By Char Chaffin
char@chaffin.com

MSR, NC-17, some angst, some humor - Canon and AU combined
Disclaimers:  I'm just using them for sex.  It's a dirty job but
somebody's gotta do it -

THANKS:  To Tess, Sallie, Carol, Shelba and Robin:  for excellent
beta, constant encouragement, cyber hand-holding and a whole lotta
love!
 

Summary:  Past, present, and future:  De Love spans all...
 

"For The Long Haul"
 

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PART ONE.... THEN
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It began with affection.  Maybe some mental lust was mixed in there
a bit, right at the start - but mostly there was affection.  He
didn't want a partner; she didn't want to spy on him.  But she
enjoyed a good challenge, and he wanted to keep his job.

Both got what they wanted - at first.

Trust came faster than either thought it would.  Sometimes it
happens that way.  Early on she revealed to him her strength,
deceptive in that small, delicate frame. Strength was an admirable
thing to him: strength of purpose, of mind and of body.  That first
year, she showed him all three.

By the start of their second year together, he could not imagine his
life without her... and yet, he found himself fighting against doing
just that.  Living without her, dying a little each day as he
searched for her, for any lead that might bring him closer to an
understanding of where she was.  He never gave up.  This was a woman
who in one short year had come to mean much more to him than just
another partner.  And the affection that had developed as they worked
their first few cases together became enriched with another layer of
emotion, the day she came back to him.

By their third year together, it was love... but neither of them
recognized it as such.  He only knew the sight of her in their office
each morning brought a smile of delight to his face.  She came to
recognize that tight little bump of awareness within her chest each
time he placed a hand anywhere on her, as affirmation of his utter
charm; a man who cared for her and was her friend.

They fooled themselves, and each other, for over three years.  Until
she became ill, until what had happened to her during her enforced
absence from his life reared up and bit them both on the ass.

*******

The night he made love to her began more or less as any other night
had, since her illness had taken hold.

She'd been slowly weakening.  Oh, the treatments were doing their
job, but not as quickly as the cancer was taking over.  There were
good days, days when they could work together in the field, days when
she could keep up with him.  At least that's what she led him to
believe.

He wanted to believe, that was true.

He wanted to think everything was all right, that she wasn't getting
weaker, more fragile.  Denial, pure and simple; it had become the
name of his game.  If he refused to accept her mortality, then
perhaps he could stave off the Reaper.  For he'd acknowledged the
utter importance of her in his life, and he recognized the love.  It
had always been there, but of course he'd hidden it under a hat
labeled 'Caring,' because she deserved so much more than what he
strove to be.

And yet... when she asked for his help, he could refuse her nothing.
Though it ripped at his heart, he did what she asked.

"Mulder, I'm not getting any better."

"Yes, you are.  I can see it, Scully.  You have more color in your
cheeks.  And you've been eating decently.  You are getting better.
Stronger."

Her lips curved into a rueful little smile; she shook her head.
"No.  I'm not.  I push my food around on my plate and hide it under
the napkin.  I rouse myself out of bed each morning and pour pills
down my throat until I can stand on my feet without swaying and
toppling over.  I am taking double treatments and all I have to show
for it is extreme queasiness and dull-looking hair.  My nails are all
split and the inside of my mouth is full of canker sores."  Her blue
eyes glistened with tightly-controlled emotion as she held his gaze.
"I'm losing, little by little, Mulder.  Eventually I'll have to give
in, and check myself into the hospital."

Even as she spoke calmly and softly, he was fighting every word.  He
stood facing her, hands clenched into fists, feet planted apart - the
very picture of a man ready to do battle against the enemy.  Except
this enemy had burrowed so far into her defenses it had become her
skin, her bone.  Cut it out and he'd slice her, too.  Kill it - and
he'd kill her.

How could he fight it?  How could he win out against it?

How could he not try?

A standoff.  As his panic and denial of her true circumstances grew,
so her calm acceptance of her fate increased.  He shouted; she
reasoned.  He threw a vase across the room and it shattered against
the wall; she swallowed tears of frustration and asked him again.

"I want you to help me pack, and go with me to the hospital.  I want
you to help me get my affairs in order.  There's no one else I trust.
Please, Mulder... I need you to listen to me and believe."

Shit.  He pressed the heels of his hands into his burning eyes.  He
couldn't do this.  He would never be able to do this, to just let her
go this way, give up like this.  Opening his eyes, Mulder forced
himself to see her, really see... past the sheen of love he had for
her; love that shaded everything rosy and good.

Oh, Scully...

Pale.  Thin.  Drawn.  Bruised-looking shadows under her blue eyes;
tired.  She was so tired.  He could see it now; why hadn't he seen it
before?

Because he'd been looking at her through the eyes of a man who loved
with a desperation bordering on panic, that if he looked too deeply,
she'd somehow disappear.  She'd leave him if he saw the truth of
her... and so he'd chosen not to.

Until now.

A step toward her, then another.  And another - another.  When he
was within a scant six inches of her, Mulder fell to his knees.  He
reached out and she was there, pulling him into her arms, his head
buried in her lap.  She sat on her sofa with her partner's upper body
sagging heavily against her, and she was the stronger of them, as he
sobbed.  His tears soaked her pants and his anguish tore at her
heart.  Love for him swamped her, sudden and fierce.  Scully pressed
her cheek on his rumpled hair and let her own tears fall silently.
She knew he'd help her move into the hospital because she'd asked
him.  He would fight to the end for her - but he'd do as she asked.

Her thin hand stroked over his head, the palm cool and trembling.
He'd do as she asked... in all things.  And she had one doozy of a
'thing' to request of him...

"Mulder?  Would you... take me to bed, please?  I need to lie down.
And I need you to lie down with me."

At her softly-spoken words his entire body jerked in surprise; he
raised his head and stared at her.  Surely she didn't... at a time
like this, she couldn't...

Oh, but she did.  It was there in her expression, in her half-smile,
in her eyes.  She was pale and sick and thin - but she was also
alive.  And he could read her like a book, in that small moment.
Alive, and wanting to feel it.  Experience it.  With him.  Mulder
reached out a hand and curved it against her cheek, feeling the bone
of her jawline, the taut flesh stretched too tightly.  Under that
soft skin her blood beat warm, and still vital.  She was alive in his
arms and for once, maybe just this once... she needed reaffirmation.

So did he.  It might be their only chance to be together.

They never said another word about hospitals or treatments, that
night.  He stood up and wiped his wet cheeks on the sleeve of his
shirt.  She dashed tears from her eyes and held up her arms to him.
Mulder bent and picked her up; it was like carrying a thistle in the
palm of his hand, as he moved to the bedroom with her in his arms.
He laid her down on the fluffy comforter and stretched out beside
her.  Face to face on the same pillow, they touched each other.

So dear, that sweet smile, full and open, just for him.  Hazel eyes
bright with suppressed emotion, Mulder leaned in, kissed her lips
gently, mindful of her sore mouth.  She returned his kiss just as
gently, allowing her tongue to come into play, drawing his out.
Softly.  Carefully.  Comfortingly... kisses so tender they melted
upon the mouth and soaked into the skin.

The dimness of Scully's bedroom was a welcome shield for her.  She
didn't want Mulder to see how thin she'd become, though she knew he'd
felt it for himself; could see in what light there was.  She let him
unbutton her long-sleeved shirt, saw for herself the love that
flickered across his face as he smoothed the edges back and revealed
the simple pale blue cotton bra.  A touch of his finger on the front
clasp and it came apart in his hands, spilling the small mounds of
her breasts into his waiting palms.  The skin there was softer than a
sigh and pale as milk.  He lowered his mouth, caught a dainty nipple
in his mouth, laved it gently.  So gently.

She sighed.  This was what she wanted.  One night of lovemaking, one
last erotic 'hurrah', before she entered into the final phase of her
life.  One first, and one last... for Mulder's touch would certainly
be her last, but this was also their first time together in intimacy.

She wanted this.  Needed this... they both did.

Mulder hovered over her body, silently absorbing her loveliness, her
slender perfection.  When the buttons on his jeans proved difficult
for her to release, he assisted her.  Sliding out of first his
clothes, then removing the remainder of hers, soon there wasn't a
thing between them but flesh.

His hands trembled when they caressed her, his mouth traversed north
and south, east and west on her body... his adoration was a live
thing between them.  He created a string of kisses that covered her,
front to back and front again - his mouth sought the tender flesh
between her legs and he settled there, to please her.  Taking his
time, he probed her firm little clit, stroked and kissed the nub of
flesh, lifted her carefully, up, and up... until with a gasp and a
shudder, she climaxed on his tongue.

It was exactly right.  It didn't last long enough and it was more
than she could physically handle.  And it was perfect.

"Perfect..."  Her shaky sigh reached his ears as he lay with his
cheek pressed to her stomach and his arms banded snugly around her
hips.  His body was screaming for her, his need pushing hard and hot
against her leg.  He fought down the urge to thrust himself against
any part of her that touched his penis, knowing it wouldn't take much
to send him flying.  And understanding that in her weakened condition
she could do little more than curl into his arms, and fall asleep.
It was enough for him.  He'd make it enough.

But Scully had other ideas... with a murmur of his name, she shifted
in his arms and reached for that turgid flesh.  She clasped him in
her warm little hands and stroked him, squeezed him ardently, her
mouth and tongue warm on his neck, on his mouth.  Her desire to in
turn please him overwhelmed and humbled him.

Kisses and caresses, soft lips and softer hands... a one-two punch
designed to make him explode - and he did, in an embarrassingly short
time frame.  He groaned through her name and nipped at her lips and
came in great thick bursts, his entire body afire.

They fell asleep just as silently as they'd loved.  Words were not
needed.  What they'd shared between them would remain a dear memory.
What they'd had together would never lose its magical qualities.  It
was enough... almost.

In the morning Mulder took her to the hospital and got her settled
in. He bought her a silly purple stuffed elephant holding a bright
green peanut in its fuzzy trunk... and kissed her once more, leaving
her with a smile on her face and a card in her hands that read,
simply:

"I'm in for the long haul, Scully... I promise you."

**********

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PART TWO....  NOW
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It's become a necessity, the touch and the kiss. The connection,
body to body, has become more frequent, deeper, more needful.  They
starve when too many hours pass before they can touch again.  Hand-
holding has become a sensual delight, hidden underneath tables during
meetings and booths at lunch-time diners.  Languid looks, full of
future promise.  Inaudible sighs, when a thumb passes over an exposed
and silky knee.  Lips parting on the threshold of words, eyes
watching those lips and imagining them anywhere, doing anything other
than speaking.

They hide it well.

In truth, they probably don't need to.  Chances are the world at
large wouldn't care and wouldn't cause them any trouble.  Their
enemies may have found more worthy prey, another pair of agents who
investigate the weird and search out the conspiracy most of this
planet's population will never know about.

Then again... they've had to survive the very worst their
adversaries have thought to throw at them.  They have triumphed and
persevered because of the strength they find in each other and in the
quest they both share.

And because of the pain of their past, because of what they've been
through together, and apart... they now have the utter right to sit
in a corner booth of Ginetti's, holding hands under the table and
catching the fine edge of passion and desire in each other's eyes.

"Let's get out of here, Scully.  Now."  Hazel eyes gleam at her,
spiked with need.  It makes her smile.

She shakes her head, trying to remain serious and responsible.
"Mulder, no.  We have a full afternoon ahead of us.  We can't goof
off, you know that."  Under the table her fingers squeeze at his.

Under that same table his free hand reaches for her thigh, runs
three lazy digits up her silk-clad flesh.  Warming her. Weakening her
resolve.  Reminding her that first and foremost they owe themselves
more than the day-to-day grind of jobs overly dangerous.

They owe themselves each other...

A few years ago she lay dying in a hospital room decorated with
flowering plants, a stuffed purple elephant and a balloon bouquet.
At night she slept restlessly while her partner sat holding her hand
and crying silent tears.  Although every day he fought to keep her
alive, searching for a cure, anything that would possibly work,
however crazy... the nights made him vulnerable to his greatest fear.
That he would fail her.  He'd find the means to save her, but too
late.  Her family already had her dead and buried; the priest had
been to visit her and gave her last rites.  She'd accepted it calmly
and with dry eyes; Mulder had stood outside her room clenching his
fists so hard he'd cut his palms with his nails.

He wouldn't let her go.  If she left him he'd follow her, and to
hell with everything else in the world; nothing would matter anymore.
It took them long enough to understand what they had was more than
special and so very precious. And so he held her hand through the
nights in that antiseptic room and he prayed very hard, that someday
soon they'd spend the night doing something other than trying to
cheat Death - that he'd find the means to save her.

Two months ago he carried her into his bedroom, rejoicing at the
added substance of her, for she'd graduated from thistle weight to
bird-weight.  In his arms Scully had snuggled close and buried her
face into his neck, lips pressing on his skin.  He'd left on all the
lights and opened the drapes wide...

Amid the light and the heat and the warmth of renewed promises, they
made the love they'd begun the night before he took her to the
hospital.  Tender, a little unsure - a lot of wonderful and just a
bit of regret, that they'd waited so long to begin again, for he
should have taken her to bed the instant they knew she was in
remission.  Every day, week, month they delayed their reunion was a
loss of the intimacy they both craved so much.

They know better, now.  They're both older and wiser - and so much
in love it's a force between them that cannot be measured by any
conventional means.

He talks her into ditching the afternoon.  It isn't hard to do.

As they drive away from the diner, Scully curls a palm over Mulder's
wool-covered thigh, enjoying the play of muscles as he accelerates
and brakes.  From time to time he turns his attention from the road
to smile at her, his hazel eyes full of unspoken expectations and
heated vows.  He's driving too fast and she doesn't say anything.
Their luck has held marvelously well so far, not a cop in sight.  And
neither of them is above waving their badges around if they are
stopped for speeding.  They've done it before.  They'll gladly do it
again.

Inside the cool apartment there's a scent of roses in the air,
courtesy of the vase full of dark red blooms gracing her dining room
table.  He'd brought them to her a few days ago and the tight buds
are just now opening and spilling their fragrance everywhere.  Scully
closes the door behind them and finds herself caught up in impatient
arms and a body that presses her into the door frame as his mouth
covers hers and kisses her senseless.  She pushes herself hard into
his arms and her mouth bites right back.  His leg slides between hers
and she rides the hard thigh, shudders streaking through her at the
stimulating contact.

No words are spoken, for as always they're not needed.  And there,
the similarity to their very first time ends... for now she's healthy
and strong, lusty and powerful in her desire and her need.  Unafraid
to take what she wants and give back what he craves most, not a hint
of reserve left to inhibit what they create between them.  It's as it
should be, would have been - had she not been so ill the first time
they lay together and made such careful, gentle love.

Now, it's a wonder if they even make it far enough into the room to
mate on soft carpet instead of hard floor.

"Bed?"  The word is a rough mutter against her ear.

She shakes her head and catches his lobe in her teeth, nips it hard.
"Can't wait.  Sofa?"

He rakes a hand in her hair and pulls at her until he can reach her
mouth, growling into her throat.  "Too far.  Carpet.  I want you on
top."

She nods frantically and they stagger three steps, just enough to
bypass the tiled foyer floor and position themselves on the edge of
the living room carpet.  Four hands become excessively busy,
unbuttoning and unzipping, yanking and pulling.  They are not gentle;
they have no need to be.  They don't want gentle, not right now.
They want greed.  They want wet and hot and pounding and sore muscles
and shuddering, screaming climax.

They'll get what they want...

Stripped of their clothes, they become two sleek and toned animals
who tussle for dominance on the thick and cushiony carpet.  Mulder
wants to save Scully from the possibility of rug-burn, so he rolls
over on his back and drags her up and over him, her elegant spine to
his chest.  She sprawls on his body, her rounded cheeks pushing down
on him, driving him mad.  Her hands brace on the floor and his arms
curve over her, crossed palms cupping her breasts, rubbing at the
taut little nipples.  One hand runs down to her curls, two fingers
delving inside, while she rests her head against his shoulder and
moans into the rose-flavored air.

"Jesus, Mulder...!"

His hands are relentless, determined to drive her up, hard and fast.
His heavy penis throbs between those perfect cheeks of hers, its
pulse intensifying with each movement she makes on him.  His mouth is
buried in her hair, his groans are muffled but she can hear them.
She feeds off them.

When she dislodges his burrowing hand and flips around on his body,
leaning down to assault his mouth with hers, he can do nothing more
than grip her and hang on, hoping he'll survive her greed. And he
finds himself inanely proud, that he's caused such a frenzy in his
woman's body - that she'd discover within herself this level of
aggression... and thankful she's now healthy enough to want it like
that.

Most of all, thankful.

Scully leaves bite-marks on his throat.  It's just fine with him.
He grips her pelvic bones hard enough to bruise.  She can handle it.
Together they align, probe, push and thrust, dagger to sheath, pestle
to mortar.  Hard.  Fast, then slow.  Circling, then jabbing... pain-
laced pleasure that crosses her eyes with the intensity of each rough
movement.  It hurts.  It feels wonderful.  She won't be able to stand
on her own two feet when it's over, and if there is any justice in
the world her lover will be in roughly the same shape.  They might
have to recoup their energy right on the damn floor...

It won't be the first time.

Bracing her hands on his chest, Scully curls ten tapered fingernails
into his nipples and bares her teeth in a wild grin when he flinches
and curses at the sharp sting.  It doesn't stop him from trying to
stuff more of himself inside her, though.  He rears up and manages to
catch a hard little peak with his teeth, retaliating in a way that
has her shuddering in his mouth.  Goosebumps break out over her arms
and her gasping moan is thick in the quiet of the room.  She adores
his mouth, his tongue, the way he nips at her - she adores that he
loses so much control when he's inside her.  It makes her feel
powerful.

It makes her feel alive, and so very loved.

One hand now wound in his dark hair, forcing his mouth to take more
of her breast, the other hand pushing down between their joined
bodies, alternately stroking herself, and then his tight balls -
Scully drives them both closer to insanity.  Neither can keep up this
kind of pace for much longer and remain conscious.  They both know
it.

When she gentles her movements, taking them from fast furious hard
to slow tender gentle, the contrast just about sends him over the
cliff where he's been hanging by a slender thread.

He pants out a rasping, "What're you... oh, Christ, Scully, you're
killing me..."

Her smile curves against his open mouth.  "Yes, I know.  Don't you
just love it?"

He licks at her wet lips, trembling in her arms.  "Love you, that's
all I know, baby."

A whisper on his tongue is all the response he needs.  "That's more
than enough, Mulder..."

Languid rocking now, on his body, damp hair stuck to her cheeks and
eyes gone dark blue with emotion, Scully leans back and props her
hands on Mulder's hard thighs.  Her heart pounds triple-time, her
climax a foregone conclusion as it hovers on the very edge of her
over-sensitized flesh.  With each slow slide on him, she dares it to
come over her, taunts it, flirts with it.  She'd like nothing better
than to scream out loud that she's here on this earth, bound to this
man, with every intention of staying put and loving out her years
with him; many years.

With him... and heaven help the unfortunate fool who steps between
them again; who causes any damage to what they claim as theirs.

Three strokes later, a handful of thrusts and a dozen kisses, and
the force of her orgasm rips through him and triggers his own
release; he groans and shouts and shudders inside her.  She convulses
and moans and pulses, pulling at him, draining him.  When her limp
body falls against him he's there to catch her, his muscles pinging
like mad.  Her head comes to rest in the crook of his neck and her
hands flutter to the carpet on either side of his shoulders.  Utter
bliss, the calm after the tornado...

"I am so dead.  I could sleep for twenty years."  Scully's voice is
a mere thread of a mumble in his ear.

"Me, too.  You can call me Rip Van Mulder."

She snickers softly.  "What have we got this afternoon?"

He hums a little as he thinks about their schedule.  "Everything.
Busy, busy.  Or, nothing at all, if we so desire.  Personally, I vote
for nothing.  We can sleep the rest of the day and fuck like field
mice all night long."

She can feel him grinning against her damp hair.  "Field mice?  I'm
almost afraid to ask."  She raises her head and stares down into his
sleepy eyes.  "Why field mice?  Why not minks, or rabbits - or
gerbils?"

Mulder lazily strokes an index finger down her damp spine.  "Haven't
you ever heard the expression, 'Hung like a Stud Field Mouse'?
That's me, Partner.  The Mouse That Roars.  Just gimmee a few more
seconds, and I'll prove it to you."

"Gee, Mulder - I must have missed that one when I attended
'Expression School'... and I've got news for you.  Your mouse has
been well and truly bludgeoned.  By my trap.  I think the least we
can do is let the little guy sleep a while."  Her hand is tender as
it slips over his body, the cup of her palm gentle on his penis.

Mulder sighs contentedly, "I'm sure you're right, Scully.  But I'm
calling you out on that 'little guy' slur."

Scully relaxes every muscle, using her lover shamelessly as a
mattress.  "Whatever.  So, who's going to make the excuses, this
time?"

"Ahh, let 'em guess where we are.  So," he cuddles her close, "Does
this mean you're gonna stick around a while, use me and abuse me,
then fall asleep on me like I'm your own personal Serta?"

She chuckles, almost in slumber-land.  "Oh, yeah.  I'm in for the
long haul, Mickey."

He laughs himself to sleep, holding her warm and safe in his arms -
loving her more than life.

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

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
PART THREE....  SOON
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
 

It will be mid-afternoon in the middle of the week, and in his arms
she'll feel small and delicate, as always.  Her bright head will rest
against his shoulder as he carries her into the bedroom.  She'll be
weary and uncomfortable, sore and in desperate need of sleep.

She'll also be in equally-desperate need of him.

When he lays her on the bed it will be with the utmost tenderness,
so as not to hurt her.  The last thing he'll ever want to do is cause
her any sort of pain.  But his need for her will be greater than his
worry and his concern.  It's what she's loved most about him and what
she will continue to love, regardless of her health, in spite of
anything.

"Stay with me.  Lie down with me..."

The words will be a breath of want on the warm afternoon air; the
hands reaching out to him will be thin and pale, and trembling just a
little.  Her eyes will be huge pools of pleading blue, and of course
he won't have the strength to deny her.  He never has.

"Scully... we can't.  It's not safe for you."  He'll try to keep his
wits about him.  His passion will attempt to overpower him, as it has
always done in the past.  He will have to remain steadfast.  He won't
dare to risk it.

"I'll behave.  I promise.  Please, Mulder. We don't have much time
left... please."

The tone of her soft voice will be his undoing, as it always has
been and always will be, and with a groan of defeat he'll sink down
upon the mattress.  Against his better judgment he'll take her into
his arms and with shaky hands made cold by nerves, he'll undress
her.

She'll be so lovely it will take his breath and his sanity clean away.

As he peels away her clothes and uncovers more of her baby-soft
skin, he'll be reminded of another time in their past, when against
his more intelligent thought processes he laid her down in a warm,
tempting bed.    When he removed her clothes and touched her so very
gently - when he put his mouth on her and brought her to one perfect
and shattering climax.  How her labored breathing hitched in her
chest; the way those small and pale hands felt when they took him
over, soothed his raging heat - made him come so hard he almost
blacked out from the sheer ecstasy of it.  How she curled into his
side and slept a dreamless, peaceful night.

And how in the morning he let her leave him, with only a fervent
promise that he'd always be there, somewhere in her life - until the
end of her life.

The long haul.

He'll think of that day as he leans in and kisses her skin, running
an adoring tongue so very carefully over each pink-tipped breast,
fingers tenderly tracing the pattern of veins under the creamy skin.
He'll return often to her lips, giving her his breath, his saliva,
his very soul - and she'll take all he has to give with tears in her
eyes and a tremble in her sweet mouth as she kisses him back.  Her
heart will beat far too fast and her pulse will jump and skitter...
but she'll feel more alive in that moment than she ever felt in her
entire life.

"Scully, don't move around so much, just relax, rest, let me... let
me take care of you.  Let me do for you..."  He'll be worried about
her, as he's always worried, always feeling deepest concern.  If
anything goes wrong, now... it will be his fault.  He won't be able
to shake that feeling, that paranoia.

And the smile, wide and open and happy, will be in her chuckle when
she strokes his rumpled hair and exclaims, "Mulder, for God's sake!
I'm hardly at death's door... I'm only having a baby!  I won't
shatter and neither will our child, if we make a little love, this
close to my delivery.  Besides, if we don't, it'll be weeks and weeks
before we can.  Believe me, I won't overdo it and I won't break."

Of course he'll know she won't break.  Of course he'll understand
that in her delicate condition she is as strong as ever; perhaps even
more.  He'll know their child is well cushioned in its warm and
watery world.

But he's never been a father before - and his understandable panic
will have come to him from past generations of nervous daddies-to-be
who watched their women grow large and cumbersome with the life they
planted there, only nine short months ago.

And for all those reasons, if his kisses become even more adoring
and worshipping, more tender, and more careful... well, it's hoped
the woman he loves will understand and indulge him a little.  He
won't be able to help himself.  And he'll breathe his next real sigh
of relief the moment his newborn child is placed safely in his arms
and he can kiss its tiny, perfect face.

But in the meantime... there will be some love to make in that warm
and cozy bedroom.  There will be a beautiful woman, fragile-looking
and pale from staying out of the summer sun; large with fetus and
with tender, aching breasts.  She'll be tired most of the time and
needing more sleep than she will allow herself to have.  It will be
up to him to care for her, make sure she takes all of her vitamins
and drinks three glasses of milk a day.  Up to him, to massage her
back when it aches and coax her into putting her feet up when her
ankles swell.

Up to him, to reaffirm to her just how proud he is of her. Mulder
knows he'll be more than up to the task.

In the silent room their sighs will mingle with their gasps and
purrs of pleasure.  The loving will be gentle but thorough.  The need
will be just as great as it ever was, all those years ago when Scully
asked him to lie down with her and he did so, with a heart breaking
from the thought that it would be their first and only time together.

As their skins cool from their mutual release, her back will start
aching, signifying the onset of her labor.  But she won't tell him,
not quite yet.  She'll hug it to herself, a little greedy, like all
mothers-to-be have been through the ages.  She'll comprehend much
better than he will, what labor and delivery entails.

But soon... she'll whisper to him that it's time.  And he'll bounce
out of bed, all in a panic.  He'll stumble around the room, tripping
over his own feet, while she calmly gathers what she needs and lets
him help her to the car, laughing out loud when he sweeps her and the
bulky backpack into his arms, to carry her the rest of the way.

He'll break every speed limit rushing her to the hospital and Scully
will place a tender hand on his, removing it from its death grip on
the steering wheel... repositioning it on her very rounded ready-to-
pop belly.  She'll press her palm over Mulder's trembling fingers,
resting against the child who's finally ready to be born.

And she'll smile in absolute agreement when he murmurs, "For the
long haul, Baby... all three of us. I'll always be here for you and
our child.  I promise."

Her fingers will squeeze his lovingly.  "I promise, too."
 

End

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sometime!  char@chaffin.com

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