kicked.  He knew Scully wasn't going to do
that to him; she had stood by him through every conceivable
hardship in the past seven years.  But that knowledge didn't
stop him from cringing at the very thought of her being
reunited with a man she'd once been intimate with.  Which,
he was honest enough to admit to himself, was one of the
reasons he'd agreed to come with her tonight, despite his
instinctive feeling that this was a bad idea.

Well, he'd find out soon enough whether he really had
anything to worry about.  They were now approaching the exit
for Mrs. Scully's home.

#          #          #

"Dana ... and Fox?"

Scully suppressed a wince at the tone of surprise in her
mother's voice.  She knew she should have called and let her
mother know of her intention to bring Mulder along ... but
somehow, she hadn't quite got around to it.  No, that wasn't
really true, she thought.  She could have found time for a
quick phone call.  But in her heart of hearts, Scully had
feared her mother's reaction -- and another part of her,
small and ignoble, had wanted to surprise her mother as
badly as she, herself, had been surprised the previous
Sunday.

She shrugged off the thoughts, and moved forward into her
mother's arms, accepting the rather stiff embrace she was
offering.  Then she took a step back, and watched as the
other woman turned to face Mulder.

"Fox," Mrs. Scully said uncertainly.  "I ... wasn't
expecting you this evening."

"Mrs. Scully," Mulder replied gravely, briefly taking the
older woman's hand.  "I'm sorry to have my visit come as a
surprise.  Scu-- Dana and I have been out of town on a case
all week, and we've only just returned to Washington.  She
invited me to come with her this evening."

Scully was barely able to keep herself from laughing out
loud at Mulder's smooth rearrangement of the sequence of
events.  From the flicker in her mother's eyes as she
digested the statement, it was clear that she realized there
was something more to the story than what she was being told
-- but Mrs. Scully was a Navy wife, and thus a veteran of
nearly thirty years of the most intricate political
maneuverings imaginable, and so she simply nodded.

"Of course, Fox," she said.  "You know you're always welcome
here."  She stepped aside to usher them into the living
room.  "I'm sure Dana must have told you I have another
guest tonight.  Fox Mulder, I'd like you to meet Jim Street.
 Jim, Fox is Dana's partner from work."  She paused, and
glanced uneasily at first one man, and then the other, then
added, "I'll just leave you three to chat, while I go make
the final arrangements for dinner."  And she left the room.

And there he was, standing in front of the sofa and reaching
out for Mulder's hand.  As the two men exchanged greetings
-- hesitant and uncertain on both their parts, although,
Scully suspected, for very different reasons -- she took
advantage of the few extra seconds to study her former
husband.

He looked, she decided, much as he had the last time she'd
seen him, more than ten years ago.  Tall, dark-haired ...
still in pretty good physical condition, as best she could
tell.  He wore an expensive-looking dark suit over a
snow-white shirt and dark maroon tie, and his shoes looked
as if they'd been spit-shined.  He looked, in short, like
what he was:  a respected surgeon approaching the midpoint
of a successful career.

And she wasn't attracted to him at all.

Scully let out a small sigh of relief as she moved forward
to stand next to Mulder.  Her own reaction to being in Jim
Street's physical presence had been one of the many things
she'd been fretting about since her mother's phone call. 
She was quite clear in her mind -- and her heart -- about
where she was and where she wanted to be.  But she'd been
afraid that simply standing in front of Jim might awaken
some of what they'd once shared -- and Mulder would have
been sure to detect it, and be hurt by it.

"Dana," Jim was saying.  "It's good to see you.  It's been a
long time."  The man was obviously struggling not to glance
back at her partner as he spoke to her -- and Scully
realized that he wasn't sure why Mulder was here.  Of
course, Mrs. Scully had introduced Mulder as her work
partner, but Jim was nobody's fool ....

"Yes, it has," she replied, almost unconsciously edging a
little closer to Mulder, until their arms brushed against
one another.  "How have you been?"

"I've been fine," he answered.  "Fine."  He hesitated, and
Scully realized that he was trying to decide whether he
should offer her a kiss of greeting.  Which meant that he
had previously planned to do so -- Jim Street never did
*anything* without a plan -- but Mulder's presence had
apparently thrown him off balance.

Good.

Scully was gradually coming to realize that her request that
Mulder be with her this evening had been motivated by more
than a simple need for mutual reassurance.  She had also
been a little nervous about her ex-husband's intentions, and
she'd wanted Mulder next to her as a sort of living,
breathing "no trespassing" sign.  So far, it seemed to be
working.

Also good.

Then Mrs. Scully returned from the kitchen to announce that
dinner was ready.

#          #          #

"Fox, would you mind helping me with the dishes?"

Mulder hesitated, and glanced at his partner, who was
standing behind her chair and looking right back at him.  He
waited for a second, hoping for some hint from her, but her
face was giving nothing away -- and Mrs. Scully's request
was something he couldn't politely decline in any case.

Me started gathering plates and silverware from the table. 
Dinner had been quiet, and a little awkward.  There had been
little conversation, and what there had been had been
intermittent and disjointed.  Jim Street and Scully's mother
had done most of the talking; Scully had responded to
comments made to her, while Mulder had spoken hardly at all.

One reason for that was the geography, of course.  Mrs.
Scully had seated him on her left, and Street on her right,
with Scully in turn on *his* right, making them look rather
uncomfortably like the married couple they had once been,
while Mulder seemed to be cast in the role of the outsider,
with no one readily to hand who he was comfortable
conversing with.  He wondered if that had been the original
seating arrangement?  Or had he displaced Scully on her
mother's left hand, with the new place setting being the one
next to Street?

He shook his head, and moved out to the kitchen with his
load of dishes.  He wasn't going to get anywhere worrying
over things like that -- and besides, he was here to be
supportive of his partner, not to overwhelm her with his own
insecurities.  So he tried to put the matter out of his
mind.

"You can stack them here by the sink," Mrs. Scully commented
as he approached her.  "The water's almost ready."

Mulder nodded, and put the dishes down where she had
indicated.  Apparently "helping with the dishes" included
actually washing and drying them -- and he suddenly realized
that she must have deliberately maneuvered him out here so
that Scully and Street could be alone for a few minutes. 
Which was only fair, he supposed; that *had* been the
original purpose of the visit -- Street apparently wanting a
chance to talk to his ex-wife.  But that didn't mean Mulder
had to like it.

"So how was the case?"

Mulder turned his gaze on Mrs. Scully, who was methodically
rubbing a sponge across one of the dinner plates.  As he
watched she finished with the plate, dipped it in the rinse
water, and then handed it to him.  He plucked a towel from
the rack on the overhead cupboard, and started to dry.

"It was fine," he replied.  "Fine.  More of the usual."  It
suddenly struck him that he wasn't sure how much of the
details of their work his partner had shared with her
mother.  "We were looking for some missing children out in
Minnesota.  Fortunately, they all turned up, so all's well
the end's well, I guess."

Mrs. Scully nodded, but didn't say anything, and for a
little while the two of them worked quietly on the dishes. 
The simple, mechanical task of drying each item and putting
it in the drainer was soothing to Mulder, and was helping
him get his thoughts in order.  He still wondered what
Scully and Street were talking about, out in the living
room, but he found as the pile of dirty dishes was reduced
and the number in the drainer multiplied, that it wasn't
bothering him as much as it had been.

And he had a sudden rush of deja vu, as he remembered doing
this with Maggie Scully before.  It had been during Scully's
first abduction; he and his partner's mother had spent a lot
of time together during those horrible months, just being
together and talking, and trying to lend each other strength
and support.  They had formed a sort of bond out of their
shared worry and grief.

That bond had been weakened by the events surrounding
Scully's return, and the decision by Mrs. Scully to turn off
her daughter's respirator.  It had been weakened further
during Scully's fight with cancer.  But maybe, just maybe,
there was still something there.

"I presume that Dana has told you about her marriage," Mrs.
Scully said, rather abruptly.  They were working their way
through the silverware, now, and Mulder watched impassively
as she scrubbed harder than necessary at one of the forks.

"Not much," he admitted.  "Just that it was brief, and a
long time ago."

"It was brief," she agreed, her voice little above a murmur
as she handed Mulder the fork and went to work on one of the
knives.  "It lasted less than two years.  But it seems like
it was only yesterday."  Mulder didn't say anything, hoping
that the woman would decide to continue.  And after just a
moment, she did.

"It was ... difficult for both of us," she said, continuing
to work on the silverware.  "But it was especially hard for
the Captain -- Dana's father.  You never met him, did you?"

Mulder shook his head.  "No."  It was not lost on him that
Mrs. Scully seemed to be focused on how hard the divorce had
been on Scully's parents, rather than on Scully, herself. 
But this didn't seem to be the time to mention it.

She nodded, and continued, "The Captain was so proud of his
little Starbuck.  The day he walked her down the aisle, I
thought his buttons were going to burst.  It was all part of
the master plan, you see -- the one he and Dana had worked
out for her over the years.  Medical school and residency; a
good man; home and family."

Her lips shaped a bittersweet smile.  "There was supposed to
be a prestigious fellowship, too, followed by a career in
medicine.  Dana actually had the fellowship in her pocket;
did you know that?"  She glanced at Mulder; he shook his
head, and she continued, "She did.  At Tufts.  Jim was
already up there; he was a year ahead of her.  Her father
was so proud the day the acceptance letter came, and Dana
was so excited ...."  Her voice trailed off.

After a moment's silence, Mulder asked, "What happened?"  He
knew he was asking the wrong person; he should simply wait
until Scully was ready to tell him about it.  But he
desperately needed the answer to this question.  He'd always
wondered what had made his partner decide to join the
Bureau, rather than pursuing her medical career, and he
couldn't resist this opportunity to find out.

Mrs. Scully was silent for a long minute; so long that
Mulder was beginning to think she might not answer at all. 
Finally, she said, "You know, I'm not really sure.  I don't
think even Dana knows the answer to that.  It was a ...
difficult time for all of us, especially because she wasn't
really talking to us."

She took a deep breath, and went on, "But the fellowship at
Tufts came through in the late fall; it was supposed to
start the following July.  And as far anyone knew, it was
all settled.  But then one day in April she came home from
an overnight call at Georgetown and announced that she was
divorcing Jim and joining the FBI.  I don't think I'll ever
forget the look on her father's face when she told him about
it."

She stopped speaking and reached down into the sink to pull
the plug, then slowly stripped off her rubber gloves as she
watched the water swirl down the drain.  From the expression
on her face she seemed to be following a rather complex
chain of thought, but Mulder had no clue what it might be. 
Finally, she spoke.

"Fox?  Are you and Dana ... involved?"

Mulder hesitated just an instant, then replied, "Dana and I
are very close.  As you know."

She turned her head to look at him, and for a moment she
seemed to be studying his face.  At last, she said, "That's
not really very responsive, is it?"  She shook her head
sadly, and looked away.  "Never mind.  It's really none of
my business.  Just remember that there are some things Dana
will never be able to give you."

She turned and walked out of the kitchen, and after a minute
or two, Mulder followed.  But as he stepped across the
threshold into the living room, he saw that it was empty.

#          #          #

"Why don't we take a little walk?"

Those had been Jim's words, a few minutes ago, when they
found themselves alone in the living room.  The same words
he'd used so many times in the past after they'd had dinner
with her parents, and he wanted a little time alone with
her.  Hopefully -- presumably -- he had different reasons
for asking, this time.

Dinner had been ... strange.  Her mother and Jim had carried
most of the conversation, while Mulder remained almost
completely silent, and Scully had felt herself unwillingly
slipping back in time.  She vividly recalled sitting at that
same table with Jim, listening quietly while he and Ahab
exchanged stories and opinions.  The two of them -- Jim and
her father -- they had been so good together --

Scully pushed the memories away.  That time was over, and it
needed to stay in the past.

"So.  How are things at the FBI?"

Scully glanced briefly up at her ex-husband, then looked
away again.  He was walking next to her, strolling really, a
little more space between than she'd been accustomed to when
they were married, but still closer than she liked.

"It's fine," she answered, and immediately regretted her
choice of words.  "It's very good, in fact.  Very rewarding.
 I feel like I'm really making a difference."

"You could have made a difference in medicine, you know."

Scully sighed.  "Yes," she said.  "I probably could have. 
But it's not what I wanted to do."

"That's not what you thought when I met you."

"Jim."  She stopped walking and turned to face him.  "Is
there any point in rehashing all this again?  It's over, and
it's been over for a long time.  I made my decision."

"Yes, you did."  He stood quietly, looking at her for a
moment.  "Unfortunately, I didn't have the same
opportunity."

Anger flared within Scully, but she quickly suppressed it. 
"I'm sorry you feel that way," she said quietly.  "But I did
what I felt I had to do."

"You always have," he replied, nodding reluctantly.  Again
he was quiet for a few seconds.  Finally, he sighed and
turned from her, and they began walking again.

Scully felt relief seeping through her as they moved along
the sidewalk.  She hadn't wanted to come to this dinner at
all; having shown up for it, she was grateful that Jim
apparently didn't want to push her into a pointless shouting
match over what might have been.

Of course, that still begged the question of what he *did*
want ....

"Jim, why are you here?"  The words were out of her mouth
before she realized she was going to say them.  Now she
restrained herself from turning to look at him again as she
waited for his answer.

"I wanted to see you again," he said, matter-of-factly.  As
if it were the most reasonable and understandable thing in
the world.

"But why now?" she persisted.  "Why after all these years? 
You can't tell me this is the first time you've been back to
Washington since ... since the divorce.  And why did you do
it the way you did?"

He hesitated.  "What do you mean?"

Scully waved a hand in frustration, and reminded herself
that this man was *not* stupid.  "Why the subterfuge?  Why
did you show up in church last Sunday?  If you wanted to see
me, why didn't you just give me a call?  We could have got
together and had lunch, if that's all you wanted.  Why did
you have to ... to sneak around like this?"

"If I'd called and invited you to lunch, would you have said
yes?"

Scully shrugged.  "Maybe.  Why wouldn't I?  If you had
called me, and politely asked --"

"What about your boyfriend?"

With a sigh of exasperation, Scully turned to face her
ex-husband again -- and now she saw a challenge in his eyes.
 "What about him?" she asked flatly.  "I don't let other
people manage my life for me.  Not anymore."

Jim shook his head in apparent puzzlement.  "You're not
making any sense, Dana," he replied.  "No one was trying to
manage your life.  I just wanted you to be happy.  I still
do.  But from what I've seen tonight, I'm not sure if you
really are."

Scully stared at her ex-husband, thunderstruck.  He hadn't
really just said that, had he?  Was he really presuming to
judge the quality of her life, based on a couple of hours
over the dinner table?  A dozen possible responses flashed
through her mind, but she rejected them all.  There was no
answer to what Jim had just said, and there was no point in
trying to formulate one.

"I think we'd better go back inside," she said at last. 
"It's getting late."  She started to turn away.

"Dana."  The touch on her shoulder was tentative;
featherlight.  Automatically, she turned to face him again. 
She glanced down at his hand, resting lightly on her
shoulder, but before she had a chance to object to his
presumption, he was speaking again, his voice low and
meditative.  "I wonder what would happen if I tried to kiss
you?"

Scully felt her eyes widening in surprise -- but there was
only one response to that question.  "I'd ask you to stop,"
she said, without hesitation.

"Would you?"  The look he was giving her now was speculative
-- and she suddenly realized that he had kissed her for the
very first time right here on this street corner.

She shoved the thought away.  "Yes, I would," she said
evenly.

"I wonder," he said, very softly -- and he started to lean
in towards her, very slowly.

"Jim!"  Scully took a couple of hasty steps backward, until
she bumped up against a telephone poll.  He followed.  "What
are you --"

"You haven't said no," he pointed out, still moving slowly
towards her.

"Okay, fine," she said, finally letting the anger into her
voice.  "Stop.  I don't want to kiss you, and I don't want
you to touch me anymore.  Is that clear enough for you?"

For a dozen seconds or so it appeared to hang in the
balance.  Finally, Jim seemed to relax, and he threw her a
rueful smile.  "Just checking," he murmured.  "You can't
blame me for that, can you?"

Scully stared at her ex-husband in disbelief for another
long minute.  Had she ever really loved this man?  And if
so, had he changed?  Or had she?

It didn't really matter, she decided.  She was with Mulder,
now, and she was happy with him -- and even if she hadn't
already been involved with someone else, she had no interest
in trying to restart *this* relationship.  This whole
evening had been a mistake from the start, and it was time
for it to end.  And so, without another word, she turned
away from Jim and walked back towards her mother's house.

================END CHAPTER TWO================

========= 
Chapter Three 
=========

"Where are we going?"

Mulder glanced away from the late evening traffic, and over
at his partner.  She'd been unusually quiet since returning
from her walk with Jim Street, saying only that she was
tired and ready to leave before retreating into her own
thoughts.  Now she was sitting huddled against the passenger
side door of the car, and seemed somehow to be younger and
more vulnerable than he could ever remember seeing her. 
Obviously, the visit had affected her rather strongly -- and
not in a good way.

Mulder was unsure how he, himself, felt about how the
evening had gone.  His conversation with Scully's mother had
been disquieting, to say the least.  He was trying to curb
his reaction to it all, since he'd only heard half the story
-- and the less important half, at that, since it wasn't
Scully's half.  Nevertheless, he was having difficulty
keeping his own innate feelings of insecurity under control.
 When he'd walked back into the living room, to find Scully
and her ex-husband were nowhere to be found --

"Mulder?"

"Sorry, Scully," Mulder said, shaking his head in an attempt
to drive the thoughts away.  "Woolgathering."  He glanced
over at her again.  "I assumed we were going to your place."

She seemed to consider that for a few seconds; then she
shook her head.  "I don't want to go to my place; I want to
go to your place."

Even as he was nodding agreement, Mulder felt his eyebrows
raising in mild surprise.  He'd assumed she would want to be
back in her own apartment; on her own turf.  Someplace she
could feel safe and protected.  But apparently that was not
the case.

"I want to go to your place," she repeated, very quietly. 
He glanced over at her again, and saw that she was looking
right back at him, a solemn expression on her face.  "I want
to be with you, and I want to have your things around me. 
Around us.  Does that make any sense?"

"If it's what you want, then it makes sense," he replied. 
Suddenly his heart felt a little lighter.  She didn't want
to be on her turf; she didn't want to retreat behind her
walls.  She wanted to be with him.  It wasn't enough to lay
all his fears to rest, but it was helping considerably.

And then she was sliding across the seat towards him and
laying her head against his shoulder.  Awkwardly, he took
his right hand from the wheel and put that arm around her
shoulders, slowing the car slightly to allow for the fact
that he was now driving one handed.

For a few minutes, they rode together in silence.  Mulder
wanted to talk to her; he wanted to ask her what she and
Street had spoken about while they were outside.  Most of
all, he wanted to know about her marriage -- what it meant
to her, and why it had failed.  None of it was any of his
business, of course, but despite his best intentions, and
despite his partner's unambiguous reassurances, it continued
to eat at him.  And, somehow, Scully must have read his
mind, because after a few more minutes, she started to
speak.

"I met Jim when I was an M4," she said quietly.  "A fourth
year med student."  Her voice was soft and meditative -- and
Mulder was ashamed at his own feeling of relief as he
detected not the slightest hint of wistfulness or longing in
her tone.  "He was a year ahead of me, and had already
started his residency, and we were assigned to the same
inpatient team."

Mulder nodded, keeping his eyes on the traffic.  He didn't
say anything, but tightened his arm around her, cuddling her
a little closer into his side.  But whether it was to
comfort her, or himself, he wasn't sure.

"Anyway," she went on after a moment, "to make a long story
short, Jim and I hit it off right away.  And before very
long, we were ... seeing each other.  Dating.  Sleeping
together, although I didn't let my parents find out about
that."

She paused, and added, "Mulder?  Are you okay with this?  I
don't want to be upsetting you, and I don't want you to have
any doubt that I'm where I want to be.  But this was an
important time in my life, and I'd like for you to
understand."

"No, Scully," he said, his voice very low.  "It's okay.  I
want to hear about it."  In fact, Mulder wasn't entirely
sure that was true.  A few minutes ago, he'd thought he
wanted this, but he was finding the reality of it much
harder to take than he'd expected.  But it was a rare gift
for Scully to open herself to him so completely, and he
wasn't about to tell her to stop.

"Okay."  She was quiet for a minute, then went on, "The
funny thing is, we never really talked about getting married
-- Jim never proposed or anything.  It was just something
that we sort of ... knew was going to happen, after a while.
 People were expecting it.  Especially Mom and Dad."

"Did you love him?"  Mulder knew he didn't really want the
answer to that question, but he couldn't keep himself from
asking.

"Yes."  Her voice was very soft.  "Yes, I did.  I loved him
very much, and I believed in our marriage.  I wanted it to
work, and it broke my heart when it didn't."  Mulder felt an
almost unbearable tightness in his throat, but he couldn't
tell whether it was due to Scully's obvious sorrow, or his
own anxiety and hurt at hearing her speak of another man in
that way.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see her watching him
carefully for a few seconds, as if she was measuring his
reaction to her words.  Then:  "So we were married.  There
were complications, of course, but we had planned for them. 
Jim had finished his residency, and had won a fellowship at
Boston University, while I still had a year to go at
Georgetown.  So almost as soon as we were married, he had to
leave for Boston."

"That must have been very hard," Mulder murmured.

"It was."  He felt her nodding.  "Harder than I'd expected
it to be.  We only managed to spend about one weekend a
month together.  But in an odd way, it seemed to make our 
marriage stronger.  When you're separated from someone, it
makes you appreciate them more when you *are* together.  At
least, that's how it was for me and Jim."

She fell silent again.  Finally, Mulder asked, "So what
happened?"

"The FBI happened."  Mulder could almost hear the
bittersweet smile in her voice.  "I'd already gone through
the application mill and won my own fellowship --"

"At Tufts," Mulder interjected.  "Your mother told me."

"Yes, at Tufts.  It was quite an opportunity, and just what
I'd been hoping for, geographically speaking.  But then one
day in February I was called into the Dean's office at
Georgetown, and he told me that the Bureau had embarked on a
new affirmative action push, and had put out feelers to
several dozen of the nation's top colleges and universities,
asking for recommendations.  And the Dean wanted permission
to submit my name."

"Wow."  Mulder had always known that his partner was
brilliant, and a top notch agent.  But he had never realized
that others had recognized her potential that long ago. 
"That was some honor."

"Yes, it was."  She paused.  "Mulder, I didn't know what to
think.  I already had the appointment at Tufts; I was
supposed to report there in only a few more months.  And I
was really tired of living apart from Jim.  At the same
time, I was honestly flattered by the offer, and I didn't
want to snub Dean Williams.

"So I tried to explain the situation -- and I discovered
that they already knew about it."  She shrugged.  "Not that
our marriage was a secret, or anything, but it never
occurred to me that people that high up in the hierarchy
would know or care.  Anyway, Dean Williams said he'd already
taken the liberty of speaking to some people at the Bureau,
and had been given verbal assurances that if I applied, and
was accepted, and made it through the Academy, I would be
posted somewhere in the New England area."

"Wow," Mulder repeated.  "That's remarkable.  They must have
wanted you pretty badly."  He felt a small surge of pride
for his partner -- and once again he marveled that such an
amazing woman had chosen him.

And she *had* chosen him, he reminded himself.  No matter
how hard it was to listen to this account of her love affair
with another man, Jim Street had had his chance, and had
blown it, somehow.  And Mulder still wanted to know how that
had happened.  How had Street ever let this woman get away
from him?  What had he done wrong?

"It wasn't just me," Scully replied.  "They were really
serious about the whole program, and were trying to make it
as attractive as possible."  She shrugged again.  "Anyway,
the short version is that I let them set up the interview,
and the following week I drove down to Quantico.  And almost
as soon as I got there, I knew that *this* was what I
wanted."

"But your husband didn't agree."  Mulder spoke the words
very quietly, at the same time easing the car to a halt in
front of his building.  He didn't want to interrupt or
divert her, though, so he simply switched off the engine,
turned slightly in his seat, and took her more fully into
his arms.  He felt renewed warmth seeping into his body as
she wrapped her own arms around his waist, and rested her
head on his chest.

"He didn't understand, Mulder," she said, sounding like a
lost little girl.  "I thought he would at least discuss it
with me, but ... but he didn't.  He wouldn't.  I waited
until my next trip to Boston to bring it up with him, so we
could talk face to face, and ... and almost as soon as I
mentioned it, he started yelling at me.  He accused me of
hiding things from him.  Keeping secrets.

"At first I thought he was just surprised, and upset that we
might not be together as soon as we'd planned," she said. 
"But that wasn't it at all.  Oh, he wasn't happy about that
part, but the real difficulty, what was really bothering
him, was accepting the idea of me in that role."

"What do you mean?"

"'No wife of mine is going to carry a gun,'" Scully said, an
edge of bitterness in her voice.  "He kept saying that, over
and over.  No matter where the argument went, or what I
said, he kept coming back to that statement:  'No wife of
mine is going to carry a gun.'  He just couldn't get away
from it, and the more I tried to argue with him, the angrier
he got."

She shook her head.  "It was so unlike him, and I was taken
completely by surprise.  Jim had always been completely open
and accepting of women in medicine, even in the surgical
specialties, which weren't -- and still aren't -- as well
integrated as the medical and psychiatric ones.  But this
... he just couldn't accept it.  I still don't know if it
was latent sexism, or if it was more personal.  If it was
just about me."

"So was that it?" Mulder asked, trying to give her a way to
bring the story to a close.  Surely she'd been through
enough for one night ....

"Not quite," she said with a sigh.  "Not quite.  We fought
all weekend -- and then I finally had to leave, and go back
to D.C.  I told him I'd think about it, and that I'd call
him the next weekend so we could talk some more.  And I
really did think about it, every spare minute I could find. 
Finally, I decided that I'd have to give up on the FBI, and
go on as we'd originally planned."

"Give it up?" he asked, very softly.

"That's right," she said, nodding against his chest.  "I
decided to give it up.  My marriage was a prior commitment,
after all, and if it was upsetting my husband that much
...."  Her voice trailed off, but after just a second, she
went on.  "You have to understand, Mulder -- up to that
point, I'd spent most of my life trying to ... to ingratiate
myself to other people.  Trying to please them.  My father
... my brothers ... teachers.  It seemed perfectly natural
that I should give up something that I wanted very badly,
because it was upsetting someone close to me.

"So on Sunday afternoon, I called him, intending to tell him
what I'd decided.  But I didn't get the chance.  The first
words out of his mouth were, 'So have you come to your
senses yet?'"

"Jesus."

"I hung up on him," she went on, barely pausing to
acknowledge his interjection.  "I slammed the phone down and
left the house, and I didn't come back for hours.  Something
just snapped inside, and I was livid.  Here I'd spent that
entire week agonizing over that decision, and I'd finally
made up my mind and called to tell him -- and he just threw
it in my face like that.  He didn't even give me a chance to
tell him what I'd decided."

"Scully."  Mulder stopped himself.  He'd been about to say
that he was sorry, but that would've been a lie.  He
*wasn't* sorry her marriage had ended -- because if it
hadn't, she wouldn't be sitting here with him now.  It made
him feel like several kinds of bastard, but he couldn't make
himself regret any of it, no matter how much she'd been
hurt.  Finally, he just said, "I don't know what to say."

"It's okay," she said, drawing back from him a little and
looking into his eyes.  There were tear tracks on her
cheeks, and that made Mulder feel even worse.  "There really
isn't much more to tell, anyway," she went on, the
bitterness creeping back into her voice.  "It ended with the
proverbial whimper.  I kept waiting for Jim to call me and
apologize, but he never did.  A couple of weeks later, he
was supposed to come down for a visit, but he didn't show
up, and he didn't call.

"But *I* called *him*," she went on.  "I called him so many
times, I lost count.  All I ever got was his answering
machine, and he never called me back.  And when I wrote, he
didn't answer.  Eventually, I made an appointment to see a
lawyer."  She reached up and gently stroked Mulder's cheek;
despite himself, he found himself leaning into her touch. 
Accepting her comfort.  "And that's the story," she said,
very softly.  "Now let's go upstairs and go to bed, okay?"

#          #          #

Scully stood in front of the mirror in Mulder's bathroom,
brushing her hair.  Tonight had been cathartic, she decided.
 At least, the ride home with Mulder had been.  It had
helped her regain her bearings after the confused and
distressing conversation with Jim, and Mulder's response had
been just what she'd needed.

She'd been a little afraid that he would think her reasons
for divorcing Jim were silly and trivial.  Conversely, she'd
feared that he might decide to paint Jim as a blackhearted
villain, and start beating his chest in a misguided display
of macho.  But he'd done neither of those things.  Instead,
he had radiated acceptance, and allowed her to tell the
story in the way she wanted to tell it.

And most importantly, he'd believed her.

That's something no one else had been willing to do -- not
even Missy, although she'd come closer than the others.  But
none of them had really believed her account of what
happened, or accepted her insistence that Jim's treatment of
her had been intolerable.  No one but Mulder understood
that.

No one but Mulder.

The one thing he hadn't given her tonight was his own
feelings on the subject, and that was a sure sign, in
Scully's mind, that he'd had a rough time of it, himself. 
She didn't know what he and her mother had talked about
while they were together in the kitchen, but she did know
that he'd looked positively grim when she'd returned from
her walk with Jim.  Part of that had certainly been due to
the fact that she hadn't told him where she was going, or
why -- but not all of it.  Not by a long shot.

She smiled at herself in the mirror as she laid the brush
down on the washstand.  It seemed that both of them needed a
bit of decompression yet, tonight.  And they'd been waiting
for it long enough.

She left the bathroom and headed back down the hall to the
living room.  But as she reached Mulder's bedroom door, she
paused for a moment and looked down at herself.  She was
wearing her light blue cotton pajamas -- the ones she kept
stashed over at Mulder's.  They were comfortable and summer
weight, and certainly pretty enough -- but suddenly they
didn't seem like quite the right thing to be wearing.

A quick glance around the corner and into the living room
showed her that Mulder was still slouched on the sofa
channel surfing.  Yes, he really did need her as much as she
needed him.  Fine; she'd make this quick.

Scully stepped into the bedroom and quickly started
stripping off her pajamas.  Already her mind was working,
trying to figure out what she was going to wear instead. 
She owned very little in the way of sexy lingerie.  It had
been years since she'd seen any reason to shop for that sort
of thing, and most of what she'd had she'd gotten rid of in
a fit of depression when she thought she was dying of
cancer.  The few remaining items were, of course, over at
her apartment, where they could do her no good at all, at
least for tonight.

She pulled open one of Mulder's bureau drawers, almost at
random , and started rooting through it -- and almost
immediately, she found what she was looking for.

A slow smile spread across her face as she pulled Mulder's
baseball jersey from the drawer -- the one he'd worn the
night "Fox Mantle" had invited her to a late night session
of batting practice.  That had been more than a year ago,
months and months before they'd finally become lovers, and
she'd never told him how good he looked in this jersey.

She brought it to her nose and sniffed at it.  Freshly
laundered, but with a lingering trace of Mulder's scent
clinging to it.  Perfect.

She quickly shrugged it on and fastened three or four of the
buttons.  She was about to turn away, when she spotted her
partner's "victory cap" sitting on the bureau -- the Yankees
cap she'd given him as a get well present during the World
Series the previous fall.  Her smile widened, and she
grabbed the cap and placed it on her head.  She briefly
considered his baseball mitt, sitting on the bureau next to
where the hat had been, but shook her head; too much. 
Finally, she headed out to the living room.

For a moment she stood in the entryway, just looking at him.
 As far as she could tell, he hadn't moved since she'd
looked in on him a couple of minutes earlier.  He was still
stretched out on the sofa, eyes fixed on the television set,
thumb rhythmically clicked the remote every few seconds. 
Politically Incorrect; Red Dwarf; a black and white film
with Boris Karloff; then back to Politically Incorrect
again.

The fourth time Bill Maher's face appeared on the screen,
Scully moved forward into the room, stepping quickly over to
stand in front of the sofa, effectively blocking her
partner's view of the TV.  It took a moment or two, but
finally his gaze flickered up to meet hers.

And, yes, the baseball jersey and cap had been a good
choice.  She was sure Mulder would have been appreciative of
her pajamas, but from the way his eyes lit up as he
apparently realized what she was wearing, she knew that
she'd really captured his attention.  Even as she was moving
forward to cover the remaining distance between them, he was
swinging himself around into a sitting position; a few
seconds later, Scully was straddling his lap, her arms wound
loosely around his neck.

"You know, Scully," Mulder murmured, pressing his forehead
against hers, "I never realized until now what a nice
looking shirt that really is."

Scully chuckled, low in her throat.  "*I* realized it, Agent
Mulder," she replied.  "I realized it that very first night.
 And it was all I could do to keep my hands to myself,
especially when the guy wearing it was kind of draped all
over me."  She felt his thumbs begin to massage her pelvic
bone through the rough material of the jersey.  "'Hips
before hands' indeed."

He brushed his lips across hers, and now it was his turn to
chuckle.  "Why, Agent Scully," he said.  "Are you saying
that you think you detected lewd intentions in the batting
lessons I gave you that night?"  She felt one of his hands
slip under the hem of the shirt she was wearing and start to
slide up her torso, while the other went to work on
unfastening its buttons..

"Yeah, Mulder," she breathed, dropping her lips to plant a
row of light kisses along his neck.  "That's what I'm
saying.  Are you denying it?"

"Never," he whispered, tilting his head in obvious
encouragement of her ministrations.  "At the time, I was
actually afraid I'd lost my touch."  Scully gasped softly as
his hand cupped her breast through the shirt.  A few seconds
later the last button gave way, and the baseball jersey
gaped open ... and then the hand that had been unfastening
the shirt slipped inside and started working on her other
breast.

"Oh, not at all," she replied.  She tangled her fingers in
his hair, holding his head still as she ran her tongue up
the side of his neck to his ear.  She felt her pulse
increase, partly because of the things his fingers were
doing to her nipples, but also because she was about to tell
him yet another of her secrets -- and she found herself
excited by the prospect, rather than frightened.

"Not at all, Mulder," she repeated, cuddling a little closer
to him and pressing down on his erection with her groin.  "I
was just ... afraid."

For just an instant, Mulder's hands stopped moving -- but
then they started up again, even as he was asking, in warm,
husky tones, "Afraid, Scully?  You?  That's hard to
believe."

Scully drew her head back from her partner's neck, and saw
that he was looking at her.  His eyes were dark with
passion, the pupils so greatly dilated that there was almost
no color left at all.  He wanted her; he wanted her badly. 
Yet, he was holding back -- at least, he was holding back as
much as he could, under the circumstances.  He was waiting
to hear what she wanted to tell him.

God, she loved this man.

"I was afraid," she whispered, continuing to run her fingers
through his hair.  "I was afraid of ... of letting anyone
get that close again.  I was afraid of being let down.  I
was afraid of being hurt."

"I would never hurt you like that, Scully," he said,
matching her whisper with his own.

"I know," she replied.  "And I've known since we got back
from Antarctica how you felt and what you wanted.  I wanted
it, too; you have no idea how much I wanted it.  But ... I
had this history, and it took me a while to work past it." 
She paused, and stroked a lock of hair back off his
forehead.  "But I'm glad I did."  And then she kissed him.

It began as a soft, almost chaste kiss, but it quickly
progressed to more.  Mulder's hands were touching her
everywhere, moving across her breasts, her back, her
shoulders, handling her with such gentleness and care that
it almost made her cry.  Scully wrapped her arms tightly
around his head, probing into his mouth with her tongue, and
aggressively thrusting against him with her hips.

Without breaking the kiss, Mulder eased her down onto the
sofa and covered her body with his own.  She was completely
surrounded; cocooned.  Everything was about Mulder:  his
taste, his scent, his touch, the weight of his body pressing
her down into the sofa cushions .... everything was just
right.  This was just what she had wanted when she asked to
be taken to his apartment tonight.  It was perfect.

Except that he wearing far too many clothes.

With great reluctance, Scully broke the kiss.  For a few
seconds she couldn't speak; she was too busy trying to catch
her breath -- and Mulder's hands, continuing to explore and
do wonderful things to her body, weren't helping matters at
all.  Finally, she reached down and grabbed his wrists, and
drew them up and pressed them between her breasts.

"Mulder," she said, "I want you naked.  Now."

Mulder smiled, and leaned down to kiss her again, briefly
but thoroughly.  Then he rolled off her and to his feet, and
Scully watched with unabashed appreciation as he undressed.

She wondered if Mulder realized how much she liked looking
at his body.  He always seemed so oblivious to his own
beauty, but surely she'd told him this; surely she had let
him know.

Even if she had, she decided, she couldn't remind him often
enough.  And so as his boxers slid down his legs to the
floor, and he moved to join her on the sofa again, she put
her hands on his hips and rose to her feet.

"Scully?"

"Shhh," she whispered.  "It's okay.  I just want to look at
you for a minute."  Mulder raised his eyebrows.  "Please,"
she added.  And after another second's hesitation, he
nodded, and straightened up again.

Scully rose to her feet, and proceeded to examine his body. 
Her gaze followed her fingertips as she traced the outline
of his collarbone, the firm smoothness of his pectorals, the
hard, well-defined muscles of his abdomen..  His skin
rippled beneath her hands, and almost seemed to glow
wherever she touched him.  He was beautiful, transcendent,
and she couldn't get enough of touching him, exploring him,
looking at him.

She moved around to his back, and felt a familiar weakness
in her knees as her gaze fell upon the vision he presented
to her.  Through the years, Scully had developed a
fascination for his back that bordered on a fetish, at least
in part because it was the part of him she could watch
without being observed.  But even in the early days, before
she'd known him well, she'd enjoyed watching his shoulders
move beneath his jacket.  And that ass ....

Touching him with her hands was no longer enough.  Scully
stepped forward and slid her arms around him from behind,
rubbing her body against his as she did so.  God, it felt so
good; it felt so right.  She couldn't get enough contact,
and as she continued to give him a full body massage, she
let her hands slip down across his abdomen, seeking the
treasure she knew was waiting for her.

Suddenly he was turning in her arms and lifting her off the
ground.  Automatically, she brought her legs up and wrapped
them around his waist; a few seconds later, he was lowering
her to the sofa again, and she reached down between them and
guided him to her entrance.

"Scully," he whispered.  "Scully, look at me."  Scully
realized that her eyes had drifted shut as she waited for
him to enter her; now she forced them open, to see him
looking down at her with more love and joy than she could
ever remember seeing on his face.  "You're beautiful, too,"
he said, as he slowly eased himself downward and forward and
inward.  "So beautiful, it breaks my heart, sometimes."

And then he was there; he was all the way inside her, and
Scully heard herself whimper with desire.  He was around her
and inside her, and everytime she inhaled he filled her
lungs as well.  She would never get enough of this, and she
would certainly never grow tired of it.  And then he started
to move ....

"Oh, God," she moaned, as she began to dig her nails into
his back.  She needed to hold on to him; she needed to mark
him, and as her hips began to move in unison with his, she
tried to pull him closer, closer ....

God, she was so close; so close, already.  She heard herself
talking to him, now, babbling, saying his name over and
over, mingling endearments and soft, breathy declarations of
love.  And he was doing the same, grunting quiet, joyful
words, words that she no longer had the capacity to
understand, but somehow the meanings were crystal clear,
even so ....

She felt his body tense, and her own quivered in
anticipation, and she started crooning to him, urging him,
begging him to let go, to give himself to her.  It was all
she could think of; it was all she could feel; the universe
was a bubble, barely large enough to hold them both, and his
hot, moist breath was assaulting her ear ....

And suddenly Mulder made a noise somewhere between a sob and
a wail, and he gave one more thrust, and it was wonderful,
it was beautiful, it was perfect ....

Some long, golden time later, Scully was aware of Mulder
moving off of her.  She frowned slightly, and gave a murmur
of protest, but then he settled down next to her again,
spooning her, his hands clasped just below her breasts,
holding her against his chest, gently but firmly.

Keeping her warm.

Keeping her safe.

He would never let her go; she was sure of it.

And at least for tonight, she wasn't afraid at all.

================END CHAPTER THREE================

PART 2:  JULY

========= 
Chapter Four
=========

The dark blue Oldsmobile was back.

Mulder considered the matter as he did leg stretches,
preparatory to his morning run.  He knew who owned the car,
of course; he'd had the plates run after seeing it parked
down the block from his apartment building on both Saturday
and Sunday *last* weekend.  And now it was Saturday morning
again, and it was back, and Mulder was trying to figure out
why Jim Street was spying on him.

There was, of course, the obvious and straightforward
explanation, but Mulder had assigned that a very low
probability.  Street didn't seem the type to be a stalker. 
For one thing, he had stayed away from Scully -- his ex-wife
-- for more than a decade, and had made no apparent effort
to contact her or keep tabs on her, and that didn't fit the
pattern of a man with an unhealthy obsession.

Far more importantly, Mulder hadn't gotten any negative
vibes off Street when they'd all had dinner together at
Scully's mother's house the previous month.  Oh, the man had
obviously had an agenda of some sort; they wouldn't have all
been together like that if he hadn't.  But what that agenda
might be, Mulder had been unable to determine -- and Scully
hadn't been able to offer any insights, either.

Mulder sighed and straightened up, and for a minute he
jogged in place as he continued to think about the problem,
all the while continuing to look at the dark blue
Oldsmobile.

As he saw it, he had three basic options.  First, he could
ignore it -- and if the car had not returned this weekend,
he might have chosen to do just that.  After all, it could
have been a coincidence; Mulder's apartment building was
just barely within walking distance of St. John's, the
church where Mrs. Scully and her daughter -- and Street,
apparently -- worshipped.  It was possible that some special
function had filled the church parking lot, and that Street
had been unable to find any place closer to park.

Of course, that would not explain why he had been there on
both Saturday *and* Sunday last week, nor did it explain why
he was here *this* Saturday morning.  So, in Mulder's mind,
option number one was out.

The second option was to talk to Scully about it. 
Unfortunately, that was impossible.  She'd left town on
Friday afternoon for an overnight retreat organized through
her church, and the lodge where she was staying had no
telephones -- and, of course, it was in a sufficiently
isolated area that there was no cell phone coverage.

Mulder had been surprised at Scully's desire to attend the
function, since she hadn't been showing much interest in
regular church attendence the past few months.  He had
raised no objection, though; he knew that she'd been
struggling with some knotty spiritual problems since her
trip to Africa the previous fall, and he assumed she saw
this trip as an opportunity to work through some of those
issues.

In any case, she had told him not to expect her back until
late this afternoon or early evening, which meant that he
was either going to have to deal with this dilemma on his
own, or he was going to have to wait.  And Fox Mulder had
never been good at waiting.

And that left option number three:  the direct approach.  He
could simply walk down the block and ask Street what the
hell he was doing here.

Street saw him coming, of course; that was part of the plan.
 Furthermore, Mulder couldn't even make himself feel guilty
at attempting to intimidate the other man a little with a
slow, deliberate approach.  It hadn't been *his* idea for
Scully's ex-husband to drive all the way down from Baltimore
on a Saturday morning, and Mulder felt no obligation to make
the man feel comfortable.

As he approached the car, Street popped the locks.  Mulder
hesitated, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, then
shrugged, opened the passenger side door, and stepped into
the car.

For a minute or so, the two men sat together in silence. 
This was Street's play, Mulder thought.  Let *him* start the
conversation.  He glanced over at the other man, and saw
that Street was looking right back at him, his features
impassive, unreadable.  Looking as if he were willing to
wait in silence indefinitely.

To hell with it.

"You know," Mulder said casually, "conducting open
surveillance on a subject who you know carries a gun for a
living isn't the smartest -- or safest -- hobby you could
have decided to take up."  He saw Street's eyelids flicker
slightly, and decided to turn up the heat a notch.  "I'm an
FBI agent," he went on.  "And I have enemies.  All law
enforcement officers do.  When I see a strange car lurking
in my neighborhood, it's cause for concern."

Street nodded, looking like a man who'd just been given a
tip by his stockbroker.  "Sounds like a dangerous
profession," he commented.

Mulder nodded coolly in return.  "It can be," he replied. 
"But just living is dangerous, and you can't let it get to
you, or you never have any fun."  He grimaced and shook his
head.  He really didn't want to be discussing life
philosophies with this man; he just wanted to persuade him
to go away.  "Look," he went on, "does this conversation
have a point?"

Street hesitated, then shrugged.  "Actually," he said, "I
was hoping to see Dana."

"She's not here," Mulder responded flatly.  "She doesn't
live here.  She lives in Georgetown -- as I'm sure you
know."

"Yes, I do know," the man said with a nod.  "But she doesn't
seem to live there, either.  At least, she never seems to be
home.  I thought I might find her over here."

Mulder reflected that the man had a point.  Scully *had*
been spending a lot of time at his place this past month. 
Ever since the dinner at her mother's house at the beginning
of June, she'd seemed to be more comfortable being in his
apartment than in her own.  Not that it was any of Street's
business, in the first place ....

"Look, I'm not trying to upset anybody's applecarts," Street
said, breaking in on Mulder's thoughts.  "What Dana and I
had ... well, it was pretty special, but it's over."  He
made a slicing motion with one hand, and laughed
mirthlessly.  "I don't pretend to understand why, but it is.
 But I think, even as an ex-husband, that I still have some
rights.  Don't you agree?"

Mulder couldn't even begin to imagine how to respond to that
statement.  The idea that someone might actually have
"rights" over Dana Scully, and that he and her ex-husband
were somehow suddenly engaged in a negotiation of those
rights, was leaving him a little breathless.

He flinched as Street suddenly clapped a hand on his
shoulder.  "Look, Fox," he said.  "You understand.  Dana's a
hard woman to love, and she's even harder to let go of. 
Lord knows, I've tried to do both things.  But all I really
care about -- all I've *ever* cared about -- is that she
have someone to look after her."

"That's it, huh?" was all that Mulder could think of to say.

"That's right," the other man said with a vigorous nod. 
"What other reason would there be?  I tried my damnedest to
please her; to make her happy, but she just wouldn't let me
in.  I truly hope you have better luck than I did -- but
know one thing:  marriage is forever, in my book.  She may
have divorced me, but that doesn't release me from my vows. 
I've been away for a while, and I had some other obligations
to tend to, but now I'm back, and I intend to fulfill my
commitments to Dana.  And that's really all that I want --
to make sure that she's happy."

#          #          #

"Father Landis, could I have a moment of your time?"

The priest looked up from the remains of his share of the
picnic lunch, to see a woman standing in front of him.  Dana
Scully, he remembered, from the get-acquainted session the
night before.  He'd heard her name from time to time, in the
three years he'd been at St. John's, but the Scullys usually
took their Church business to Father McCue, and he didn't
really know her.

He'd been mildly surprised, in fact, to see her name on the
list of people who'd signed up for the retreat this weekend,
but once he'd got a look at her eyes, when she first
arrived, he understood:  she had something on her mind, and
for some reason she apparently didn't want to discuss it
with Father McCue.  And he'd been waiting ever since for her
to work up the courage to approach him.

"Certainly," he said, with the easy familiarity he'd
cultivated in more than twenty years of tending to the
spiritual needs of others.  "Would you like to grab a
sandwich while we talk?  I think there are some left." 
Lunch had been coldcuts and assorted fruit, but he hadn't
noticed her eating anything.

"No, I'm not -- I've had enough, thanks," she replied. 
"Could we just go for a walk?"  She gestured at the gap in
the nearby treeline that marked the beginning of one of the
hiking trails.

"Sure," Father Landis replied.  "Just let me dump my plate."
 He rose from the picnic table and strode briskly over to
the serving table and disposed of his scraps before adding
his plate and cup into the pile of dirty dishes.  Time was,
everything would have been disposable, he mused as he turned
away.  But times change, and so now when we go on picnics we
have to wash the dishes.

A few minutes later, he and Dana Scully were strolling
casually down the hiking trail, side by side.  Neither of
them had spoken since leaving the campground; the priest had
been waiting for her to initiate the conversation, but she
seemed to be having difficulty doing so.  Well, sometimes it
was necessary to give the ball a little push before it
started rolling.

"So," he said, drawing on what little he knew about her, "I
understand you work in law enforcement?"

"Yes," she replied.  "I'm with the FBI."  She seemed
uncomfortable even with such a simple statement, and Father
Landis wondered if her problem -- whatever it was -- might
be related to her work.

"That sounds like a challenging occupation," he commented. 
'Challenging' was a good word; one of his favorites.  It
left the listener free to interpret his remark as one of
validation, or as acknowledgement of an obstacle.  He
wondered which one it would be for Dana Scully.

"It is," she said.  "In both good ways and bad ways." 
Father Landis couldn't keep smiling slightly.  She'd spotted
his maneuver, then.  But before he could respond, she went
on, "But this isn't about that.  At least, not directly." 
She took a deep breath, and stopped and turned to face him. 
"The problem, Father, is that I've recently become ...
involved with a man I work with."

"You mean romantically involved?"

"Yes."

The priest nodded.  "And has this been causing you problems
at work?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head firmly.  "No, it hasn't.
 I admit I resisted it for a long time, for that reason,
among others, but now in retrospect I think that was
foolish.  We've always worked well together, and adding a
personal relationship has simply made a good thing better. 
So that's not the problem at all."

"Then what is the problem?" he asked.  She didn't seem
defensive about his first question, and he was therefore
inclined to take her answer at face value.  So there must be
something else --

"Father, I'm divorced."

"Ah."  He couldn't keep himself from commenting; everything
was suddenly becoming clear.  "And you're concerned about
how the Church might view your new relationship."

"Yes.  I guess so."  She looked away from the priest, then
seemed to force herself to look back again.  "I wasn't, at
first.  Mu-- We've been together for about six months now;
since the first of the year.  But until about a month ago,
it didn't bother me.  I never really thought about it."

"I see," Father Landis replied.  "What happened a month ago?
 Why did you start thinking about it?"

She sighed.  "I had an ... encounter with my ex-husband.  I
hadn't seen him since the divorce -- more than ten years
ago.  The last I heard, he'd been out on the west coast
somewhere, but now he's suddenly moved to Baltimore, and he
sort of invited himself to dinner at my mother's house."

"I see."  The priest gestured down the trail; she nodded,
and the two of them started walking again.  "I take it you
were there for this dinner?"  Out of the corner of his eye,
he saw her nod, and he continued, "And what happened?  Did
you discover that you still have feelings for him?"

"No."

Father Landis waited for a minute to see if she would
elaborate; when it became clear that she was not inclined to
do so, he said, "It's perfectly natural, you know.  Just
because you've decided that a relationship can't work, that
doesn't mean --"

"No," she repeated, cutting him off firmly.  "No, that's not
it at all.  I was a little afraid of that, before the
dinner, but it didn't happen.  And I had my ... my friend
with me, and he was very supportive."  The priest glanced
down at her in time to see an expression of distaste pass
across her face.  "Jim -- my ex-husband -- he did make a
small pass at me, sort of, when we were alone for a few
minutes.  But I told him I wasn't interested, and he backed
off."

"Okay."  Father Landis thought about that for a moment, and
decided that it was really a side issue.  Even if she wasn't
being completely honest about her feelings towards her
ex-husband, it wasn't the crucial point.  Time to bring it
back to the original issue.   He stopped walking, and waited
until she turned to face him again.

"Dana," he said gently, "I think you know the answer to your
question."  Keeping his tone even and non-judgmental, he
went on, "In the eyes of the Church, if you are sleeping
with your new friend, you are committing adultery."  She
swallowed at hearing the word, but didn't say anything.  The
priest continued, "That is, assuming that there's been no
annulment."

She shook her head sadly.  "How could there be?"

Father Landis shrugged.  "I don't know.  I don't know the
circumstances of your marriage, or of your divorce.  Have
you ever considered seeking an annulment?"

Something flickered in her eyes.  "Once," she said, "a long
time ago.  Shortly after the divorce, in fact.  There was
another man ....  But it didn't work out.  And since then,
it hasn't seemed to be important."

The priest nodded.  "It might be worth considering," he
said.  "I would never urge anyone to take such a step
lightly, but it's clear that you're unhappy with the status
quo."  He hesitated, trying to decide whether to ask the
next question -- and how to phrase it.  Finally, he simply
said, "Are you thinking about getting married again?"

Dana Scully sighed, and shook her head.  "No, not really.  I
don't think either one of us is ready for that.  And I'm not
sure I could cope with the ... consequences."

"The Church no longer excommunicates people who divorce and
remarry," Father Landis stated, wanting to make sure she was
aware of that.  "It's not our place to come between anyone
and God.  However --"

"However," she said, flatly, "I would no longer be able to
take communion."  She moved her shoulders restlessly.  "But
that's not an issue.  At least, not right now.  I don't know
what might happen in the future."

"A desire to remarry isn't the only reason to seek
annulment," the priest suggested gently.  "Sometimes people
just want closure to what is, after all, a very important
period in their lives.  It can be very ... disconcerting to
leave loose ends dangling like that."

Suddenly her eyes were filled with tears.  "I don't know
what I want, Father," she said.  "I just want it to go away.
 I just want to be happy."

"Does your friend make you happy?" he asked, very gently. 
He was tempted to reach out and touch her, but something
told him not to.

"Yes."  She rubbed at her eye with a knuckle.  "Yes, he
does.  But now this ... other stuff has come up again, when
I thought I had it all locked away.  And I don't like to
feel as if I'm committing a sin just because I want to be
with him."  She looked Father Landis in the eye, her gaze
challenging him, and a little defiant.  "I don't like being
judged that way by the Church."

He was already shaking his head.  "The Church doesn't judge
you, Dana," he said.  "You know that.  Only God can judge
you."  He hesitated, as an idea popped into his head.  He
wasn't sure if telling her about this would help ... but he
decided it couldn't hurt.  "May I tell you a story?"

An expression flickered across her face, halfway between
wariness and curiousity.  "Okay."

Father Landis steepled his fingers and thought for a moment.
 He hadn't really considered these things in a long time --
although, of course, they were always with him.  Finally, he
began speaking.

"When I was a young man, before I dedicated myself to the
Church, I was involved with a young lady.  Her name was
Janice, and we became quite close."  He smiled sadly, and a
little wistfully, as the memories came filtering back to
him.  "She was a lovely girl," he went on, "and we loved
each other very much.  So much so, that after a while, we
began talking of marriage."

She nodded, but didn't speak.  And after a moment, he
continued, trying to keep his voice light.  "So there we
were.  Young and happy and full of hormones and love.  Can
you guess what happened?"  She shook her head.  "I fell in
love with someone else."  He waited a moment, until he saw
comprehension spread across her face, then added, "I fell in
love with God."

"You were called," she said.

"That's right," he responded.  "I was called.  I was deeply
in love with Janice, to the point where I was about ready to
go pick out an engagement ring.  And I was called."  He took
a deep breath; as always, remembering this episode in his
life was affecting him more than he'd anticipated.  Perhaps
someday he'd learn to expect it.  "And I struggled with it
for quite a while. I prayed, and I meditated, and I cried. 
I asked God, 'Why me?  Why now?'  And the only answer that I
got was, 'It's time.'"

"That must have been very hard," she murmured.

"It was," he acknowledged.  "it was hard on both of us.  All
three of us, I should say, because I'm sure God does not
enjoy seeing His children unhappy."  He shrugged.  "But
there it was.  I was faced with a choice:  I could continue
on as I had been, and be with the woman I loved -- or I
could answer the demands God was placing on me.  But I could
not do both."  He shrugged again.  "It's obvious what my
decision was."

She nodded, and Father Landis continued, "Janice was
particularly upset, because she was very devout, and she
therefore felt guilty at feeling hurt by my decision. But
she was hurt, very badly hurt, and that made *me* feel
guilty.  We tried to stay friends, but neither of us could
stand to be around the other.  We parted on good terms ...
but we parted."

"So what you're trying to tell me is ... what?" she asked, a
tinge of resentment mingling with the sadness in her voice. 
"That I have to give him up?  That I have to be strong, like
you, and --"

"Not at all," the priest said quickly.  "Not at all.  I'm
sorry if I gave that impression.  What I'm trying to remind
you of is that God never asks us to give more than we're
able.  And, of course, that ultimately each of us must look
into our own heart to determine His will."

She nodded slowly, and Father Landis was relieved to see the
anger fading from her eyes.  "I see," she said.  Her lips
quirked slightly.  "But in the eyes of the Church, I'm still
committing adultery."

"Unfortunately, that's true," he replied.  "But there is a
possible solution to that problem -- one that doesn't
involve giving up your relationship with your friend."

"Annulment," she said.

"That's right."  And now he did reach out and lay a gentle
hand on her shoulder.  "Think about it, Dana.  Search your
heart.  Talk to God about it.  Then, if you feel it's right,
come talk to me."

She stood quietly for a moment, apparently considering his
words.  Finally, she said, "Maybe I will."

================END CHAPTER FOUR================

========= 
Chapter Five 
=========

The rain began to fall just as Scully was leaving the
campsite, a slow, misty drizzle, steadily building.  The
clouds had moved in during the late afternoon, low and dark
and threatening, and she hadn't been on the road twenty
minutes before the rain developed into a steady downpour. 
She found it matched her mood quite well.

She wasn't sure what she'd expected from Father Landis.  Not
absolution, certainly; she hadn't gone into the conversation
with an attitude of confession, for the simple reason that
she didn't really feel in her heart that she was committing
a sin.

Scully had always had a difficult time understanding the
idea of sin.  In her view, true wrongness lay in hurting
another person, and she was hurting no one by having Mulder
as a lover.  In fact, she was making Mulder happy -- not to
mention herself.  And anything that eased Fox Mulder's
burden of pain and sadness was, in her opinion, a good
thing.

Unfortunately, the Church didn't see it that way.

She turned up the windshield wipers another notch, and tried
to think about the Church for a minute.  She'd considered
herself devout when she was growing up, and even into her
twenties.  She'd had some disagreements with it over issues
such as contraception and the like, but having observed the
shouting matches Missy got into with their father, Scully
had quickly learned to keep her opinions to herself.

It was during medical school that she'd started to drift
away.  The rigors of working and studying eighty to a
hundred hours a week had taken their toll, and Scully had
found it harder and harder to make time even to go to Mass. 
By the time she was halfway through her residency, she'd
become a confirmed workaholic, with little time in her life
for religion and spirituality.

And then had come her marriage -- and more importantly, her
divorce.  And unfortunately, just at a time when, in
retrospect, she could have benefitted from the consolation
offered by the Church, she had been made uncomfortable
attending St. John's, due to the conflict with her family
over the divorce and her career change -- and she'd lacked
the time and gumption to find a new place to worship.

Since she'd joined the Bureau, she'd had an
off-again/on-again relationship with the Church -- mostly
off-again.  By the time of her remission, she'd come to
realize what a hole there was in her life, but before she
had time to assimilate the idea and do anything about it,
the X-Files had been burned, there'd been her second
abduction, and then the long, agonizing months when she and
Mulder hung in bureaucratic limbo.  Again, thinking back on
it, this was a time when she might have found comfort in a
closer relationship with God.  And again, she'd let the
opportunity slip away.

And sitting neatly on top, like a cherry on an ice cream
sundae, was her trip to Africa, and the sudden realization,
both terrifying and exciting, that nothing in her life --
not her science, not her family, not even God -- was as
important to her as Fox Mulder.

Nothing.

Scully realized that she was crying, and angrily tried to
brush the tears away.  This wasn't supposed to be happening,
she thought.  Going on this retreat had been an impulsive
decision, but it was supposed to have been a chance to relax
and get her thoughts organized.  Instead, it had only gotten
her more confused, and the conversation with Father Landis
hadn't helped as much as she had hoped.

Annulment.  The word floated up to the top of her mind, as
it had been trying to do ever since the priest had first
spoken it.  Annulment.  She'd briefly considered pursuing
it, back when she was dating Jack Willis, but that
relationship had ended without ever becoming important
enough for her to do anything about it.

//A desire to remarry isn't the only reason to seek
annulment.//  Father Landis' words from this afternoon
echoed in her head.  //Sometimes people just want closure to
what is, after all, a very important period in their lives. 
It can be very ... disconcerting to leave loose ends
dangling like that.//

Scully nodded to herself as she remembered the man's words. 
She knew exactly what feeling he was talking about  The
feeling of being neither fish nor fowl, neither married, nor
truly single.  Half bound to a man she no longer really
knew, but all the while yearning to be free, just for her
own peace of mind.  She'd managed to push those feelings far
down into the background; she hadn't consciously thought
about them in years.  But now Jim's unexpected reappearance
had dredged all the hurt and confusion back up again, and it
seemed just as strong and fresh as it had been ten years
ago.

Damn him.

And once again, her thoughts turned back to Mulder.  What
would *he* think if she decided to apply for an annulment? 
He would be supportive and understanding, at least as best
he was able.  But would it be enough?  Would he think she
was doing this because she wanted to marry him?  And would
he be relieved or disappointed when she explained that she
had a different motivation?

For that matter, *did* she want to marry him?

Scully hastily pushed that last thought away.  She wasn't
anywhere near ready to deal with that particular hot potato,
and she didn't think Mulder was, either.  Ever since they'd
embarked on this romantic relationship, they'd carefully
avoided any discussion of the future.  Living in the present
and having each other had been enough -- at least, she
thought it had been.  Maybe she was wrong, though.

Maybe the present *wasn't* enough.

Hell, who was she trying to kid?  She and Mulder had been
committed to each other, on a personal level, long before
they became lovers.  They'd finally confirmed it, at least
in words, the day Diana Fowley's body was found, although
the physical consummation was still some weeks away.  And
again, she could hear words echoing inside her head -- only
this time, they were Mulder's:

//You were my friend, and you told me the truth,// he'd
said.  //Even when the world was falling apart, you were my
constant.  My touchstone.//

Scully felt her eyes filling with tears once again, as she
once more whispered the words of her response:  "And you are
mine."

And Dana Scully pressed down on the accelerator a little
harder, seeking to shorten her journey home.  She needed
Mulder, and she needed him right now.

The rest of her problems would have to wait.

#          #          #

Mulder lay sprawled on the sofa, staring at the images
flickering across the TV screen.  At one time, he'd enjoyed
watching this show, but he hadn't seen it in months, and now
he was finding it unexpectedly annoying.

This was, he thought, at least partly because his own life
situation had changed.  In the past he'd taken some small
comfort in seeing two other people -- even fictional people
-- who so obviously yearned for each other, but couldn't be
together due to circumstances beyond their control.

Now, however, it no longer seemed all that relevant.  The
parallels between the two characters on the screen and he
and Scully were still there -- but that was the way things
used to be, rather than the way they were now.  And even if
Jarod and Miss Parker *did* eventually get together, Mulder
was willing to bet that Miss Parker didn't have an
irritating ex-husband waiting in the wings to gum things up.

He sighed in aggravation, and clicked his thumb on the
remote to switch the TV off.  He'd been watching far too
much television this weekend -- something he hadn't done
much since he'd become involved with Scully -- and it was
only serving to remind him of how lonely he used to be, and
how lonely he could be again, if things didn't work out for
them.

//Look, I'm not trying to upset anybody's applecarts,// Jim
Street had said.  //But I think, even as an ex-husband, that
I still have some rights.  Don't you agree?//

No, Mulder didn't agree, and now he wished he'd said so.  He
hadn't wanted to seem possessive and territorial; Street had
been exuding quite enough testosterone for his taste, and
Mulder hadn't wanted to add to the mix.  But in retrospect,
he wondered if he shouldn't have given the other man a more
direct warning that he needed to back off, and leave Scully
alone.  At the very least, he would have reassured himself
by speaking the words aloud, even if Street had chosen not
to heed them.

And now Scully was later getting back from the retreat than
he'd expected, and he was finding that he missed her pretty
badly, and was worried about her.  He knew that she'd
probably just been delayed by the sudden downpour, but that
didn't prevent his subconscious from creating images of car
accidents and the like.

And, of course, there was his *real* fear -- that going off
by herself with a group of co-religionists had caused her to
 realize that she couldn't continue her relationship with
him, and that she was now sitting at home in her apartment,
trying to work up the nerve to pick up the phone and call
him.

Then he heard her key in the lock, and he breathed a sigh of
relief.  She was home; she was back.  He had never really
doubted that she would be, but sometimes, even now, his
insecurities got the better of him -- and the encounter with
Street, early this morning, hadn't helped at all.  He
climbed to his feet and turned to face the door, just as it
was swinging open --

And there she was, standing in the doorway, a sad, sober
expression on her face.  Mulder's heart briefly stopped, as
he considered what sorrow she might be contemplating, but
then he saw the longing and desire in her eyes, and he knew
that whatever was bothering her, it wasn't going to harm
their relationship.

Maybe it was even going to help.

He continued to stand by the sofa, watching in silence as
she stepped into the apartment and shut the door.  Part of
him wanted to speak to her, to go to her, to welcome her
back.  He wanted to express his own need and desire -- and
his fear.  But something told him to wait, and let her guide
their reunion.  Something told him to give her the control.

He kept watching as Scully quietly deposited her purse in
what had become its accustomed place on the small table next
to the door.  Her jacket and hair were both wet from the
rain; her hair in particular was soaked, darker than usual,
and slicked back against her head.  She looked as if she'd
just stepped from the shower, and Mulder was finding it
incredibly arousing.

Unbelievably arousing.

Mulder's gaze stayed on his partner as she hung her jacket
on the coat tree and turned back to face him once again. 
The sadness was still there, on her face and in her posture,
and Mulder wanted to step forward and take her in his arms,
and erase the sorrow from her features and soothe her body
with his own.  But still there was that voice in his head,
telling him not to move, not to approach her.  And so he
remained still and quiet.

Finally, she came to him, moving across the five feet of
intervening space with a steady, even stride -- and Mulder
was struck, suddenly, by how much she resembled the young,
naive woman who had walked into his basement office so many
years ago.  The sadness was suddenly gone, and she was
strong.  Determined.  Powerful.

And she was so breathtakingly beautiful, he thought his
heart might break.

Then she was standing in front of him, and looking up at him
with those penetrating, blue eyes.  Scully lived in her
eyes; Mulder had known that for a long time.  Years. But
usually she kept her guard up, and granted him only rare
glimpses of her true self.  He was aware that she'd been
trying to change that, these past few months, but even since
they'd become lovers, the access she'd granted him had been
limited, and under her own rigid control.

That control was still there, he saw, but with that control,
now there was something else -- something he had never seen
from her in full measure, not in all the years he'd known
her:  need.

Dana Scully needed him, and she was allowing him to know it.
 And in that brief instant of epiphany, Fox Mulder realized
that something new was going to happen this night. 
Something new, and frightening, and wonderful.

He felt a touch against the back of his hand, feather light.
 Looking down, he saw her fingers brushing against his
knuckles, and he felt a corresponding jolt of electricity
racing up his arm.  She grasped his hand firmly in her own,
and Mulder felt a thrill of pleasure at this simple contact;
then he looked up at Scully's face once again, and he saw
that her eyes were as dark and heavy-lidded with desire and
passion as he knew his own must be.

For a moment he thought she was going to kiss him.  Her lips
were moist and slightly parted, and her breathing was slow
and deep.  He tried to prepare himself; he tried to keep his
own breathing steady and even.  He realized that, somehow,
she had moved closer to him, until their bodies were almost
touching, and her face was only inches from his own.  It
would be so easy for him just to lean down and forward, and
press his lips to hers -- but he knew he had to wait.  He
knew that she would act when she was ready.

She surprised him, then, by turning slightly away and
stepping past him, towards the hall leading to his bedroom. 
But she kept a firm grip on his hand, and Mulder knew he had
no choice but to follow.

Not that he had any objection to what Scully obviously had
in mind.

There is something intensely intimate, Mulder mused as she
led him across the room, to walking hand in hand with a
woman, fully clothed, to the place where you will shortly be
making love.  Intensely intimate, and profoundly erotic. 
His cock, already straining against the fabric of his jeans,
seemed to become harder and more insistent with each step
they took, until finally they entered the bedroom and came
to a stop next to the bed.

Scully then turned to face him again, and finally dropped
his hand.  Mulder felt an acute sense of loss as he
relinquished that contact, but only for a moment, because in
the next instant, Scully reached up, her eyes still locked
on his, and deliberately and methodically began to unbutton
her blouse.

And still Mulder felt a need to remain passive.  Half a
dozen times, as his lover slowly and carefully stripped for
him, he started to reach for his own belt, wanting to join
her in her growing nakedness.  But each time, something
stopped him -- but now it was no longer his own inner voice,
but something within Scully.  Something that glowed and
smoldered in her eyes; something that seemed to have reached
out and taken control of his own volition.

At last she finished disrobing, gently pushing the elastic
of her panties down off her hips, and allowing them to drop
softly to the floor.  She stepped out of them, bringing
herself a step closer to Mulder in the process, and
immediately began undressing him.

Mulder didn't even try to suppress the shiver that passed
through his body as his partner's hands went to work on his
clothing.  His jeans fell quickly to the floor, and his
Georgetown University sweatshirt soon followed.  Then Scully
slipped her hands into the waistband of his boxers ... and
paused.

And Mulder found himself unable to breathe.

This was not a new situation, he reminded himself.  He had
made love to this woman many times before.  He was
comfortable with her; familiar.  There was no reason for him
to be so transfixed.  So entranced.  So mesmerized.

But he was.

He looked at her eyes again, and yes, the need was still
there.  She was completely naked, both in body and in
spirit, and she wanted him.  She needed him.  And as he
continued to stare into her eyes, drinking in the love and
desire he saw there, she slowly eased his boxers down off
his body, and finally they were naked together.

Once again, Scully stood still and quiet in front of him,
her hands resting lightly on his bare hips, her dark,
luminous eyes looking up into his own.  And now, in addition
to the other emotions he'd been seeing there, he also saw a
certain wildness; something raw and powerful and
uncontained.  Something that frigtened him, and caused him
to tremble, even as it was also adding to his arousal and
excitement.

And then, suddenly, she was kissing him, her mouth lightly
pressing against his, her tongue flicking out to caress his
lips.  Her small, delicate hands slid up his body to rest
gently against his chest, and for a moment the world stopped
turning.

This must be what it's like to die, he mused languidly.  His
thoughts were muddled; disjointed.  The passion Scully was
pouring into this kiss was little short of mindblowing, and
somehow, the restraint she showed in so severely limiting
her touching just made the spots where their skin was in
contact seem all the more sensitive.

Her lips continued to work on his, and he allowed his mouth
to open sightly, admitting her tongue.  Her fingers moved
gently and smoothly against his skin, tracing delicate,
not-quite-random patterns across his chest.  He wanted to
crush her to him; he wanted to enfold her and cocoon her. 
But once again he reminded himself:  this was her time to be
in control.

At last she pulled away, and he looked at her again; he
couldn't take his eyes off her.  Her face seemed rounder and
softer, and her eyes now were positively glowing with
excitement.  The need was still there, but so was the
wildness, and Mulder felt himself trembling again as she
once more took his hand, and guided him down onto the bed. 
A moment later she joined him, and then they lay on their
sides, facing one another, her hands lightly gripping his
upper arms.

And suddenly, she attacked him.  There was no other word for
it, as she pressed her body hard against his, claiming his
lips with her own.  Her arms snaked around his neck, holding
him close and tight, and then she was pushing aggressively
forward, rolling him onto his back as her tongue plunged
deep, deep into his mouth.

In the next instant she was lying on top of him, apparently
seeking to pin him in place, despite her diminutive stature.
 Her hips arched against him, her softness grinding against
his hardness, and even as he felt himself responding,
lifting his own hips in his desperate need for more contact,
he felt her fingers threading through his hair, and her
nails gently digging into his scalp.

Scully had always been an aggressive lover.  Their very
first night together, she had shown herself to be forceful,
assertive -- even a little rough at times.  Mulder reveled
in this quality in her, finding it thrilling and arousing to
have a woman so obviously excited to be making love with
him.  It was such a change from anything he had experienced
before, and sometimes it seemed he could never get enough. 
He remembered one night when Scully had lliterally fucked
him to exhaustion, his own body surprising him with its
ability to respond to her a third, and even a fourth time
....

But this was more, so very much more, even than that night
had been.  Tonight, Scully seemed intent on dominating him
completely, and taking him for her own.  She wanted to own
him and possess him, and she seemed determined that nothing
would stand in her way.

At last she broke the kiss, and as her lips and tongue
started working their was slowly but deliberately down his
chest, Mulder wondered distantly where his fear had gone. 
He should be afraid of this, shouldn't he?  He should be
trying to hold back, and keep at least some small part of
himself safe from her onslaught.  He had never in his life
given himself to a woman the way that Scully was demanding
that he give himself tonight; he had never even considered
it.  But somehow, now, at this moment, here in this bed, it
seemed not just right and natural, but necessary.

He closed his eyes, and couldn't keep a moan from escaping
as her lips closed around the tip of his cock.  Her tongue
swirled lightly across the head, lapping up the small bit of
fluid, and then she took him fully into her mouth, until her
nose brushed against his pubic hair.

Mulder moaned again, and clutched frantically at the bedding
with his fingers, as Scully's head began to bob slowly up
and down.  Her own fingers were lightly tickling and
caressing his balls, as her lips and tongue continued to
minister to his throbbing hard-on.  He wanted to say
something; he wanted to warn her that he wouldn't be able to
take much of this, and that if she wanted him inside her,
she was going to have to stop.  But she was totally and
completely in control now, and Mulder discovered that he no
longer had the strength to speak.

But somehow, she knew.  Even as Mulder thought he couldn't
take another second of her oral stimulation, she withdrew
him from her mouth.  He forced his eyes to open, and lifted
his head, in time to see her tongue flick out and take one
more long, slow taste of his cock.  Then she was moving up
his body again, still holding him firmly in her hand,
guiding him towards her entrance.

Finally, she was hovering over him, staring down once more
into his eyes, searching his face, looking for something. 
Acceptance, he realized.  She wanted his consent, one more
time, before she took him completely, and changed both their
lives forever.  They had spoken of love; they had held each
other and comforted each other in the darkness when their
respective demons came to call.  But always, always, each of
them had been holding something back.  And now, tonight, for
reasons he did not yet understand, Scully was demanding all
of him.

Forever.

And he could not refuse.

She must have read his answer in his eyes; she must have
known how he would respond.  He saw the recognition forming
in her eyes, and the love, and the caring -- and, yes, the
pride of ownership.  And then she thrust sharply downward
with her hips, taking him inside her, all the way to the
hilt.

For a moment, both of them froze.  Mulder found himself
transfixed by the expression of sheer rapture on his
partner's face.  Her eyes were closed, her mouth hanging
open, her features twisted in a grimmace of pure pleasure. 
He had seen her in the throes of passion before, of course,
but it had never been this intense; it had never been this
complete.

And then her eyes opened, and again she was looking down at
him, as her hips began to move.  Slowly at first.  Evenly. 
In long, steady strokes.  Her hands came up to grip his
head, and again she thrust her tongue into his mouth,
tasting and exploring, penetrating him as deeply as she
could, even as he was thrusting up into her.

For he was thrusting up, at last, his hips rising off the
bed in unison with her own downward motions.  He was no
longer able to remain completely passive, and he sensed that
it was now okay, at last, to take a more active role.  His
hands came up to grasp her hips -- not controlling, not
directing, but simply needing something of her to hold onto
as he lost himself inside her.  With each push he seemed to
bury himself deeper, and the warmth and heat and tightness
of her passage was exquisite ....

And then he felt her orgasm.  It began as a shiver, a
shudder, and then it was upon her, fast and hard and
furious, as every muscle in her body seemed to cramp and
spasm simultaneously.  He saw her face transform into
something raw and animal, and her mouth gaped open in what
might have been a scream, but was utterly and completely
silent.  Her arms wrapped themselves around his head,
crushing him to her, and her inner muscles gripped his cock,
pulling frantically at him, as they sought to draw him
completely inside of her.

It seemed to go on forever, and Mulder watched in awe as
wave after wave of pleasure passed across her features.  She
gave one more hard, violent downward thrust, and then he was
coming, too, the climax appearing in his groin and ripping
through his body, his balls contracting repeatedly as he
finally emptied himself into her.

His last thought, as he felt her hot, sweaty body collapsing
on top of him, and unconsciousness claimed him, was that
something must be wrong.  Because he had never felt so happy
in all his life.

================END CHAPTER FIVE================

========= 
Chapter Six 
=========

"So how long have you been with the FBI, anyway?"

"Fourteen years," Mulder replied, trying hard to suppress
the memory of the look of disgust that had graced Bill
Scully's face the last time they'd met.  That had been at
Emily's funeral, two and a half years before, and the
searing look he'd received from this man had burned itself
into his memory.

But now things were different, he reminded himself.  Now he
was here in Margaret Scully's home as an invited guest, with
the status of her daughter's ... boyfriend, he supposed was
the correct word for it.  And here was Bill Scully, whose
unexpected visit was the reason for the invitation, standing
in front of him in the living room, making what appeared to
be a genuine attempt at smalltalk, and perhaps even wanting
to mend some fences.  Which meant that Mulder had an
obligation to respond, if only for Scully's sake.

"I started out in profiling," Mulder went on, after a brief
pause.  "Did that for three years, then transferred over to
Violent Crimes."  There was no need to go into the details
behind that transfer, he thought morosely.  Profiler burnout
was not a pretty subject.  He concluded, "And it was while I
was with the VCU that I discovered my ... current
assignment."

"You mean the X-Files," Bill Scully said flatly.

"That's right."

"Little green men, and all that."

So the old Bill wasn't completely gone, Mulder thought --
and then he wondered why he'd expected anything different. 
He fought down the urge to say something biting or defensive
in response, and simply nodded, and repeated, "That's
right."

It had been a week since Mulder's early morning encounter
with Jim Street.  Street had not returned the following day,
and there'd been no sign of him this Saturday morning,
either.  When he'd told Scully about the visit, a brief
expression of anger had flitted across her face, and she'd
thrown up her hands in disgust, but she hadn't seemed to
have any interest in pursuing the matter.  For his own part,
Mulder didn't kid himself that Scully's ex-husband was gone
for good, but any day without the other man's presence was a
good day, in Mulder's opinion.

It had also been exactly one week since Scully had come home
late from her church retreat, and practically devoured him. 
He still didn't know what had prompted her to act that way
-- presumably something that happened while she was away. 
But when he asked her about it, tentatively, the next
morning, she'd told him she needed some time to think, and
Mulder had willingly given it to her -- after receiving a
little reassurance that everything was still fine between
the two of them.

That reassurance had taken a while, but it sure had been
fun.

"Mulder?"

Mulder realized with embarrassment that Bill Scully was
looking at him expectantly, apparently waiting for a
response to some remark he'd just made.

"Sorry, uh, Bill," he said, feeling awkward as he tried out
the man's first name.  "I was distracted there for a moment.
 What did you say?"

There was a brief glint of something very close to anger in
Bill's eyes, and Mulder had the uncomfortable feeling that
the other man knew exactly what Mulder had been distracted
by.  "I said," he replied, with more than a hint of the old
hostility in his voice, "what do you get out of it?  Why is
it so important?"

//Has it been worth it?//  Bill Scully didn't say the words
this time, but the meaning came through loud and clear, just
as it had that day nearly three years ago in the hallway
outside Scully's hospital room.  //Has it been worth it?//
her brother had asked him then.  //To you, I mean.  Have you
found what you've been looking for?//

At the time, with his partner's life hanging by a thread,
Mulder had thought the answer was no.  He'd thought it
hadn't been worth it.  Nothing on earth could be worth
losing the one person on the planet who'd stood by him with
such steadfast loyalty and devotion.  As Scully's life force
ebbed away, minute by minute, he'd felt as if his own life
was ending as well, and he'd found it almost impossible to
care about anything else.

But now things were different.  Now, against all the odds,
he and Scully had finally found each other, in the fullest
sense of the word.  And now, maybe, Mulder thought he saw a
different answer.

"A lot of our cases are dead ends," he began, choosing his
words carefully.  "A lot of them are pranks and hoaxes.  A
lot of them have perfectly normal, mundane explanations,
once we dig into them."  He paused, and waited for Bill to
nod his understanding.  Then:  "But then there are a handful
of incidents that can't be explained away -- and those cases
would be sitting in a file cabinet gathering dust if it
weren't for your sister and me."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" Bill asked quietly.

Mulder shrugged.  "In some instances," he admitted,
"probably not.  But in a lot of these cases -- even the
frauds and the pranks -- there are real people who have been
or are being hurt, and they need someone to help them.  They
need justice, compensation -- even just simple closure." 
Thoughts of Samantha flashed through his mind, unbidden. 
How much he would give, even now, just to know what had
happened to her ....

He shook his head, driving away the thought, and continued,
"The problem is, Dana and I are often their last hope.  By
the time a referral reaches us, everyone else has given up,
and washed their hands of it, because they don't want to get
involved in chasing ghosts or U.F.O.'s."

Mulder found his chin lifting, as he experienced an
unaccustomed surge of pride.  "And no matter what other
faults you may find with our work or with the idea of
X-Files, we *still* have one of the highest solve rates in
the Bureau, and when we go out there and put our lives on
the line, it's because somebody needs us.  Somebody who
can't help himself."  Bill nodded reluctantly, in apparent
acknowledgement of the point.  "So, to answer the original
question -- yes, I do think it's worth it."

"So do I."

Mulder looked around in surprise at the sound of his
partner's voice.  He'd been so focused on trying to get his
point across to her brother, that he hadn't heard Scully
enter the room.  Now she stepped forward until she was
standing next to him -- and after the briefest of
hesitations, she took his hand in hers.

"I mean it, Bill," she added, as her brother started to
respond -- and Bill's mouth snapped shut.  Mulder raised his
eyebrows slightly in surprise.

For a moment or two, brother and sister stood there, staring
at each other, and Mulder got the distinct impression that
this was not a new topic of discussion for the two of them. 
At last, Bill broke the staredown, and turned and left the
room.

For a few seconds after her brother had gone, Scully
remained quiet and motionless, and Mulder could feel the
tension radiating from her.  Finally, she seemed to relax a
little, and then she turned towards him and slipped her arms
around his waist.  "Thanks, Mulder," she murmured.

Mulder felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.  "For what? 
Pissing off your brother again?"

She shook her head, pressing her face into his chest, and
when she spoke, her voice was slightly muffled by his shirt.
 "No.  You didn't piss him off.  I did."  She raised her
head and looked up at him -- and Mulder was struck once
again by the depth he saw in her eyes.  "And the thank you
is for standing up for us.  For our work."

Mulder shook his head in confusion.  "*You're* thanking
*me*?  Scully, when have I not --"

"Mulder."  She raised a hand and touched his lips to silence
him.  "I know how important the work is to you.  *I* know
it, and I understand it, because it's just as important to
me."  She raised up on her toes and brushed his cheek with
her lips.  "But most people don't, and a lot of the time it
seems as if you don't want them to understand.  It's almost
seems as if you deliberately try to sabotage their
understanding."

Mulder started to protest, but before he could speak, she
hurried on, "And I know why you do that, too.  I know that
you've been hurt so many times by people who didn't bother
even to *try* to understand, that after a while lashing out
just seems easier."  Another kiss.  "And that's why I'm
thanking you -- for making a real effort with Bill."

Mulder nodded slowly, mostly to himself, and allowed his own
arms to drift around Scully's shoulders, pulling her a
little closer.  She really did understand, he reminded
himself; she understood him so very well, and that was a
gift beyond price.  But he still couldn't completely stem
his own feelings of guilt over the friction his presence in
Scully's life had caused and was continuing to cause between
her and her family.

"Mulder," she said, very softly, "stop it."  He looked down
at her in surprise, and she went on, "None of the problems
I'm having are your fault.  You're the latest excuse, but
they've always found reasons to judge me and second-guess
me, and Bill has *always* been the worst."

"Scully, he's your brother."

"Yes, he is," she replied steadily.  "And I love him.  But
he's also a bully, and he's always been that, too.  The only
reason he left just now is that he hates to be outnumbered. 
If I hadn't come along, he'd still be standing here arguing
with you."  She leaned up and kissed him lightly on the
mouth, and repeated, very quietly and intensely, "And none
of it is your fault."

Mulder smiled, and returned the kiss, and asked, in an
equally low voice, "Are all Scullys mindreaders?"

Scully looked at him very seriously for a few seconds, and
seemed to be studying his face.  Finally, she shook her
head.  "Mulder, I read you like a book," she replied. 
"Don't you know that by now?"

Mulder shivered at her words, and forced himself to keep his
response light.  "That's an awesome power, Agent Scully. 
You must promise to use it only for good."

"I do," she replied, still very sober and serious.  "For
*your* good.  And ours."

She reached up and cupped the back of his head with one
hand, drawing him down for another kiss -- and this one was
neither brief, nor chaste.  He felt her tongue lightly
caress his lips, and he readily granted her admittance as
his arms tightened around her, trying to draw her closer. 
When they finally broke apart, they both were breathing
heavily, and for a moment, Mulder rested his forehead
against his partner's.

At last, she pulled away a little, and Mulder reluctantly
allowed her to step out of his embrace -- and he realized,
in the instant before she began to speak, that something was
wrong.  His immediate impulse was to step forward and take
her in his arms again, but before he had a chance to act,
she began speaking.

"Mulder," she began, slowly and reluctantly, "you're not
going to like this, but I think I have to ask you to leave,
now."

For an instant, Mulder hesitated.  His instinct was to
challenge her, to object -- and six months ago, he probably
would have.  Even last week, before she'd gone on the
retreat, it would have been hard for him to restrain
himself.  But something had changed in that time --
something inside of her, as well as between the two of them
-- and Mulder knew he had to accept this.

"Okay," he said.  Hesitantly:  "May I ask why?"

Scully nodded, and an expression of equal parts relief and
anxiety passed briefly across her features.  "Mom asked me
to stay for a while," she explained.  "She said she has
something she wants to discuss with me.  And Bill."

"I see."  Mulder thought about that for a moment.  It was
clear from her body language and tone of voice that she
didn't really want to stay -- but it was equally clear that
she didn't feel she had a choice.  Finally, he forced
himself to smile.  "I guess I'd better get going, then."

She matched his smile with a shaky, uncertain one of her
own.  "I guess so."

"See you later?" he asked.  "My place?"

Now her smile seemed almost genuine.  "Wouldn't miss it." 
She stepped forward and kissed him again, then pulled away. 
"I'll miss you," she said, very softly -- and Mulder felt a
tremor of anxiety as he realized that Scully -- his brave,
courageous Scully -- was afraid.  Of what, he didn't know,
and he suspected that she didn't know, either.  But she was
afraid, nonetheless.

"I'll miss you, too," he replied, putting as much love and
confidence into his voice as he could manage.  "But it'll be
okay."  He hesitated, and added, "Call me, okay?  When you
can?  I'll come get you, and we'll go out and do the town,
or something."

"I will."

Mulder hesitated just a moment longer, but there didn't seem
to be anything else to say.  And so, finally, he turned and
left the room.

#          #          #

Scully found her mother in the kitchen, making coffee.

It had taken all of her willpower not to leave with Mulder. 
She'd stood there in the living room, looking at his back as
he walked away from her -- and once he'd left the room she
went to the window and watched with unabashed longing until
she saw him move out onto the front porch and down the
steps.

Even as he was backing his car out of the driveway, part of
her still yearned to go after him.  She would run, she
thought, leaving the door standing wide open because it
would take too long to close it.  She would run and run, and
he would see her in the rearview mirror and he would stop
for her, and then they would leave together, and she
wouldn't have to face whatever it was her mother wanted to
talk to her about.  Whatever it was that had put that look
of sorrow on her the older woman's face.

And she and Mulder would be together.  You and me against
the world ....

But she hadn't done it, of course, and now here she was in
her mother's kitchen, trying to fight the feelings of
anxiety and unreality that kept threatening to overwhelm
her.  To give herself something to do while Mrs. Scully
fiddled with the coffee pot, Scully crossed the room and
pulled three mugs from the cupboard -- the same cupboard
that had held the coffee mugs ever since her family moved
into this house, all those years ago.

Scully paused for a moment in surprise.  Had it actually
been that long?  Had it actually been nearly twenty years
since her father retired from the Navy, bought a house on
the outskirts of Washington and went to work as a consultant
on military procurement?  She shook her head in disbelief. 
Yes, it really had been that long.  No wonder so much had
changed; no wonder she wasn't Starbuck anymore --

"Coffee's ready."

Scully sighed, and realized she'd been standing there
holding the coffee mugs, her back to her mother, for some
little while.  She'd been stalling, trying to put off
whatever it was that was coming.  This was not going to be a
pleasant conversation -- that much had been apparent in the
other woman's eyes and body language when she asked Scully
to stay for a while "so we can discuss some things".

Something was wrong.

Scully shook her head again, and turned and walked to the
kitchen table.  She set the three mugs down and took a seat
while her mother filled two of the cups, returned the pot to
its warming pad, and then sat down across from her.  And for
an eternity of perhaps thirty seconds, the two women sat
together in silence.

"Where's Bill?" Scully asked finally, gesturing at the third
cup -- the one that her mother had neglected to fill.  "I
thought he was going to be part of this."

"Actually," Mrs. Scully replied, "I spoke to Bill about this
before you arrived.  Some of it, anyway.  And I've also
emailed Charlie."  She shifted uncomfortably in her chair,
and Scully felt a tremor of unease race through her own
body.  Her mother continued, seemingly by way of
explanation, "It seemed to me that if I was going to discuss
this with one of you, I should tell all of you.  Since it
really concerns the entire family."

Scully nodded slowly.  That much, at least, was familiar. 
"All for one, and one for all," she murmured, almost
involuntarily repeating the phrase her father had used so
many times when she was growing up.  It felt odd on her
tongue, and not entirely appropriate to how she really felt
anymore -- but  then she saw a flicker of recognition in her
mother's eyes.  Maybe this was going to be okay, after all.

"Dana," Mrs. Scully began, steepling her fingers in front of
her, "this isn't going to be easy -- for either of us.  Let
me start by saying that I've done some soul-searching this
past month, and by telling you something that I hope you
already know:  that I love you very much, and that all I
truly want is your happiness."

Almost against her will, Scully felt her hackles rising. 
Most of the worst arguments she'd had with her parents while
growing up had started this way, with declarations of love
as a means to soften the blow that was to follow.

//Dana, you know we love you, but --//

"I also want to apologize," her mother continued, breaking
in on her daughter's train of thought.  "For the way I
handled the ... business with Jim.  I shouldn't have dropped
it on you the way I did.  It was embarrassing for all of us,
and I'm sorry about that."

The way it was handled.  The careful choice of words was not
lost on Scully, and she suddenly felt terribly tired.  Her
mother wasn't apologizing for what she had done; not really.
 She was only expressing regret for the way in which she'd
done it.  And with her next breath, Mrs. Scully confirmed
that interpretation.

"Dana," she said, very softly, reaching out and touching her
daughter's hand, apparently trying to establish some sort of
contact.  "I *do* regret having mishandled that.  But I
really thought it would be good if you and Jim were able to
get together and talk.  I still think that."

"Why?"

Mrs. Scully hesitated for a long moment, her hand still
resting on her daughter's -- but now, rather than offering
comfort, Scully felt as if she were trapped, held down. 
Finally, in very low tones, her mother said, "Dana, I know
that many things have changed in the world since I was
young, and I've tried to reconcile myself to those changes. 
But some things I can't escape, and I have to tell you that,
in my heart, Jim is still your husband."

For several seconds her statement hung in the air between
them, the words so heavy and potent that Scully almost felt
that she should be able to see them.  She tried to focus her
thoughts on what her mother had just said; she tried to
decide how she felt about it.  She *wasn't* still married to
Jim Street; she knew that much -- just as she knew that she
wasn't really committing adultery when she made love with
Mulder.  But despite her certainty on those two points, her
mother's words still burned, in a way that Father Landis'
had not.

Scully shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. 
"No, Mom," she said, struggling to keep her voice level. 
"He's not.  He *was* my husband, but he isn't anymore.  I
divorced him."

"No, Dana --"

"Mom, I divorced him!" Scully repeated, sharply.  "I needed
him out of my life, and I ... I did what I had to do."  She
silently cursed herself as she felt tears forming in her
eyes -- tears her mother was almost certain to misinterpret.
 "He ... he hurt me, Mom.  He hurt me, and none of you have
ever been willing to accept that."

Mrs. Scully sighed, and shook her head.  "No, Dana," she
said again, firmly.  "That's not true, and you know it." 
For an instant, Scully thought her mother was denying that
Jim had harmed her, and she felt the bile rising in her
throat -- but then the older woman continued, "We -- the
family -- have always understood that you felt that way. 
But you shut us out, dear.  You wouldn't let us in, and that
made it very hard for us to help you."

"I didn't need your help," Scully insisted, her voice very
low.  "Not the sort of help you wanted to give."  She knew
she was hurting her mother, but she couldn't keep herself
from saying this.  "I needed to be independent.  I could
have used your support, but you weren't offering that, and
for once in my life, I needed to make my own decisions."  In
a whisper:  "And I don't need your help now, either.  Not if
it involves trying to get me back together with Jim."

"Dana, no one is trying to --"

"The hell you aren't!" Scully snapped, her long-repressed
anger over this issue suddenly bubbling over.  "What else
was that dinner last month about, if it wasn't that?  You
set the whole thing up without even asking me, and then you
maneuvered Mulder out of the room so that Jim and I would
have some time alone together.  And you just admitted that
you still feel that we're married.  Jesus, Mom -- how stupid
do you think I am?"

"You're not stupid, Dana," her mother replied levelly,
obviously struggling with her own temper.  "And I've already
apologized for the dinner.  As for Fox ...."  Her voice
trailed off, and she suddenly looked very sad -- and Scully
realized with a shiver of something very close to fear that
they had arrived at the real point of this discussion.  Mrs.
Scully went on, "Dana, I need to tell you about something. 
It's something that happened a long time ago, and I've been
... thinking about it rather a lot this past month."  Her
lips quirked slightly.  "Not that it's ever really been out
of my mind."

Scully shook her head wearily, all the anger suddenly
draining out of her.  She was so damned tired of all this;
she just wanted to go home and take a long, hot bath, and
crawl into bed with Mulder.  Mulder.  She wanted to be with
Mulder.  And then her mother spoke again, and a part of
Scully's world was shattered.

"When you were seven years old," Mrs. Scully said quietly,
"I had an affair with another man."  Even as Scully felt her
eyes widening in shock, her mother continued, "It isn't
something I'm proud of, and it never happened again -- but
it did happen once, and I think at this point it's important
to ... share some of it with you.  Because I think it
relates to what you're going through."

Scully sat perfectly still, simply staring at her mother, as
her thoughts raced out of control.  Seven years old ...
seven years old ... she'd been seven years old.  The family
had lived in Honolulu that year, she remembered, while her
father was in Vietnam.

Memories came flooding back, assaulting her, overwhelming
her.  The rusty swingset in the back yard, installed by some
previous officer who'd lived in their house; the strange,
exotic flowers that grew in the thicket separating their
yard from the neighbor's; the frequent trips to the beach. 
And there was something else, someone ... a tall,
dark-haired man with sad eyes, who always brought her treats
and presents.

"Uncle Benny," she whispered, more to herself than to her
mother.  And then she forced herself to look Mrs. Scully in
the eye.  "Lieutenant Benboe."  Images started flashing
through her mind; things she didn't want to see, didn't want
to know.  Her mother, and a vaguely-remembered man who
wasn't her father ....

The other woman nodded.  "Yes," she said.  "It was Steve
Benboe."  She sighed, and went on, "And it was a very
difficult time.  Your father was away, and I was trying to
take care of four children with no help, and I was lonely. 
Steve ... well, he was there, and his wife had recently
died, and so we ... turned to each other."

Mrs. Scully shrugged her shoulders, and continued, "I won't
try to defend what I did.  It's not defensible.  When your
father came back, it ended, and until today I never told
anyone that it had happened.  And the only reason I'm
telling you now is because I *do* know that you sometimes
feel misunderstood, and I want you to realize that in this,
at least, I can empathize.  Because I know what it's like to
need someone, and --"

Her mother was still talking, but Scully could no longer
hear her.  She knew her own mouth was hanging open in frank
disbelief, and that her eyes must be glazing over, but she
couldn't stop it; it was all she could do at the moment to
continue breathing.

This isn't happening, she thought.  It isn't happening, and
it didn't happen.  It couldn't have.  Her mother had not
betrayed her father like that -- not her mother.  Not with
another man.  Please, Jesus, make it not be happening --

And suddenly another thought twisted itself into her
consciousness, and Scully felt an even stronger rush of
anger, from a different source.  Her gaze snapped back into
focus, and she saw her mother looking at her uneasily from
across the table.  And then, before she was even fully aware
of what she was about to say, Scully heard her own voice,
and her tone was cold and unforgiving.

"I don't believe this!" she rasped.  "I simply do not
fucking *believe* it."  She saw the other woman's eyes widen
in shock at her use of profanity, but Scully was beyond
caring.  And she went on, fury rising in her voice, "Do you
mean to tell me that you, you *cheated* on Dad?  That you
lied to him, and did this *while he was in a combat zone* --
and then you have the ... the *nerve* to look me in the eye
and tell me that this tawdry little story somehow allows you
to understand what *I'm* feeling?"

"Dana, I'm only trying --"

"I don't want to hear it!"  Scully realized that she was
shouting, now, and that she had risen to her feet.    "You
didn't have any business telling me that, you don't have any
business telling me how to live my life, and I resent the
implication that your situation and mine are in any way
parallel."  She pushed back her chair and stepped around the
table, desperately trying not to look at her mother.  She
didn't want to see the expression on the other woman's face;
she didn't want to know what she was feeling.

"Dana --"

The agony in her mother's voice was clear, but Scully pushed
it away, and kept on walking.  A moment later she was out
the door, and striding purposefully into the night.

================END CHAPTER SIX================

========= 
Chapter Seven 
=========

"Need a lift?"

Scully jumped at the sound of her brother's voice.  She'd
been so absorbed in her own anger and despair that she
hadn't heard the car approaching from the rear.  Now she
turned and looked at him warily, sitting there in the
driver's seat of his rental.  His face was calm and
expressionless, his body language stiff and uncomfortable.

"That depends," she said coolly.  "Are there strings
attached?"  The last thing she needed tonight was another
fight with a family member.  On the other hand, she did want
to find a pay phone so she could call Mulder.  She'd stormed
out of her mother's house in such a hurry that she'd left
her purse -- and her cell phone -- behind, and there was no
way she was going back to that house.  Not tonight, anyway.

"No strings," Bill promised, reaching across the seat to pop
open the passenger door.  "Hop in."

Scully moved towards the car, and was about to climb in,
when she spotted her purse sitting on the seat next to her
brother.  "Actually," she said, "all I really need are my
purse and my phone.  There's no need to inconvenience you."

Bill shrugged.  "It's up to you, but it's not that big an
inconvenience."

She hesitated, then replied, "I'm not going to my place, you
know."

"That's okay," he said.  "I didn't figure you probably
were."

Scully nodded, let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd
been holding, and finally climbed into the car.  Bill threw
the car into gear and pulled away from the curb, and for a
few minutes, brother and sister rode together in silence.

"You know," Bill commented, as he maneuvered the vehicle up
onto the freeway, "you were a little hard on Mom, back
there."

Scully closed her eyes in despair -- and then she forced
them open again, and shook her head angrily.  "Bill," she
said warningly, "you promised --"

"Just chill, Dana," he snapped, cutting her off.  "I'm not
trying to get on your case about this."

"Oh?"  Scully didn't even try to keep the anger from her
voice.  "Then what do you call it?  Surely you're not saying
you *approve* of what Mom did!"

A brief pause.  "Of course not."

"Then what *are* you saying, Bill?"  He did not respond, but
she could see his jaw muscles bunching in apparent
frustration.  Finally, after it had become clear that he
didn't intend to answer, she prodded him.  "Well?  What is
it?  What's on your mind?  Are you trying to tell me that
you agree with Mom?  Do you think I've committed a sin by
falling in love?  Am I going to be damned to hell for this,
Bill?"

Her brother remained silent for just another moment, but
then he shook his head, and spoke a single word.  "No."

Scully took a deep breath, then let it out again.  "Thank
you," she said quietly.

"You're welcome."

Scully turned her gaze away from Bill.  Two or three more
miles went by, while she stared out the window at the
passing scenery.  Maybe the evening was finally over, she
thought.  She didn't kid herself that the whole,
excruciating experience was behind her -- she knew her
family better than that.  But maybe, at least for tonight,
she'd be allowed to forget about it.  Mulder was waiting for
her.  Mulder ....

She should have known better.

"You make it very hard for people to love you, Dana," Bill
said abruptly, in a low tone of voice.  "You know that,
don't you?"

She glanced over at him, and saw that his expression was
walled-off, reserved.  He was giving nothing away.  And so
she just shrugged, and replied, "I know you feel that way. 
I'm sorry.  I never wanted to distance myself from you. From
any of you."

He looked sharply at her, and then back at the traffic. 
"Didn't you?" he asked.

Scully shook her head.  "No.  Separating myself from the
family was never my intention."  She stopped abruptly, and
added, "It's this exit."  She waited while her brother
steered the car through a small knot of traffic to reach the
off ramp.  Then, picking up the previous thread of
conversation:  "But I don't think you've ever really
understood what it was like to be our father's daughter."

"What do you mean?"  His brow was furrowed now in thought,
the suppressed anger of a few moments ago apparently
forgotten.  Was he finally, actually listening to her after
all these years?  One way to find out.

"What I mean ...."  She let her voice trail off as she
struggled to find the words.  Try again.  "I loved Dad," she
said at last.  "More than I loved anyone else in the family,
I think."  She saw Bill nodding out of the corner of her
eye; this was not news to him, she thought.  "But much as I
loved him, he had his flaws -- and he transmitted those
flaws to you and Charlie, and I think Mom at least accepted
them and finally came to believe they were virtues."

"Everyone has flaws, Dana," he replied.  "Is it this
corner?"

"The next one," she said.  "Do you remember where Jefferson
High is?  It's not far from there."  Her brother nodded, and
she continued, "Yes, we all have flaws."  Her gaze flicked
at Bill, and then away again.  "Including Dad.  And one of
his flaws was that he didn't ... respect women very much."

Bill's brow was furrowed again in thought, as he replied,
"You think he was a sexist?"

Scully hesitated, then shook her head.  "Not in the truly
bad sense of the word," she said.  "He certainly never
caused any trouble about my interest in science, or sending
me to medical school.  But he seemed to have difficulty
accepting the idea that women could really think for
themselves."

She saw her brother start to shake his head, and she reached
out and touched his arm briefly.  "Think about it for a
minute, Bill," she urged him.  "Think about all the
arguments you and Charlie had with him, and then think about
the ones Missy and I had.  He was always getting mad at you
boys for breaking a window, or putting a dent in the car, or
something like that.

"But with Missy and me -- he was questioning our
*judgment*."  She shook her head again, this time in
frustration.  "He didn't mind if we made our own decisions
-- he even gave us choices, and encouraged us to think about
them.  But we had to make an *approved* decision, and if we
didn't, we got in trouble for it.  Every single time.  And
you and Charlie ... you had a lot more latitude --"

"It wasn't easy for us, either, Dana," Bill said, cutting
her off.

"I know that."  She closed her eyes for a moment, and felt a
tear trickling down her cheek.  She had loved her father --
hadn't she?  Just because he frustrated the hell out of her
sometimes ....  She forced her eyes open again and looked
back at her brother.  "As you said about me, sometimes he
made it very difficult for people to love him.  He didn't
... accept very well."

"And you do?"

Once again, as had happened while talking to her mother,
Scully felt a terrible weariness settling over her.  He
wasn't getting it after all.  But she had to try one more
time.  "Bill," she said, very quietly, "I spent the first 25
years of my life trying to live up to other people's images
of who I was supposed to be.  I studied the subjects I was
supposed to study, I got the grades I was supposed to get --
I even married the man I was supposed to marry.

"But it wasn't working, Bill," she said firmly.  "Even
before I married Jim, it wasn't working, although I didn't
really admit it to myself until after the divorce.  I wasn't
happy doing the things I was doing; I felt like I was living
someone else's life."  She stopped again, and said, "One
more block -- the second building on the right."

"Are you saying you didn't really love him?" her brother
asked as he followed her directions and brought the car to a
halt in front of Mulder's building.  She immediately saw
that the light was on in her partner's window.  He was
waiting for her, and the realization immediately made her
heart feel a little lighter.  Soon ... just a few more
minutes ....

"No," she said with a sigh and a shake of the head.  "That
was what was really hellish about it.  I *did* love Jim, and
I *was* proud of my accomplishments at Georgetown.  I worked
hard on both my marriage and my education."  Once again she
felt tears forming in her eyes.  "But it wasn't who I wanted
to be, and for a long time, I didn't know what to do about
that."  She paused, and added, "And then I found the
Bureau."

"And that makes you happy?" he asked.  "That's who you are?"

"Yes," she said firmly.  "That's who I am."

There was yet another lengthy silence, but this time it was
almost comfortable.  Finally, Bill said, "So where does that
leave us?"

Scully smiled slightly, and replied, "That leaves us ...
where it leaves us.  For now, it leaves us with me getting
out of the car and going upstairs to see Mulder, and you
driving back to Mom's and trying to make her feel better."

Bill was staring at her now, his expression an odd mix of
curiosity and surprise.  "Will he make *you* feel better?"
he asked, gesturing with his head towards the apartment
building.

Scully hesitated; she knew there was no love lost between
her brother and her partner.  But things seemed to be going
pretty well tonight, at last.  Maybe she could take one more
risk.  "Yes," she said, very softly.  "Yes, he will."

"That's good," Bill replied, the words obviously costing him
a great deal.  "Everybody should ... have somebody.  Like
that."

"Thank you, Bill," she said.  "Please tell Mom that I love
her.  And ask her to call me tomorrow."

Her brother nodded soberly.  "I will."

#          #          #

Scully hadn't expected to find Mulder asleep on his sofa
when she let herself into his apartment, but there he was: 
sprawled out in a position she would not have believed could
be comfortable if she hadn't known him, wearing running
shorts and an old t-shirt that had been cut off at the
midriff.  The TV was playing softly on the other side of the
room, while Mulder clutched the remote control against his
chest, the way a child might cuddle a teddy bear.

For a moment she stood there in front of the sofa, taking
advantage of the opportunity presented to her and allowing
her gaze to drift across her partner's sleeping form.  She
had noticed his raw, physical attractiveness before, of
course -- she had noticed it so very many times.

But tonight there seemed to be something more; tonight she
could almost *feel* the comfort and reassurance radiating
from him, soaking into her, calming and steadying her.  It
was all she could do to restrain herself from climbing on
top of him and cuddling into his arms as he gradually came
to wakefulness.  It would be so wonderfully soothing simply
to allow him to hold her like that, to sink down on him
until she lost track of where she left off and he began.

The old Scully would not have even considered allowing such
a thing to happen, but the new Scully, the Scully who was in
love with Mulder -- she would revel in it.  And she would
give this to herself, and allow him to give it to her, in
just a few more minutes.  But first, she needed to clean up
a bit.

With some reluctance, she turned away from Mulder and headed
down the hall to the bathroom, stripping off her clothes as
she went.  While she'd been at her mother's house, she'd
thought wistfully of a long, hot bath, followed by crawling
into bed and making love with Mulder, but it was already
getting late, and Scully's patience was stretched to the
breaking point as it was.  For tonight, a shower would have
to do.

Even at that, she stayed under the hot spray of water longer
than she really wanted to, letting it soak into her pores
and relax and soften the muscles that were aching from
accumulated stress.  She knew that this wasn't really
necessary; she knew that Mulder would be able to tease the
tension out of her body, and that they would both greatly
enjoy the process.  But that would lead to a loud, sweaty
explosion, and that wasn't what Scully wanted tonight, much
as her body quivered and tingled at the prospect.  Tonight,
she wanted it to be slow and sweet, and very, very gentle.

A few more minutes, and she'd waited as long as she could. 
She stepped from the shower and dried herself off, then
wrapped a towel around her body and headed back up the hall.

Mulder was still sprawled out on the sofa when she stepped
back into the living room, but now he was awake, although
clearly not by much.  He blinked at her sleepily as she
approached, and as she knelt down next to the sofa and ran
her fingers through his hair, a slow, happy smile spread
across his face.

"You didn't call," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

"No, I didn't," she agreed softly, allowing her fingertips
to trace the outline of his ear.  "Bill gave me a ride ...
here."  She tilted her head slightly, realizing that she'd
almost said "home" -- and then she wondered why she hadn't. 
Of course, this wasn't her home ... she simply felt more
happy and comfortable in this apartment than she did
anywhere else on earth.  But that was because it was so
strongly associated in her mind with Mulder.

Wasn't it?

"How'd it go?" he asked, drawing her attention back to him
as he struggled to a sitting position.  He reached out and
fondled a lock of her still-damp hair, and added, "Looks
like you've been back a little while, anyway."

"Only a few minutes," she replied, leaning her head slightly
into his touch.  "As for how it went ... well, it was pretty
awful, to be perfectly honest."  It felt so good to be
telling him the truth about how she felt about something,
and Scully wondered for the thousandth time since they'd
become lovers why it had taken her so long to discover that.
 It was so soothing to have someone who would just accept
her for who she was ....

"Want to talk about it?" he asked, softly.

"Maybe a little."  She paused for a moment, trying ot
organize her thoughts.  Then:  "Mom wanted to talk to me
about ... about Jim, and my marriage and divorce.  She has
some pretty strong opinions and ... they aren't ones that I
share."  The feelings of hurt and anger that she'd
experienced earlier in the evening were suddenly welling up
inside, and Scully felt tears forming in her eyes.  "Mulder?
 Why won't she let it go?  Why won't she let me be happy?"

Before Scully quite realized what was happening, Mulder was
leaning forward and scooping her up in his arms, and
settling her down onto his lap.  And for a few minutes she
simply cuddled there, her head resting on his shoulder as he
rocked her gently, back and forth, back and forth.  His
touch as he stroked her back through the towel, and the feel
of his body against hers, were just as calming and soothing
as she'd known they would be, and once again Scully felt the
tension draining out of her body.  This was what she'd
wanted; this was what she'd needed.  Mulder ....

She was distantly aware of his hand undoing the knot that
held her towel in place.  In another instant he had
unwrapped pulled it off of her and away, and then he was
rising carefully to his feet, still holding her in his arms.
 As he started walking towards the bedroom, she wound her
arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him, but she
knew he wouldn't drop her.  It just felt so good to be with
him like this, and she wanted more.  And a moment later he
was laying her down gently on the bed.

She looked up at him as he straightened up again, expecting
to see uncertainty in his eyes, but there was none.  Scully
smiled, then.  There was a new Mulder, too, she'd been
coming to realize; a new Mulder to go with the new Scully. 
A Mulder who was gradually learning to banish his doubts and
insecurities, at least as far as she was concerned.  A
Mulder who was slowly discovering that it truly was possible
for someone to love him and need him.

A Mulder who was finding out that she loved and needed him,
as much as he loved and needed her.

She watched with langorous eyes as he undressed, quickly and
efficiently, admiring each plane of his body as it was
revealed to her.  His arms and chest, and his flat, hard
belly.  His legs and pelvis, and finally his long, hard
penis, that seemed to be straining eagerly towards her as he
lowered his running shorts down off his hips.

Scully reached out and gently stroked his cock as he stood
naked before her, and Mulder shivered and closed his eyes. 
She wondered if he could possibly understand how much
pleasure she took from touching him like this; she wondered
if he knew how good it made her feel.  She could hold him
and fondle him like this for hours, she thought, and never
grow tired of it.

She continued to lightly caress him, allowing her fingertips
to traverse the length of his shaft from base to tip.  His
penis was hot to the touch, and pulsed slightly whenever she
touched it, each small movement sending a jolt of
electricity up her arm and then down her spine to the center
of her own arousal.  Finally, she reached out and took his
hand, and drew him down next to her on the bed.

Scully felt herself surrendering control, then -- what
little control she had retained.  Mulder gathered her into
his arms and pulled her close against him, tenderly and
lovingly stroking her back and sides with those huge, gentle
hands.  His body pressed against hers, hard and warm and
masculine, seeming to transmit love and comfort as he rolled
her onto her back and covered her like a living blanket.

And then he was kissing her, his lips full and moist, his
tongue probing deeply into her mouth, touching, caressing,
exploring.  Already Scully felt dizzy with arousal, but she
willed herself not to clutch frantically at his shoulders,
not to try to take back control.  Instead, she  slipped her
arms around him, slowly and deliberately.  Slow and sweet,
she reminded herself.  Tonight was going to be slow and
sweet.

Somehow, Mulder seemed to know what she needed.  He broke
the kiss, pulled back a little and looked down at her, his
eyes dark with a tender passion she could not recall seeing
there before.  And she barely had time to register that fact
before his head dipped down again.

And sweet Jesus, it was good.  He was licking and nipping at
her neck and shoulder, now, his tongue, lips and teeth
moving constantly from one spot to the next, never giving
her time to adjust to their presence in one place before
they assaulted the next.

His hands were active, too, first resting lightly on her
waist, so that his thumbs could caress her hip bones, then
sliding up her sides to cup her breasts.  Scully moaned and
arched her back, seeking more contact, more pressure, more
friction.  She realized that her eyes had drifted shut as
she concentrated on the things her lover was doing to her
body; now she forced them open again, and looked down at the
top of his head ... just as his lips closed around one of
her nippes.

Oh ... God ....

Once again her eyes slammed shut; instinctively, she wrapped
her arms around his head, trying to pull him closer, wanting
to make sure his mouth stayed where it was.  She was dimly
aware of the hand that had been on that breast drifting
lower again, trailing across her ribs and pelvis and coming
to rest on her thigh, but for the moment, all she could feel
was his lips ... his tongue ... his teeth ....

Nothing could feel this good; it was impossible.  Her
nipples were hard and tight, so tight that they ached, and
the ministrations of his fingers on one side, and his mouth
on the other, were only making it worse.

Or better.

Scully was no longer really capable of rational thought. 
She knew she was in bed, and that Mulder was with her, but
past that there was nothing.  The entire world -- the entire
universe -- seemed to have contracted into a small, intimate
bubble just large enough for the two of them.  She gasped at
the intensity of the image that presented:  just her and
Mulder.  No one else, anywhere.  Just the two of them,
slowly, ecstatically merging into each other ... becoming
one ....

She did not remember letting go of his head, but she must
have done so, because now that wonderful mouth of his was
browsing across her ribs and down onto her belly.  The hand
on her thigh was moving again, too, creeping slowly upwards,
touching her and caressing her at random spots along the
way.  Scully whimpered, and then she moaned, as she realized
where that hand and those lips were going to meet.  She
angled her hips and opened her thighs a little farther, and
her fingers tangled themselves in Mulder's hair, urging his
head to move ever lower ... lower ....

And then he was there, oh, Jesus, he was there, his tongue
gently forcing itself between her lips at the same instant
that he slipped two of his fingers into her opening.  Her
hips moved restlessly, lifting and rotating almost of their
own volition, trying to help her lover find the perfect
angle.

Yes!  That was it!  Yes, yes, yes!  She hadn't realized she
was saying the word aloud, but she must have done so,
because she heard Mulder grunting something soft and loving
in response.  His fingers were pumping into her, now,
sliding in and out with a firm gentleness that made her ache
for more.

This was so different from their normal lovemaking; so very
different.  Usually they were fierce with each other --
strong, forceful, almost violent.  Scully loved that about
Mulder, loved the fact that he could let go with her like
that, was excited that she'd finally found a man who wasn't
afraid that she might break.  She would never willingly give
that up.  But tonight, tonight he was being so sweet, and
gentle, and delicate, and it was just what she needed ....

And then, suddenly, she was there.  With a final flick of
his tongue against the tight bundle of nerves at her very
center, Mulder pushed her over the edge.  She felt her
orgasm flowing through her, so quiet and intense, rippling
inside her body like a tide, pouring into and through her
every crevice and washing her clean.  It was wonderful, it
was perfect, and it seemed as if it was never going to end
....

And then, somehow, Mulder was on top of her again, staring
down at her with those liquid, hazel eyes of his as he
slipped his hard, swollen cock into her body, filling her
completely ....

Scully was dazed and stunned, nearly overwhelmed by
sensation and emotion, and dear God she was still coming,
even as he began moving his hips in slow, steady, strokes,
and it was going on and on and on, and she could tell from
the beautiful expression on his face that he was close, too,
he was so very close, and she wrapped her arms around his
neck and drew him down for a kiss, and as their lips met she
felt his body shudder against hers, and he was giving
himself to her, spending himself completely, emptying
himself into her ....

Long into the night, long after their final shivers and
spasms had ceased, Dana Scully lay blissfully in her lover's
arms, her body pressed against his, waiting to see if the
rest of the world was going to come back, and hoping that it
never would.  And at last, she slept.

================END CHAPTER SEVEN================

PART 3:  AUGUST

========= 
Chapter Eight 
=========

Mulder was dreaming.  That much was certain.

He was floating on his back in a tropical lagoon.  The sun
beat down on his skin, suffusing him with its life-giving
heat, and the warm, soothing water buoyed him up, rocking
him in its gentle embrace.  It was perfect.

The sky was also perfect.  Through slitted eyelids, he could
see it:  a beautiful, sapphire color, with not a cloud in
sight.  Just a deep, deep blue that seemed to go on forever,
and helped the ocean enfold him.

Someone was touching him, too.  A woman; somehow, he knew it
was a woman.  He could feel her hands delicately sliding
across his thighs.  Stroking, caressing ... it almost seemed
as if she was tasting him with her fingertips.  She was so
gentle; so loving; so caring.

He was already aroused, of course; already erect.  He was so
hard and swollen that it was almost painful.  Almost.  And
each time she touched him, she was a little closer to where
he wanted her to be.  And with each caress, he got a little
harder.

At last he felt her fingers, feather light, at the very base
of his penis.  His eyes were tightly shut now as he tried to
focus on what he was feeling, but still he could almost see
her hands as they stroked and fondled him.  Her fingers were
so beautiful and elegant, and somehow she seemed to know
exactly how to handle him:  when to caress; when to tickle;
when to squeeze.

And then he felt something warm and moist against the very
tip:  her lips.  Mulder felt his body shudder at the
sensation, and he gasped; an instant later her mouth was
sliding slowly down and over his cock.

God, this was good.  This was so, so good.  Mulder could no
longer remain completely passive, and as the woman's head
began to bob up and down, up and down, he reached down and
tangled his fingers in her hair.  It was very, very soft,
and slightly rough, like raw silk, and the swirling of her
tongue around his penis as her mouth continued to move on
him was little short of torture.

Nor had her hands been idle.  One of them now cupped his
balls, a single finger extending down and back to rub
against his perineum, in time with the motions of her head. 
The other hand was wrapped firmly around the base of his
erection, gently pumping the part that her mouth could not
reach.

This was not going to last very long, Mulder knew.  His body
was roaring with arousal, now, and bobbing freely in the
warm waters of the lagoon.  He was breathing through his
mouth, in short, sharp gasps, and he forced his eyes open,
the better to stare at the sky -- that beautiful, deep blue
sky.  Everything was so good; so wonderful; so perfect.

He felt his penis swelling, and she must have noticed, too,
because she increased her pace.   Every few strokes she
allowed her teeth to scrape against his cock, very, very
gently, sending additional jolts of fire rocketing into his
groin.  His orgasm was here, now, crouched deep inside his
belly, waiting, waiting, waiting -- waiting for one more
stroke, one more loving caress, wanting to draw this out,
searching, needing, begging for the tiniest remaining scrap
of pleasure ....

Suddenly, he was there, and there was no denying it. 
Mulder's hips arched uncontrollably, and he cried out in
release as he came, feeling the waves burst upon him,
building quickly to a single, bright explosive thrust --

And he was awake.  The lagoon was gone, and he was lying on
something soft and warm and yielding.  His bed, he thought
vacantly.  He was lying on his bed, and it had all been a
dream.  A dream ....

Well, not *all* of it had been a dream, because even as he
struggled to full wakefulness, something warm and moist was
gently licking and suckling at his slowly shrinking penis. 
She was cleaning him, he dimly realized.  And, somehow, he
lifted his head from the pillow and looked down, just as
Scully released him from her mouth, looked up at him, and
smiled.

"Jesus ...." he whispered, as she crawled up the bed and
cuddled against his side.  Her eyes were a bright, happy
blue, and Mulder felt a helpless surge of love for her as
she sighed and snuggled a little closer.  "Scully ... that
was amazing.  Thank you."

Her smile widened into an outright grin, and she replied,
very softly, "I've always wanted to do that.  Wake someone
up that way, I mean."  She turned her head as it rested on
his shoulder and placed a slow, open-mouthed kiss at the
base of his neck, before murmuring, "I'm so glad it turned
out to be you."

After a very brief hesitation, Mulder bent his head and
kissed her, deliberately running his tongue across her lips
until her mouth opened and allowed him to plunge inside. 
She tasted bitter and salty, a not entirely pleasant flavor
-- except that it reminded him of what she'd just done for
him.  And besides, it was *Scully*.

He moaned, and deepened the kiss, rolling her onto her back
as he did so.  One hand was cupping the back of her head,
while the other sought out her breast.  Her nipple puckered
under his touch, and she started making soft, breathless
noises into his mouth.  Already he felt himself hardening
again, but that was no surprise.  In the past few months,
since the advent of their love affair, he'd discovered to
his delight that Scully inspired him -- and his body -- in
ways that no other woman ever had.

At last her own flavor was beginning to dominate the kiss --
the flavor of her mouth, that Mulder had become so
accustomed to since the first of the year.  It was so
familiar, and yet he never tired of it; he could never get
enough.  It was warm and comforting and spicy, and
completely unlike anything he'd ever tasted in his life.  It
was surrounding him, enveloping him, but *still* it wasn't
enough; he wanted to crawl inside of her and never come out;
he wanted to wrap himself in her taste and her scent --

"Mulder."

Mulder was only vaguely aware that his partner was speaking
his name, and he was much too engrossed in exploring the
outline of her jaw with his lips and tongue to pay it any
heed.  Her skin had a flavor and texture all its own,
different from that of her mouth, yet somehow indisputably
also Scully.  He sucked her earlobe into his mouth and
nipped it, very lightly --

And he felt her fingers tangling in his hair, yanking on it,
pulling his head back.  He opened his eyes and looked down
at her, to see that her own eyes were dark with desire.  But
that desire was also mingled with amusement -- and regret.

"Mulder," she said, "it's almost seven.  My mother will be
here in --"

"Nine minutes, Scully," he interrupted, rolling her nipple
between his thumb and forefinger, and eliciting a slight
gasp.  "That's a very significant number, don't you think? 
And do you have any idea what I can do in nine minutes?"

"Oh, I have a very clear idea what you can do in a *very*
short amount of time," she replied, obviously fighting to
maintain a straight face.  She reached up and around with
her free hand and lightly traced the outline of his shoulder
blade, and for an instant he thought she was giving in --
until she suddenly executed a move that every agent learns
in the first week at the Academy.  In a matter of seconds,
he found himself sprawled on his back with his partner
straddling him, pinning his shoulders to the bed.

"However," she continued, now openly smirking at having so
easily turned the tables on him, "I am *not* going to greet
my mother with a just-been-fucked look on my face, and
smelling of sex.  Capiche?"

"'Capiche'?"  Mulder wiggled his eyebrows at her.  "I don't
believe I've ever heard your mafia voice before, Scully;
it's turning me on.  And have I ever mentioned just how
decadently sexy your just-been-fucked look is?"

He tried to draw her down for another kiss, but she
slithered out of his grasp and rolled off the bed and onto
her feet.  "Yes, I believe you have," she said.  Her
demeanor was cool and calm, and somehow very professional,
despite her nudity -- but humor still glinted in her eye as
she grabbed the pajama top Mulder hadn't bothered to wear
the night before, and shrugged it on.  "Now be a good little
agent, and go take a quick shower while I do something about
breakfast."

Scully turned away and glided towards the doorway -- but
just before exiting the room, she turned and threw him her
most sultry smile, and added, "And you have a pretty damned
good just-been-fucked look, yourself."  And then she was
gone.

#          #          #

Scully found herself humming as she rummaged through
Mulder's nearly-empty kitchen, looking for breakfast.  They
should have planned for this, she realized; they'd known
last night, when they were doing the last of the packing,
that they were going to need breakfast, but they simply
hadn't thought this far ahead.  Not that it really mattered
*that* much, but it was turning out to be inconvenient, and
it was going to slow them down a bit.

A slow smile crept across her lips, as she remembered the
expression on Mulder's face as he gradually came to full
consciousness.  That look of awe and love he'd given her, as
he finally realized what she'd done, and that it hadn't been
a dream, was providing all the nourishment she really
needed.

Finally she found some raisin bran, in one of the boxes of
non-perishable food items.  The eggs and milk and bacon had
been used up a couple of days ago, and with moving day
approaching they had not been replacing perishables, so they
were going to have to eat the cereal dry.  But in another
box Scully found a grapefruit, and an unopened can of V-8
juice.  Not the most appetizing of flavor combinations, but
it would have to do.

She gathered up the makeshift breakfast, and carried it out
to the living room, where she quickly laid it out on the
coffee table.  The dining room table, along with the sofa
and most of the other large items, had been moved the day
before by Byers, Langly and Frohike, along with those items
from her own apartment that they were taking with them to
their new place.  All that was left was Mulder's bed, as
well as a couple of carloads of miscellany that Scully had
decreed could not be entrusted to the tender mercies of
their friends.

Scully thought about that for a moment, as she proceeded to
cut the grapefruit in half and pour juice into two paper
cups.  It suddenly seemed very odd to her that those three
eccentrics now qualified as her best friends -- after
Mulder, of course.  Odd, but not entirely unfitting.  She
felt comfortable with them in a way that she hadn't felt
comfortable with anyone in a very long time -- since before
she joined the Bureau, really.

She also wasn't entirely sure how she and Mulder had come to
agree to move in together.  The subject had come up,
seemingly out of the blue, in the days following that
horrible fight she'd had with her mother at the beginning of
July.  And while in her heart Scully was sure that she
wasn't doing this just to get in her mother's face about her
relationship with Mulder, the decision had come soon enough
after the argument to leave Scully feeling faintly uneasy.

Once the decision was made, though, the details had caused
them very little difficulty.  They'd only looked at four
apartments before they found a place they both loved.  The
fact that they would now be splitting the rent had made it
easier to find something suitable, of course, but Scully was
nevertheless surprised at how few problems they'd had.  The
new apartment was in Arlington, close to both the Hoover
Building and National Airport; it had lots of extra storage
space; and it was large and airy, with hardwood floors and a
good southern exposure, ensuring plenty of sunlight.

The only thing it didn't have was a really good bathtub. 
Oh, it had a tub -- but it was one of those modern,
soulless, white porcelain models that look as if they've
been stamped out of plastic.  She was going to miss her old,
oversized clawfoot bathtub.  But that was the only thing
wrong with an otherwise perfect apartment -- and the most
important thing about the new place, of course, was that it
was going to have Mulder in it.

The Bureau had also been surprisingly easy to deal with. 
The day after they signed the lease, she and Mulder had
taken the bull by the horns and informed Skinner of the
change in their relationship.  Scully hadn't been quite sure
what to expect, but the A.D. had simply grunted, and waved
the subject away.  "Keep it out of the office, Agents," he'd
said, "and don't let it interfere with your field
assignments.  Beyond that, what you do on your own time is
your business."  And that had been that.

Scully was drawn from her reverie by a knock on the door. 
Automatically, she looked around at the place where the
living room clock used to be, but of course it was gone. 
The only person they were expecting was her mother, in any
case -- and glancing briefly down at herself, Scully
realized that she was still dressed only in Mulder's pajama
top.

Well, nothing to do about it now.  Scully took a deep breath
and moved to open the door, just as the knock was repeated.

"Mom."  Scully hesitated briefly before stepping forward to
hug her mother.  The two women had spoken on the phone
several times since the argument, and they'd had one awkward
lunch together, but their conversations had been light and
inconsequential.  Each of them seemed to fear that any
attempt at a more meaningful discussion might reignite the
anger that lay dormant between them.

Scully had been surprised when her mother volunteered to
help them move, although in retrospect, she wasn't quite
sure *why* she was surprised.  It was perfectly natural and
ordinary; it was the sort of thing family members did for
each other.

"I'm sorry, Dana; am I early?"

Scully's attention was jerked back to her mother, and she
realized that the older woman was still standing just inside
the open doorway, looking more than a little uncomfortable. 
Her gaze was resting on the breakfast settings Scully had
just finished laying out, and that must have prompted her
comment.

"No, Mom," she replied.  "You're right on time; we're just
running a bit behind, that's all."  She glanced down at
herself again, then looked back up at her mother with a
rueful smile.  "Sorry about ... this."  Scully managed to
suppress a wince at the sound of her own voice, and also had
to stop herself from yanking down on the bottom hem of
Mulder's pajama top.

She was making too much of this; she was sure of it.  By
offering to help them move, Mrs. Scully had already
implicitly acknowledged the fact that Mulder was her
daughter's lover.  So this was awkward, at worst -- and it
certainly shouldn't be coming as a surprise to the older
woman.

"So," Mrs. Scully said brightly, breaking the brief silence,
"what would you like me to do?"

Scully nodded, mostly to herself.  Right.  Let's keep this
to practicalities.  "Well, most of the packing's already
finished," she began.  "Mulder and I got more done last
night than we'd hoped.  The main thing that's left is my
kitchen -- the dishes and so forth still have to be packed
up."

Her mother smiled -- although, to Scully, it seemed a little
forced.  "That sounds like it's right up my alley.  Shall I
get going, then?"

"Actually, I was intending to send Mulder along with you, to
help with the lifting.  But it'll be a few minutes before he
can be ready to go."  She glanced around the barren room. 
"Um, there isn't really anywhere for you to sit, though
...."  The feeling of awkwardness that she'd had a few
minutes before was back again -- maybe it hadn't ever really
left.  Dammit!  What was this so hard?  This was her
*mother* after all --

"Dana, it's okay."  Scully looked sharply at her mother,
surprised at the sudden softness in the other woman's tone
-- and then she felt her eyebrows going up slightly at the
affectionate smile she saw on Mrs. Scully's face.  A smile
she had not seen in months.  Not since the disastrous dinner
with Jim, back in June.

"It really is okay, honey," Mrs. Scully continued, taking a
hesitant step towards her.  "I won't pretend that I'm
completely comfortable with .... this," she added, waving a
hand vaguely to take in the room.  "But you're my daughter,
and that's what truly matters, isn't it?"

Scully found that she couldn't force herself to meet her
mother's gaze.  "Of course it is," she said, very softly,
almost against her will.

"Dana," Mrs. Scully said.  Scully sighed, and this time she
did manage to look her mother in the eye.  "I *do* love you,
Dana -- no strings this time.  And I know that you love Fox,
and I ... I accept that.  And I'm so very sorry for the way
I reacted to it."

For the space of a dozen heartbeats, the words hung between
them, while Scully tried to come up with some sort of
response.  *Any* sort of response.  These were just the
words she'd been hoping to hear, weren't they?  Just the
ones she'd been *expecting* to hear, ever since Mrs. Scully
offered to help them move.  So why was everything still so
stiff and awkward?

She knew the answer to that one, of course.  Ahab ....

"Dana, there's something else I want to make clear to you. 
To ask your forgiveness for."  Now Mrs. Scully was the one
having difficulty making eye contact.  "I've been trying to
find a good time to say this to you, but it never seemed
quite right.  And I finally realized that I've been
stalling.  Dana ...."  Her voice trailed off, and she shook
her head.

"Mom," Scully said, reaching out and touching her mother's
elbow.  "Mom, it's okay.  You don't have to --"

"No, Dana!" the other woman said sharply.  "No, it's not
okay.  Because you were right that night we had the
argument.  About me and ... and Steve Benboe, I mean."  She
took a deep breath.  "Dana, I had no right to burden you
that way, and the situation *was* different from yours.  I'm
sorry," she repeated.

"Mom, it's okay."  Repeating those words was all that Scully
could think of to say as she took her mother into her arms
and held her close.  "It's okay."

"Dana, I loved your father."  Her mother's voice was muffled
against her shoulder, and Scully tightened her embrace.  "I
truly did.  I never meant to hurt him, and I didn't mean to
suggest that you --"

"Shhh."  Scully patted the older woman's back.  "Mom, please
don't.  I'm sure Daddy forgave you."

She felt Mrs. Scully shaking her head.  "He didn't know,
Dana.  I never told him."  She lifted her head from her
daughter's shoulder and Scully felt a tightness in her chest
as she saw tear tracks on her mother's face.  "I never told
him," she repeated.

"Well, he knows now," Scully replied, reaching up to tuck a
lock of hair behind her mother's ear.  "And I'm sure he
understands."

================END CHAPTER EIGHT================

========= 
Chapter Nine 
=========

Mulder stood in the middle of the living room of Scully's
apartment, looking at the emptiness.

It seemed so strange to see this space without any hint of
his partner in it.  Her furniture was gone; the pictures
she'd had on the wall were gone; the little shelf of
knickknacks was gone -- even the curtains were gone.  The
room seemed barren; lifeless.  Scullyless.

Mulder knew he should be helping Mrs. Scully; she'd passed
straight through into the kitchen, and from the noises
filtering back out he knew she was already hard at work,
boxing up the contents of that room.  But he couldn't resist
the urge to drift through the apartment for a moment, just
looking at things.

Not that there was anything to see, of course -- not in the
literal sense.  But in his mind's eye, Mulder could still
see the things he'd become accustomed to seeing here.

He moved down the hall to the bedroom, but it was the same. 
Empty.  Abandoned.  He shook his head slightly, wondering
why he'd expected it to be any different.  He and the guys
had been over the day before and loaded up most of Scully's
possessions.  Hell, he'd helped carry the damn sofa down to
the truck, himself.  There was really no excuse for it to be
coming as such a surprise.

He also wondered why it was bothering him so much.  It was
just an empty apartment, and he'd certainly seen enough of
those over the years.  He'd lived most of his early life in
Chilmark, and for the past ten years or so he'd lived in
Alexandria, but he'd moved around a lot during the 80s.  So
Mulder was perfectly familiar with that bittersweet sense of
nostalgia that sets in when you realize that this is really
for good, and that you'll never be coming back to this
place.  But that wasn't what he was feeling now.

And then, suddenly, he realized what it was.  What was
bothering him was Scully -- or, rather, her absence.  For as
long as he'd known her, she'd lived here in these rooms, and
they'd become inextricably identified with her in his mind. 
They were a part of her, and she was a part of them.

Whenever he thought about Scully, he thought about her as
being in this apartment.  Finding it empty not just of her,
but also of her things, was triggering that old fear of
abandonment that he never seemed to be able to shake
completely.  The feeling that, sooner or later, this
wonderful, beautiful, intelligent, courageous woman was
going to come to her senses, and leave him.  And the fact
that she was, at this moment, over in *their* new apartment,
only a few miles away, unpacking and putting away *their*
belongings so that they could make a new home for themselves
-- even that knowledge didn't seem to be enough to pull him
out of this funk.

He stopped wandering for a moment and closed his eyes,
trying to picture in his mind what she was doing.  She was
in the spare bedroom, he decided.  The one they'd designated
as the study, and which had received his beat-up old sofa,
both of their desks and computer workstations, and most of
their bookshelves.  She was methodically and efficiently
unpacking the boxes and boxes of books they'd both
accumulated over the years, sorting them, organizing them,
stopping from time to time to shake her head and laugh at
some of the more outlandish titles in his collection of
paranormal literature, and ultimately placing them on the
shelves, each book in its proper place, ready for use.

Mulder felt himself relaxing a bit, and realized that he was
still standing in Scully's empty bedroom, holding his cell
phone in his hand, his index finger poised over the button
for the first speed dial.  Was he really so insecure that he
had to hear her voice, just because of a little anxiety over
finding her apartment empty?  He smiled and shook his head,
then closed the phone and put it away.  Maybe not.

Maybe he really was changing.  God knew he'd been trying to
change, trying to get his fears under control.  Trying to
grow into someone worthy of Dana Scully.  And maybe, just
maybe, there was starting to be some progress in that
regard.

Feeling a little better, Mulder turned away and left the
bedroom, and headed back up the hall to the kitchen.  There
he found Mrs. Scully, as he'd expected.  But although two
boxes had already been filled with dishes, she was no longer
working.  She was, instead, simply standing at the counter,
staring at a matched pair of champagne flutes she held in
her hands.  And for a moment, he just stood in the doorway,
watching her.  Finally, she seemed to notice his presence,
carefully set down the flutes and turned to face him.

"Sorry, Fox," she murmured.  Glancing briefly at the flutes,
and then back at him, she went on, "I was just ... these
were a wedding gift the Captain and I gave to Dana and Jim. 
I hadn't realized she still had them, and they were bringing
back memories."

Mulder nodded slowly, and was relieved to find that her
words weren't troubling him the way her comments had the
night they'd all had dinner together, two months before.  He
waited for her to continue.

"I'm sorry, Fox," Mrs. Scully repeated with a sigh.  She
shook her head.  "I don't think I can explain what's been
going on in my head these past two months.  It's too ...
personal.  All I can say, really, is that I lost track of
what was important, and I think I ... projected some of my
own sorrows and regrets onto you and Dana.  Can you forgive
me?"

Mulder continued to stand in the doorway, looking at her,
trying to find something to say.  It was evident that what
his partner's mother had just said had cost her a great
deal, but he couldn't seem to find the words to respond. 
Finally, he stepped into the kitchen and walked over to
stand next to her.  He hesitated, then picked up one of the
champagne flutes and held it up to the light, running his
finger lightly along the rim.  At last, he carefully set it
back down on the counter, and turned to face the woman
standing next to him.

"They're very lovely, Mrs. Scully," he said softly.  "I'm
sure Dana appreciated them."

She nodded, an odd little smile on her face.  "She did. 
They both did."  She shook her head again, and seemed to be
having difficulty meeting his gaze.  "But it's over, isn't
it, Fox?"

Mulder nodded, resisting the impulse to take the woman in
his arms and hug her.  They weren't that close.  Not yet,
anyway.  "Yes," he replied.  "It's over.  It has been for a
long time."

Mrs. Scully stood in silence for a long minute, her eyes
still downcast.  Finally, she nodded quietly, and turned and
picked up one of the flutes and began wrapping it in
newspaper, preparatory to packing it in a box for the trip
to Arlington.  And after a few seconds Mulder turned away,
picked up one of the boxes she had already finished, and
carried it out to his car.

#          #          #

Scully's cell phone started ringing just as she inserted her
key in the lock.  She hurriedly finished opening the
apartment door, stepped inside and set the box of books she
was carrying on the floor, before flipping open her phone
and punching the connect button.

"Mulder, you have got the world's worst timing," she began,
ineffectually brushing at an errant lock of hair with her
free hand as she dropped down on the sofa.

There was a moment of silence.  Then:  "Agent Scully, this
is Assistant Director Skinner."

"Oh."  Scully felt herself flushing slightly, although she
wasn't quite sure why.  It wasn't as if she'd actually said
anything improper.  But she was still skittish about having
gone public with their relationship, especially with
Skinner, and she couldn't shake the slight feeling of
embarrassment -- like a teenager caught playing post office,
she thought.  "I'm sorry, sir.  I wasn't expecting it to be
you."

"No reason why you should have, Agent," the A.D. replied. 
"And I'm sorry to have to disturb you on your days off.  I
know this is moving day for you.  However, I've just
received a call from New York concerning Peyton Ritter."

"Agent Ritter?" she asked.  She quickly suppressed a shudder
as memories of the Felig case came filtering back to her. 
"What about him?"

"As you know," Skinner replied, "former Agent Ritter's
lawsuit seeking reinstatement with the Bureau goes to trial
this week.  In fact, the first session is this afternoon, in
New York."

"Yes, sir, I know," Scully said.  "I gave my deposition
three months ago."

"Yes, you did, and the Assistant U.S. Attorney handling the
case asked me to reiterate her satisfaction with your
testimony.  Unfortunately, she's just called to inform me
that the judge has granted a motion from Ritter's lawyer
demanding that you testify in person."

Scully closed her eyes for a moment in resignation.  She'd
hoped that they were past this.  She'd been through so many
damned hearings in connection with this case.  First there'd
been the shooting review; then the formal OPR action against
Ritter and his various appeals through the bureaucracy; then
the Bureau's investigation of her *own* conduct; and finally
this lawsuit, in which the disgraced former agent was
seeking to have his status with the Bureau restored.

Wasn't she ever going to be free of this case?  She hadn't
even *wanted* the assignment in the first place, and she had
been the true injured party -- not Ritter.  Unconsciously,
she rubbed at the spot on her abdomen where the man's bullet
had hit her.

"Agent Scully?"

"Sorry, sir," she said, opening her eyes again.  "I was just
... remembering.  When do I have to be there?"

"Two o'clock," the A.D. said.

"Today?"  Scully sat up straight.  "Sir, that's impossible. 
I --"

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully," Skinner said briefly, cutting her
off.  "I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter.  The
government's lawyers asked for a continuance, due to the
sudden necessity of your physical presence, but the motion
has been denied.  I can assure you that no one in the Bureau
or in the U.S. Attorney's office is happy about this."

Scully shook her head and sighed.  "No, sir.  Of course
not."

"I also need to apologize for not giving you more notice,"
the A.D. continued.  "I've known about this since yesterday
morning.  But the government lawyers assured me that
Ritter's motion for your appearance would be denied, and
then they assured me again that their request for a
continuance would be granted.  Unfortunately, their
assessment of the situation appears to have been
optimistic."

"I understand, sir."

"Kimberly has already made your airline reservation,"
Skinner concluded.  "Your flight leaves at noon, and your
ticket will be waiting for you at the TWA counter at
National.  Flight 1421.  Do you have any questions?"

Scully glanced at her watch, and saw that it was just a few
minutes before 9:30.  "No, sir," she replied.  "I'll be
there."

"Thank you, Agent Scully.  The Bureau appreciates your
flexibility on this matter."  And the connection was broken.

Scully sighed again, and punched the disconnect button on
her cell phone.  And for a moment, she just sat on the sofa
and looked around the room.

There were boxes everywhere.  Boxes of books, boxes of
clothes, boxes of personal papers -- there were even two
boxes of LP's that Mulder had had stashed in the back of a
closet.  He hadn't listened to them in years, and didn't
even own a record player, but he'd insisted on bringing them
along.

Nor was the furniture arranged in any particular order.  The
Gunmen and Mulder had hauled it all over here the previous
day, but they'd made no effort to put anything where it
belonged.  And now she was going to lose one full day, and
possibly two, because of some stupid legal shenanigans ....

Her gaze fell on the box marked "Videos - Mulder", and a
small smile crept across her face.  She wasn't going to have
time today to deal with most of this mess, but it would be
best to get *that* one out of the living room and into a
closet somewhere, before her mother arrived and started
putting things away.  Her mother did *not* need to know what
sort of movies Mulder collected -- and she most particularly
didn't need to know that her own daughter actually enjoyed
watching some of them, too.  In the right company, anyway.

And, of course, just as she rose to her feet to take care of
the matter, there was a knock on the door.

Scully sighed, and turned away from the box of videos to
open the door.  There weren't very many people it could be,
she thought.  Mulder and her mother had a key, of course. 
That pretty much left the Gunmen, or the realtor who'd
helped them find the place.  She hoped it was the guys; she
didn't really feel up to dealing with that smarmy
glad-hander today.

"Hello, Dana."

It was Jim Street.

Scully froze for a moment, staring in surprise at the man
who stood in the now-open doorway.  She hadn't seen him
since the dinner at her mother's house, two months before,
and she hadn't heard from him since the morning he and
Mulder had had words, the weekend she was away at the church
retreat --

"May I come in?"

For an instant, Scully was tempted to say no.  She
desperately wanted to just shut the door, thereby putting
this man out of her life, once and for all.  But even as she
was thinking about doing that, she found herself stepping
out of the way and motioning him into the apartment.  She
then took a moment longer than was really necessary to close
and lock the door, before finally turning to face him.

For a minute or two she simply stood there in silence,
watching as her ex-husband moved through the room, seemingly
at random.  He almost seemed to be conducting an inventory,
she thought, stopping here to run his fingers along the back
of a chair, then again over there, to trace the seam on one
of the boxes of books.

He was waiting, she realized.  Waiting for her to start the
conversation.  Well, to hell with that.  *She* hadn't called
this meeting.  If he had something he wanted to say, let him
say it.  And so she folded her arms across her chest, and
maintained her silence.

At last, Jim apparently ran out of things to look at, and
turned towards her, his hands in his pockets.  He seemed to
be struggling to find the words, and finally all he said
was, "Nice place."

"Thanks."  The word was out of her mouth reflexively, before
she could stop herself -- but then she pressed her lips
together and shook her head.  No more.  She wasn't going to
give this man anything more.

"Is it that hard to be civil, Dana?" Jim asked, taking a few
steps towards her.

"I'm being civil, Jim," she replied coolly, not moving from
her spot by the door.

He shook his head.  "No, you're not," he denied.  For a
second, he seemed to want to take another step towards her,
but then apparently decided against it.

Scully sighed and shook her head.  "What did you expect,
Jim?  Not just today ... but all summer?  Did you really
think you could just waltz back into my life and have things
be the same as they were?"

"Of course not, but ...."  Jim paused, and waved one arm. 
"Dana, I've never really understood what happened.  But I'd
like to."

"It's a little late for that now, isn't it?" she responded.

"Is it?"  And now he did take that step forward.  "Is it
ever really too late?" he asked, laying his hands on her
shoulders.

"Dammit, Jim!" Scully snapped, shaking him off and backing
away.  "I've asked you not to touch me anymore.  And yes, to
answer your question, it *is* too late, sometimes.  It's not
like you didn't have plenty of chances."

"Did I?"

Scully stared at her ex-husband in disbelief.  He wasn't
really serious, was he?  Finally, she shook her head again. 
"You have no idea, do you?" she said at last.  "No idea at
all."

He gave her a blank look, and she went on, "Jim, it wasn't
over until you *made* it be over.  That day I called you --
the Sunday after I got back to D.C. -- I was calling to tell
you that I was giving up the FBI.  I was going to finish up
at Georgetown and then take the fellowship at Tufts, just as
we'd planned."  More silence.  Incredulously:  "You really
didn't know, did you?"

"How was I supposed to know?"  His voice now sounded
petulant; childish.

"How were you supposed to know?"  Scully felt the old anger
rising within her, even as she was struggling to keep her
voice level and even.  "How were you supposed to know? 
Well, you could have started by giving me a chance to tell
you what I'd decided, before you went off on me.  You also
could have picked up the fucking phone any of the several
*dozen* times I tried to call you, or answered any of the
fourteen letters I sent.  Jesus, Jim, what was I supposed to
do?  Fly up to Boston and wait outside your door until you
came home, so I could prostrate myself and beg forgiveness?"

"You're not being fair, Dana."

"*I'm* not being fair?  Well that's too damned bad!"  Scully
was shouting now, but she didn't care.  She'd been holding
this in for so long, and she needed to get it out.  "I bent
over backwards for you, Jim.  I did everything I could to
save our marriage, short of completely giving up my own
self-respect.  And if that's not being fair, in your eyes,
then I'm sorry, because it was all I had to offer."

"It was all you *had* to offer."  The man's voice was very
low; so low that she had to strain to hear him.

"Yes, Jim," she snapped, wanting to drive home the point
beyond any possibility that he might misunderstand.  "'Had.'
 Past tense."

"I guess that's it, then," he muttered, almost as if he were
speaking to himself, rather than to her.  His hands were
jammed far down in his pockets, now, and his gaze was
directed at the floor.  And for a minute or two, he seemed
to be lost in thought.  Finally, he lifted his eyes to meet
hers.  "Did you know that I almost attended your
graduation?"

Scully felt her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and she
couldn't keep herself from asking, "At Georgetown?  From the
residency program?"

"No," he said, shaking his head with a sad smile.  "From the
FBI Academy.  Ahab -- your father kept me up to date on what
was happening, and that weekend I flew down from Boston.  I
was going to go; I really was.  It was going to be my big
gesture, and everything was going to be good again.  I
bought flowers, I even rented a limo.  But then I didn't
go."

Scully hesitated; she knew she should just let this all go,
and ask him to leave, but she found that she couldn't simply
shut the door on this part of her life completely.  "Why
didn't you?" she asked quietly.

Jim's smile turned crooked, and he shook his head again.  "I
don't know.  I really don't.  I just ... couldn't.  So I
spent the evening lying on the floor of the honeymoon suite
at the D.C. Hilton.  And the next morning, I caught my
flight back to Boston."

Scully tried to think of something to say to that, but there
really wasn't a response.  Finally, she simply said, "I
think you'd better go."

He looked at her for just a moment longer, then nodded.  "I
guess you're right."  Scully stood to one side, not wanting
to do anything that might encourage him to try to touch her
again.  She just wanted him gone, and the sooner the better.

She watched in silence as he moved to the door and pulled it
open.  He started to step out into the hallway, but then he
stopped, and Scully held her breath and wished she could
believe in telepathy, just for thirty seconds.  It's over,
Jim, she thought.  Just let it be over.

But of course, he could not, and he turned to face her, one
last time.  "Dana?  Will you answer one question for me?  If
I had come to your graduation that night ... would that have
been too late?"

For just an instant she considered answering his question. 
They'd meant a lot to each other once; surely he deserved to
know.  But he'd had his chance, she reminded herself, and
even as she was still considering how to respond, she heard
her voice saying, "Goodbye, Jim."  And after another moment,
he turned and walked away.

For several minutes after her ex-husband had gone, Scully
stood rooted in place, unable to move.  Her thoughts were
flooded by a confused mishmash of emotion, and she was
having trouble sorting everything out:  anger, hurt, a
terrible sense of loss.  And, if she were completely honest
with herself, some inchoate feeling -- not quite wistfulness
and not quite nostalgia -- for something that she now knew
in her heart had never really existed.

And God damn Jim, anyway, for stirring all this up.  Scully
shook her head angrily, and started pacing back and forth
through the living room, suddenly full of energy.  She
wondered if he had any inkling of the turmoil he'd caused in
her life these past two months, just by the unwelcome
intrusion of his presence.  She'd been happy, dammit, happy
and content in a relationship with a man for the first time,
really, since the divorce.  And then *he* had to reappear --

No!  She stopped pacing, and shook her head again.  She was
*not* going to let this get to her.  She just wasn't.  She
needed to ground herself, she needed to regain her focus --
and, of course, that meant only one thing:  Mulder.  She
needed Mulder.

Scully was darkly amused to find that she was rapidly
becoming aroused, just by thinking about her partner.  Oh,
yes, she thought.  That would be perfect; it would be just
the thing to take her mind off all of this, and give her an
outlet for some of the emotions coursing through her. 
Unfortunately, a quick glance at her watch revealed that it
was nearly ten o'clock, which meant that she had to be at
the airport in less than two hours.  If Mulder didn't show
up in the next few minutes, there wouldn't be time.  And of
course, her mother would probably be with him.

And then she heard a key in the lock, and a slow, predatory
smile spread across Scully's face.  He was here ....

#          #          #

"They're gonna know, Mulder ... oh, *God* yes ... harder! 
Oh ... yeah ... they're all gonna know ...."

"Who's gonna know what, Scully?" Mulder asked, struggling to
keep his voice steady as he thrust himself into her, over
and over.  Her back was up against the living room wall, her
legs wrapped around his waist, and he cradled her butt in
his hands, holding her in position.

He'd arrived home -- at their new home -- only a few moments
ago, and Scully had attacked him almost before he got the
door shut, explaining between kisses that Skinner had
called, and she had to leave for the airport in less than an
hour.  There was something else going on inside her head,
too, although Mulder wasn't sure what it was -- but he
wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.  Mrs. Scully
had fortuitously decided to stay behind at her daughter's
old apartment to do some cleaning, and a damned good thing,
too --

"*They* are," Scully muttered, clearly having trouble
maintaining a coherent train of thought.  "People."  She
opened her eyes and looked at him, her head lolling
drunkenly on her shoulders.  "They're gonna -- oooohhhhh --
they're gonna know ... I've just been ... fucked --"

Mulder felt a growl rising in his throat as he realized what
she was saying.  Jesus -- he hadn't thought it possible to
be more turned on than he already was, but it was happening.
 He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on her buttocks
as he continued to drive into her.  Faster ... deeper ...
harder ....

"The cab driver ...." Scully gasped, digging her fingernails
into his shoulders.  "Th-the cab driver will be the first
.... oh sweet Mary ... oh Mulder ... don't -- don't stop ...
more ... more ... more ...."  For a moment she seemed to
have lost the power of speech entirely, and she simply clung
to him, panting.  Then:  "The cab driver who takes me to the
... the airport ... he'll know.  He'll take one look at
m-m-my face, and he'll know.  He'll know I've just b-been
fucked -- aaahhhhh ...."

Scully abruptly quit talking, and bit down on his shoulder,
hard -- and now it was Mulder's turn to gasp.  "Christ," he
muttered.  "Jesus, Scully ... it's so good ... so gooood
...."

"So good," she agreed, her words muffled by the fact that
she was now alternately biting and licking the side of his
neck.  Suddenly she lifted her head and looked him in the
eye, and Mulder felt his own arousal building even further
at the expression of raw lust on her face.  His legs were
shaking now, from supporting the extra weight, and he knew
from the hot, bright feeling at the base of his cock that he
wasn't going to last much longer.  And then Scully spoke
again, her voice low and husky and rich with desire, and her
words seemed to go directly to his groin.

"The ticket agent," she gasped, as he continued to pound
into her.  "Oh, God, Mulder ... the ticket agent will know
... and the flight attendants ... Jesus ... please ... more
... harder ... the flight attendants will w-w-watch me, all
the way to New York.  Yes, yes, yes ... like that ... yes
... th-they'll talk about me, in the back of the plane --"

She was continuing to talk to him, her breath hot and moist
against his ear, but Mulder could no longer understand the
words.  All he was aware of was her voice, flowing around
him and through him, and her hot, sweaty body pressed
between his own frame and the wall, as he continued to
drive, drive, drive.  He wanted to bury himself in her, he
wanted to completely lose himself, and the frenzied
desperation of Scully's voice was only making it better.

And dear God, she was there, he could tell; he'd come to
know her body's responses so very well.  Her legs were
tightening around his waist, and her fingernails were
digging frantically into his shoulders.  She had his earlobe
between her teeth, and she was growling, a deep, guttural
sound, and then her entire body seemed to cramp and spasm,
and Mulder was coming, too, and he was continuing to thrust
into her, each stroke harder than the last ....

Awareness returned to Mulder gradually, as he felt Scully
stirring sluggishly in his arms.  They were down on the
floor now half-sitting against the wall, their limbs tangled
together, his semi-erect cock still resting inside of her. 
Her head was resting on his shoulder, and he could feel her
breath tickling his ear.  He didn't ever want to move again.

"Hey."

He realized that she had lifted her head.  Unwillingly, he
opened his eyes, and saw her own bright, blue ones looking
back at him, with a depth of emotion that left him
breathless.  Impulsively, he leaned forward and kissed her. 
He knew he needed to let her go, but he didn't want to.  He
really, truly just wanted to stay like this forever.

At last, though, she moved again in his arms, causing him to
slip out of her, and Mulder reluctantly released his lover
from his embrace.  He allowed his eyes to drift shut again,
but just as he thought she must surely have left to get
packed and dressed, he heard her whisper in his ear, "And
the guy sitting next to me on the plane is gonna know, too."

He felt her tongue briefly trace the outline of his ear, and
he reflexively reached out for her.  But she was already
gone, leaving a trail of laughter in her wake.

Mulder smiled.

================END CHAPTER NINE================

========= 
Chapter Ten 
=========

Scully stared out the window at the Atlantic Ocean as it
glinted in the afternoon sunlight, and tried to will the
plane to fly a little faster.

She'd just spent nearly two full days in New York, and as
she'd expected from the start, it had been an exercise in
futility.  After hurrying to make the two o'clock deadline
imposed on her by Skinner, she'd wound up cooling her heels
in the U.S. Courthouse the entire afternoon, and wasn't
actually put on the stand until late the next day.  The
questioning had been predictable, and her answers
indistinguishable from the ones given on her deposition, but
they'd *still* held her over, and she hadn't been released
until just after lunch today.  Then the Assistant U.S.
Attorney had wanted to debrief her ....

Scully sighed and shook her head.  She didn't even care
about the outcome anymore; she'd even left before the
judge's decision was announced.  After everything that had
happened in the eighteen months since the Fellig case,
Peyton Ritter's ultimate fate seemed to be of little
consequence.  She just wanted to get back to Mulder.

Mulder.

Scully pressed her forehead against the glass, and let
herself think about her partner for a moment.  She'd been
surprised to find out how much she missed him on this trip. 
Certainly they'd spent time apart before.  Even since
becoming intimate, there'd been a few occasions when one or
the other of them had gone on short trips alone.  But for
some reason, this time Scully had found herself feeling like
a lovesick schoolgirl.  She'd finally given in to the
feeling the night before, and called him -- and when she
came up from the warm haze induced by the sound of his
voice, she'd been shocked to discover that more than an hour
had passed.

Well, soon she'd be with him again, and that would take care
of *that* little problem.  She hoped this wasn't going to be
a regular response to his absence, though.  Probably not,
she reassured herself.  Most likely, it was just brought on
by the disappointment of not getting to spend the first
night in their new apartment together.  Of course, that
knowledge wasn't going to stop her from enjoying the
reunion.

One good thing had come from this trip, though, she
reflected, finally turning her gaze away from the ocean,
leaning her head back and closing her eyes.  Coming hard on
the heels of what she hoped was her final encounter with
Jim, it had given her a chance to think about what, if
anything, she wanted to do about her former husband.

Annulment.

The idea had not been far from her mind for the past month;
not since her conversation with Father Landis at the church
retreat.  She hadn't discussed it with anyone else; not even
with Mulder.  She hadn't been sure how to raise it with him,
for fear that he might think her sudden interest in taking
this step had something to do with *their* relationship --
and she'd been frankly afraid of her mother's reaction. 
Although maybe now things were getting better.  Maybe Mom
would take it okay after all.

She wondered if she should have mentioned the possibility to
Jim, when he'd visited the new apartment two days ago. 
Ultimately, he had a right to know -- and of course, the
Church would not agree to proceed with the matter without
making an effort to contact the other party to the marriage.

Still, Scully hadn't felt comfortable raising the issue with
him at the time, and now, after two days of meditating on
it, she thought she knew why.  Jim had been invading her
privacy that morning.  In fact, he'd been invading her
privacy ever since he returned to the East Coast.  *Any*
action on her part that he could construe as her opening up
to him would only serve to prolong the process of getting
him out of her life, once and for all.

Once and for all.

Scully opened her eyes and stared at the back of the seat in
front of her.  That really was what she wanted, she
realized.  While he'd been away, she'd managed to
compartmentalize herself well enough that she didn't have to
deal with him, even in her memories.  But even then he'd
still been there, deep down inside, and his presence had
continued to affect her life, in large ways and in small.

Perhaps most importantly, he'd prevented her from opening
herself to Mulder in all the ways she'd wished to. 
Thankfully, she'd finally managed to overcome that, but now
her ex-husband's renewed physical presence, and his
unexplained desire to get in her face at random intervals,
was causing her to have renewed doubts and insecurities.

It was time to settle things, she decided.  Once and for
all.

#          #          #

Scully was late.

Mulder paused on his third pass through the living room to
look at the clock.  4:45.  No denying it now; she was late. 
Her flight had been due in at National at a little past two;
allowing for even the most generous of delays, plus typical
D.C. Friday afternoon traffic, she should have been here by
now.

She was late.

For the fourth or fifth time in the past hour, he considered
calling her on her cell phone, but once again he found the
will to resist.  As had happened the day before yesterday,
when he'd had the funk in her old apartment, Mulder found
himself drawing on an inner strength he hadn't previously
known he'd had.  It seemed silly to take pride in such a
small thing, but there it was.  For him, it was a big step.

And it was all because of Scully.

Mulder had spent the last two days unpacking, putting things
away and arranging furniture.  He hadn't mentioned this to
Scully -- it was part of the surprise he was planning for
her when she finally got home.  He knew she would be
expecting that a lot of work would remain to be done, and he
wanted everything to be perfect when she walked in the door.

Her phone call the night before had come as a surprise. 
Usually when she was away she didn't call him, unless there
was some practical reason for her to do so.  But last night
she had called, and she hadn't seemed to want to talk about
anything in particular.  She had apparently just wanted to
hear his voice.  She had missed him as much as he missed
her.  She hadn't come right out and said so, but Mulder
wasn't a complete idiot; he'd been able to read between the
lines.

He still wondered, though, what had happened while he and
her mother were over at Scully's old apartment that morning
before she went to New York.  She'd seemed to be her usual
self before they left, but when he returned a couple of
hours later, she'd been all over him.  It reminded him of
how she'd behaved the evening she'd come back from her
church retreat, the month before.

Now *that* was an interesting thought.  Mulder paused for a
moment in his pacing, and wondered if there could be any
connection.  He never had found out what had transpired
while she was on the retreat.  He'd asked her once, the
morning after she got back, and she'd asked for some time to
think.  The issue hadn't come up again, but Mulder knew his
partner well enough to know that just meant she hadn't
finished thinking about it.

A slight feeling of unease passed over him, as it suddenly
occurred to him that perhaps she was thinking about
marriage.  The elements were certainly there to have spurred
such thoughts:  the sudden reappearance of her ex-husband,
plus their own comparatively new, but growing, personal
relationship.  Of course, she was divorced, and Mulder
didn't think divorced Catholics were allowed to remarry --
at least, not without a lot of hassle and aggravation.

A sudden chill raced down his spine, as another thought
occurred to him.  She wasn't thinking about leaving the
Church for him, was she?  He examined the idea in his mind,
and tried to decide how he felt about that possibility. 
He'd never had much patience for organized religion -- at
least, not since Samantha was taken.  He hadn't been able to
reconcile the idea of a loving, caring God with what had
happened to his sister, and after a while he'd just put his
feelings about such things away in a box, and tried to
pretend they didn't exist.

Until Scully came into his life, that is.  Along with all
the other things she'd done for him over the years, the
quiet example of her own faith had caused him to re-examine
his own stand on those issues.  He knew he'd given her a
hard time about her religious beliefs, and even while he was
doing it, he'd felt badly about it.  But he'd also come to
love and appreciate her spiritual side, as an essential part
of the whole woman, and he was uneasy, to say the least, at
the idea that she might be considering giving any of that
up.

Especially over him.

Well, he thought, suppose she was?  Suppose, just for the
moment, that Scully was thinking about forsaking her Church
in order to form a deeper bond with him?  To be blunt,
suppose she was considering asking him to marry her?  Did he
want that?  If the answer was no, was he at least willing to
consider it, for her sake?

Mulder scrubbed at his face with his hands, and tried to put
his thoughts in order.  Why did life have to be so
complicated?  He didn't know the answers to any of those
questions -- and the mere fact that he *had* so many
questions in his mind, was probably a sign that he wasn't
ready to take a step of that magnitude.  He would just have
to hope that Scully *wasn't* forging ahead of him in this
area -- and that, most of all, she wasn't going to make any
irrevocable decisions without first talking to him about
what *he* wanted from their relationship.

God, that sounded selfish.

But it wasn't, really, and Mulder realized that almost
before the thought had finished forming.  He had to be clear
in his own mind, before he could even consider moving ahead
with Scully in that way.  It wouldn't be fair to either of
them to jump into something like that unless *both* of them
were sure.

Scully was smart enough to realize that, he reassured
himself, and she wasn't going to come home tonight and drop
some bombshell on him.  If she was keeping some things
inside her while she meditated on them, that was just
because it was her way of dealing with deep emotions.  She
would share her thoughts and feelings with him when she was
ready.  And if she needed his help in working out those
thoughts and feelings, she would ask for it.  Scully had
changed so much in the past seven months; she was so much
more open with him.  He *knew* she wouldn't hide anything
from him that he really needed to know.

And then, just as he'd reached that soothing conclusion, he
finally heard her key in the lock.

#          #          #

Scully was in heaven.  It was the only explanation for the
bliss she was currently experiencing.

She'd arrived home only a short time before.  Twenty
minutes?  Hell, who cared?  Mulder had been waiting for her
in the living room, and the look of joy on his face at
seeing her would be enough to fuel Scully's need for love
and emotional security for months.  Not that she wouldn't
take more if she could get it.

She moved slightly in her partner's embrace, snuggling back
a little closer against his chest and causing the water to
lap gently against them.  She was cradled between his
thighs, with his arms wrapped loosely but securely around
her waist, his hands clasped together on her belly.  One of
her hands rested lightly on top of his, and her other hand
stroked the side of the bathtub.  The antique, clawfoot
bathtub, that Mulder had had installed in their new
apartment in her absence.

"I can't believe you actually did this," she murmured,
allowing her hand to drop back into the water until it came
to rest on his knee.  "It must have cost a fortune."

"It wasn't cheap," he admitted.  "But I got permission
before we signed the lease, and I actually persuaded the
landlord that it would increase the value of the property. 
So we get a partial credit on the rent for the next three
months."

Scully smiled, and brought one of his hands up out of the
water so she could kiss it.  For a moment she allowed her
tongue to flick out and caress his knuckles, before she
finally returned it to the water, and its place on her
abdomen.

"I love you," she said quietly.  "Not just because of this
... not directly.  But because you're the sort of man who
thinks of things like this."  She craned her neck so she
could see into his eyes, and found uncertainty there.  "You
do know that, don't you Mulder?  You know what sort of man
you are?"

He hesitated, then shook his head slightly.  "What sort of
man am I, Scully?"

For at least the thousandth time in their partnership,
Scully was amazed at Mulder's lack of pretense or
affectation.  He wasn't fishing for compliments, and he
wasn't flagellating himself to evoke pity or reassurance on
her part.  He truly, honestly didn't know.  She stretched
her neck a little further, and brushed her lips against his
before she answered.

"You're the sort of man who cares about people who everyone
else has given up on," she told him.  "You're the sort of
man who spends a quarter of a century looking for a little
girl whom everyone else has forgotten.  Not just because
she's your sister, but because someone needs to look for
her, and no one else will."  She saw tears in his eyes, and
she kissed him again.  "And you're the sort of man who stays
by a woman's side for seven long years, with very little
encouragement, and when she finally realizes how much she
needs you, you gather her into your arms, without a word of
recrimination.  That's the sort of man you are, Mulder.  And
that's why I love you."

This time the kiss lasted for a long, long time, and long
before it ended, Scully felt tears forming in her own eyes. 
There was so much more she wanted to tell him about the good
that was inside of him.  There were so many more things she
wanted to say.  But those words would have to do, she
thought, at least for now.  There were practical matters to
be addressed, and there was love to be made.  There would be
plenty of time, later, to tell him in words just how well he
filled her heart.

She found herself turning in his arms, moving and twisting
in the water until finally she was straddling him, one arm
slipping comfortably around his neck, while the other moved
down between their bodies.  In a matter of seconds she'd
found him, and with a slight shift of her hips she was
sliding down around him, until he was buried as deeply
inside her as he could go, until they both were complete,
once again.  Until they both were perfect.

Perfect.

For a minute or two, Scully held perfectly still, barely
even breathing.  Just having him inside her, at this moment,
in their new home, seemed more profoundly joyful and
fulfilling than anything had ever been before.  She wondered
if he could feel it, too, and she opened her eyes -- to see
his eyes, warm and liquid and hazel, looking back at her
with a profound depth of emotion that she could not mistake.
 He was with her, she thought.  He was with her all the way,
and then some.

"Mulder," she whispered, her lips brushing against his with
every word she spoke.  "I need to tell you about something."
 It seemed so strange, on one level, to be bringing this up
with him now, in these circumstances.  And yet on another,
deeper level, it seemed so right, as if sharing this while
in a most intimate embrace was the only way that she could
possibly do this.

Her partner chuckled slightly, and she felt his fingertips
lightly tracing the length of her spine.  "Does this have to
do with that fat manila envelope that fell on the floor when
I swept you off your feet a little while ago?"

Scully felt her face crinkling into a smile, and she nodded,
her forehead rubbing against his.  "Yes, it does," she said.
 "I keep forgetting that you're a trained investigator." 
She moved her hips slightly, needing some friction.  She
didn't want them to get carried away -- not yet -- but she
found she couldn't remain completely still, either.  "I
stopped at St. John's on the way home from the airport," she
said at last.  "I wanted to talk to one of the priests about
something."

Mulder nodded, but didn't say anything.  His expression was
now sober and serious, and perhaps a little worried.  She
wanted his attention, but she didn't want him to be worried,
so she closed the distance between them and kissed him,
softly but deeply, before she continued.

"It's nothing to be concerned about, Mulder," she went on at
last.  "Nothing that will affect what's between us.  It's
just something I need to do, for myself."  She paused, and
took a breath, and said, "I've decided to ask the Church for
an annulment."  She waited for a moment, to see if he was
going to comment.  When he did not, she went on, "It's
something I've been thinking about for a while.  Since the
retreat last month."

Mulder smiled now, and nodded, as if she had somehow
confirmed something for him.  "So that's what it was," he
said.

Scully drew her head back a bit, and raised an eyebrow at
him.  "That's what *what* was?" she asked.

He chuckled and shook his head.  "Never mind.  Go on.  I
want to hear all about it."  He leaned forward, and
whispered against her lips, "I want to hear all about you."

Scully relaxed and settled down against him again, her head
coming to rest on his shoulder as her hips began to move
once more, so very, very slowly.  "Not much else to tell,
really," she replied.  She paused and allowed her tongue to
lightly trace the tendon in the side of his neck.  "I just
... need for it to be over.  Jim has been hovering in the
back of my mind for more than ten years, interfering with my
life and holding me back.  And now I'm finally ready to move
forward again."

Mulder's hands slid down her sides until they spanned her
waist, his thumbs lightly caressing her hipbones as he began
a gentle upward motion in time to her own downward
movements.  "That seems very reasonable," he murmured. 
"Overdue, even."  He turned his head, and she felt his
tongue flick in and out of her ear.  "I'm glad for you.  You
know that if there's anything I can do to help ...."

"I do," she moaned against his neck.  "I do.  I love you for
that, too.  And I probably will need your help.  Your
support."  She stopped speaking and licked her lips, and
somehow they both knew to pick up the tempo of their
lovemaking a bit.  "It's not an easy process, Mulder," she
went on.  "Father Landis ... oh, yes ... Father Landis said
it might take a year.  Maybe more.  I have to find
witnesses, and I'll have to interact with Jim, and I don't
know how he's going to react to all this ...."

Her voice trailed off as she lost the power to speak.  He
was moving firmly inside her now, thrusting up into her,
seeming to go a little deeper each time.  She was clinging
to his shoulders, clutching at them, riding him, and she was
already so very, very close.  She hadn't even noticed how
aroused she was becoming as they talked, how their words had
flowed around both of them in a very special and intimate
form of lovemaking.

"I love you, too, Scully."  Mulder's voice was soft and
gentle, his breath warm and moist against her ear, each
syllable pushing her a little higher, a little farther.  "I
don't even know the words to say to you.  All those years
you stayed with me, all the things we've been through
together ... No one else could have kept me alive and sane
through all of that.  No one else ...."

"No one else," she agreed, tightening her grip around his
shoulders and moving faster, ever faster.  "Never anyone
else."  The water was splashing around them, now,
splattering the walls and no doubt pooling on the floor as
their movements became ever more fierce, ever more violent. 
Scully was lost in a sea of emotion and sensation, her eyes
tightly shut as she and her lover took each other and tried
to become one.  So close, so close, so close ....

And then, suddenly, she was there, and she felt herself
tightening and clenching around him as she cried out with
joy and pleasure.  Mulder was continuing to thrust up into
her as wave after wave of fulfillment flooded through her,
and then he was there, too, his hands on her hips holding
her down, keeping her motionless, as he finally emptied
himself into her.

She lifted her head from his shoulder and opened her eyes. 
She wanted to see his face, she wanted to know his
expression as he came -- but already it was too late.  He
was over the peak and coming down again, even as he gave the
last of himself to her, even as she felt him fill her with
his most precious gift.

But she was not too late to hear his voice, as her head
settled down once more on his shoulder, and her body relaxed
and flowed down into the water and around him once again. 
And his words were warm and rich, and full of promise:

"Welcome home, Scully."

================THE END OF THE WHOLE STORY================