The Silver Bracelet

By Brandon D. Ray
publius@avalon.net


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

FEEDBACK:  Oh, hell yes....

SPOILERS:  Spoilers abound for numerous episodes through U.S. Season 5,
and also for FTF.

RATING:  Individual chapters are rated from PG to NC-17.  On the principle
that adding a teaspon of dirty water to a gallon of clean water yields a
gallon of dirty water, I suppose that means that the entire story must be
rated NC-17.  However, individual chapters are individual rated in the
table of contents, below.

CONTENT WARNING:  Several chapters include strong religious content,
handled as respectfully as I know how.  Some chapters also contain
explicit sexual material, and are appropriately marked.  All chapters
contain at least some bad language.  Maggie/Bill sr.  Character death
(told in flashback; not M or S).

CLASSIFICATION:  SRA; MSR

SUMMARY:  This story deals with Dana Scully's infertility, as well as her
religious faith, and attempts to explore how those two issues might affect
a romantic relationship with Fox Mulder.  I have attempted to avoid
excessive sap, and there is more than a little angst herein.  However,
this is basically a happy story, because I'm basically a happy guy.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  This story takes place in an alternate timeline, which
diverges from what we have seen on television sometime after FTF.  
Specifically, Season 6 never happened in this world.

DEDICATIONS:

This story is dedicated to Rachel Lewis, for providing the inspiration
which transformed a short story into a much longer and more complex work.

Chapter 4 is dedicated to Helen Wills, whose wonderful story "One Sorry
Son of a Bitch" provided inspiration for this chapter.

Chapter 12 is dedicated to Rachel Anton and Laura Blaurosen, whose
excellent Desideratum stories provided the inspiration for this chapter.


The Silver Bracelet

by Brandon D. Ray

Chapter 1:  TRANSFIGURATION.  In which a stone is removed from the path.  
This chapter is rated PG.

Chapter 2:  AS I KNEW HE WOULD.  In which a woman prays for her daughter.  
This chapter is rated PG.

Chapter 3:  FAITH AND ACCEPTANCE.  In which obstacles are overcome.  This
chapter is rated PG.

Chapter 4:  RECONCILIATION.  In which a troubled man discovers a higher
truth.  This chapter is rated PG-13.

Chapter 5:  DECOMPRESSION AND RELATIVITY.  In which two people grow
closer. This chapter is rated PG-13.

Chapter 6:  DARK MIDNIGHT OF THE SOUL.  In which demons are held at bay,
and plans are made.  This chapter is rated PG.

Chapter 7:  WHAT DOES HE SEE WHEN HE LOOKS AT ME?  In which a question is
answered.  This chapter is rated R.

Chapter 8:  CONSUMMATION.  In which love is shared, and thereby enhanced.  
This chapter is rated NC-17.

Chapter 9:  CHARLIE.  In which anxiety is examined.  This chapter is rated
PG-13.

Chapter 10:  EPIPHANY.  In which pain is shared, and thereby diminished.  
This chapter is rated PG-13.

Chapter 11:  A WOMAN IN LOVE.  In which extreme possibilities are
considered.  This chapter is rated PG.

Chapter 12:  PRINCESS LEIA RACES HOME ABOARD HER STARSHIP.  In which
extreme possibilities are explored.  This chapter is rated NC-17.

Chapter 13:  PARTNERS FOREVER.  In which the future is addressed, and
promises are made.  This chapter is rated PG-13.

============================

Chapter 1:  Transfiguration.  In which a stone is removed from the path.

This chapter is rated PG.


December 24, 10:43 p.m.

Outside it was cold, and it was snowing.

Dana Scully sat on the sofa in her mother's living room, sipping hot cocoa
and staring at the lights on the Christmas tree.  The twinkling, colored
bulbs cast the only illumination, and much of the room was lost in shadow.  
A single tear trickled down her cheek.

"It's such a pity Fox couldn't join us this year," her mother had said
when Scully arrived earlier in the evening.  Yeah, Mom, such a pity.  
"You know he's always welcome here."  Not anymore, Mom.

Scully took another sip of cocoa, and a flash of silver caught her eye.  
Deliberately, she set down her mug, and held out her arm so that she could
examine, once again, the silver bracelet adorning her left wrist.  It
glinted slightly, reflecting the Christmas lights.  It was such a lovely
bracelet; such a lovely gift.  So sad that she would have to give it back
to him.  She should have done so immediately; putting it off was just
going to make it harder.

She slipped the bracelet off her wrist, and turned it over in her hands.  
The lighting was too dim to allow her to read the inscription, but she
knew what it said:  "All my love. -M"

All his love.  At last.  And she could not accept it.

Mulder had completely blindsided her with the gift that afternoon.  Was it
really only earlier today?  It seemed like a lifetime.  They'd been
preparing to close the office for the holiday weekend, and he had suddenly
told her to stand still and close her eyes.

Suspecting some sort of a trap, but willing to play along, Scully had
complied, and seconds later she felt his hand on her arm, sending as
always a thrill of electricity through her body, and then she had felt the
cool touch of metal as he slid something over her hand.  At his command
she had opened her eyes....

"Oh, Mulder, it's beautiful!"  She had held out her hand and turned it,
admiring the bracelet.  "It's perfect."  She'd looked from the bracelet to
his face, and her eyes had widened as she saw a light in his eyes that she
had never seen there before.

"I'm glad you like it, Scully," he'd said, his tone as soft as his eyes.  
"I, I hoped it would be the right thing."  He'd moved closer to her, and
touched her chin with his fingertips, and Scully was shocked to see tears
in his eyes.  "You see, I've been struggling for a long time.  Struggling
with something inside of me.  I...I don't know..."  And he'd shrugged
helplessly, and given a sheepish smile, both hopeful and terrified, and
said, "Aw, hell, Scully, you know I'm no good at this sort of thing."  
There had been the very briefest of hesitations, then:  "I'm in love with
you."

And Dana Scully had burst into tears and fled the room.  She had not
returned.

Eventually, she arrived at her mother's home in Baltimore.  She had no
clear memory of how she had spent the five hours between the time she left
the J. Edgar Hoover Building and the time she arrived at her mother's, but
she didn't really care.  All that she cared about was that she was
someplace safe, someplace she could hide.  She had greeted her mother
briefly and distantly, then gone to her old room, and tried to sleep.

Mulder had called, of course.  She had known that he would.  But she had
refused the calls.

Finally, unable to sleep, she had gotten out of bed and gone back
downstairs.  Her mother had turned in for the night, and Bill and Charlie
were both out on deployments, so she'd had the ground floor to herself.  
She had switched on the Christmas tree lights, then made some cocoa and
sank down on the sofa.

And here she still sat, more than an hour later.  In her mind, she kept
replaying the scene in the office, over and over and over, and each time
it was like a knife stabbing into her heart.  How desperately she wanted
the love he had offered her; how desperately she yearned for that warmth
and comfort.  But she couldn't accept it.  She just couldn't.

The worst of it was that he was probably blaming himself for her
rejection.  She knew beyond any possibility of doubt that she had hurt him
terribly by her reaction.  She hadn't seen his face, or his body language,
or even heard his voice, as she fled from the office.  But she didn't need
to.  She knew Fox Mulder better than anyone in the world, and she felt
with brutal empathy the crushing pain that must have descended on him.

But there was nothing she could do about that, either.

<<Oh, Mulder.  Why couldn't you have left well enough alone?>> After all
the hardships of the last two years, things had finally started to seem
okay between them again -- better, in some ways, than they had ever been
before.  She had felt closer to Mulder, more intimate with him, than she
had in years, and she had taken great comfort in that closeness and
companionship.  If only he had been able to leave it at that.

She shouldn't blame him, of course.  He had done nothing wrong.  The fault
lay in her.

The fault lay in her.

# # #

Midnight

Scully awoke with a start.  She did not remember falling asleep on the
sofa, but clearly she had.  She shook her head, trying to clear the
muzziness from her mind, then sat up and looked around.

Something about the room was different.  At first she couldn't put her
finger on it, but then she realized that there was more light than there
had been previously, and that the light was growing stronger by the
minute.  It was soft and white, and seemed to be everywhere.  A few more
seconds, and the room was bathed in light, illuminating every nook and
cranny, making the Christmas lights seem pale by comparison.

"Hi, Ms. Scully."

Scully turned her head sharply, and her eyes widened.  Standing just
inside the front door was a boy, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old.  
He had a narrow, angular face and light brown hair, and he was dressed all
in white, the same color as the pearly light suffusing the room.  In an
instant she realized who it was.

"Kevin," she said.  "Kevin Kryder."

He smiled, and repeated, "Hi, Ms. Scully.  I'm sorry if I woke you."

"No, that's okay," she replied.  She looked at him for a moment, then
shook her head.  "Kevin, what are you doing here?"

Still smiling, he walked over to stand in front of her.  "I told you we'd
see each other again," he said.

"I know.  But I didn't expect....this."

"Sometimes things happen in the manner we least expect," the boy
commented.  He paused for a moment, then added, "But you already know
that."

Scully was surprised to find herself slipping into acceptance.  Kevin was
here, and that was all that mattered.  But she still wanted to know why.

She started to frame the question, but before she could speak, Kevin said,
"You already know that, too, Ms. Scully.  All you have to do is look into
your heart."  He sat down next to her and turned to face her, one arm
flung carelessly over the back of the sofa.

"I thought I'd been doing that," she said.  "Looking into my heart, I
mean."

The boy shook his head.  "I don't think so, Ms. Scully," he said softly,
solemnly.  "Looking into your heart doesn't hurt; at least, not the way
you're hurting.  Sometimes you find things there that you don't want to
know, but that's a good hurt, not a bad one.  It's clean."

She shook her head.  "You don't understand," she said.  "You can't
understand."

"Because I'm still just a boy?" he asked, then shook his head.  "People
are people, Ms. Scully.  It doesn't matter how old you are, or whether
you're male or female, or any of that.  What matters is that you're human.  
Once you accept that about yourself, everything becomes much clearer."  
His face grew even sadder.  "Not that it's easy.  It's never easy.  
Feeling someone else's hurt, accepting it, understanding it...those are
hard things to do."  He looked directly into her eyes.  "Especially when
the other person feels empty and incomplete.  Especially when she feels
that she is not really a woman anymore."

Kevin paused, then went on, so softly that she could barely hear him.  
"Some people hurt you, Ms. Scully.  They hurt you very badly.  They took
something from you that is very precious, a very special gift.  You've
gotten past hating them, at least mostly, and that's good.  But you've
done it by turning that hate on yourself, and that's bad.  It's keeping
you from accepting something which would be so good for you, so right.  
All you have to do is reach out, and you can have your heart's desire."

She stared at him.  "How do you know so much about me?" she whispered.

He hesitated, then shook his head.  "I don't know how to answer that
question," he admitted.  "All I really know are things you already know
yourself.  But sometimes it helps to hear them from someone else."  He
studied her face for a moment.  "I hate to see anyone hurting, Ms. Scully.  
I'd like to help you.  I'd like to help you get back that which was taken
from you.  But you have to take the first step yourself.  You have to
ask."

Scully continued to stare at the boy.  His face was now serene and
untroubled.  "I...I don't know how."

"Yes you do, Ms. Scully.  You know how."

She closed her eyes and tried to think.  What did he expect from her?  
What did he want?  None of this was making any sense at all, and she felt
desperation welling up inside of her.  She had an almost uncontrollable
urge to jump from the sofa and run out of the room, but she forced it back
down.  She was out of places to run to and something deep inside told her
that if she turned away from this, she would never have another chance.  
She felt lost, torn apart, and she couldn't think what to do.

<<Please, dear God, help me!>>

She felt a touch on her abdomen, and her eyes flew open.  Looking down,
she saw Kevin's hand resting there.  She raised her own hand towards his,
but she caught a motion out of the corner of her eye, and looking up at
Kevin, she saw that he was shaking his head.  His eyes were closed and his
lips were moving, but she couldn't hear his words.

She felt a warm, tingling sensation, starting where Kevin's hand rested on
her, and spreading rapidly outwards until it seemed to fill her entire
body.  The pearly light surrounding them intensified, until finally, for a
timeless moment, there seemed to be nothing there at all except for her
and Kevin.

And then it was over.  Kevin was drawing back his hand, and the light was
fading away.  In seconds, it was gone.

Scully looked at Kevin in confusion, but he was smiling a contented smile,
and his eyes slowly came open.  Before she could say anything, he rose off
the sofa and stepped up next to her.  "I think you should sleep now, Ms.
Scully," he said.

Gently, he put one hand on each of her shoulders, and she let him guide
her down until her head rested on the cushions.  Automatically, she drew
up her feet, and lay quietly while Kevin took the afghan off the back of
the sofa and spread it out on top of her.

"You sleep now," he said again.  "You need your rest."  He turned to go.

Scully grabbed his wrist.  "Kevin," she said.  "What...what just
happened?"

He looked down at her.  "Just sleep," he repeated.  "And when you wake up,
things will be different."  He pulled his wrist free from her hand, and
reached down and stroked her cheek.  "I can't give you joy, Ms. Scully.  
No one can do that; you have to find it for yourself.  But sometimes a
friend can remove a stone from the path, and that makes it easier.  Now
sleep."

# # #

December 25, 7:03 a.m.

"Dana?"  Scully was distantly aware of someone shaking her.  "Dana?"

Slowly, groggily, she opened her eyes.  "Mom?"

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Scully looked up at her mother's face, then looked around, confused.  She
was lying on the sofa in the living room, and for an instant she couldn't
remember how she got there.  Then everything came flooding back.

Her hand flew to her wrist, searching for the silver bracelet, but it
wasn't there.  She sat up, and started digging frantically through the
sofa cushions.

"Are you looking for this?" Mrs. Scully asked, and Scully turned to see
the bracelet resting in her mother's hand.  She took it from the other
woman and slipped it on her wrist.

"It...it must have fallen off in the night," Scully said awkwardly.

"It's very beautiful."  There was a moment of silence.  Then her mother
added, "He's a good man, Dana."

"I know."  She stared at the bracelet for a moment.  It WAS beautiful.  
It was perfect.  And to think that she had almost thrown it all away.  
She looked up at her mother again, and the other woman's eyes were warm,
loving and compassionate.  "Mom, I need to make a call.  Do you mind if I
use the phone in your room?"

"Of course not, dear.  Give him my love."

Everything was going to be all right.

============================

Chapter 2:  AS I KNEW HE WOULD.  In which a woman prays for her daughter.

This chapter is rated PG.


He has come to her, as I knew he would.

My daughter was not happy when she arrived at my home last night.  She has
not been happy for a long time, for almost a year now, but this was worse.  
Much, much worse.  She knocked on my door, and when I opened it she spoke
only a few words, very sad and distant, and then withdrew to her old room
and locked the door.

He called for her, as I knew he would.  Each of them always seems to know
when the other is hurting.  Always in the past they have been able to
comfort each other, to ease the pain, but this time it was different.  
This time she refused even to speak to him, and I could hear in his voice
that he was suffering too.  I didn't know what was wrong, but I wanted to
reach out to both of them, to hold them close to me, and make it better.  
But I knew that I could not, and so all I said was, "I'm sorry, Fox.  
I'll let you know if anything changes."

I sat on the sofa for a long time last evening, looking at the Christmas
tree, not thinking about much at all.  I have never felt so helpless in
all my life as I felt last night.  Even when she was missing, even when
she lay dying in a hospital bed, I felt I had some connection, some way I
could reach out to her and provide at least some comfort.  But last night
the connection was gone.

Oh, it had not been severed; even in the extremity of her pain she had not
gone that far.  But the door between us was closed, just as surely as her
bedroom door upstairs was closed, and I was standing helplessly on the
outside, knowing that my baby girl was on the other side, suffering, and
that I could not go to her.

It is any parent's worst nightmare.

Finally, I got up, turned off the tree, and went to bed.  But I did not
sleep.

I heard her go downstairs, of course, last night after she thought I was
asleep.  Part of me wanted to go to her, to hold her in my arms and give
her love and reassurance, but I knew that when she was ready to accept my
comfort she would come to me.  And so I stayed in my room, and prayed for
her and for the strange, wonderful man she cares about so deeply.  I know
that faith has become unfashionable in these modern days, but I do believe
that God hears our prayers, and that sometimes He answers them.

Finally, it is morning.  I get out of bed and go downstairs at my usual
time.  My daughter is curled up on the sofa, asleep, an afghan draped over
her body.  The only light comes from the Christmas tree, and from the soft
gray dawn trickling in past the window shades.

I go around to the front of the sofa, and gaze down at her for a moment.  
She looks so beautiful lying there.  Her face seems so calm and
untroubled; it is hard to believe that this is the same woman who arrived
on my doorstep last night, despair and hopelessness written on her
features.  It is even harder to believe that this strong, sensitive,
beautiful woman is also the baby who was at my breast not so very long
ago.

As I stand looking down at her, something glints in the corner of my eye,
and I drop my gaze to the floor to see a small heap of metal.  I drop to
my knees and scoop it up:  It is a bracelet.  A plain, silver bracelet,
elegant in its simplicity.  Almost without thinking, I turn it over in my
hands, and see the inscription:  "All my love.  -M"

So that's what this is about.  I should have realized, but it's been so
long since I have had to worry about such things on my own account.  I
have been so sure of Bill for so very long, that I can't even remember
what it was like before.  I am still sure of him, knowing that he thinks
of me every day, even as I think of him.  And I know that when my time
comes, he will be there, waiting for me, just as I waited for him so many
times when he was away at sea.

For a moment I think that I should let her sleep, but the still, soft
voice deep inside tells me that it is all right, and time for her to wake
up.  I don't know where this voice comes from, but it has been with me all
my life, and I have come to trust it over the years.  I reach out and
touch her shoulder.

"Dana?"  I gently shake her.  "Dana?"

Slowly, groggily, she opens her eyes, and my heart flutters with joy as I
see the light which has been missing for so very long.  "Mom?"

"Good morning, sleepyhead," I say.

My daughter looks up at me in apparent confusion, but after the briefest
of moments the confusion is gone, and there is a look of wonder on her
face which I have not seen in ages.  I don't know what has changed since
last night, but something has.

Abruptly, her hand flies to her wrist and then she is sitting up and
digging frantically through the sofa cushions.  She is looking for
something, and I suddenly realize what it is.

"Are you looking for this?" I ask, and she turns to see the bracelet
resting in my hand.  For a moment, I think she is going to cry, but then
she takes it from me and slips it on her wrist.

"It...it must have fallen off in the night," she says.

"It's very beautiful."  There is a moment of silence, and then I add,
because her father is not there to say it, "He's a good man, Dana."

"I know."  She stares at the bracelet, and for just a moment I can see the
pain and heartache of last night flicker across her face.  Then she looks
up at me and says, "Mom, I need to make a call.  Do you mind if I use the
phone in your room?"

"Of course not, dear.  Give him my love."

That was three hours ago.  She went to my room, and a few minutes later I
heard her come out again and go into her own and shut the door.  I feel a
momentary flutter of anxiety, but the still, soft voice reassures me, and
so I go about the business of preparing Christmas dinner.

There is a knock on the door, and I know before I even open it who will be
standing there.  There is pain in his eyes, but there is always pain
there, and I have come to accept it as part of who he is.  This morning it
seems there is more pain than usual, but again the still, soft voice
reassures me, and I invite him into my home.

He has come to her, as I knew he would.

============================

Chapter 3:  FAITH AND ACCEPTANCE.  In which obstacles are overcome.

This chapter is rated PG.


Fox Mulder sat in silence next to his partner, on her mother's sofa in
front of the Christmas tree.  Christmas dinner had come and gone, and Mrs.
Scully had retired to her bedroom, saying that she needed a nap, leaving
the two partners alone together for the first time since the previous
afternoon.  They sat close to each other, not quite touching, and
carefully did not look at one another.

Finally, Scully broke the silence.  "Thank you for coming up here today."

"You're welcome."  Mulder kept his voice low and controlled.  He felt
whipsawed by the flood of conflicting emotions, but he knew that he had to
maintain control, or all would be lost.

Again the silence settled over them.  It had been like this since he
arrived, several hours earlier.  They had stepped carefully around each
other, as if they were walking on eggshells, and their conversation had
been sparse, disjointed and mundane.  Mulder knew that this could not
continue, but he was afraid to begin the discussion which he knew was
coming, not knowing how it might end.

At last, he spoke.  "Why, Scully?"  He struggled to keep the pain out of
those two words, and knew that he had failed when he saw her wince.

Looking as if it were the hardest thing in the world, she turned to face
him.  "I'm sorry, Mulder," she said, so very softly.  "You have no idea
how sorry I am."

He shrugged his shoulders restlessly.  "This isn't about sorry," he
replied.  "I'm not asking for an apology; your feelings are what they are,
and you never need to apologize to me for them.  But I would like to know
why."  He wanted to reach out and stroke her cheek, but something warned
him not to.  "Please, Scully.  I need to know why."

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.  
"God, Mulder, don't you know?  Do I have to say the words?"

He closed his eyes and swallowed.  She was hurting; sweet Jesus, she was
hurting.  And although he didn't understand how or why, it was clear that
he was at the center of it.  This had to stop.  Now.

With a sigh, he opened his eyes, and looked into hers.  "I'm sorry,
Scully.  I never meant to hurt you.  I wish to God that I didn't have to
ask you for an explanation.  I wish I could understand without putting you
through this.  And if you...can't say the words, whatever they are, I'll
walk away from it.  I promise."

For an agonized moment she seemed to consider it; then she shook her head
violently.  "No," she said.  "No, you're right.  You deserve an
explanation.  What I did to you was inexcusable."  She looked down at the
floor, and repeated, "I'm sorry."

"Scully, I --"

"Just wait and let me do this, okay?  It's hard enough as it is."  She
took a deep breath and shuddered.  Her fingers momentarily caressed the
silver bracelet she wore on her left wrist, and Mulder's heart jumped to
see her acknowledging its presence, even indirectly.  Then she started
speaking again.

"You...you surprised me yesterday."  She shook her head again.  "No, you
more than just surprised me.  You scared the living hell out of me."  She
stopped speaking for a moment, as if hoping that somehow that would be
enough.  Then she sighed and continued.  "I just didn't know what to say."

"You could have said no."  God those words hurt to say, but he had to say
them.  He had to let her know that he would accept that.

She glanced at him, very briefly, then looked back at the floor.  "That's
the problem.  I didn't want to say no.  I wanted to say yes."  She took
another deep breath, and when she spoke again her voice was quavering.  
"But I knew that I couldn't do that to you."  She tensed her shoulders for
a minute, then turned to look him square in the eyes as she stripped the
bracelet from her wrist and held it out to him.  "I think you'd better
take this back."

Mulder sat absolutely still, making no move to take the bracelet.  "I
don't want to take it back," he said.  "I want you to have it.  It's
yours.  Even if there's no us, it's yours."

"Dammit, Mulder!" she said, brushing at her eyes with her free hand.  
"Why are you making this so hard?"

"Because I don't understand," he said gently.  "You still haven't
explained it to me.  I offered to leave, but you refused.  I suggested
that you could say no, but you said you wanted to say yes.  I think...I
think you want...what I want.  But you keep pushing it away.  You keep
pushing ME away.  And I don't understand why."

Scully pulled her hands together in her lap and absently toyed with the
bracelet.  After a pair of minutes she looked at him again.  "You're
really going to make me do this, aren't you?" she said.  Then she nodded.  
"Okay.  You already know this, but maybe...maybe it's not the same for
men."  Seemingly unconsciously, one of her hands gently caressed her
abdomen.

Realization dawned slowly.  Finally, as full knowledge burst upon him,
Mulder said, "My God, Scully.  Is this about...."  His voice trailed off.

"It's all right, Mulder; you can say it."  Now her voice was bitter and
angry.  "I'm sterile.  Barren.  Whatever the politically correct euphemism
of the week is.  Christ, you've known it longer than I have; I don't know
why we're dancing around this."

He stared at her for a long moment.  Then, very softly:  "Do you think
that matters to me?"

She turned her head and looked at him, her face an emotionless mask.  
"Are you saying that it doesn't?"

Another long pause, then he nodded slowly.  "Of course it matters."  She
turned her face away and drew back from him.  Mulder reached out and
touched her chin, trying to turn her head back towards him, but she jerked
away.  "Dammit, Scully, you know what I mean -- or you ought to."  His
voice softened.  "It matters because I can see how much that loss has hurt
you.  Hell, it hurts me, too.  It hurts like hell to know that we can
never...never have a child together."

She made no response.  After a moment, Mulder continued.  "Don't you think
I've considered this?"  He struggled to keep the desperation out of his
voice.  "This isn't a spur of the moment decision for me, Scully.  I've
been thinking about this for months, ever since we got back from
Antarctica.  Jesus.  Do you have any idea how empty I felt when you told
me they were sending you to Salt Lake City?  Or how absolutely devastated
and lost I was when you were taken from me again?"  There were tears
streaming down his face, but he didn't care, and he made no attempt to
wipe them away.

"I told you then, and I'm telling you now, Scully:  You make me whole.  
Without you, I have nothing; I AM nothing.  With you, I have the whole
world.  That's why I said what I said yesterday.  Because I love you, and
I think you love me, and I...can't...stand...being alone any longer."

Silence descended once again, and it lasted so long that Mulder was
beginning to wonder if he should just get up and leave.  But God, he
didn't want to.  His entire life was sitting here in this room; if he
walked out now, he knew he'd never get another chance.

Finally, she said, "Something happened last night, Mulder."

He was confused by the sudden change of topic, but he knew that this
subject, whatever it was, must be important, or she wouldn't have raised
it.  "What happened, Scully?"

"I saw Kevin."  She turned her head and looked at him sideways.  "You
remember?  Kevin Kryder?"

Mulder nodded.  "Sure.  I remember Kevin.  The boy with the stigmata.  
Why was he here?"

"He said he was here to help me."

"To help you?"

She nodded.  Her face now bore a dreamy, faraway expression.  "He sat on
the sofa next to me.  Right where you're sitting now.  And we...talked."

"Just that?  Talked?"

She shook her head.  "No.  He touched me."  Again she caressed her
abdomen.  "Here."

Mulder waited, but she didn't seem inclined to go on.  Finally:  "And?"

She shrugged helplessly.  "I...don't know how to describe it.  It
was...profound.  I felt as if his hand was...sinking into me.  It was
warm.  Special."  She seemed to be struggling to find the right word.  
"Magic."  She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked at
him.  "What do you think it means?"

Mulder hesitated.  This was important; he could tell by the look on her
face.  The problem was that he didn't have a clue what the right answer
was.  Finally he shrugged.  "I don't know, Scully.  I wasn't there."

She looked away.  Sadly:  "That's what I thought you'd say."

Another long silence.  Then, very softly, Mulder said, "I asked you this
once, but I'll ask it again.  Do you want me to leave?"

Again she seemed to be considering it, and Mulder held his breath in
timeless agony.  At last, she closed her eyes and shook her head, and when
she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper.  "No.  I don't want
you to go; I want you to stay.  God help me, I want you to stay."  She
looked at him again, and her voice firmed up a little.  "But it has to be
on my terms."

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded slowly.  He knew he was about
to make a commitment, and he did not enter into such things lightly.  But
he had chosen this path yesterday afternoon, and he knew he had to stay on
it to its conclusion, whatever that conclusion might be.

"Anything, Scully," he said simply.  "I'll do anything for you."

She seemed to study his face for a moment, then she nodded slightly.  
"Okay, Mulder.  Okay.  What you have to do...what I need from you...is
respect."  She put her hand to his lips to still his objection, then went
on.  "I don't mean respect in the professional sense.  I know I have that;
I'm confident of it, and it is one of the many reasons that I love you."  
Mulder shivered slightly as he realized that this was the first time she
had spoken those words.

"And I don't mean respect for my independence as a person, because I know
that I have that also.  And again, that is another of the countless
reasons that I love you."  She took his hand and squeezed it briefly, then
let it go again.  "What I mean is respect for my beliefs."  She reached up
and lightly touched the gold cross at her throat.  "For my faith.  I don't
ask that you share my faith, but I want -- I NEED -- for you to honor
mine."

"Scully..."  He stopped, and tried to think.  His first instinct was to
deny what she was saying, to insist that he DID respect her beliefs, and
always had.  But he knew in his heart that it wasn't true, and he also
knew that if he lied to her now, she would know it, and it would all be
over.  He felt tears forming in his eyes again, and tried to blink them
away, but it just made his vision blurry.  He wiped at his eyes angrily.  
"Dammit, Scully, this is so hard."

"I know," she said softly, looking deep into his eyes with love and
compassion.  "I know it's hard.  It's hard for me, too.  Neither one of us
is very good at expressing our feelings.  But if we truly want this, we
have to do it.  Because I NEED your respect, Mulder.  Doing without is not
an option.  If you can't...come to terms with this part of me, then there
can be no future for us."

"I don't know where to begin," he muttered.

She gently grasped his hand again, and this time she allowed the contact
to continue.  "Why don't you begin by answering my question.  What do you
think the experience I had last night means?"

He stared at her, trying to think.  He knew he'd blown it the first time,
but he really didn't know what it meant.  No, that was a lie; he knew what
he thought, and it wasn't what she wanted to hear.  But he had to tell the
truth.  He had to.  There was no other way.  Looking down at her hand
resting on his, and wondering if this was the last time he would see their
hands together, he said, very low, "I think you had a waking dream,
Scully.  I think you were in such a fugue from the emotional turmoil I put
you through, that your mind created Kevin for you, as a way out."  He
looked back up at her face, trying to gauge her reaction, but she was
giving nothing away.  "I think you imagined it."  Pause.  "But I think you
believe it really happened."

Time seemed to stop.  Scully stared into his eyes, probing, searching.  
He felt completely naked and vulnerable, and after a moment he realized
that she was still waiting.  Waiting for more.  And after another moment,
he realized what it was she was waiting for.

"What do YOU think it means, Scully?" he asked.

Her eyes closed, and for one bleak instant Mulder thought it was all over.  
But then her eyes opened again, and it was Scully looking at him.  His
partner Scully.  His friend Scully.  The only one he trusted.  "I think it
was a miracle," she said quietly, and she squeezed his hand again.  "I
think it was a gift from God."

He knew they were not quite out of the woods yet; there was one more thing
he had to say.  Fortunately, he knew what it was.  Even more fortunately,
it was the truth.  "I can accept that."

And then she was in his arms at last, hugging him, and he was hugging her,
and for a long time neither of them spoke.  Finally Scully broke the
silence, her voice muffled against his chest.  "God, Mulder, I was so
scared."

"So was I," he said softly, stroking her hair.  "I was terrified.  I was
sure that whatever I said it would be the wrong thing.  Oh, God."  He
breathed into her hair, and tried to draw her even closer.  "Oh, God."  
He couldn't believe this was finally happening.  It was too much; it was
overwhelming.  He knew that there was still a rough road ahead, but at
least now they were on it together.

Finally, she drew away from him a bit.  "Mulder?  Will you do something
for me?"

"Anything, Scully" he replied, echoing his words from before.  "I'll do
anything for you."

"Will you....will you put my bracelet back on for me?"

He smiled at her, and she smiled back.  "That's an easy one," he said.  
He took the bracelet from her and slid it back onto her wrist, then raised
her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly.  "There.  It's back where it
belongs."

"Yes, it is," she said, turning her wrist and looking at the ornament.  
"It's right where it belongs."

Mulder suddenly felt nervous, and after a moment he realized the cause.  
Hesitantly, he said, "Scully?"  She looked up at him, but didn't speak.  
"May I...may I kiss you?"

Still she didn't speak, but continued to look at him, studying his face.  
He didn't know what she was looking for, and after a moment he started to
feel uncomfortable.  "Scully?  Did I say something wrong?"

She shook her head, still studying him.  "No.  No, I want you to kiss me.  
I want it so bad.  But once we kiss, everything will change, and I want to
remember what you looked like...before."

"Oh."  Somehow that made sense to him.  Very softly:  "Okay, Scully.  
Take all the time you need."

After a couple more minutes, she smiled and nodded.  "Okay.  I'm ready."

The first contact was dry, awkward and uncomfortable.  Mulder drew back
and shifted his position slightly, trying to make things better, but the
difference in their heights was making it difficult.  Finally, Scully put
a hand on his chest.  "Just a minute."  She braced one hand on his
shoulder and the other on the back of the sofa and levered herself up onto
his lap, then put her arms back around his neck again.  "There.  That's
better."

"It certainly is."  Their lips met, and this time it was perfect.

After a timeless interval, their lips parted again, and Scully rested her
head on his shoulder.  When she finally spoke, her voice was dreamy.  
"That was...profound."  Mulder felt a thrill chase down his spine, and he
cuddled her closer.  She shifted slightly, and raised her head and looked
up at him.  Her eyes were dark blue and luminous, her expression serious.  
"This isn't going to be easy, is it?"

He shook his head and smiled.  "No.  Nothing is ever easy for us.  If it
were easy, it wouldn't be any fun."

She chuckled and lay her head back down on his shoulder again.  "As long
as we're together, I don't care how hard it is.  We'll find a way.  We'll
make it work."

Mulder laughed, too.  "Hey, Scully, I'll cut you a deal.  I'll overthrow
the Consortium, if you'll be the one who breaks the news about us to
Bill."

She giggled and nuzzled her face into his neck.  "Troublemaker."

They sat together in silence for awhile, barely moving, just feeling the
moment.  At length, Scully lifted her head again and gazed up at him, a
shy, hesitant smile on her face.  "Mulder?"

"Yes, Scully?"

"Will you...will you sleep next to me tonight?  I'm not ready for...for
anything else.  At least, not yet.  But I want you next to me.  I want to
know what it feels like to wake up in your arms."

Mulder felt his throat constricting, and tears stung his eyes.  "God,
Scully."  Ever so gently, he stroked her cheek, then planted a soft kiss
on her lips, lingering just a moment.  "This is so intense.  I...I'd love
to sleep next to you.  But what about your mother?"

Scully arched an eyebrow at him and smiled.  "I didn't think she was your
type."  She shook her head and laughed.  "Seriously, Mulder, don't worry
about it.  I don't think Mom will mind.  She's had her eye on you for a
long time."  She kissed him, then slid down off his lap and took both of
his hands in hers.  "Come on, partner.  Let's go to bed."

============================

Chapter 4:  RECONCILIATION.  In which a troubled man discovers a higher
truth.

This chapter is rated PG-13.


Margaret Scully awoke at her usual time on the day after Christmas.  For
just a moment she snuggled against her pillow, and considered staying in
bed.  There was really no reason why she should have to get up, and the
bed was so soft, so warm.

Then she remembered.  The dishes from Christmas dinner.  She should have
done them last night, but she'd been so tired, having stayed up all night
the night before.  She briefly considered the possibility that Fox and
Dana might have done them after she went to bed, but she suspected that
they had had other things to occupy their time.

She shivered as she remembered the events of the last two days.  It had
been such a hard time for both of them, and there had been so little she
could do.  Still, things had seemed to be working out when she'd excused
herself and gone to bed the night before.  They still hadn't opened up to
each other, but Fox had come to Dana, as Maggie had known he would, and
she had hoped that once they had a chance to be alone together, they would
find the necessary words.  The fact that the still, soft voice that lived
deep inside of Maggie had allowed her to go to bed, and then drift off to
sleep, was a good sign.

But now it was morning.  The dishes.  With a sigh, she threw back the
blankets and climbed slowly out of bed.  <<Time was, I would have rolled
out of bed,>> she thought.  <<But I'm getting older.>> Not that it
bothered her overmuch; her aching joints (so far just in the mornings,
when she first woke up), and all the other little signs that her body was
gradually running down, just meant that she was that much closer to being
with Bill again.

A small part of her, carefully suppressed in the back of her mind, longed
to go to him now.  That part was always there, whispering to her, but she
knew better than to listen to it.  The fact that the Church would not
approve was only a small part of her reason for not listening; although
she and Bill had both always been devout, they had never allowed anyone's
dogma to interfere with doing what they thought was right.

The more important reason to resist the voice was her promise to her
husband, that horrible night five years before.  She closed her eyes for a
moment and let herself remember.

# # #

They had had dinner with Dana in her apartment.  It had been a short
visit, shorter than Maggie had wished, but Bill had seemed anxious to get
home, and she had let him take the lead, as always.  Maggie would wonder,
later, if things might have been different if they had stayed.  Maybe her
daughter's medical skills could have saved the man they both loved.  But
there was no way of knowing, no way of going back.

The promise had come while Bill lay dying in her arms, during the
terrible, lonely wait for the paramedics.  His face was pale and sweaty,
his breathing harsh and labored.  She held his head, crying and praying,
tears streaming down her face.  The still, soft voice was quiet, and that
scared her even more than the obvious agony her husband was experiencing.

"M-Maggie..."  Bill's voice was soft, so soft she could barely hear him.

"Shhh," she replied.  "Don't try to talk.  Save your strength.  Help is
coming."

He moaned, and a new wave of pain crossed his features.  "No...no time,"
he gasped.

"No, Bill!  Please, no!  You've got to hang on.  I can't live without
you!"

That seemed to get his attention.  He turned his head slightly, and looked
up into her eyes.  "Maggie," he repeated, his voice still a whisper.

"Yes, Bill.  I'm here, Bill.  I'll always be here.  Just...try to hang
on."  Her voice cracked, and she let a single sob escape.

"Maggie..."  he gasped, and tried to suck in air through his mouth.  
"Can't...breathe."  Another gasp.  "Can't...."

"Yes, you can!  Oh, Bill, you CAN breathe.  You must!"

"No.  Time's...up."

His eyes closed, and she felt terror rising in her throat.  She shook his
shoulder, gently, and In the distance, she heard a siren.  "Bill," she
begged.  "Don't go, Bill!  Please don't go."

His eyes fluttered open, and somehow she knew that it was for the last
time.  "Can't breathe," he repeated.  "Maggie...love.  You..." he stopped
again, and gasped for air one last time.  Then:  "You've got to breathe.  
For both of us."

And then he was gone.

Maggie closed her eyes and cried; long, wracking sobs.  The siren in the
distance grew louder, and then the paramedics were pounding on the front
door.  She didn't want to move, she didn't want to go to the door.  She
just wanted to hold her husband; she didn't wanted to admit the men who
would tell her what she already knew:  that Bill was gone forever.

The pounding on the door was repeated, and she knew she had to answer it,
or they would break it down.  With a sigh, she opened her eyes, and for
just a moment she let her gaze caress Bill's features.  She felt all the
love and longing of more than 30 years of marriage, and she gently brushed
her fingers against his cheek.  "I promise, Bill," she said.  "I'll
breathe for both of us.  I promise."  And she got up, gently laying his
head on the floor, and went to answer the door.

# # #

Maggie sighed and opened her eyes again.  Sometimes she needed that.  Sad
as it made her to remember that night, sometimes she needed the catharsis.  
She took a tissue from the box on the nightstand and wiped her eyes, then
pulled on her robe and went out into the hall.

She frowned as she saw the door to the guest bedroom standing open.  Fox
Mulder had never struck her as being a morning person, an impression Dana
had confirmed to her on several occasions.  She stepped over to the open
door and looked inside, and her unease deepened.

The bed had not been slept in.  Nothing had been disturbed; nothing was
out of place.  There was no sign that anyone had been in the room at all.

She wondered if things had perhaps not gone well the night before, after
all.  Perhaps Dana's walls had been too high and too strong, or Fox's own
pain had been too great, and he had finally turned and walked away.  She
tried to listen for the still, soft voice, but it wasn't saying anything
to her at the moment, and that also worried her.

Well, nothing to be done about it now, if that was indeed what had
happened.  Nothing to do but to pick up the pieces.  Assuming it was
necessary.  And it still might be okay; they might just have fallen asleep
on the sofa downstairs, as Dana had on Christmas Eve.

She walked down the hallway towards the front stairs, then stopped again
as she came to her daughter's old room.  The door was closed, and Maggie
stood looking at it for a moment, wondering if she should knock.  A wild
thought crossed the back of her mind, and she took another step closer to
the door, and cocked her ear to listen, holding her breath.  Then she
smiled.

She heard voices, softly murmuring to each other.  And then she heard Dana
laugh.

# # #

Thirty minutes later she was up to her elbows in dishwater.  Fox and Dana
had still not come downstairs, and she had no intention of disturbing them
before they were ready.  She knew that Dana was probably nervous,
especially about having allowed Fox to spend the night in her room.  
Maggie and Bill had always been strict on that topic:  No visitors of the
opposite sex in their childrens' bedrooms.  And while Maggie had to admit,
at least to herself, that the situation made her a little uncomfortable,
she wasn't about to interfere with something that so obviously made Dana
happy.

Her little girl was happy.  What a profoundly wonderful thing.  Such a
welcome change.

The doorbell rang.  Maggie raised her eyebrows; who on earth would be out
ringing doorbells at five minutes until eight in the morning on the day
after Christmas?  Stripping off her rubber gloves, she made her way to the
living room and opened the front door.

"Billy!"  In a flash she was wrapping her arms around her son's waist and
giving him a warm, affectionate hug, before releasing him and allowing him
to enter the house.  "It's so nice to see you!  What a wonderful surprise.  
I thought you were going to be at sea until after the first of the year."

He smiled as he shut the door.  "So did I.  But the sea trials were a
total bomb.  They are at this moment TOWING the ship back to Charleston.  
I guess that'll teach them not to schedule trials over a holiday."  His
smile broadened.  "And *I* copped a 72 hour pass."

"Oh, that's wonderful," Maggie said, leading him over to the sofa.  "I
mean, it isn't wonderful about the problems with the ship, but it's
wonderful to have this opportunity to see you.  Are Tara and the baby
coming?"

He shook his head.  "No.  They're still in Seattle with her folks, and it
didn't seem worth it to have them fly all the way out here just so we
could have one day together.  Besides, airline reservations are almost
impossible to get on short notice, this time of year.  I'll see them soon
enough."  He sat down on the sofa next to his mother.  "By the way, I
tried to call Dana when I passed through Washington, but got no answer.  
Any idea where she might be?"

"Oh, yes.  She's here," Maggie replied, then felt a slight tremor of
apprehension as she suddenly realized the potential for conflict in the
situation.

Bill was already rising to his feet.  "That's great," he said, heading for
the stairs.  "I suppose she's still in bed.  I'll just go up there and
drag her downstairs."

Maggie rose to her feet and ran after her son, catching him at the foot of
the stairs and laying a hand on his elbow.  "Bill," she said.  "Wait a
minute."

He turned to look at her, and his smile suddenly disappeared as he took in
the look on his mother's face.  "Mom?  Is something wrong?"  He glanced up
the staircase, then back at Maggie.  "She isn't...she isn't sick again, is
she?"

"No, Bill, she isn't sick," Maggie said quietly, and a shiver went through
her in spite of herself as she remembered those horrible times.  "Come
here.  Sit with me for a minute."  She led him back to the sofa and they
both sat down again.

Maggie wondered how to begin.  There really wasn't any good way to say
this, and she knew that Bill's reaction to the change in the relationship
between Dana and Fox would not be positive.  Still, better for him to find
out about it this way, and at least have a few minutes to prepare himself,
rather than being taken completely by surprise.

"Bill," she said, choosing her words carefully.  "Normally, this is not
something I would wish to discuss with you.  As you know, once you kids
reached adulthood your father and I felt that it was not our place to
interfere in your personal relationships, either within the family or
outside of it.  Naturally, we always hoped that our children would be
friends with one another, and of course we wanted only your happiness in
your relations with others, as well.  However, as I said, we did not feel
it was appropriate for us to interfere."

She paused, and looked at her son for a moment; he nodded for her to
continue.  "That's why this is so difficult for me to say," she went on.  
"Because I am about to...interfere in your relationship with Dana.  But
that is only because I foresee problems, if you are not forewarned of
something."  She shrugged her shoulders.  "It may be that I am doing you a
tremendous injustice in anticipating these difficulties.  If so, I wish to
beg your forgiveness in advance."

Bill shifted uneasily in his seat.  "Mother?  What are you getting at?  
What's going on?  You said Dana's not sick..."  He trailed off, a
questioning look on his face.

"Dana is not sick," Maggie agreed.  "She is fine.  In fact, she is better
than she has been in a very long time."  She stopped, unsure of how to go
on.  She was sorely tempted to back away from this; she really did feel
uncomfortable at the idea of meddling in her childrens' lives.  But she
had to do this.  She couldn't just let Dana and Bill walk into a potential
firestorm unawares -- nor would it be fair to Fox.

"So what's the problem?"  From his tone, it sounded like Bill was becoming
defiant.  That was his standard reaction to anything he didn't understand:  
Defiance and anger.  She loved her son dearly, more than life itself, but
that didn't stop her from seeing his flaws, nor did it stop her from
blaming herself for every single one of those flaws.

No choice but to meet the matter head-on.  "Bill," she said, taking one of
his hands in both of hers.  "I know you don't get along well with Fox
Mulder."

His eyes narrowed.  "What's he got to do with this?"

"He's here, too, Bill."

He stared at her for a moment, then shrugged angrily.  "So?  I mean, you
said it yourself:  I can't stand the man.  But if you chose to invite him
to your house, that's your business.  I know you didn't expect me to be
here this weekend."  Another shrug.  "I'll do the best I can to be civil.  
As long as HE does the same."

Maggie shook her head.  "It's not that simple, Bill.  First, I did not
invite Fox over here -- although I have no objection to his presence, and
I have invited him to visit me in the past.  I like Fox very much, and I
value his friendship; I wish he would visit me more often.  I know that he
has flaws, but they are more than outweighed by his good qualities, and it
grieves me that you can see only the former, and not the latter."

"Mother!" Bill said in exasperation.  "What's this all about?"

She sighed again.  "Bill, he's upstairs with Dana."

He stared at her again, and his eyes narrowed further.  "What...what
exactly do you mean by that?"

"He's upstairs with Dana," she repeated.  "In her room.  He's been there
since last night."

Her son's eyes widened, and his cheeks started to redden.  Then came the
explosion.  "Jesus, Mother!"  And he jumped from the sofa and strode
rapidly towards the stairs.

"Bill!"  Maggie sprang to her feet and went after him again, but this time
he shrugged her off and started up the stairs.  She clapped her hands
together sharply. "William Matthew Christopher Scully!  Come back down
here this minute!"

He froze.  For an agonizing moment, she thought he might disobey her.  
Finally, however, he turned around, and slowly descended back into the
living room.  He allowed himself to be led back to the sofa, and the two
of them sat down again.

They sat staring at each other for a pair of minutes.  Finally, Bill said
in a low tone of voice, "Why did you stop me, Mother?"

"Because you were about to do something all of us would regret."

"Speak for yourself, Mother," he said coldly.  "I was going to enjoy it."

They sat in silence for another moment.  Then Maggie said, "May I ask
what, exactly, you thought you were going to do?"

"I was going to break it up, get him out of there."  He looked at her,
amazement on his face.  "Hell, Mother, I was only going to enforce your
own rule."

"That was a long time ago, Bill, and it was a rule for teenagers.  Dana is
no longer a teenager, and she is no longer my dependent.  She makes her
own rules, just as you and Charlie do.  Just as Melissa did."

"You can't tell me that you approve of this!"

She shook her head.  "It's not for me to approve or disapprove.  Dana is a
grown woman, and she makes these decisions for herself now."  She thought
about it for a moment.  Then:  "And no, to be perfectly honest, I am not
entirely comfortable with the situation.  I wasn't raised that way, and
your father and I tried not to raise our children that way.  But times
change, and there's no use in trying to hold back the tide.  And I respect
Dana too much to second guess her on such an important matter, in any
case."

"Even under your own roof, Mother?  What a bunch of politically correct
bullshit!"

She looked at him for a moment in silence, trying to decide what to say,
and when she did speak her voice was very quiet.  "Bill, are you under the
impression that this is the first time something like this has happened in
this house?"  Suddenly he didn't seem to want to meet her eyes.  "Or, to
put it more precisely, are you under the impression that *I* think this is
the first time something like this has happened?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?"  She arched an eyebrow at him.  "Did you really think your
father and I didn't know what was going on between you and Tara, 'under
our own roof', for nearly two YEARS before you married her?  Did you think
we were blind, or merely stupid?  Or perhaps you thought I had no sense of
smell.  *I* was the one who did all the laundry, as you may recall."  He
shifted uncomfortably, and still he refused to meet her eyes.  "Or perhaps
I should mention the time I found a pair of Tara's underpants tangled up
in your bedclothes."

Now he did look at her, and his eyes were big and round.  "You...you found
--"  He licked his lips nervously.  "What did you do with them?"

"I washed them and gave them back to her.  What would you expect me to
do?"

"Why...why didn't you just give them back to me?"

She smiled slightly.  "Well, they pretty clearly weren't your size, Bill."  
More seriously:  "And in any case, you quite obviously did not wish for me
to know what was going on, and I did not wish to make you uncomfortable by
rubbing your nose in the fact that I DID know.  You see, I respected your
decision, Bill, just as I now respect Dana's."

"The two situations are totally different," he muttered.

"You're damned right they are!" she said, suddenly angry.  "Do you want me
to tell you how they're different?  They are different because Dana is
considerably older now, and much more mature, than you were then.  The
other difference is that you have this irrational hostility towards Fox
Mulder, while she was never anything but gracious and friendly towards
Tara.  Even though I am pretty sure Dana knew what was going on, as well.  
And those are the ONLY differences, Bill.  The only ones."

Her son pulled back from her slightly, apparently stunned at her outburst.  
He just sat there for a moment, looking at her, his eyes large, wounded
circles.  Finally, his voice very low, and with a tremor in it:  
"Mother....what is it you want me to do?"

Maggie felt her anger melting away.  More than anything in the world, she
wanted just to reach out and take him in her arms and comfort him, as she
had so many times when he was a little boy.  But much as her arms ached to
hold him, she knew that if she did she would risk undoing whatever good
had just been accomplished.  So instead, her hands folded carefully in her
lap, she said, very softly, "What I want, Bill, is for you to be the kind,
generous, loving man than I know you really are."

She paused for just a moment, then went on.  "I want you to be a friend to
Dana, and I want you to be gracious to Fox.  And I want you to remember
that while he is close to your sister, and very important to her, he is
also close to ME, and that he is a guest under my roof.  That's what I
want, Bill."

He sat silently for a moment, and she watched while his internal conflict
played out across his features.  Finally, he shook his head.  "Mother..."
But his voice trailed off, and he seemed unable to finish the sentence.

At that moment, Maggie heard a door open and close upstairs, followed by
the sound of voices and laughter.

"Bill," she said urgently, reaching out and touching his hand again.  
"Bill, we are out of time.  In about thirty seconds Dana and Fox are going
to be coming down those stairs, and you MUST decide."  Still he didn't
speak.  Desperately:  "Bill, listen to them.  Listen to HER.  Listen to
how happy your sister is.  Listen to her, and tell me when the last time
was that you heard Dana laugh like that."

That did it.  Bill's face seemed to crumple inward, and his shoulders
sagged.  He closed his eyes, and took a shaky breath, then opened them and
looked up at her again.  "All right, Mother," he said, the words obviously
costing him a great deal, and Maggie felt a moment of pride at this
demonstration of his strength of character.  "All right.  I'll try."

"You're a good boy, Billy," she said, and she hugged him briefly and
fiercely.  "You're a good boy."  Then she released him, and together the
two of them rose from the sofa, and went to meet Dana and Fox.

============================

Chapter 5:  DECOMPRESSION AND RELATIVITY.  In which two people grow
closer.

This chapter is rated PG-13.


"Mom, are you sure this is a good idea?" Scully asked as she finished
wiping clean one of the plates from lunch, and handed it to her mother for
drying.

"Am I sure what is a good idea?" the older woman replied, working her
dishtowel in smooth, regular circles.

Scully shrugged.  "You know...leaving them in the living room, alone
together."

"You mean Fox and Bill?" Mrs. Scully asked, glancing at her daughter.  
Scully nodded.  "I think it will be okay."

"I don't know," Scully replied.  "I'm worried.  They've both been pretty
well-behaved this morning, but ...well, you know how poorly they get along
most of the time."  She tried to think of a way to express the unease she
was feeling, but all she could come up with was to repeat, "I'm worried."

Bill had arrived at Mrs. Scully's home that morning, unexpectedly.  
Scully's head had already been spinning as a consequence of the emotional
rollercoaster ride she and Mulder had been on since the day before
Christmas; seeing her brother standing next to the sofa as she and her
partner came down the stairs that morning, hand in hand, had simply added
to her internal turmoil.

She had immediately braced herself for an explosion, and she'd felt Mulder
tense up, too.  <<Not now,>> she'd thought desperately.  <<Not so soon.  
We've only just started on this new thing between us; can't we even have
twelve hours together before something bad has to happen?>>

Much to her surprise, the explosion had not come.  Bill had been polite,
if a little tense and distant, and Mrs. Scully had seemed completely happy
and open.  Scully hadn't known quite what to make of the situation, and it
was clear that Mulder was very much on edge, as well, but after awhile
they'd both started to settle down, and by mid-morning things had seemed
almost pleasant, at least as far as Bill was concerned.

But then, of course, her core of insecurity had found something else to
worry about:  Mulder.  She was certain, at the top of her mind, that she
was being hypersensitive; she even knew that this hypersensitivity was
because of the newness and fragility of their relationship.  But she
couldn't help feeling that Mulder was pulling away from her, trying to put
some distance between them, both physically and emotionally.  He seemed to
be uncomfortable holding her hand, and when she'd sat next to him on the
sofa, after breakfast, he'd edged away from her slightly.

Scully suddenly wondered if this drawing away was due to Bill's presence.  
She toyed with that thought for a moment, and decided that it felt right.  
It might not be all of the reason -- certainly the fact that last night
they'd suddenly and rather traumatically torn down a lot of the barriers
they'd each erected must have something to do with it as well -- but she
had a strong feeling that having her brother there in the room, watching
them, was having an inhibiting effect on Mulder.

She'd have to talk to him about that.

Scully realized that her mother had been speaking to her.  "I'm sorry,
Mom," she said.  "I was miles away.  What did you just say?"

Mrs. Scully smiled at her indulgently.  "I said that if you're finished
with that plate, hand it over, and we'll be done."

Scully looked at the sink and counter, and realized with surprise that her
mother was right; the plate in her hand was the last item.  She handed it
over, then pulled the plug in the sink drain and peeled off her gloves,
before turning to watch as her mother finished drying the plate and
putting it away.

"Mom," she said suddenly.  "What were you and Bill talking about before
Mulder and I came downstairs this morning?"

Her mother looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded slightly.  
"We were talking about you and Fox, of course."

For some reason Scully felt embarrassed at this statement, and she looked
down at the water swirling out the drain.  "Oh."  Steeling herself, she
looked back up at her mother.  "What did you -- what did HE say about us?"

Mrs. Scully hesitated, and this time she shook her head.  "That was a
private conversation, Dana, and even though you and Fox were the subjects
of our discussion, I don't feel comfortable telling you the details.  You
can ask Bill sometime, if you want to.  You can tell him I don't object."

"I'm not sure I want to ask Bill," Scully muttered.

"I can understand why you might feel that way," her mother replied.  "And
that's a decision you'll have to make for yourself."  She paused for a
moment, then added, "I guess I can tell you this much.  As you've probably
guessed, your brother is not entirely happy with the new developments
between you and Fox.  However, I think he is willing to give it a chance.  
I think he really is going to try, Dana."

Scully nodded.  She hesitated for a moment, then said, "What about you,
Mom?  Are you okay with this?"

Her mother raised her eyebrows.  "Me?  Dana, it's not a question of
whether I'm happy or not; it's a question of whether YOU are happy.  And
you certainly seem to be.  I know it's all very new and fresh, and you're
both still feeling your way, but I really think things are going to work
out for you.  You're both good people, and you obviously care about each
other very much."

Scully looked at her mother for a moment, then said, in a low voice, "You
didn't answer my question, Mom."

Her mother looked back at her curiously.  "Are you asking for my approval,
Dana?"

"Maybe a little.  Mostly, I just want to know....I don't know."  Scully
felt all tangled up inside; and for a moment she couldn't find the words.  
Then she blurted out, "I just want to know that there's somebody out there
pulling for us.  I want to know that we're not completely alone."

Mrs. Scully reached out and drew her daughter into a hug.  "You're not
alone dear; you'll never be alone.  And I'm sorry; I hadn't realized how
important my opinion was to you."  Scully felt warmth spreading through
her as her mother gently caressed her hair.  "Yes, Dana, I'm very happy
for you.  I've wanted this for you for a long time.  I've always known
that there was a special person waiting for you somewhere, and I'm
overjoyed that you finally seem to have found him.  And to have it turn
out to be someone as wonderful and kind and caring as Fox Mulder, well,
that's just icing on the cake."

Scully hadn't even realized that she was tense, but now she felt her
muscles relaxing as she stood in her mother's embrace, and she closed her
eyes for a moment and rested her head on the other woman's shoulder.  
"You're such a good mom," she murmured.

"I've had lots of experience."

The two women stood together for a moment, not moving.  Finally, Dana
raised her head and took a step back.  "I suppose we should go out and see
how the guys are doing," she said.

"Yes, I suppose we should."  Mrs. Scully smiled at her, and went on, "I
was thinking maybe Bill and I could go out for awhile this afternoon, and
give you and Fox some time alone together."

Scully felt herself blushing slightly.  "Mom...that's really not
necessary.  Mulder and I...well, we..."

"Hush, dear," her mother replied.  "You don't have to explain anything,
and I'm not jumping to any conclusions or trying to push you into
anything.  All I meant is that a new relationship takes a lot of work, and
much of that work has to be done in private.  I'm sure you and Fox have
things you want to talk about.  And if not, then maybe you can just cuddle
on the sofa and watch a ballgame.  Or whatever.  You both need some time
to relax a bit, and get away from all the tension of the last few days."  
Scully started to object again, but Mrs. Scully put her hand over her
daughter's mouth.  "Please, Dana.  Let me do this for you.  Think of it as
a Christmas gift."

Scully looked at her mother for a moment, then smiled slightly and nodded.  
"Okay, Mom.  I guess it does sound nice.  Thank you."

"What's a mother for?" Mrs. Scully said.  She leaned forward and kissed
her daughter on the cheek.  "Now you just wait out here for a moment, and
I'll go pry Bill loose from the television.  Okay?"

# # #

A few minutes later, Scully stepped into the living room.  Mulder was
lying stretched out on the sofa in his customary sprawl, half on and half
off, watching a football game.  Scully paused for a moment in the doorway
and just looked at him.  God, he was beautiful.  And how wonderful it was
to be able to think that, without having to feel wistful or guilty or
depressed.  She could even say it out loud, now, if she wanted to.  She
felt incredibly liberated.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

She suddenly realized that while she'd been standing there, looking at
him, his eyes had left the ballgame and were now focused on her.  She
blushed slightly, and tried to think of a quip to put him off with, but
then she remembered afresh:  She didn't have to put him off.  She was
allowed to say things like this now.

"I was just thinking about how beautiful you are."

He raised his eyebrows, and glanced down at himself, then back up at her.  
"Me?  Beautiful?"

"You.  Beautiful."  She walked over and stood in front of the sofa, gazing
down at him.  She let her eyes rake over his form in frank admiration,
something she had never allowed herself to do before, not even last night.  
"The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"I thought that was supposed to be my line."  He smiled slightly, and
looked a little embarrassed.

"Oh, I'm not trying to steal your thunder," she said, as he sat up and
moved his feet out of the way so that she could sit down next to him.  
"It's just..."  She shook her head, and smiled back at him.  "It's just
that I don't have to leave my thoughts about you locked away in the vault
anymore."

He moved a little closer and took one of her hands in his.  "That's a good
thing, isn't it?"

She nodded.  "It's a very good thing.  It's lonely in the vault."

"I'm sorry, Scully," he said.  "I never wanted you to be lonely."

"It's not your fault.  It's not anybody's fault.  It's just one of those
things that happened, and now it's over."

"I'm so glad," he said.

"Me too."  She looked at him speculatively for a moment.  Then:  "So.  
Did you and Bill get along okay while Mom and I were in the kitchen?"

He shrugged.  "We got along.  We talked a bit.  We watched the ballgame."  
He smiled slightly.  "It was really weird.  It was almost like I was a
human being or something."

"What did you talk about?"

"Basketball, mostly.  It turns out he's a Knicks fan."

She nodded.  "I guess I knew that."

His smiled broadened.  "Hell, Scully, you should have told me that years
ago.  It would've made all the difference.  Not much can stand between a
couple of guys, if they're both Knicks fans."

She laughed.  "Sort of like a lodge brotherhood?"

"Pretty much."  Mischief gleamed in his eyes.  "But girls aren't supposed
to know about it."  He looked at her a moment longer, then broke eye
contact and glanced around the room.  "Say, Agent Scully?"

"Yes, Agent Mulder?"

"Have you noticed that other than ourselves this house appears to be
empty?"

"Now that you mention it -- yes, I have."

"Funny, isn't it," he went on, "the way your mother and Bill cleared out
of here in such a hurry?  You'd almost think there was a conspiracy
afoot."

"For once, I think you may be right," she replied with a little laugh.  
"In fact, I know you're right.  Mom told me as much before she came out
here to collect Bill.  She said she thought we needed some time alone."

She moved closer to him on the sofa, and Mulder raised his eyebrows, his
lips quirking in amusement.  "Scully, are you saying that your mother told
you she was getting herself and Bill out of the house so that we could
make out in her living room?"

"Well, I don't recall that she used those precise words, but that was the
general idea.  I think she wanted us to have a chance to decompress a
bit."  Scully reached up and lightly touched his cheek. "She said to
consider it a Christmas present."

"Well thank you, Santa," he said, and bent over and kissed her.

After a timeless interval, they pulled apart again.  For a long moment she
looked up at him in silence, studying his face.  Then, very softly:
"Mulder?  Can I ask you something?"

"I think..." He stopped and cleared his throat.  "I think that anything
you might want to ask of me in that tone of voice would have to be
answered in the affirmative."

She chuckled, and nuzzled her face against his neck for a moment.  God, he
felt so good.  But this was going to have to wait just a few minutes
longer.  With a sigh, she pulled back a little and looked back up at him
again.  "Why have you been so distant today?"

He raised his eyebrows.  "Have I been distant?"  She nodded silently.  
"I'm sorry, Scully; I hadn't noticed."  He stopped and seemed to think
about it for a minute.  "I guess maybe I have been.  As to why..." He
seemed to be struggling to find the right words.  Finally:  "I guess I'm
just not used to this yet.  I'm not used to the idea that I can just touch
you anytime I want to."  He shrugged.  "Old habits die hard."

"I guess I can understand that," she said.

He thought some more, then added, "Also, I have to admit that I'm a little
intimidated at the thought of fondling you in front of your mother and
your brother."

She laughed.  "I'm not asking you to do anything that would embarrass
anyone," she replied.  "I'm just asking for...small things.  I want you to
hold my hand.  I want you to...to....I don't know.  Put your arm around me
when I sit down next to you.  Give me a kiss on the cheek just because you
feel like it."  She felt a little embarrassed to be saying these things.  
<<But this is Mulder,>> she reminded herself again.  <<It's okay to say
these things to him.  He'll understand.>>

"I'm sorry, Scully," he said, moving closer to her and putting his arm
around her shoulders, and nuzzling his face into her hair.  "Is this
better?"

She leaned into him.  "Much."  They sat in silence for a moment.  Then she
went on.  "You know, it's okay to do this sort of thing when other people
are around, too."

"I know.  I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she said softly.  "This is a big step for both of us.  
We've got a lot of learning to do, a lot of work."

"If it's all like this, I'll be there with bells on," he said, brushing
his lips against her ear.

Scully shivered.  "Me too."

"So," he murmured.  "Want to go upstairs and cuddle?"

"No," she said, lying back on the sofa and pulling him down on top of her.  
"I want to stay down here and cuddle."

He raised his eyebrows.  "But what about Bill and your mother?"

"They're not here right now," she pointed out.  "And if I know Mom, she'll
find some excuse to phone us before they do come back."  She shrugged.  
"And if they walk in on us cuddling together, so what?"  Again she studied
his face for a moment.  "Mulder, this is terribly important to me.  I
don't want to hide what we have.  I don't want to feel as if we need to be
ashamed of it."

"Oh, Scully," he said softly.  "Beautiful, beautiful Scully.  Don't you
know?  You could never do anything you had to be ashamed of.  You couldn't
do anything shameful if your life depended on it."  And he leaned down and
kissed her again.

The kiss went on for quite awhile.

Finally, their lips moved apart again.  Scully lay absolutely still,
drinking it all in, just feeling his weight pressing her down into the
sofa cushions.  It felt so good, so perfect.  Nothing had ever felt this
way before.  No man had ever treated her so sweetly, so tenderly -- not
even Jack, and he had really loved her, even if she had not been able to
love him back.

Maybe that was the difference.

"Hey, Scully."  She was pulled out of her reverie by the sound of his
voice, barely above a whisper, his warm breath caressing her ear as he
spoke.

"Hey, Mulder," she replied.

"I'm not too heavy for you, am I?  I'm not hurting you?"

"Oh, no," she said.  "It feels good.  So good."  She shifted her position
slightly, trying to bring more of her body into contact with his.  She
felt something hard pressing against her thigh, and couldn't help but
chuckle a little as she realized what it was.

"What are you laughing about?" he asked, unease evident in his voice.

<<He's embarrassed by it,>> she thought in amazement.  <<Mulder, you don't
have to be embarrassed.  It's okay.>> Aloud, she whispered, "I was just
wondering...are you packing your gun in an unusual location, or are you
just glad to see me?"

She knew it was a mistake almost as soon as the words were past her lips,
but there was of course no way to call them back.  He froze for a moment,
then started to push himself up off of her.  Instinctively, she wrapped
her arms more tightly around him, and tried to pull him back down.

"Scully....I..."  He couldn't seem to get any words out.

"Mulder, it's okay," she whispered.  "It's okay.  I wasn't laughing at
you, and I'm certainly not offended.  I'd be disappointed if you DIDN'T
have that reaction to me.  Please come back to me?"  They were both very
still for a moment, then his body relaxed, and he settled back down on top
of her again.

"I'm sorry, Scully," he said, staring down into her eyes.

"There's nothing for you to be sorry about," she replied.  "It's perfectly
natural.  And, as I already told you, I like it.  I like very much that I
can make you feel that way."

"You've always made me feel that way," he replied.

She cocked an eyebrow at him.  "Always?"

"Well, not always," he admitted.  "Not in the very beginning.  But for a
long, long time."  He hesitated, then went on, "Can we please not talk
about it right now?  It's kind of..." His voice trailed off.

Scully nodded, and stretched her neck to plant a soft, chaste kiss on his
mouth.  "Of course we don't have to talk about it.  I'm sorry I said
anything.  The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable."  She
pulled his face down to hers and kissed him again.

Their lips separated again, and Scully nuzzled her cheek against her
partner's.  "That was nice," she said.  "It's all nice.  Every bit of it."  
She nuzzled him some more, trying to explore every inch of his face with
her own.  Finally, she drew back, and looked into his eyes.  "Mulder, have
you ever studied relativity?"

He looked down at her and blinked, confusion written on his features.  "A
little, I guess."  A smile crept across his lips.  "I remember one paper
in particular.  It was written by this tight-assed pathologist the Bureau
wanted to foist off on me to discredit my work."

She arched an eyebrow at him.  "Anyone I know?"

"I don't think so," he replied.  "Or maybe she just turned out to be
someone other than who I thought she was."

She nodded.  "I think that must be it, and that just helps illustrate my
point."  She paused for a moment, then continued, "You see, relativity
teaches us that perception varies according to the frame of reference.  
That's basic Einstein.  Depending on your point of view, an object may
vary in mass, in velocity, in physical size...even in position.  And the
important thing about this is that there is no 'correct' frame of
reference.  Every frame is just as valid as any other."

"I guess I knew that," he said.  "It's a hard concept to get your mind
around, though."

"Yes, it is."  She lay quietly in his arms for a moment.  Then:  "But
there's more to it even than that.  Other thinkers came along who built on
Einstein's work.  Heisenberg, for example, proved -- as well as anything
CAN be proved in modern physics -- that we can never know anything with
certainty.  To take the simplest example, we can know a particle's
position, or we can know its velocity.  But we can't ever know both at the
same time."

"Sounds like a smart man," Mulder commented.

"He was.  But the implications of his work are disturbing to some people.  
If you can never know anything with certainty, then what does that say
about free will?  What does it say about humanity's role in the universe?"

"Does that disturb YOU?"

She nodded slowly.  "Yes.  Yes it does.  In fact, it terrifies me.  I
think that's the biggest reason why I'm so resistant to...extreme
possibilities."  She looked up at him, peering deeply into his eyes again.  
"Do you see?" she asked.  "If I can just quantify everything, and get it
all down on paper, then I can have control over things."

He hesitated for just an instant, then said, very softly, "That kind of
control is an illusion, Scully."

She closed her eyes and sighed, then looked back up at him again.  "I
know," she said quietly.  "I really do know.  That's one of the things
I've learned from you, but I haven't learned it very well.  I still have a
great deal of difficulty letting go, and allowing that illusion of control
to slip away from me.  The very idea makes me want to run and hide."  She
paused for a moment, then went on, "And I think you are pretty much the
opposite.  You've given up too much control.  You're too inclined just to
let yourself drift with the current.  And it scares you; I know it does.  
Sometimes you seem so lost and scared, it makes me want to cry."

They were silent for a long moment, and Scully was starting to worry that
perhaps she'd said too much too soon.  She was sure she was right, but
maybe he wasn't ready to hear it yet.  Finally, he said, "There's a lot of
truth in what you say, Scully.  I hadn't ever really thought about it that
way, but there's a lot of truth in it.  And you're right, it does scare me
sometimes; it scares me a lot."  He leaned down and kissed her briefly.  
"But I think that's why we work so well together.  Each of us complements
the other's weaknesses.  Neither one of us is a truly complete person, by
ourselves.  But when we're together, we make each other whole."

Scully felt tears forming in her eyes.  "Mulder...do you really think so?"

"I really think so.  Relativity doesn't really apply to people.  If you
can get close enough to another person, you can start to get inside her
frame of reference, and add it to your own, and then everything starts to
make MORE sense, rather than less."  And he kissed her again, and again
they were quiet for awhile.

This time she was the one who broke the silence.  "You know, I have no
idea where that all came from."

"Where what all came from?"

"You know.  Einstein.  Heisenberg.  Relativity.  Even I have to admit that
it's pretty weird to be talking about stuff like that when we're curled up
in each other's arms."

He smiled down at her.  "It came from inside you, Scully.  It was
something you wanted to say.  That made it important."  He hesitated
again, then added, "It was pillow talk."

She considered that for a moment.  None of her previous lovers had been
much for conversation, either in bed or out, and she'd never really
considered the matter.  When other women mentioned things their husbands
or boyfriends had said when they were lying in bed together, Scully had
dismissed it as unimportant.  The very phrase "pillow talk" seemed to ooze
triviality.  But this hadn't been unimportant, and it certainly wasn't
trivial.  It had been very...intimate.

She smiled up at her partner.  "That was pillow talk?"

He nodded solemnly, but with a slight twinkle in his eye.  "I think so.  
Did you like it?"

"I liked it very much.  It made me feel closer to you."  She suddenly felt
very shy.  "Can we do it again sometime?"

"Absolutely.  Every day for the rest of our lives."  And he leaned down
and kissed her again, and this time the silence was not interrupted.

============================

Chapter 6:  DARK MIDNIGHT OF THE SOUL.  In which demons are held at bay,
and plans are made.

This chapter is rated PG.


December 29, 11:32 p.m.

Scully awoke in the darkness, and for a moment she could not remember
where she was.  The mattress was cold and lumpy, and the room felt odd and
unfamiliar.

Then she remembered.  Iowa.  The Pull-R-Inn.  Reports of strange lights in
the sky at night over a small Midwestern town.  Lights which had turned
out to be a TV station's news copter trying to get the goods on a corrupt
local politician.

<<Par for the course,>> she thought.  <<And one of the things that helps
us maintain such a high solve rate.  Get to the bottom of it, and you get
a mark in the "win" column -- even if it turns out to have been a
helicopter and a couple of soccer moms with overactive imaginations and
too much time on their hands.>>

She shivered slightly, and drew the blankets up close around her neck.  
Cold.  It was so cold in the room.  Mulder.  That's what she needed:  a
Mulder-blanket.  She turned over in bed and reached out for him.

He wasn't there.

She frowned.  Where could he be?  She listened carefully, but the room
seemed perfectly quiet.  Now that her eyes were adjusting to the dark, she
could make out dim shadows:  The low bureau set against the wall at the
foot of the bed; the dark square of the television sitting on top of it;
the doorway leading to the darkened bathroom.  But no Mulder.

"I'm over here, Scully."

She jumped, then turned over in bed again.  He was sitting slouched in a
chair by the window, and despite the gloom she somehow knew that he was
looking at her.

"Sorry.  I didn't mean to scare you."  His voice was soft and warm, but
also somewhat distant.

"You didn't scare me," she whispered back.  Somehow it seemed the right
thing, to whisper.  "Just startled me a little."

"I didn't mean to do that, either," he replied, now also whispering.  "I
think we've had enough surprises for one week.  Don't you?"

Scully nodded.  Then, not sure whether he could see her, she said, "Yes, I
do."  She hesitated, then went on.  "Are you okay?"

There was a sense of motion in the darkness, and she decided that he must
have shrugged.  "Oh, mostly.  Just couldn't sleep.  So I thought I'd get
up and think for a bit."

Scully considered that for a moment.  She knew that he had bouts of
insomnia, but there hadn't been any episodes since they had finally made
peace with their feelings for each other on Christmas Day, and Scully had
been hoping against hope that maybe the insomnia was a thing of the past.  
That hope was unreasonable, and she'd known it -- a problem that had been
years in the making was not going to go away overnight, no matter how
fervently she wished for it to do so.

"You know you could have woke me up," she said.  "We could have watched a
movie or something."

"I know."  She could almost hear his smile in the darkness.  "But you
looked so sweet lying there -- sound asleep, drooling into your pillow.  
I didn't have the heart to disturb you."

Reflexively, she wiped her mouth with her hand and laughed softly.  
"Drooling, was I?  Well, at least it wasn't on one of your suits this
time."  She heard him chuckle.  "Seriously, Mulder...you could have got me
up.  I'd have understood."

"I know that.  I do know it."

"Why didn't you?"

Pause.  "I don't know.  The things I was thinking about...."  Another
pause.  "It didn't seem...fair.  To bother you with them."

Scully let a bit of exasperation into her voice.  "Fair?  Mulder this
isn't about fair.  It's about being there for each other, no matter what.  
I thought we'd agreed on that point."

"We did," he admitted.  "Years ago."

"But you keep running off on me," she pointed out.

"I know.  I don't ever mean to do that to you, Scully; you have to know
that.  It's just...sometimes I can't seem to help myself.  And since
Antarctica I've been trying to do better."

She thought about that for a moment, and the silence stretched out between
them.  Finally:  "You have been doing better.  And I appreciate it."

"Only for you, Scully," he said quietly.  "I wouldn't do it for anyone
else.  I couldn't."

"I know."  She waited for a moment, until she was sure that he wasn't
going to voluntarily advance the conversation.  "So what were you thinking
about?"

She heard a soft rustling sound, then the drapes covering the window next
to Mulder slid back a few inches.  A thin shaft of light trickled in, and
now she could see his profile as he turned and looked out at the lights of
the town.  "Them," he said softly.

"Them?"

"All those lights," he replied.  "All those people.  Millions and millions
of them, going about their daily affairs, earning a living, raising their
kids, going to ballgames."  He turned to look back at her, and now she
could see part of his face, the side towards the window, dimly illuminated
by the faint shaft of light filtering in from outside.  "And not one in a
hundred thousand has any clue what's really out there, waiting for them.  
Hardly any of them have seen the things we've seen."

Quietly, Scully got out of bed and took the three steps necessary to bring
her to his side.  Reaching out, she found one of his hands and grasped it
in both of hers, raising it to her lips for a gentle kiss before pressing
it firmly to her breasts.  Then she knelt down next to him and looked
deeply into his eyes, and waited for him to continue.

"It's just so damned hard sometimes, Scully," he said after a moment.  
"It's just so damned hard, keeping going, fighting for what we think is
right, and always, it seems, getting the prize snatched away from us just
when we think the battle is won."  He nodded towards the window.  "And
then I think about all those people, just trying to live their lives and
be happy, and I wonder..."

His voice trailed off, and Scully waited for a moment to see if he would
finish the sentence, but he didn't seem inclined to do so.  Finally, she
whispered, "What do you wonder, Mulder?"

He looked back at her for a moment, then shrugged in resignation.  "I
wonder...I wonder about us."

"What about us?"

"We're two of the very few, Scully," he said.  "We're two of the very few
who really understand at least some of what's going on.  And among that
tiny number, we're almost the only ones who really care what happens to
them."  He nodded towards the window again.  "And I wonder if we have any
right to jeopardize their future by taking even a few moments for
ourselves."

"Everyone has a right to be happy, Mulder," she said quietly.

He nodded sharply.  "I'm trying to believe that, Scully," he replied.  "I
really am trying.  But it's so very hard sometimes.  It's not an idea that
I'm accustomed to."

"I know.  It's hard for me, too.  Sometimes."  She rose slowly to a
standing position, and drew him to his feet.  "Come on, partner," she said
softly.  "Let's go back to bed."

"I still don't know if I can sleep, Scully."

"That's okay.  We'll just lie down for awhile and cuddle.  If we sleep, we
sleep, and if we don't, we don't."

"I don't know," he said.  "You should get your sleep, at least.  I mean,
just because I have insomnia is no reason why you shouldn't --"

"I'm fine, Mulder," she said, then laughed softly as she realized what
she'd said.  "No, really; I'll be okay.  I can nap on the plane tomorrow,
if I need to."  She tugged at his hands and shivered slightly.  "Come on.  
It's cold.  Let's lie down."

Mulder allowed himself to be led back to the bed.  Scully tucked the
covers up under his chin, then walked around to the other side and slid in
next to him.  She turned onto her side and looked at him for a moment:  
he was lying flat on his back, arms straight down at his sides, staring at
the ceiling.

She leaned forward and gently butted the top of her head against his
shoulder.  "Cuddle," she demanded.  He turned and looked at her for an
instant, then extended his arm and gathered her in against his side.  She
snuggled up against him and buried her nose against his neck.

"Scully, your nose is cold."

"I know.  Why do you think I'm doing this?"  She shivered and tried to
snuggle even closer.  "I hate the Midwest in the winter," she complained.  
"Why couldn't you have found us a case in Florida -- or better yet,
Hawaii?  We can always visit Iowa in the summer when it's warm."  She
slipped her arms around his waist and closed her eyes.

He chuckled.  "Sorry, Scully.  Next time I'll check the Weather Channel
before I accept an assignment."  He fell silent for a moment.  Then:  
"Scully?"

"Yeah?"  She was finally starting to feel a little bit warm, and therefore
sleepy.

"If you had to be an animal, which one would you be?"

She sighed.  "I'd be an animal with a nice warm den that I could crawl
into and hibernate all winter."

That earned her another chuckle.  "Gotta love a woman with a one track
mind."

"What animal would you be?"

"I don't know.  I never really thought about it."  He was quiet for a
moment.  Then:  "You know that I really love you, don't you?"

She opened her eyes and raised her head to look at him.  "Yes."

"I just....I don't know how to deal with this.  I don't do 'happy' very
well."  He shrugged helplessly.  "I keep waiting for the other shoe to
drop."

"I know," she said.  "Me too."

"God," he said, scrubbing his face with his free hand.  "Four days.  It's
only been four days, and look at us already."

"I think we're doing pretty well," she said quietly.

He looked down at her and stroked her hair.  "You really think that, don't
you?"  She nodded solemnly.  "Scully...is it really possible that we're
going to be allowed to be happy?  Aren't they just going to take it away
from us, like they always do?"

"It's too late for that," she said, and stretched her neck to kiss him
softly on the mouth.

The kiss started out chaste and comforting, but rapidly evolved into
something more.  Scully felt the passion rising in her, an almost physical
force, starting at her center and spreading outwards, a tidal wave of
warmth and longing.  She squirmed and wiggled around until finally she was
lying half on top of him, arms around his neck.  Finally, their lips
separated, and they lay in each other's arms, gasping for breath.

"God, Mulder," she whispered.  "Oh, God."  She felt herself trembling, and
there was an aching neediness in the pit of her stomach.  It was not a new
feeling; in fact, she had been vaguely aware of it for years, but suddenly
it had moved to front and center.  Closing her eyes, she nuzzled her face
into his neck, and whispered, "Mulder?"

"Yeah, Scully?"  His voice was soft, and choked with passion.

"Do you want to make love?"

He was silent for a long moment, and Scully felt a slight tremor of fear,
but his hand was continuing to stroke her hair, and she forced herself to
relax as she waited for his answer.  "God, Scully...I want to.  I want to
so bad it hurts..."

His voice trailed off, and after a moment, very softly, she said, "But?"

Another moment of silence, briefer than the last.  Then:  "But not
tonight.  Not...here..."  Again his voice trailed off, and he seemed to be
struggling to find the words.  "I...Scully.  I want the first time to be
special.  Not in some rat trap motel in the middle of nowhere."

Again she raised her head to look deeply into his eyes.  "Mulder," she
said, "the first time WILL be special, because it will be you and me.  It
can't get any more special than that."

"I know," he said.  "I do know that.  But at the same time..."  He shook
his head in apparent frustration.  "I just don't know how to explain it."  
He smiled slightly.  "It's going to sound all girlie if I explain it."

"That's okay, Mulder," she replied, also smiling.  "You can explore your
girlie side with me."  She leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss on
the mouth.  "Tell me.  Tell me how you want it to be."

"That's just it," he said.  "I don't know that I can.  I don't have some
well-thought out fantasy or anything.  I just want it to be special," he
repeated.  He stopped and thought for a moment.  "And, to be honest, I
guess some of it is a matter of control.  I've been thinking about what
you said the other day, about how I'm not really in control of my life,
and I think you were right.  I'm NOT in control, and that DOES scare me.  
I'd...I'd like to have a little bit of control over...this."  He looked up
at her anxiously.  "Do you understand?  Does that make any sense to you?"

She nodded solemnly.  "It makes perfect sense."  She paused for a moment.  
Then, hesitantly:  "I'd like to help you take control, Mulder.  
But...it's pretty scary for me, too.  It's as hard for me to let go as it
is for you to take hold."

"I know."

They lay quietly in each other's arms for a few minutes, and Scully tried
to think.  What she'd said was true, all of it.  It really was hard for
her to let go, to let someone else take control of a situation --
especially one as emotionally charged as this one.  <<But this is
Mulder,>> she reminded herself.  <<He loves me.  He would never do
anything to hurt me.>> She felt a fresh tide of love and desire sweeping
through her.  God, she wanted him; she wanted him now, tonight.  But if he
wasn't ready, it wouldn't be any good.  It had to be right for both of
them.

Both of them.

Scully.

Mulder.

Yin and yang.

Mulder.  Her Mulder.  The one she had come to trust as no other.

Suddenly it seemed absurdly easy.  "Okay, Mulder," she said, and felt his
embrace tighten as she leaned down to kiss him again.  Just as their lips
were about to meet, and remembering his words from Christmas Day, she
murmured, "I love you.  I'll do anything for you."

The kiss was long and deep, and full of passion.  Without quite knowing
how it had happened, Scully found herself lying on her back, Mulder
stretched out on top of her, his weight pressing her down into the
mattress.  Everything felt so good, so right; she never wanted it to end.  
She would just stay in his arms for eternity, and nothing would be able to
harm either of them.

Finally the kiss ended, and Mulder slid his cheek across hers, touching
and caressing her face with his own.  The dry stubble of his whiskers
scraped her skin, sending a shiver down her spine, and she tightened her
arms around his neck.

At last his head came to rest on her shoulder, and she could feel his warm
breath on her neck and ear, and his words, when they came, were rich and
full of promise:  "New Year's Eve."

============================

Chapter 7:  WHAT DOES HE SEE WHEN HE LOOKS AT ME?  In which a question is
answered.

This chatper is rated R.


What does he see when he looks at me?

I have often wondered that, but now more than ever before the question
burns within me.

What does he see when he looks at me?

I have often caught him looking at me, of course.  In the early days of
our association, I assumed that he was like any other man, and that when
he looked at me he saw only breasts and a vagina, two tits and a cunt.  A
walking pleasure center, provided for his stimulation and gratification,
and not to be taken seriously.

I look at those words I just wrote, and I am amazed at the cynicism and
bitterness of my younger self.  And I remember that even then, even as I
thought those things, a part of me deep down inside knew that it was a
lie.  As long ago as that first case in Oregon, I had all the evidence I
would ever need to know that Fox Mulder was not an ordinary man, in this
as in so many other ways.

When I dropped my robe in front of him that night, and stood before him
dressed only in my sensible underwear, I did not know what to expect.  I
knew that I was taking a terrible risk; I knew that most men would view
this as a clear invitation to take liberties.  But I was so afraid in that
moment, and he was the only one available who might take my fears
seriously, and I could not stop myself.  And perhaps, deep down inside, a
small part of me already knew that it was safe.

Perhaps.

I think back on that moment, and I remember the fear.  I remember the
tremor I heard in my own voice, and I remember thinking, <<Maybe I'm not
cut out for field work after all.>> I remember him crouching behind me,
holding the candle close to me so that he could examine the three small
lumps on my lower back.  I remember the soft, delicate touch of his
fingers as he probed at the lumps, and I remember my amazement and relief
as I realized that his touch was not awkward and intrusive, but was as
professional and impersonal as that of a doctor performing a physical.

And I remember the pleased relief in his voice when he made his
pronouncement:  Mosquito bites.

That should have been the end of it, but it was not.  I shrugged my robe
back on, and without even stopping to think I turned and almost threw
myself into his arms.  It was the first time -- but far from the last --
that one of us sought comfort in the other's embrace.  The hug was brief,
over in a matter of seconds, but it seemed to go on for years.  In my
mind, he is still hugging me, comforting me, trying to keep away the
darkness with his love, and I am doing the same for him.

I spent the rest of that night in his room, enthralled.  My new co-worker
was not who I had expected him to be, and I wanted to know more about him.  
I wanted to know everything.  And somehow he sensed this, and even more
amazingly, he decided to let me into his mind.  He gave me a guided tour,
stripping himself emotionally bare, just as I had stripped myself
physically bare.

That was the night that our partnership truly began, no matter what the
official records may reflect.

That was the night when I learned that I could trust him not just with my
virtue, but with my dignity.

It has taken another five years for me to learn that I can trust him with
my heart.  I know that I should regret how long it took, that I should
resent every single minute of the delay, but I cannot.  Our love affair
had to proceed at its own pace, and now the reality of it is all the
sweeter for the fact that it has been a long time building.

What does he see when he looks at me?

That one question still remains, floating in my mind.  I have long ago
discarded all the trite, conventional answers, leaving me only with the
certainty that whatever it is that he sees, it is good.

I stand before the full-length mirror in my bedroom, fresh from the
shower, completely naked, and I try to look at myself through his eyes,
but it is useless.  He is the profiler; he is the one with such empathy
and compassion that he can literally put himself into someone else's head.  
I have never wished for that ability in the past; I have seen too often
how much it hurts him.  But now I desire nothing more than to be able to
slide gently into his mind and look out at myself through his eyes.

I know that he thinks I am beautiful; that much is obvious on his face and
in his eyes.  It was obvious even before this week, on those occasions
when I caught him watching me when he thought I wasn't looking.  And now,
of course, he is completely open and naked in his appreciation and desire
for me.  Yet he has never spoken the words.  He has never said, "You are
beautiful."

I wonder if he realizes how much I need to hear those words?  I wonder if
he knows how insecure I am about my appearance, how intimidated I am by
the women in his videos and in those magazines?  Surely he must know, he
must understand -- he is, after all, a profiler, and he knows me better
than anyone else.  He knows me far better than he knew Monte Propps, or
any of the other countless, haunted men he has tracked and triangulated
and finally brought to justice.  But if he knows my desire, my need to
hear him say that, then why hasn't he said it?

Could it be that he is afraid?

The thought strikes me from nowhere, and I turn it over carefully in my
mind.  Fox Mulder, afraid?  I shake my head.  The very idea seems
incredible.  He is so brave, so courageous, that it is almost impossible
to believe that he could be afraid of speaking a few simple words -- words
which he surely already knows that I yearn to hear.  Words that I cannot
possibly ask him to say, but which must come unbidden from his lips if
they are to have any meaning for me at all.

He has already said, "I love you."  How can he be afraid of this?

Yet it is the only explanation I can think of, and I decide that I will
simply have to wait until he can find the courage to tell me what I
already know, but want desperately to hear him say.

I glance at the clock on my bureau, and realize that time is growing
short.  Mulder will be here in less than half an hour to take me to
dinner, to take me dancing, and then at long, long last, to take me to
bed.  Truth be told, I would willingly skip the dinner and the dancing,
but he asked me to allow him to have control tonight, and I could not
refuse.  I have given so much to this man, and I would willingly give him
so much more.

Tonight I will give him my soul.  He already has my heart.

I quickly pull on a pair of plain cotton briefs, then turn to my closet,
and draw out the dress which I bought this afternoon.  It has been a long
time since I tried to dress for a man, for a particular man, but I am
certain that this choice is a good one.  It is forest green, conservative
and elegant.  It has long sleeves, a skirt that reaches to mid-calf, and a
high neckline, and it fits me so well that it leaves absolutely nothing to
the imagination.  The sales clerk tried to persuade me to buy something
more overtly revealing (and much more expensive), but this is right, this
is me, this is us.  This is the dress I want to wear on the night we are
to become lovers.

I slide the dress on over my head, and it slips into place as if it had
been made just for me.  I am not wearing a bra, and I feel a blaze of
desire as the cloth of the dress brushes against my breasts.  I turn and
look at myself once again in the mirror, and I feel a warm tingle in my
stomach as I realize that I am looking at a woman in love.  The sparkle in
my eyes, the slight smile on my lips, the happy shine highlighting my
cheeks...all the little signs that can mean only one thing.

Only a week ago I would have been horrified to see myself looking like
this.  Only a week ago, I was sure that my life was over, at least in this
respect.  Only a week ago, I felt old and used up, and I had resigned
myself to finding such pleasure and contentment as I could in my work and
in my hobbies.  Only a week ago, I had persuaded myself that I could be
happy without this man in my life.

Only a week ago.

I shake my head, dismissing the thoughts.  One thing my life with Mulder
has taught me is not to dwell too much on the past, but to live in the
present and hope for the future.

I take the silver bracelet he gave me off of the bureau and slide it onto
my wrist, then slip my feet into the shoes I bought to go with the dress.  
My costume is complete.  I will wear no pantyhose tonight; they would only
slow us down when the time finally comes.  This afternoon I considered
buying stockings and a garter belt, but decided at last that it was too
much too soon.  Tonight will be serious and profound.  There will be
plenty of other opportunities to play.

Now it is time, and as the second hand on my bedroom clock touches the
twelve, I hear his knock on the door.  I wonder how long he has been
standing outside my door, waiting for it to be time, and I smile a small,
possessive smile as I emerge from my bedroom and walk down the hall to the
living room.  Out of habit, I look briefly through the peephole, and of
course it is him, it is Mulder, looking beautiful and nervous and very
much like a man in love.

I unlock the door and step back three paces, wanting to evoke the maximum
effect from his first look at my wonderful new dress.  Once I am sure I am
ready, I call out, "It's open.  Come on in."

The door swings open, and Mulder steps across the threshold.  He raises
his eyes to look at me, and starts to speak, and then stops dead in his
tracks.

A timeless interval passes as he stands in the doorway, staring at me, and
I take the opportunity to stare right back at him, letting my eyes rake
over his body, drinking in his masculine beauty, and I realize that he has
dressed for me, just as I have dressed for him:  Dark suit, snow-white
dress shirt, and shoes that look as if they have been spit-shined.  And of
course, the inevitable necktie, with Marvin the Martian chasing Bugs Bunny
across a fanciful Martian landscape.  I have never told him that this has
always been my favorite of all his garish ties, but somehow he knew
anyway.

For a moment I am tempted just to drag him down onto the carpet and
consummate our love then and there, and I even know that he would let me
do it.  Let me?  From the look in his eyes at the moment, I suspect he
would beat me to the floor.  But that is not the agenda for tonight, and
so with a supreme effort of will I resist the urge, and simply stand
before him waiting for him to take the lead.

Finally, he clears his throat.  I am shocked to see tears forming in his
eyes, and suddenly I realize that even if I can't get into his head and
look out through his eyes, I can at least see myself reflected in them.  
"God, Scully," he says, still apparently unable to take his eyes off of
me.  "God...you're so beautiful."

Now I am the one who is crying, and suddenly the three feet of open space
between us is totally unacceptable, and I move swiftly forward into his
arms to continue the embrace that we began so many years ago in Oregon.

My last question has been answered.

============================

Chapter 8:  CONSUMMATION.  In which love is shared, and thereby enhanced.

This chapter is rated NC-17.


"Have I mentioned tonight that you're beautiful?"

Dana Scully looked up from her plate and across the table at her partner.  
He had given up all pretense of eating, and was gazing at her with frank
admiration and desire.  His features seemed more soft and open than she
had ever seen them, and his eyes were dark with passion.

"A few times," she whispered.  "But you can say it again, if you want to."

"You're beautiful."  He reached across the table and lightly caressed the
back of her hand, sending a tingle of electricity dancing up her arm, and
Scully shivered.

It had been like that all evening, ever since his arrival at her
apartment.  After an initial, ferocious hug, and a deep kiss, full of
promise, they had kept slightly apart from one another, only occasionally
reaching out for the softest and briefest of contact.  Under other
circumstances, it might have been frustrating or distracting, but they
both already knew how this evening would end, and each gentle touch only
heightened their anticipation.

The restaurant Mulder had chosen was small and intimate.  The food was
excellent, and a small live band presided over an open space where half a
dozen couples danced to a combination of jazz, swing and big band music.

She looked away from the dance floor and back at the man seated across
from her.  "Mulder," she said softly, then stopped and smiled.

"Scully?" he replied, a quizzical smile on his face.

She shook her head.  "I don't know."  Her hand crept out to tickle his
palm lightly.  "Everything's just so...perfect."

He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips, planting a soft kiss on
her wrist, then slowly rose from the table, drawing her with him.  "Dance
with me, Scully."

He led her out onto the dance floor, and she melted into his arms, closing
her eyes and resting her head against his chest.  For a few moments
neither of them spoke as they swayed gently together, their feet sliding
in time to the music.  Scully felt warm and happy and cherished, and the
soft melody drifting around them just made it better.  She concentrated
for a moment, trying to place the tune; it was vaguely familiar, but that
style of music had never really interested her.  Until now.  Now it seemed
just right.

"Mulder?"

"Mmm?"

"What's the song they're playing?"

"Moonlight Serenade," he whispered.  "Glenn Miller."

She thought about that for a moment.  "Glenn Miller.  Little Brown Jug?"

"That's the one.  Little Brown Jug.  American Patrol.  Chattanooga
Choo-Choo."  She felt his lips brush the top of her head.  "Serenade in
Blue."

She tightened her arms around his waist.  She couldn't get close enough to
him.  "I didn't know you liked this kind of music."

A brief pause.  "You weren't supposed to know."

She opened her eyes and drew her head back just enough to look up at his
face.  "Why not?"

He smiled at her, and shook his head slightly.  "Too dangerous."

"Dangerous?"

He nodded, and bent down to brush his lips lightly against hers.  
"Dangerous.  I didn't dare listen to this kind of music with you around.  
It's much too romantic."  He kissed her again.  "It makes me far too
vulnerable."

Scully closed her eyes again and laid her head back against his chest, and
she wondered if he realized what a wonderful gift of trust he had just
given her.  "Your secret is safe with me," she whispered.

"I know."

The song ended, and another one began.  This time, she didn't have to ask.

"What a Wonderful World," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.  
"Louis Armstrong."

Yeah.  He knew.

They continued to dance.  The music changed again, and then again, and
each time he whispered the name of the song and the artist in her ear.  
Fats Waller.  Benny Goodman.  The Dorsey Brothers.  Scully tried to listen
to each piece, she wanted to drink it all in, she wanted to know
everything about the man in her arms, but it was all so intoxicating:  
The music.  His touch.  His scent.  The heat of his body.  And most of all
his voice, soft and gravelly, mingling with th