Title: As - Book I
Author: Dri
Feedback: Send your comments to marmalad@zaz.com.br
Classification: WIP, MSR
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Everything through the movie and some elements from season six that came in hand for some closure in this work.
Archive: Sure, I need shelter :) Just let me know where so I can visit it.
Disclaimer: The ones you don't recognize are my own; the ones you do belong to The Guy.

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

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

More author's notes in the end of the story


Prologue

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

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

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

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

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

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

And close his eyes he did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3,2,1

"FREEZE! FBI!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Radio Trajan now," someone shouted.

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

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

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


Chapter 1

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

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

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

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

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

But he needed to be sure.

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

He would help.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

"Hi, Betty," he greeted her.

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

"Missed your special, so here I am."

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

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

"Yeah, they're with me."

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

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

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

So why did they keep silent?

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

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

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

"Do you want to order now, hon?"

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

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

"Not right now, sir," Mulder replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scully snapped her eyes to his.

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

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

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

"Nobody called us last night," Mulder insisted.

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

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

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

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

He looked into Scully's eyes.

They were dark, mirroring Mulder's.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So, what do you suggest?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They sat back down in their chairs.

"What do you want to know, sir?"

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

"What's going on?"

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

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

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

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

"Thanks for the confidence, Agent Scully."

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


Chapter 2

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

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

Actually, he remembered doing that just once.

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

Mulder was about to do that again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anticipation.

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

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

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

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

And the second.

And the third.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you lost? "

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

"Mulder?"

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

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

"Hi yourself."

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

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

And so he did.

Once inside, he handed her the ice cream.

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

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

"I'll put it in the freezer."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so he did.

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

What else could a man ask for in life?

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

"Be there in a minute."

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

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

"Do you need any help, Scully?"

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

"No problem."

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

"It's ready."

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

"Scully," he said.

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

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

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

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

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

"No, it's fine."

"Are you sure?"

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

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

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

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

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

She chuckled. "Mulder, you always impose."

"This is different, Scully."

"It doesn't have to be."

"Of course it does."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do I have to?"

A raised eyebrow.

"Of course, dear."

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

They finished the dinner and he did the dishes.

He never complained.


Chapter 3

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

Disgusting.

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

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

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

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

"Mom. Hi."

"Hi, dear. How are you doing? "

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

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

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

"A friend?"

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

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

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

So, why not?

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

"I missed you, honey."

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

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

Why did mothers do that?

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

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

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

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

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

And there he was.

"Sorry," she said softly.

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

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

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

"And friend," he reminded her sarcastically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"At my apartment."

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

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

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

His trust in her.

"Fine."

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

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

"All right."

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

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

Too dependent.


Chapter 4

How much junk could a person gather in ten years?

Pounds, and pounds, and pounds.

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

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

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

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

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

Anyone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then came Diana.

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

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

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

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

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

Scully.

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

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

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


Chapter 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was his one in five billion.

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

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

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

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

Tooth and nail.

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

'Hard.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Chapter 6

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And froze.

It couldn't be.

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

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

Unless...

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

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

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


Chapter 7

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

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

Or was it the sixth...?

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

Third. That was his third beer.

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

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

One plus four...

He had had one bottle of wine and four beers.

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

None came.

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

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

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

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

Nada.

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

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

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

... and slumped back on the couch.

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

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

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

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

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

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

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

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

He would not think of her.

Just for a minute.

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'


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

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

And he thought.

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

His family, his youth, his joy.

The only woman he had ever loved.

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

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

"Mom."

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

"Hello, Fox."

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

"Where's the old Cadillac?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Neither do you."

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

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

"Ah."

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

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

"Nothing that Daniel can't fix."

"Good."

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

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

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

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

"Is everything fine, son?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I believe it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, I won't."

"Daniel can do that."

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

"Can you?"

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

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

That was when he decided to start his new memories.


'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

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

He had craved for new memories with Scully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The phone rang.

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

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

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

"Oha!"

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

The telephone.

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

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

Even drunk.

"Hello."

"Mulder."

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

"Scully."

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

She giggled. "Mulder, wait a minute."

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

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

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure, Scully."

"Look, no... wait a minute"

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

"Mulder," she called him cheerfully.

He would not let her hurt him again.

"What do you want, Scully?"

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

"Mulder, are you all right?"

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

She would pay.

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

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

More silence.

Good.

"Scully?"

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

Charlie?

"Who?" he whispered.

"Charlie."

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

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

Charlie, her brother Charlie...

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

It had been Charlie, just Charlie.

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

And he had hurt her.

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

'This house needs new memories, Fox.'

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

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

"Mulder, what's wrong?"

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

"Nothing, angel. Everything is fine."

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

"Fine," she said, hesitantly.

'Talk, Mulder, talk.'

"You were saying your brother is here?"

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

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

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

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

"Sure, Scully."

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

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

He chuckled softly.

"Uncle Foxy?"

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

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

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

He heard a distant voice calling her for dinner.

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

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

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

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

"On pizza?"

He chuckled again at the disapproval in her voice.

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

She sighed. "If you say so."

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Say yes, Scully. Say yes.'

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

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

"Deal."

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

She had stayed.

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

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


Chapter 8

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank God she had developed better taste.

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

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

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

"Smiths... Smiths..."

"Smithsonian," Jason said along with her.

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

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

"Yep."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's a tribute?"

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

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

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

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

"Carol!"

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

Carol and Jason looked at her with panicked faces.

"Please, Aunt Day..."

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

The kids said nothing.

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

"Aunt Day..." Jason begged.

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

They sighed. "Okay."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aunt Day! This is so big!"

"Wow!" exclaimed Jason in amazement.

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

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

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

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


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

She was almost twenty minutes late.

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

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

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

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

Would she?

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

But where was she?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"AUNT DAY! LOOK!"

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

And that her aunt had taken notice of him.


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

"Is that him?"

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

"Yes, it's him."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're welcome," he mouthed back.

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

"You kissed her," Jason said in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enough.


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

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

"Uncle Foxy, look at this."

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

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

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

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

"What's this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Carol too was open mouthed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Scully was smart, indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trust kids with the truth.

"How kind of him," she said tenderly.

He was seeing stars. Stars.

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She blushed but didn't look at him.

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

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


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

Happiness.

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She closed her eyes.

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

But now she needed to go home.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So."

"So," she repeated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Had you big time."

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

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

"You didn't," she replied stubbornly.

"Yes, I did."

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

"Scully," he called her changing tactics.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And her name, always her name.

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

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

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

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

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

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


Chapter 9

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

As if it really would happen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dana, the milk."

"Hum?" she looked at her mother absently.

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

"Oh, sure."

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

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

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

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

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

"Like what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you, Mom."

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

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

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

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

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

Now her face was flushed too.

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

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

"You look beautiful, Dana."

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

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

"Thanks? For what?"

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

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

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

Not again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He can," Charlie stated.

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

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

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

"Did you believe him?"

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

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

"I'm still getting used to this."

"That's all?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm all ears."

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

"There is no wall, Charlie."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Scully," she said sleepily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Agent Mulder never said hello nor goodbye.


Chapter 10

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fresh pancakes," she answered hesitantly.

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

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

She smiled back. "That's all?"

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

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

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

Skinner had better stop it now.

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

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

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

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

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

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


Chapter 11

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

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

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

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

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

"Good morning, Fox. Agent Scully."

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

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

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

"Fine."

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

The buzz of the intercom cut off his thoughts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good morning, sir," Scully said politely.

"Good morning, Agent Scully. Agents."

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

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

He would not deal with that now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Chapter 12

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

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

She didn't.

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

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

He missed her, period.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't say it."

"But it's the truth."

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

"Scully."

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

They needed to be fine again.

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

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

"Mulder," she sighed against his chest.

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

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

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

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

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

She stared at him incredulously. "You what?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Mulder," she started quietly.

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

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

"Really?"

"Yes."

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

She nodded at him.

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

"I promise, scout's honour."

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

"Scully."

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


Chapter 13

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you want to share the bill?"

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

Her heart melted as she envisioned his six foot tall figure strolling through the aisles of the grocery store, pushing a chart and humming 'Girl from Ipanema', the first music she heard when he greeted her by the front door. "You made a fool out of yourself for me, Mulder?" she whispered, gazing at his lips.

"I make a fool of myself just by hearing you say good morning, Scully," he whispered back to her, his fingers dancing over her lips. She pressed her lips against his pads in a makeshift kiss and heard him moaning softly.

"Didn't know you liked Brazilian music, Mulder," she told him dreamily, her eyes locked on his.

"I like bossa nova, that's all. Used to listen to this in England, success in Europe." His fingers now were caressing her cheeks in lazy circles.

"Bossa nova?" Coming from Scully's loose lips it sounded like 'buesa neuva'.

"Yeah, that music, Girl from Ipanema." He hummed it to her.

"Know, liked it. Sweet, piano, jazz...soft..." Her tongue felt clumsy, numb. How could he drive her that crazy just by caressing her cheek and humming to her a music that for her made no sense at all?

"It helps me to relax," he continued.

"Buesa neuva?"

"No," he whispered, his hands on her neck, his lips against her face. "Instrumental music in general. Got it from my dad. We used to listen to this together while I was studying for final exams and he was doing his work in the den." He rested his head against her neck, his right arm now encircling her around the waist, his left one playing with her hair, his breath warm against her skin. "It was nice. Always managed to get good grades. Mmph."

She was kissing him - her first attempt to kiss him since Sunday - while a tiny corner of her heart was registering this moment for eternity; for the first time since she met him, he was talking about his father without conspiracies or missing sister in his sentences. Maybe they could have a life aside from the X-Files.

Another metal notch of saxophone, heavier this time, filled the room and All Green's smooth voice reached Scully's sensible ears.

'I'm so in love with you'

"Hmm! Al Green," she said breathless, looking into his eyes; he seemed to be immersed in hers.

"No," he whispered hoarsely. "All blue."

Her small hands found their way under his shirt, his skin hot and dry to her touch. He moaned and buried his head into her neck, butterfly kisses were being delivered up the column of her throat, making her whimper in pleasure.

'You make me fell so brand new'

Mulder was pushing her body along in the couch until she lay prone under him. She felt the skin on her face burning with anticipation, incapable of ignoring the pair of green eyes roaming all over her body.

'I want to spend my life with you'

"Scully."

His lips captured hers with such a fierceness she had never experienced before with him, with anyone; and it was... God, it was... She didn't have a name for it; maybe there was no name for it at all. She wanted more, so much more. One of her hands abandoned the smooth skin of his back to cup his neck and to pull his head more firmly against hers.

'Let me be the one you come running to'

The kiss wasn't deep enough. To touch his tongue, his teeth, was not enough. She needed more.

'I'll never be untrue'

"Mulder."

"Scully, oh God." He was gasping for air as much as she was. "I...can't..." His voice was just gone.

"More. Oh God, Mulder... more... please."

Her words were whispered against his ears despairingly, as if her life, her sanity depended on it. He gave heed to her pleas and moved his lips back to her neck, down to her cleavage...

And stopped.

'Let's, let's stay together'

She tried to open her eyes to see what was detaining him, but she couldn't; too much effort for someone that was feeling like melted ice flowing liquid through his touch. "Mulder, what...?"

'Whether time is good or bad...'

"Look at me, Scully."

She wanted. God, how she wanted, but her eyelids felt so heavy.

"Please, love."

The term of endearment made her float in thin air, high and high. Slowly her eyes drifted open again. He was sprawled over her, his eyes asking for permission for something. Her fingers disentangled from his hair and she caressed his cheek. He turned his head a little bit and kissed her wrist. "I want to touch you."

She smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Touch me?"

"Yeah." He kissed the fabric of her blouse covering her breast as to emphasize his intentions.

Her hands simultaneously left their places on his back and cheek. She felt the muscles on his belly tense and his welcome weight less heavy above her as he started to lift his body, his eyes growing wide and concerned. "Sc..."

"Ssh." She stopped him with her index finger on his lips. He quieted down but was glaring puzzled at her. She took a deep breath and smiled seductively at him, her lips slightly open, revealing no more than the whiteness of her front teeth.

'Why, somebody Why do people break up'

Her slender fingers grabbed the hem of her red shirt. Mulder missed a breath.

'Oh, turn around and make up'

As her hands pulled the red fabric over her body, white flesh was being exposed piece by piece. She could feel the heaviness of his breath every time his chest compressed and decompressed against hers. His eyes were no longer that quiet shade of green, they had gotten deeper, darker, hungrier. All for her.

'You'd never do that to me'

As she gently lifted her torso, she could feel on the skin of her belly how much he wanted her, desired her. That drove her crazy. In one single motion she rolled her tight blouse over her head and let it slip aside.

'Being around you is all I need'

Her flesh was peach colored, contrasting beautifully with the cream bra she was wearing. Her lips were swollen from their kisses, her hair disheveled all over the pillow, her eyes sparkling with life.

'Let's, we ought to stay together'

She reached up to capture his lips in hers, deepening the kiss in a matter of seconds.

'Loving you whether, whether time is good or bad ...'

The music was fading into the air and emotions were swirling through her mind like water being drained in a sink, continuously, constantly, until the last drop reached its final destination, sliding slowly down the pipe. She was living a frightening, exciting trip to the depths of the unknown, her only hope was for the journey to be worth it. By the time his lascivious lips were tracing their way along her throat line, down to her chest, she knew it would.

She needed to touch him too, the cotton of his dress shirt was no more the kind of caress that she wanted, that she needed from him. Her fingers slid over the soft dressing material to rip it from his body. Slowly the soft cotton started to reveal the honey like expanse of his back. There was no time to see too much when she opened her eyes; he had found the front clasp of her bra and unfastened it, immediately revealing the pale swellings of her chest adorned by two erect coral nipples.

When she met his gaze, his hazel orbs were glassy and unfocused, mirroring her own blinded passion for him; his hands were trembling around her breasts and his lips were moving, but no sound came through them. Even so, she could read him; he was asking for permission, apologizing for his eagerness, begging for more.

He didn't know she would give him more willing.

Combining what little was left of her motor functions and the desire to have his skin touching hers, she pulled the shirt from his body, momentarily missing the contact of his fingers when he had to stretch his arms to have the grey garment taken away from him. After getting rid of her upper underclothing, she pulled his boneless body against her.

She couldn't tell if the throaty groan she heard came from his lips or from hers; maybe from both. She didn't care, all that mattered was that he was with her now, one hand pressed firmly against her back, pulling her to him, the other cupping her left breast; his hair itching the base of her chin; his lips, his tongue, his teeth playing with her breasts, biting, nibbling, licking. She was giving a devout thanks for a miracle, his hair was her rosary, his name her prayer. Their togetherness, their reality, proof that that moment was real.

"Mulder, Mulder, Mulder..."

She arched her back to give herself completely to him... and then everything was gone. No more biting, no more nibbling, no more slick saliva glistening on her flesh. From the passionate touches they were sharing a second before remained just his head lying limply on the valley of her breasts and the sensation of loss that overwhelmed her.

"Mul..."

"Can't." he muffled between her breasts. "Scully, I can't"

Her hands froze on his hair and back. "Mulder..." she managed to whisper without showing the dread sensation of rejection advancing through her.

"That was a mistake. I don't want it like this."

Don't want this, don'twantthis, dn'twan'this...

Humiliation was eating her alive and burning her eyes to the point of tears. Could she have been that mistaken?

When his eyes met hers, there was still passion burning inside of them, mingling with something else. She didn't want to build that much hope, but regret was not part of the myriad of emotions shining in his eyes.

"I can't make love to you here. Not here, not tonight."

She became very still beneath him, terrified that any slight movement of a muscle on her body would let spill the torrent of tears building up behind her sting eyes.

He cupped her cheeks in his hands, his elbows placed on either side of her head to give him leverage. "I can't make love to you and get ready to work the next morning."

"Mul..." she started to say only to be interrupted by his lips touching hers. This kiss was different; it resembled the first one they shared when she got her first home run. Gentle, chaste, infinite; a promise of more to come.

"Ssh. Let's get you ready for bed."

In a minute his weight was gone from her small frame and she was being scooped up in his arms. His lips touched hers again when he started to the bedroom. She closed her eyes and caressed his face, also wondering what went through that mind of his.

He pushed the door with his shoulder and took her to his bed, then turned the bedside lamp on. Scully could see that he had settled her on what must be her side of the bed; a bottle of the vanilla lotion she wore to bed rested on the bedside table beside a closed box of Kleenex. She lowered her eyes to the floor and found a pair of white sleepers size 6 neatly placed by the foot of the bed. Looking quizzically at his anxious face she started to formulate a question when he pointed to the furniture's drawer.

"Open it."

Her hesitant fingers pulled open the drawer; there was a black leather covered bible there with a rosary in the middle of it. Any reaction she might have was aborted by his next words.

"Come with me."

He grabbed her hand and they went to his closet, where he opened another drawer, this one hiding two sets of cotton nightgowns, a green and a blue one, with matching robes.

"If you're going to keep a bag here, you better have a drawer for you. I don't want your clothes scattered all over the place." He tried to joke, but his nervousness was evident in his voice.

She still said nothing.

He took her hand again and opened another door, this one revealing the interior of his private bathroom, a room she didn't know he had; she had always considered his apartment so small. It was a bit larger than the tiny restroom outside, meaning that he had extra room for a shower stall there. What drew Scully's attention, however, were not the gray tiles covering the walls or the counter's deep green marble; it had been the hairbrush and toothbrush on the counter, hers for sure. He opened the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of strawberry shampoo and matching conditioner; there was also another bottle of body lotion, a feminine razor for her to shave her legs in the morning and a refill of her favorite deodorant. The small, comfortable white robe hanging beside his much larger blue one on the door took the toll on her and she looked at him stunned and shocked, not even aware of her half nudity before him.

"What does all that mean?" She gestured to the top of the counter.

"I... Hum, I told you I had a surprise for you," he said hesitantly. "What do you think? Did you like it?"

Scully considered everything he had gotten to her, from the white and yellow toothbrush to the expensive Bible and rosary locked in her bedside chest. The Mulder that never remembered her birthday - or that never got her even a Christmas card - had prepared his apartment to make her feel comfortable enough there to spend the night, to make her feel wanted there.

She went to the door and touched the bathrobe hanging there, its fluffiness beckoning her to bury her face in it and cry, which, of course, she didn't do.

"If it doesn't fit, we can go back to the mall and get another one. I've got the receipt."

"No, no. It's perfect, perfect," she whispered, the tip of her fingers still stroking the fabric, then she turned and smiled at him. "Perfect."

He started what could have been a sigh of relief, but stopped, his eyes glued on her chest. "More than perfect, Scully."

Her gaze followed his. She became very shy when she found his target. To cover her chest would make him feel guilty and uncomfortable, but not to cover it would make her feel...

Would make her feel like the desirable, beautiful woman she was seeing in his eyes. He wanted her little well-shaped body, small rounded breasts, short lithe legs, intense red hair. Everything. He wanted her.

She went back to him and took his strong body into her arms, then nuzzled the sparse hair on his chest, placing a kiss over the flesh that kept his heart safe. "I loved everything."

He smoothed her hair back and kissed the tip of her nose. "I'll let you get ready for bed. Meet me in the bedroom?" She nodded. "I'll get your clothes". He retrieved the blue nightgown from the bedroom and left her alone.

Ten minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom and found him lying on his side of the bed, glasses on, leafing through a magazine. He closed it when he became aware of her presence. She padded to the bed and sat down to start her nightly ritual: uncap the bottle of body lotion, pour the liquid on her hand and spread it over her legs and heels, wipe her hands with the tissue paper. Then it was time to open the Bible randomly and read a psalm; after she had made the sign of the Cross, she turned off the lamp and lay down facing him.

Mulder stretched his right arm under her pillow and rested his left one on her hip. "Happy?"

She closed her eyes and kissed his chin. "Is it really a necessary question, Mulder?" She felt his warm lips brushing her eyelids.

"Just wanted to be sure."

"You make me happy, Mulder." Her voice was nothing more than a hum, but she hoped that her sleepy eyes glaring at him lovingly would make him feel confident.

He yawned sleepily, too. "I live to make you happy, Scully."

She spread her fingers over the bare skin of his chest and kissed his neck. "We're getting too mushy, Mulder. We'd better stop now."

She was sure that it was the combination of weariness, sleep and soft chuckle in her voice that made him laugh a little. "You don't like mushy?" He pulled her closer to him.

"I like it." She yawned again. "But I don't want to play mushy now. Let's save it for the day we..." She stopped her rambling. How could she tell him she wanted to be mushy when they made love?

"When, Scully?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Why didn't you want to make love to me tonight, Mulder?" she asked him in a hurry before she lost her nerve.

He tightened the grip on her body and his muscle tensed beneath her hands as his eyes searched for hers in the darkness. "I want to make love to you, Scully; don't you ever doubt that. Ever."

"I don't doubt it," she reassured him softly. "I just want to understand what happened on your couch. You said you couldn't. Couldn't what, Mulder?"

For a few moments he just kept rubbing the skin of her arm, and when she thought she would not get an answer, he spoke. "I want to make love to you, Scully. I need to make love to you, and it's not only out of lust; it's because I do love you." His voice was so low; he wasn't speaking to her ears; he was speaking to her heart. "But after all these years, I think we deserve a better fate than a quick fuck on my couch, knowing that we have to get up early in the morning and get ready for work," he completed, inhaling the fading strawberry scent of her hair. "I can't have that. And I hope you can't, either."

She lifted her head and kissed him, softly at first until he sank his tongue into her mouth. He tasted like milk; he always got a glass of milk before bedtime when he remembered; a childhood habit, he had told her.

"I want you, Fox Mulder," she confessed still kissing him. "I want you no matter what time of the day, the day of the week... I want you."

"I want you, too. God, how I love you, Scully."

She felt herself being rolled onto her back as he pinned her against the mattress with his body and his kisses. Her hands were running up and down on his back, pressing his cotton clad buttocks. When her fingers passed through the barrier of his boxer's waistband to cup him, he stopped the kiss and stilled her hands. She whimpered in distress and through the cloud of lust passing in front of her eyes, she discerned his beautiful face.

"Let's get away." She licked his lips, cutting him off. He moaned but kept talking. "Let's find a place for us this weekend." He returned her kisses. "We'll have Friday," he kissed her cheek, "Saturday," he kissed her neck, "and Sunday... to do whatever... we want."

She was kissing his earlobes, licking his neck, biting his cheek and thinking about his proposal. A whole weekend, just the two of them.

"Yes."

"We're going?" he asked between bites on her chin.

"Yes," she slurred.

"And we're going to make love." She agreed, nodding against his neck.

"Good." He was breathing heavily when his forehead touched hers. "Now you quiet down, woman. I have a meeting in the morning." She chuckled and nodded again.

He rolled onto his back, settling her head onto his shoulder.

She caressed his taut abdomen. "Good night, Mulder." She felt the brush of his lips against her hair and closed her eyes, not waiting for a reply.


Chapter 14

They were standing side by side on the beach, the hot sand burning their bare feet for a while, until cold waves coming from the ocean reached them on the shore. They were laughing and throwing small pieces of bread to the sky in frustrated attempts to feed the seagulls flying above them. Whenever a piece of bread landed at their feet to soon after be carried away by the force of the water, his hand closed around her elbow to keep her balance. 'Not so bad' she told him. 'At least we're feeding the fish.' He laughed again and fed her a piece of his bread. 'You see, Scully; I told you we would find our place together.' The grin on her face softened as she lifted a slender finger to brush away the red threads the wind was blowing over her lips and eyes. 'I've found my place a long time ago, Mulder.' He reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. 'Really?' he asked warmly. She nodded and turned completely to him. 'And where is it?' She got closer to give him an answer when he started to whistle a song they had heard the night before. She wanted him to listen to her, but he was whistling so loud; why was he whistling so loud? Loud, louder, louder...

She blinked away the fog of sleep and opened her eyes. Her head was resting on his shoulder and he was speaking on the phone a succession of yes, sirs and no, sirs. She shifted in bed and looked up at his face to find him smiling drowsily at her. She blinked sleepily at him and lowered her head back to his chest, letting the soothing? fingers smoothing her hair and his strong heartbeat carry her back to sleep. She was ready to step back in the land of dreams when a heavy arm came down to rest on her hipbone.

"What time is it?" she asked against his chest.

"A quarter to seven."

"Hmm. It's too early. Go back to sleep." And she better adjusted herself on her personal Mulder pillow to follow her own advice.

"I can't. Have a meeting in one hour."

For a few minutes they remained like that, lying on their sides, her head tucked under his chin, and his hand slipping softly over her bare arm. He was so warm, comfy; she didn't want him to go. But work was work, so when he pushed his limbs away from hers, she started to get up as well.

He was scratching his head when he noted her throwing the sheets aside. "What are you doing Scully?"

She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles and didn't look at him. "I'll make some breakfast." She got off of the bed and pushed her still sleepy body to the chair where her blue robe was lying. The bed had been warm, and there was a little draft in Mulder's bedroom forming goosebumps on the bare skin of her arms and legs. When she looked at him, she saw that he was watching her with a mix of surprise and tenderness on his features.

"You don't have to do this, Scully. Go back to sleep," he said tenderly.

"I know I don't. Now go take your shower," she grunted at him in her non-matinal way. He smiled amused and headed to the bathroom.

She was already at the door when she shouted: "Toast and eggs?"

"Okay," came his reply mingled with the sound of water running. She turned off the alarm-clock and went to the kitchen.


Their trip had to be postponed.

Mulder had called her by lunchtime to let her know that he was due at a stakeout both on Friday and Saturday nights; a good thing, because she was struggling to find a way to let him know that her period had started that morning, after he had left. All in all, it was settled that she would spend that weekend at his apartment and that they would travel on the next one. On Friday night, she drove to her apartment to water her plants and get more clothes.

Three days later, when her period was over, she didn't discuss with him what to do the following nights: to make or not to make love? She wanted it, he wanted it, but the problem remained: work was still there, and, no matter what, it was not possible for them to make their escape before Friday.

Their answer came in the form of a folder Mulder showed her on Tuesday. They were walking back from the candy shop near her place when he showed her the square folded paper. She stopped under a street lamp to read it. Mulder hugged her from behind and bent down to kiss her jaw. She shivered both from pleasure and from the contact of his ice-cream cooled lips against her warm skin. After turning her head to admonish him, she started to read the paper.

"A ballroom, Mulder?" Her voice carried that tone of 'you must be kidding me' on it.

"Actually, this is not a ballroom; it's a dancing dinner in a jazz club." He stepped in front of her.

"Ah!" With both hands on her hips, she was looking up at his sheepish face. "Am I expected to dance?"

The hint of leer on her smile did the trick: he stepped closer to her and grabbed her by the waist. She was determined to tease him until the end, so she let her arms lay limply on her sides and her half open eyes watched him closely.

He started to rock against her, rubbing his lower body against her belly. "Why, Agent Scully? Do I have to teach you how to dance?"

Damn that man. She had to put together all her will power to resist the urge to thrust against him. She would make him pay in kind, starting with wipping that smug smile off of his face.

"To tell you the truth, Agent Mulder, I don't believe *you* could keep up with me." To mark her point, she started to move her body in lazy circles against his. He moaned and pulled her closer to him. "I studied ballet when I was a child, did you know that?"

"Um-um."

"In fact, I just stopped when I went to college."

"Oh."

"I used to be a good dancer."

"So this little body will shake and turn in my arms all night long?" he asked, biting her jaw.

She purred against his ear. "I hope so."

After a few seconds, their movement was infecting her too; her eyes were dropping and she started to shiver, this time not from his kisses, or his caresses. His proximity was doing that to her. Thank God at that time of the night there was no one on her street.

"Mulder..."

"Good evening, Miss Scully. Mister."

Scully blinked her eyes open to see Mrs. Duppond, the kind widow lady who lived next door, walking her dog in their direction. She felt her face burn from embarrassment. Mulder would ruin her reputation in her building.

"Oh... Good night, Mrs. Duppond."

Mulder turned his head toward the lady and sputtered something. When Scully started to put some distance between them, he pulled her back; the protuberance pressed against her belly told her why. She couldn't do too much, just rest her cheek against his arm and pray for the smiling old lady to go away soon.

"It's really a beautiful night." She blinked knowingly at Scully. "I hope you enjoy it, young lady." She looked slyly at Mulder. "God knows I would." She smiled playfully at Mulder and walked her dog past them to the entrance of the apartment building.

Scully was mortified. His body was vibrating against hers; he was laughing at her expense.

"This is not funny."

"This is official, Scully: your neighbor has a crush on me."

"Mulder." She admonished him, but she was laughing too at the idea of the seventy year old lady being hot for her partner.

When they felt it was safe enough, they separated. He held her hand and walked to his car.

"I'll pick you up at seven-thirty," he stated, referring to the dinner on Friday.

"Hum... I don't know, Mulder. All the good food will be gone by then."

He grinned at her, his eyes glimmering in the night. "I'll take my chance. All I want is dessert, anyway."

She opened the driver's door for him. "Go home, Mulder."

He caught her hand again and kissed her wrist. "See you on Friday."

"Yeah." Her lips quivered with longing, like his.

"Go. I'll be watching you."

She let go of his hand, then turned and walked into her building. Two minutes later, she switched on the living room lights; just then she saw his car pull away.


Chapter 15

He had already swung her around like a kid's spinning toy. Her red hair had swirled around her face and some of the threads had glued to her sweaty brow and lips. Some of her make up had vanished during the night's activities, but she was, if possible, more beautiful than ever.

They had been dancing for quite sometime now. During dinner, the six musicians of the jazz band played songs from the twenties. They and a few couples had risked some Foxtrot steps on the dance floor, but their flattering glances were far more interesting, so they stopped and went back to their table. They tried to skip the thirties too, but he, being a fan of swing, couldn't miss the calling of Glen Miller's big band music. Now they were waltzing around the dance floor gracefully, her slim frame wrapped up in an aquamarine dress, its thin spaghetti straps exposing her slender arms. In the dim light of the jazz club, Scully resembled a diva from the silent movies of thirties, involved in an aura of mystery and sensuality. So tangible he could feel it in the air. It was her, always her.

He pulled her closer in his embrace and put their entwined hands over his heart. She tilted her head and stared directly into his eyes; his soul was being bared by them. He bent down and kissed her.

"Ladies and gentleman, we'll have a five minute break and come back with music from the fifties."

The dancers clapped their hands and went back to their places. He gently broke away from the kiss and led her back to their table.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asked, settling her into her chair.

"I could use some water."

"I'll get it."

When he got back, she was watching the movement in the room.

"Enjoying yourself?"

She looked at him and smiled. "Yes. You're a good dancer, Mulder."

He smiled too. "You know, I could have used your help in England."

"Really? Why?"

"I attended some dancing classes back there; never had a good partner, though."

She laughed. "You were already difficult then, hum?"

"I am not a difficult person, Scully." His voice, like his eyes, became serious. "I just hold out for the best."

Slowly, her smile faded too. "Do you have the best now?" she whispered to him.

Glass of water touching his lips, he didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Ladies and gentlemen, I invite everyone to come to the dance floor. I hope you've enjoyed your rest, because now we have the fifties."

Furious fingers pressed the piano's keyboard and Jerry Lee Lewis' 'Great Balls of Fire' filled the air. The well dressed ladies and gentlemen went wild and dragged their partners to the dance floor. Mulder smiled knowingly at Scully and held out his hand; she giggled and accepted it. They almost ran to the dance floor.

It had been such a long time since he had felt this much energy running through his veins just out of fun. To have her there with him, without worries, without guilt, was all he had wanted for a long time. Lucky him for casually having found this jazz club while surfing the Internet. He was looking for a place to hide away with Scully, and instead he had provided them an unforgettable night of dancing. Tonight they were regular people. In that place nobody knew them, or what they did for living, or that the planet was to be invaded by extraterrestrial beings. He shook his head. That night they were going to be just Fox and Dana, as weird as it sounded; ordinary people with ordinary lives.

They danced three, four, five songs without noticing it, just stopping when the band took another break.

She collapsed into his arms; he didn't let her fall, as always. This time he didn't lead her to their table; he just wanted to hold her there, in the middle of the room, swinging softly to cool their bodies. His male pride wanted everybody there to see that the most beautiful woman in the room was with him.

"God, I'm exhausted."

He cradled her flushed face. "You better hold on, miss. I'm not finished with you yet."

She tiptoed to kiss him. "Is there more to come?"

"Hum, I don't know. We have two overnight bags in the trunk of my car, a reservation for the weekend in the best suite of a five star hotel..." he lowered his voice. "You have a man ready to satisfy your every wish."

"Hum. And where is he?"

"I'll look for him." He let go of her and started looking for said man.

"Shut up, Mulder."

He smiled at her smiling face.

"How many decades to go, Mulder?" her voice was hoarse, seductive. If she kept up with that, he would lose it right there in the dance floor.

"Two. The sixties and seventies."

"Then we go?"

He kissed her softly. "We can go now, if you want."

"Nah. I want to see your performance during the Bee Gees."

He laughed. "No way, Scully. No more bee." Her mock disappointment was adorable. "But I promise I'll perform my best John Travolta's Saturday Night Fever for you, later."

To his surprise, for the sixties they had chosen a romantic selection, with Ray Charles, The Platters, The Temptations, some other Motown groups and, of course, Miles Davis. During those songs he lost contact with the world. First because he kept his eyes closed the whole time. And second because that was a good opportunity to hold her close and butterfly kiss her mouth, eyelids, cheek; she had even kissed his neck once.

The music came to a halt and the dance floor was getting empty again. When he took her hand to walk her back to the table, she stopped him. He turned to look at her, curious. What he found in her eyes flamed his heart and his groin.

She wanted him.

Now.

"Scully."

"I think I can pass on the seventies." Her voice was nothing but a dry whisper.

"I'll get the check."

"I'm going to the ladies room. Meet you at the door." Without another word, she left.

His rubber-like legs walked him to the cashdesk. Activity, he needed activity. He needed to put all that blood circulating into other parts of his body into his legs. They were going for it and there was no going back now. He would make love to her. Such sensation was so overwhelming that his hands were shaking, making it difficult to sign the credit card slip the cashier handed him.

That was it. Now he just needed to tame his racing heart and wait for her.

"Good evening, Fox." A familiar woman's voice greeted him.

He missed a breath.

Dear God, no.

He swallowed hard when he turned to the voice's owner.

All the energy he had in his body evaporated like the last drops of water in a burning casserole. That woman had fire in her eyes, in her voice, in her gestures.

"Gail. What a surprise." He managed to make his voice calm, but inside it was screaming 'go away.' Just then a couple and a man met them at the door. A tall man with grey hair held out his hand to him.

"Good evening, Fox. How have you been?"

"Fine, Robert. You?"

"I've been better." The man's words were less polite than his voice. The old Bob; always kind, but easily influenced by that bitter wife of his. "I believe you've already met my sister Ruth and her husband, Jim." He said, referring to the other couple.

"Oh, but of course," the other woman cut Bob off. "You used to visit us in Palm Springs, do you remember, Fox?"

His anxious eyes looked for a glimpse of red in the ladies room door, finding nothing.

"Yeah, I remember, Ruth. James." He said politely.

'Go away.'

"What a nice coincidence to find you here, Fox."

Mulder didn't fake a smile, like the one Ruth had on her face. He tried, but it would have required a lot of practice to overpower that woman. "Yeah, isn't it?"

Ruth pointed to the ladies door. "I think that's your companion coming over there, isn't it?"

His face was burning and his hands felt cold instantly. He looked at the doorway and found Scully's smiling face staring at him. She was almost leaping in his direction, her shawl thrown over her shoulders and her purse pressed in her hands.

"Let's go, Ruth." James was pushing her by the arm.

"Oh, but I want to meet her." She didn't take her eyes off of Mulder.

"Mulder."

He turned to Scully. She had stopped a few feet behind him and was looking at the party, intrigued.

He smiled awkwardly at her and turned back to the elder couples. "I have to go."

"Aren't you going to introduce this beautiful lady to us, Fox?"

Mulder swallowed a swear and a scream and turned back to Scully.

Ruth offered her hand to Dana. "I'm Ruth Sarandon."

For just a second he saw some confusion in Scully's eyes, but soon it was gone. "Dana Scully."

"This is my husband James, and those are Abigail and Robert Fowley."

Mulder closed his eyes as all color drained from Scully's face. She looked again at him, this time with something other than confusion appearing in her eyes.

"Nice, ah, nice to meet you," she whispered, her eyes never leaving his face.

He reached out and took her hand, pulling her to the door. "We were already leaving, so if you'll excuse us."

He had almost succeeded. He was already outside the club. One more step and Scully would be following him. But the damn voice had followed them to the exit.

"You're a lucky lady, Miss Scully. Fox is such a good man."

"Ruth, stop," Gail hissed.

"Ruth, that's enough." James was pushing her back to the club.

"But she needs to know."

Scully stopped in her tracks and turned back to the bottle blonde woman.

"Dana, please. Let's go."

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he had made a huge mistake. He never called her by her given name, unless it was a very emotional situation. Briefly she diverted her eyes to him, but the woman's words were stronger than his pleading eyes.

"It's not everyday that we find a man who visits his injured ex-wife in the hospital, don't you agree?"

If he thought Scully had been pale before, the minute she put two and two together she became ghostly translucent.

She looked at him.

They were through.

"Take me home. Now."


Chapter 16

"... and since what's pending in Sanders' department can be managed by his staff, you and Agent Fowley are dismissed from your current assignment. Though, you should be back by Monday to resume your work back on the X-Files." Skinner looked intently at them. "Any questions, Agents?"

Mulder shifted on his seat. "Does Agent Scully know about that already, Sir?"

"No, Mulder. I'll talk to her later today. Anyway, she'll be through with her work in the lab tomorrow. After that she will be on vacation time."

Mulder struggled to not lower his gaze. She would be on vacation and would not want to talk to him.

"Is that all, Sir?"

"Not yet, Agent Fowley." Skinner adjusted his glasses on his face and looked at them solemnly. "AD Sanders told me about your efforts to resolve the cases that were sent to you in your assignment there. He was impressed." His lips curved in an almost smile. "You did well, Agents. Congratulations."

Mulder stood and Diana followed him. "Thank you, Sir."

"That's all. You're dismissed."

Mulder walked out of the room with Diana following suit. They stopped in front of the elevator and waited for the car in awkward silence. He felt uncomfortable around her; for sure her mother had told her what had transpired at the club. A ding announced the car's arrival and they stepped inside. Mulder pressed the button that would lead them to the garage. Diana attempted to break the silence.

"Three days of unexpected vacation plus the weekend."

He gave her a forced smile and said nothing.

"So, any big plans?"

She was walking on eggshells and he couldn't blame her for this. The elevator doors opened. They stepped out of it and started to walk to their cars. "Maybe I'll drive to the beach house, spend some time there."

"Virginia's beach house?"

"Quonochontaug."

She seemed disappointed. "That must be beautiful this time of the year."

Once again he just smiled at her.

"Fox," she stopped him by tugging at his jacket sleeve. "I think we should talk."

She too didn't seem to be comfortable at all with their situation. The sooner they talked, the better it would be for their sakes.

"No problem. Where?"

They went to Casey's. During their short walk, Mulder mused over the facts of the last five days. He held the responsibility for his current situation: he hadn't been fair to Scully since Diana had showed up in May. He should have told her the truth about their past then, while he had had the time and the opportunity to do so.

At Casey's, he pulled out a stool for her and sat beside her as the blonde bartender approached them.

"Hey, Spooky." She eyed Diana suspiciously.

"Hey there."

"What will it be? The usual?" she asked, drying a glass.

"A beer."

"No shots?" Her voice was casual.

"No shots."

"What about the lady?"

"The same," Diana answered promptly.

He used the time that their orders were being prepared to study Diana's reaction to his proximity. Her hands trembled as she twisted a paper napkin and counted the nuts inside a bowl on the counter. He felt sympathy for her; more than once, he had been the one to do that while sitting on that same bar stool with Scully beside him. In those situations, he had always been grateful for the poor paper napkins.

"Here it is, Spooky. M'am." The lady put the beers before them and went back to her chores.

"What's up?" he asked when he took his glass from the counter after a few minutes. A rhetorical question; he knew the answer for that one.

Diana knitted her brow and pushed her bangs away from her face. "I want to apologize for my aunt's indiscretion, last Friday."

"As if it would solve anything..."

His words were spit out without thinking, and he saw that he had hurt her. "Forget it. This is not your fault."

She shuddered and said nothing. They remained like that for another couple of minutes; in silence, sipping their beers, watching the people that, like them, where seeking comfort in dim light and spiced beverage.

"What were they doing here in Washington?" he asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Your parents, and your uncle and Auntie Ruth." He said the woman's name with disdain. "What were they doing here?"

"My aunt wanted to visit me, so my mother thought it would be better to come along. They didn't expect to run into you at the club. And you know Aunt Ruth; she can be pretty intense when it comes to family." She stopped gingerly and took a long sip of her beer.

"Diana, you know that Ruth doesn't dislike me because of her intensity. The thing is, your family never accepted our divorce."

"My family never accepted our marriage, Fox."

Her words had the effect of a slap on his face. He was aware of not being a mother's first choice for a son-in- law, but in Diana's case, he had believed it had been because he was younger than her. Now he wasn't so sure about that.

"My parents used to say that you need two to make a commitment like marriage work, that I should reconsider my decision." she continued her bittersweet talk. "It felt strange to have them saying those things to me; I felt so adult at that time, so mature. And I had the conviction that I could make it work." She looked at him. "But you know what, Fox? My parents were right; two people are required to build a marriage."

"This is bullshit and you know it," he interrupted her, a bit of impatience in his voice. "I did love you, Diana, otherwise I would never have married you. You have to believe in that," he emphasized vehemently.

"I do, I believe in you. But both parts need to love equally. It doesn't work if one loves more than the other." She lowered her gaze to her manicured hands holding the beer. "I was thirty-one when we got married, I should have known better. The things you discover when you're forty."

The self-deprecating smile she directed at him made him drop his eyes and grab a napkin to victimize it. The force he used to twist the paper tore its ends in the same way her words had his guilt; he knew she was right on every single word she had said. His love had not been enough to hold a marriage. A conversation with a man he had never seen in his life and a stack of dusty files had been enough to divert his attention from the real commitment he should have been tied to.

"I'm so sorry, Diana."

"I don't need your pity, Fox."

He shut up and finished his beer in one gulp, then he called the server to bring him another one.

"So, you and Agent Scully, huh? After all these years, did you finally get lucky?"

"I would have if it wasn't for your aunt."

She flinched. "I'm sorry about that, too."

"You know," he continued in that pity voice so common to drunk buddies washing their souls with alcohol in a bar. "What hurt the most is to know that I'd been dreaming about that moment for years. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted her to trust me on this, to feel loved..."

The pained expression on her face made him stop abruptly. Maybe she was visiting old memories, the first time they had made love.

They had been so blind with lust, they couldn't see straight. They never made it to bed. There had never been lingering kisses for reassurance nor leisurely movements to undress each other; the closest they had gotten to those moments had been when he had sucked her neck while lifting up her skirt, and she had opened up his fly. Next, he just threw her against the nearest wall in her living room and fucked the hell out of her there, her legs locked around his hips, pulling him forward to encourage his thrusts. There had been no wine, no soft music, no kisses. There had been no romance at all. There had been just him pounding into her like a crazy animal while she groaned and urged his head against the silk of her blouse covering her breasts, her head banging the wall, cursing for more, begging for release. Afterwards, when their bodies were satiated, and they were no more than a heap of entangled limbs and fluids on the floor, had their real concerns come to the surface. 'Did I hurt you?' 'Was it good for you?' Wet kisses and gentle caresses, that whole night they sought forgiveness in each other's arms for their earlier eagerness.

The desire he felt to possess Scully's body had been at times painful for him; there were times when he would need to make a trip to the men's room to literally take the problem in his hands. Yet, those last couple of months made him realize that there was only one way to have the woman he loved and be satisfied with it: Scully would need to give herself freely to him, body and soul. There was no way for him to have and accept less than that and still survive afterwards.

And now, thanks to his big mouth, Diana knew that too.

"I don't think I'm the best person for you to talk about her with, Fox." She looked at him, a tiny sad smile on her face.

"Jesus, Diana. I'm sorry. I..." There were no words that could translate his discomfort before her; there was no image that could describe the look on her face.

"It's okay." She rose from the stool. "I should go. It's getting late and I don't want to face the traffic." She squeezed his hand. "Take care of yourself, Fox." His eyes were following her departure from the bar when she unexpectedly turned and walked back to where he was. "Whatever you decide to do, Fox, don't love too much. It hurts a lot."

He kissed her cheek. "Lucky the man who gets you, Diana." She forced another smile at him and this time she left for good.

After she had left, he remained in the bar thinking about what she had said. Don't love too much, as if he could avoid it. He no longer had control of his emotions. Scully was the heart bypass that kept them alive. And he would need another coronary surgery soon if she didn't come back to him.

He ignored the urge to consume more alcohol and threw some bills in the counter, then he headed back to the garage and his car. The traffic was still light and he got home in less than twenty minutes, Diana Krall's smooth voice keeping him company.

'Who could solve misunderstandings You're looking at me'

He would be the one to solve this misunderstanding and soon. They would go back to work on Monday and he couldn't have this rift between them. Not now, not anymore. He needed time to think about it and come up with a solution. He needed a quiet place to sort things out.

The beach house.

There was no elevator car available in the lobby of his building and he didn't want to wait for one, so he took the stairs two at time. When he reached the fourth floor and his apartment, he was out of breath, but he didn't stop.

He went to his bedroom and opened his closet. After retrieving a bag from it, he started to throw some clothes in the opened case; shorts, boxers, T-shirts, and some other not so casual clothing.

He still had hope.

In twenty minutes, he had showered, put on his favorite gray T-shirt and faded jeans, fed the fishes and packed any food that he was taking with him.

After turning off the lights, he closed the door and headed to the elevator. Just when he was back inside his car, he had the courage to make the call.

'Hi, this is Dana Scully. I can't talk to you right now, but leave a message and I'll call you later.'

"Scully, it's me... Mulder. I'm going to the beach house for a few days and, when I'm back, I hope we can talk... I miss you... and I want you to remember... I love you..."

His time with the answer machine was up and the connection was aborted.

He didn't have the time to tell her to never forget that.


Chapter 17

Three large balls of ice cream - vanilla, strawberry and pistachio - covered with a generous amount of thick chocolate that dripped over the edges of the sundae glass. There was a large, rounded cherry atop the sundae, its syrup sliding red on the snow-white whipped- cream. Mulder knew that the moment he dug deeper in the glass, he would find another equally juicy cherry strategically hidden there. It had always been Ben's treat for him, since he was the little boy who would spend a Sunday afternoon with his parents and little sister in the charming ice-cream shop in Quonochontaug. His father would hand him a ten and tell him to make his own order. 'You're in charge, Fox,' Bill Mulder would say, very seriously. And he, in all his six-year-old glory, would pick up the largest sundae in the store, which, in the end, his mother would have to help him to finish.

If his mother wasn't at his side now, he would have already swept the tiny droplets of chocolate dripping in the saucer, and then suck his finger with greedy lips. But he knew his mother; she would slap his hand and check his nails to be sure they were clean, and then, just then, she would admonish him right in front of everybody for his bad manners.

"How much do we owe you, Ben?"

Good old Ben looked tenderly at Mulder. "For this kind boy of yours, its five, Mrs. Mulder."

When Mulder saw his mother fumbling for loose change in her purse, he quickly pulled a five from his rear pocket.

"Do you want anything, Mom?" he asked before handing Ben the money.

The old man was chuckling. "That's the signal, Mrs. Mulder; whenever they start to pay their bills, we're losing them."

Mulder smiled tightly at Ben. His mother just ordered a Coke. He paid for the drink and they went outside and sat on the bench under the trees.

They had gone into town to buy a few items Mulder would need at the house; he had planned on fixing the front porch and painting his old bedroom. He had invited his mother along because he would need some instructions.

There hadn't been too many changes. The main street remained the same: old charming buildings leaving a narrow space on the sidewalk for the many pedestrians, and large streets that most of the time served no cars.

What did change was the people. Like him, now the little boys and girls he used to play with were men and women with responsibilities.

On their way to Ben's, he had met and waved to some faces he used to spend the summer with, now aged from the years and life: Jerry, his bike companion; Josh, the Girth Guy, now too thin and bald. Mary Anne, his first love. He smiled when he had recognized her. At the age of ten, he already had all his life visualized: marry Mary Anne, have children with her and be happy for the rest of his life. For Mary Anne it had worked; she was a proud married woman, mother of twins, with happiness and twenty more pounds stamped all over her face.

"What about you, Fox?" she had asked with a toothy smile, while pressing his elegant hand into her chubby ones.

Him? He was taller, elegant, not bad looking, wealthy. Divorced, lonely.

He found the extra cherry.

"What happened to the Virginia beach house, Mom?" he didn't know where that question came from; maybe from the divorced thing.

"What?"

"The beach house, in Virginia."

Teena put her drink aside. "I don't know, Fox. I haven't been there in years."

He avoided his mother's eyes. "Diana asked about it."

"Diana?" Teena asked surprised.

"She's back, Mom."

"Ah!"

Teena diverted her gaze to the little playground in the park. There were kids playing there. Little girls, little boys, toddlers. Smiling mothers and proud fathers. Her mien was pensive and distant.

"We're not together, Mom."

Teena kept her silence and he sighed, fumbling for another cherry he knew he would not find there.

His parents had never said a word about his marriage; in fact, they hadn't taken part in anything. From the beginning, he and Diana had had to decide alone together about everything, from the wedding day to the small details of the little reception they were putting together. When both parents snapped to reality and realized that the joining was inevitable, their only contribution had been material. Diana's parents paid for the reception and contributed to their honeymoon; his father presented him with the apartment, which he passed to Diana after the separation.

Now, during this process, Bob and Gail were constant participants they sheltered Diana until she left for Europe and did everything they could to hide from him her whereabouts.

"How is she?" Teena finally asked.

Mulder shuddered. "She's fine."

"I'm glad she coped well with the divorce."

"You were never interested in knowing if I coped well with the divorce," he spattered accusingly at her.

Teena placed her soda on the stone table and looked directly at his eyes. "You were the one who ended your marriage, Fox. I always felt here," she patted her chest right above her heart "that it would end like that."

"And why did you never tell me that?"

"Because since you were twelve, you were very independent, Mr. Fox William Mulder." He never knew his mother could speak with such disdain. "You never let us comfort you, Fox."

"You were never there to comfort me, Mom."

She lowered her eyes. Touche, he thought bitterly; he knew he was right.

"In the beginning we weren't there, Fox. And I can't imagine how it was for you. My only consolation is to know that you got it right." She surprised him by taking his hand in hers and squeezing it. "I'm so proud of you, son. And you should know your father was, too."

Mulder's mind tried to put together, in chronological order, all the goals he had achieved in order to make his parents proud of him. It had started in high school, soon after Samantha had disappeared. He had missed a lot of classes, and yet he had been the best student in his group, a fact that didn't change through the years, even when he joined the basketball and baseball teams.

He had always been the top everywhere; the top student at Oxford, the top recruit at Quantico. He could have been the top agent with the Bureau.

He had spent twenty-five years of his life looking for her daughter.

And his mother, of all people, chose this moment, when she had just thrown the fact that he was responsible for his failed marriage in his face, to tell him that she and his father were proud of him.

What was it about his mother that made him feel the urge to cry whenever she was around?

There were truths he wasn't ready to face.

He laughed nervously. "Where did this talk come from?"

Her touch was tender on his hand. "It's an overdue talk, Fox. Besides, you deserved to know."

He looked at their entwined hands. "I don't regret having gotten married, Mom."

"You will never believe it, but I don't either."

"Don't you?"

She shook her head. "How could I, Fox? I had the best years of my life being married to your father. I know he made some wrong decisions, and for that I still can't find in my heart the will to forgive him." She smiled tenderly at him. "But he gave me the most precious treasures I could have asked for in life. He gave me Samantha. And he gave me you."

For a few minutes, they shared an emotional silence.

"Sometimes I feel lonely, Mom," he said quietly.

"What about that young lady? Dana, isn't it?"

"She found out about Diana."

He waited for sympathetic words; he waited for a kiss or at least another touch of her hand; he waited for the reassurance that everything would be all right.

She said nothing, she did nothing.

He had expected too much.

There were things that never changed.

Awkwardly, he stood up and pointed to Ben's. "I'll get another sundae. Do you want something?"

She shook her head and once again fumbled in her purse, pulling out a ten. She slipped the money along the table in his direction. "Ask for two spoons; I'll share yours." There was love in her eyes. "There are things that should never change, Fox."

He got the money and smiled at her, then headed to the store to get their monstrous ice cream sundae.


Chapter 18

Scully was immersed in the tub. Her copper-framed head and the milk colored flesh on her bent knees were the only parts of her body unhidden by the warm bubbled water. At times like this, she wished her apartment was modern enough to hold a Jacuzzi; the relaxing movement of the water around her body and a glass of red wine would be the perfect medicine to soothe her stiff muscles and ease the tension from her body.

The day's activities had been intense. Between her duties in the lab and the effort to organize everything before her vacation, she had spent the entire day going from one microscope to another and taking notes.

At six o'clock, to her surprise, the agents at the lab invited her to a farewell gathering at Cardinal's. In accepting the invitation, she spent a pleasant evening with a group of nice people that, until two weeks ago, were nothing more than co-workers with a badge hanging on their white aprons' pocket. Now she carried their phone numbers and the promise that they would call to let her now about their next get together.

She hoped they would, she had liked them. During the past five years, she hadn't befriended too many people, which made the friendship of the six Lab Rats - as they called themselves - a small victory in her so called Ice Queen life at Quantico, and in her recent life as Mrs. Spooky, with Mulder.

She propped her left foot on the edge of the cool porcelain and pretended to study the tip of her toes.

Mulder. Five billion people in the world didn't make a difference if he wasn't there, making Earth a more interesting place to live in with his presence.

She missed his wit and his melancholic joy. His intelligence, his beautiful mind. She missed his smile, his innuendoes.

His touch.

She let her lathered hands slide down the column of her throat and closed her eyes.

Last weekend, she had wandered around her house, making up answers for the questions and what ifs swirling around her mind: what if they had stayed at her apartment? What if he hadn't called her every night to let her know about his plans for their weekend together, building all that expectation inside of her? What if they hadn't met that wicked woman?

What if she had never discovered he had been married?

At that point, her train of thought would run in an entirely different direction.

That was when she would start to imagine what would have happened. His hands would have traced a path of fire all over her skin, his lips travelling through the same path to cool down her aching body. His fingers would have ventured south on her, exploring the moistened area of her depths, getting familiar with it, to invade her later in full force.

Then she would open her eyes and discover her slender fingers making the same exploration she had so vividly pictured him doing in her dreams.

She breathed deeply and reached out to grab a towel. It would be useless to wish for things that would not be; at least not until he came back from Quonochontaug and they could talk.

Scully wrapped her pinky flushed body in the silk Chinese robe given to her by Melissa years ago and redid the bun atop her head.

She was deciding whether or not to brew a cup of tea when the phone rang. She knew it wasn't Mulder for it was not his style. He would not bother calling; he would just come.

"Hello."

"Dana, hi." It was the adult version of Charlie's fatigued voice. The moving must have taken its toll on him.

"You sound tired. Rough day?" she asked sympathetically.

He released a dramatic sigh, making her roll her eyes. She fluffed the cushions on the sofa before adjusting them on her back. Charlie's sighs had always meant one thing: long talks involving nothing and everything.

"Not really." His voice was low and quiet, the one used to lull babies into sleep. "It's just that, there are boxes all over the house, Louise baked this chocolate cake... I remembered home, our constant moving in." His laugh was the one born of embarrassment. "I guess I just got nostalgic, wanted to talk."

Scully relaxed further against the cushions as her heart carried her back to a time when her family used to be constantly moving.

New cities, states, countries. Once or twice, a new continent. There were times when she had longed for the memories Bill had about this period of their lives. The times her father had been transferred to a different, exotic country. She was too young to burn the images and contours of this whole new world, but old enough to absorb the tastes and essences of different things, now dearly associated with childhood.

She was ten when her father had been shipped back to the States and twelve when they settled for good in Baltimore. She smiled fondly at the remembrance of her father's smiling face as he proudly drove along the road that led to their house, her mother's house now. He would take her mother's hand in his while his other firmly gripped the steering wheel, and talk sweetheart secrets and dreams that the two of them had shared until the day he died, five years ago.

"Do you remember how it used to be, Dana?"

"Yes, I do," she replied, her voice as sweet as the smile sprouting on her face.

"I remember that we would be so naughty. Mom never knew what to do to stop our crankiness... That was when she would make chocolate cake and our bad mood would vanish in no time." He chuckled.

She smiled, reliving her fondest memories about that chocolate cake. Through the years and many moves, it had became quite a tradition in the Scully household.

They had been four children full of energy and temperament. Their parents had tried everything to entertain them during their long travels from one place to another, but the final result was always the same; they wouldn't be tired enough to rest nor rested enough to willingly help their mom and daddy. By the fifth move, her mother found the cure; for naughty kids, chocolate cake.

She remembered the smell of cocoa while the cake was baking into the oven, and the way its warmth helped to wash away all their sorrows for leaving behind friends, school, their last house. She could feel on her tongue the thick chocolate frosting melting inside her mouth, discovering why the chocolate she licked off of the tips of her fingers was slightly saltier than the one that she licked from her teeth.

Her brow knitted in concentration as she stirred her tongue inside of her mouth, searching for the taste of the cake that didn't come into her mind.

"I don't remember how it tasted, Charlie," she whispered very softly.

"I don't remember either," her brother's voice equaled her own. "I suggested Louise bake the cake, Dana. I thought that I wanted to tame my kids, like Mom used to tame us." He sounded frustrated. "It wasn't the same. The same recipe, the same ingredients, but it wasn't the same."

"Maybe it's not supposed to be the same anymore, Charlie. We're not children anymore." Frustrated, she realized she was seeking comfort in her own words. 'I want to believe,' she thought sadly.

"I have another theory: I believe we remember things that need to be remembered."

"But without our memories, what are we, Charlie?" she asked in what she wished not to be a teary voice.

"I'm not saying that we should dismiss our memories, Dana. They're experiences, they make us what we are today. I just believe they need to be renovated once in a while." His breath waved in soft blows of air into the phone, cherished sounds of comfort and peace she had sought so much this past week. "The cake is still delicious, Dana. It's just not the same. It's kind of... a new flavour," he added tenderly.

Scully felt a solitary tear dropping from her eye. She pressed her finger against the velvet skin of her face to stop it from reaching her cheek. It had been a long time since the raw emotion constantly hidden inside her heart made itself appear freely and without reservation. Yet, she felt brave.

"Do you think I could have a slice of it?" she asked timidly, seeking for reassurance.

"Sure you could. When?"

"How about tomorrow, at noon?"

"You just call me when you get into the airport and I'll pick you up."

Her chin was quivering as she smiled. "Thank you, Charlie."

She could feel him smile as well. "Anytime, Sis."

She heard his tired silence over the phone for a few seconds and decided to end their conversation. If she was planning to be in Denver by early evening, she needed to have things ready in the morning.

Just when she was going to say her goodbye, he called her name again. "Dana."

"Yes," she replied in a whisper of voice.

"Before you board the plane tomorrow, be sure that you really don't want to bake your own cake. Good night, Sis."

She put the receiver back on its cradle to recharge the battery and slipped on the sofa, her head resting on its arm.

She sighed and wondered.

To bake her own cake.


Chapter 19

Scully was nervous; she observed the passers-by with dull eyes. Any other time, she would have used the nameless faces as a distraction. She would settle into one of those hard-to-sit-in plastic chairs, encased in one of her too professional suits, holding an expression resembling seriousness and competence. Would a mind- reader happen to be strolling around the area, her facade would be completely transparent.

She would be studying; the people walking up and down the halls of the airport would be the subjects of her scrutiny. A hurried well-dressed man pushing a carry-on bag towards the boarding area - a businessman running late for a meeting? maybe a married man with a double life? She knew Mulder would have come up with something entirely different: a man on the run leaving no trace behind him, carrying dark, forbidden, wretched secrets inside of his briefcase.

Many times they would share knowing smiles when they had gotten the same profile. A mother smiling lovingly to her baby - bliss; a child running over the crowded space, oblivious to the world surrounding her - innocence; a family gathering, the father scooping up his child and kissing his wife while walking hand in hand in the insanity that an airport could be - total happiness.

Once she had been admiring with fascinated eyes an old couple sharing an embrace two rows of chairs ahead of her. They could have been in their late sixties, early seventies, she wasn't sure. From her sitting place, all she had been allowed to see was their smoky grey curly hair and dark skin. Only when the old man faced his lady had she been able to see that the skin on their faces showed almost no wrinkles, no marks of life that had passed by them. As a medical doctor, she knew that dark skin had more elasticity and resistance to the effects of time; as a human being, she had her response the moment the woman smiled tenderly at her companion, cupping with tender hands the face her eyes proved to be too much loved.

Joy, she had seen joy working its magic in life, proving wrong biology. Involuntarily, she had turned her attention to the man sitting beside her. His hazel eyes were showering her with awe and adoration, reserved only for the one person you loved the most. He must have been sustaining his gaze on her for some time; it had taken him two full seconds to awkwardly blink back to his senses and ask her what was the matter. There had been none; just joy. She had seen joy in his eyes. She had been happy; she had been afraid.

The digital display hanging on the wall announced that the plane she had been waiting for had just arrived. The flight from Boston was fifteen minutes late. Problems in the departure, but nothing to worry about, the receptionist had told her. Now both her worries would be over; Mulder's mother would be coming any minute through the gateway and she would discover what could possibly be so important for Mrs. Mulder to call her at her apartment that early in the morning. Scully had pondered the meaning of the call the whole morning. Mrs. Mulder hadn't been too specific; just asked Scully to please meet her at the airport at 10:30. When Scully had asked why, Mrs. Mulder just said she had something she would like to give her son, but she hadn't been able to get a hold of him. So, she had asked if Scully could keep it for her and give it to Fox. Even if she could escape him the weekend, she would have to face him at work on Monday, and her flight to Denver wouldn't leave until after lunch. So, she had agreed.

Mrs. Mulder was a tall woman; it wasn't difficult for Scully to find her among the people coming through the gate. She was as elegant as Scully remembered her to be. She was wearing a floral sun dress, a sober dark color that went well with the thick golden necklace and golden studs in her ears, her pale complex accentuated by a soft shade of pink lipstick. A purse hanging on her shoulder and the small package she was holding in her hands, and Teena Mulder was an interesting combination of beauty and discretion. She held out her hand towards Scully.

"Thanks, Miss Scully, for coming in such short notice."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Mulder."

Teena smiled. "I called Fox, but he wasn't at home. I have something I want him to keep for me for the time being."

Scully looked uneasily at her. "We had a few days off. I believe he is at your summer house."

"It could be. He has been making some small changes there." Teena gestured to the cafeteria. "I still have a few minutes to spare before taking my trip to Florida. Do you care to join me for some coffee?"

"Absolutely."

Surprisingly, the cafeteria wasn't crowded, even on a normal Thursday morning. They found a discreet place in the back of the restaurant and ordered their coffees.

Teena was composed and calm when she pushed on the table the package she had been carrying with so much care. Scully kept her hands folded in her lap.

"My grandmother gave me that when I got married, almost forty years ago." Teena smiled fondly at the blue package. "That was her wedding gift for me." She pointed the package to Scully. "You can open it if you want."

Scully was startled with the openness of her partner's mother. She had seen Mrs. Mulder what, two, three times prior to this day. And, although the older woman was not treating her as a close friend, there was no way in denying that her real intentions were to share personal details of her life with Scully. She flinched, uncomfortable with this attempt at intimacy.

"I don't think that would be a good idea, Mrs. Mulder."

"You know," Teena started, not paying attention to Scully's last words; a genetic trait, for sure. "When Fox got married, Bill and I, we had a hard time deciding what to give him. Even though we were divorced, and the fact that Fox hadn't talked to his father in years, Bill called me; we still were his parents." She stopped to thank the waitress that brought them their orders. "After weeks of debating, we decided to give them a home. Bill bought him a nice apartment in DC area. As for myself, I still didn't know in my heart what to give him." She offered again the package to Scully. "Could you please open it, Dana?"

Hearing her given name being pronounced by a Mulder person had something like magic in it, it was charming. Curious, she picked up the package in her hands.

It was heavier than she had thought. When she had first seen the parcel, she thought it was a book. It had the dimensions and shape of a book, a thin one, kind of like a Harlequin paperback. Scully bit the inside of her mouth to suppress a smile when she thought of her partner reading Harlequin material. But it couldn't be a Harlequin, it wasn't flexible. Quite the contrary, its surface was rigid, its extremities didn't bend when she forced them down. And now, touching the material, feeling its surface through the wrapping paper, she could see that it wasn't plain either; there were some imperfections on its edges.

Carefully to not tear the paper, and to not show her anxiety, she pulled the edges of the Scotch tape with her fingernails, briefly diverting her eyes to Mrs. Mulder face. She was the prototype of calmness. 'Screw this,' Scully thought as she pulled the contents at once, not bothering with torn papers or unmasked anxiety anymore.

The object she had in her hands took her breath away.

It was a picture frame, but not an ordinary one. Scully studied the object with the tip of her fingers, memorizing its texture and its outlines, her eyelids dropping with wonder. The material was clear to her. Metal, golden metal; its surface sparkled under the rays of light coming through the large windows of the restaurant. For a moment, she wondered if it was made of pure gold...

She had been right; the surface was not perfect on its sides. There were tiny flowers sculpted there, resembling tiny tulips, one tulip in particular going from the base to the top of the frame, advancing half an inch where the photo was.

Almost immediately, the photo captivated her. There were two smiling faces staring back at her: a toothless little girl, whose face she had gotten so fond of those past five years, and the proud boy she had grown to love as a man. They were sitting on a log, the boy's arm encircling his sister's shoulder. They seemed to be in a forest, trees and wild flowers surrounded them and the meadow was greener than the rest of the foliage. It had been a sunny day, the flecks of light pecking through the top of the trees created the false illusion that the children's hair was one or two shades softer than she remembered having seeing in other snapshots. The picture was such a perfect recreation of magic and fantasy, that Scully could swear the butterfly resting in Samantha's hair was actually a fairy blessing them.

"The frame has been in my family for ages. My great- grandfather gave it to my grandmother as a wedding gift. He had it specially made for her," Teena started, her eyes lost at some point in her past. "He had told Granny Lilly that it had been made for her to keep and treasure her best memory." She smiled. "Since then, it has been fair game in weddings." Teena sipped her tea and Scully turned her attention back to the portrait. "I have two other sisters, both married too. Granny had a hard time deciding who should have this."

Scully was far beyond caring to feign a lack of interest anymore; she leaned forward to better hear Mrs. Mulder.

"Granny Lilly was my father's mom. Anyway, she didn't know who should have the picture frame. Jane was the oldest; she had assumed she would be the one to have it. But she had been wrong; Granny gave it to me." Teena paused and played with the edges of the frame, then looked back at Scully. "She thought mine would be the most successful one. For some time she had been right, but then..."

Scully looked uncomfortably at Mrs. Mulder and saw when the vivacious gleam in her eyes faded as she talked about her failed marriage. Scully wanted to tell her to stop, that she wasn't interested in knowing about the Mulders' wedding misfortunes, that she didn't want to hear any of this... But she also didn't like to lie.

As if sensing her discomfort, Teena cleared her throat and continued. "A week before the marriage, Fox and Diana invited me and her parents to have dinner together. That night we were supposed to give them our presents. I gave them the documents of the apartment Bill had bought them and Diana's parents presented them with the tickets for their honeymoon and a check to cover the expenses of the ceremony. And I had this" - she pointed at the portrait - "wrapped and was ready to give to them when I looked at Gail. She was smiling and being gentle with Fox, but I felt the sadness in her eyes sting my heart. And I knew she must have been feeling the same thing every time she looked at mine." Teena looked very seriously at Scully. "I couldn't make the same mistake my Granny had made; I couldn't turn this into a part of another failed marriage. I gave them a generous check, instead."

Scully breathed deeply and stared back at the portrait Teena was pushing in her direction. Tentatively, she reached out and brushed the glass holding the picture in place with her pads. She traced Mulder's face, estimating that he couldn't have been more than ten when they took the photograph.

"This photo is pretty old, Miss Scully; this needs to be replaced. I believe that now Fox is ready to make the replacement if he ever has the chance."

Scully said nothing, nor looked at Mrs. Mulder. She just kept her cool exterior, her eyes staring intently at the picture.

A singsong voice was calling the passengers of flight seven fifty-two to Florida to get ready and board the plane.

"It's my call; I have to go."

Scully accompanied Mrs. Mulder through the long hall of the airport, until they reached the check-in stand.

"Quonochontaug is very beautiful this time of the year. The waters seem to be greener in the summer." Teena grinned. "Our house in Chilmark is in the middle of the hills and forests, the woody part of the island. And it's really chilly up there." She chuckled. "That was why Fox and Sammy - no; I must say the whole family - loved the summer house so much; the temp is always inviting down there." Teena handed her ticket to the clerk. "We loved to go there by train or by bus. By train, we would make a lovely trip through the railway adorned with trees and flowers, but it's better in spring."

Scully watched disinterested as the clerk stamped and detached the boarding pass. "But when you cross one of the bridges to get to the beach, the journey is unforgettable. The water is so green..."

Teena thanked the clerk when he handed the ticket back to her and looked at Scully. "Fox once told me that you belonged to the sea. Nobody who belongs to the sea should miss The Island this time of the year." She extended the blue package to Scully. "Thanks for coming, Miss Scully. And please, make sure Fox gets this."

Scully just nodded and watched Mrs. Mulder's departure. She met another old lady halfway and together the two of them walked past the glass door, towards the boarding gate.

As Scully made her way back to her car, two things became clear to her: one - Mrs. Mulder knew Mulder's whereabouts; and two - she had been set up.

And there was one more thing that she didn't want to think about, but that was impossible to just ignore: his mother hadn't wanted the marriage.

But he had wanted it; he had loved and he had married another woman. And yet that wasn't enough information for her to hate him. He hadn't known her at that time.

He had told her he loved her. He had lied for her, bargained for her, crossed half the world to have her back.

All his actions, all his gestures, were they the voice of guilt?

She knew he blamed himself for everything bad that had happened to her since they'd met; he had tried to send her away to keep her safe. In fact, more than once since they started going out together, she wondered if his first move hadn't been caused by the belief that the X- Files would remain closed forever.

She knew she was loved, but she was also aware that there were too many things more important than the love he felt for her. And she hated to admit that her greatest fear since she had accepted his first invitation for lunch, had been that the day would come when he would tell her they were through because she was holding him back.

'You made me a whole person.'

With his baggage, any person that had stayed at his side for half a decade would be considered his other half. Other halves didn't just go away; they remained. Even broken, they remained.

Diana had been broken. And she left.

Scully never let him explain his actions, even knowing that he would never break her.

And she had just left.

She was confused, without a clue about what to do next.

Things should be easier now.

Things could be easier now.

All she had to do was take that plane. She was already running late.

She reached for her cellphone and pressed the battered speed dial. On the third ring, it was answered.

"Hi, mom; it's me... No, I'm fine, just running late; I have a plane to catch... No, in two hours... No, mom, listen... Mom! I need your help."


Chapter 20

The beer was sliding down his throat in little rivulets of bitterness and refreshment, making him whimper a delicious "ah" when he put the can back on the table. His cousin's brown eyes were looking at him in amusement.

"I see that you've finally learned how to enjoy a beer, huh, Fox?"

Mulder offered a mute salute to Daniel and took another long sip of the cool beverage. "I've spent seven years in England. If there's something I should know, it's how to drink a beer."

"Didn't know English people were this frantic for beer."

"Not necessarily for beer, but it's spice and can easily be found in pubs." Mulder took another large gulp of his beer. "You should live a little, Cousin Daniel."

Daniel smiled sarcastically. "Psychologists and FBI Agents should drink, considering this life of yours. But me." He pointed pitifully at himself. "I'm just a civil engineer with an ordinary life. I don't need this kind of thing." Daniel touched his beer to Mulder's.

"Sounds good."

"In twenty years we can sit back at this same table and have this same chat, then I'll have an answer for you."

Mulder nodded. It had taken him almost ten years to sit down and talk to his cousin again. And to think that he and Daniel had grown up together.

Despite their six year age difference, they had always been good friends. Aunt Jane and Uncle Thomas, Daniel's parents, didn't always live on the Vineyard; they lived in New York, but they too had a summerhouse on the island. So, a great part of their childhood was spent in that little piece of heaven surround by the ocean and gentle breezes. Daniel was the only child in his house, so he had adopted Mulder as a surrogate younger brother and Sammy as his little sister.

Daniel was as devastated as Mulder when Sam was taken.

The summer following Sam's abduction, Mulder was left alone on the island; Daniel had gone to college. Then Mulder had gone to Oxford and Daniel had gotten married. A few years later, when it was Mulder's time to get married, they'd met again. The two couples had gone out together a few times. The last time he had seen Daniel had been the summer before his divorce, when Daniel and Emmanuelle had visited them in Virginia. Since then, there had been some emails, letters and calls, but having his cousin at the table in the back yard of his aunt's house sharing some beers beat the hell out of artificial correspondence.

"Oh, come on. Life can't be that bad."

"I'll send Chris and Gillian to spend a summer with you, then you tell me."

Mulder thought about Daniel's kids and Jason and Caroline. They were almost the same age. He and Scully would have a handful with them, but it could be fun.

If he ever got Scully back, that is.

"I'll have to set everything with the little wife before you can send them."

Daniel smiled. "Oh, man. Don't tell. You really want me to believe that this Scully woman does exist?"

"Dan, don't upset Fox." Emma stepped into the back yard, stealing her husband's beer. "Don't pay attention to him, Fox."

"In my entire life I never did, I'm not doing it now."

"Good." Emma patted Mulder's head tenderly. "I've started dinner. Are you staying? This house is too big without the children and mom in it."

"Next time you should listen to me, instead of sending them away to some theme park on the other side of the country," Daniel said as he pushed her into a sitting position on the arm of his chair, encircling her waist with his tanned arms.

Emmanuelle ruffled Daniel's blond hair softly and talked to her husband as if he was a child listening to the tell tale of flowers and bees for the first time. "They're at Disneyland, love, with the school group. And it's for just two weeks. They will be fine." She smiled at Mulder. "I'm sure Cousin Fox does have a lot of ideas of what to do while we're all here, don't you, Fox?"

"In fact I was planning on painting the house..."

"The house? You said it was just your bedroom."

"And it was, but now that Emma made you disposable..."

"Do you see what you did?" Daniel slapped his wife's knee. "Now I'll have to work on my vacation." Emmanuelle smiled down at him and kissed his lips.

Mulder lowered his eyes and thought about what he had left back in Washington. He missed her terribly.

"Folks, the chat was terrific, but I really need to get going."

"Have dinner with us, Fox."

For a moment he had been tempted to accept the invitation, but then he would have to face a very romantic couple glancing at each other for an entire evening and he wasn't up to it.

"Thanks, Emma, but I really have to go. It looks like it's going to rain cats and dogs." The skies were getting that deep shade of blue announcing pouring rain.

"You'll never make it back to your house in time, Fox. Maybe you should just stay here."

"That's okay, I'll be fine. If I go now, I may have a chance." He started jogging to the low gate in the yard. "See you tomorrow, rain or shine, bright and early," he shouted at Daniel.

"Don't expect me there that early."

He waved at Emma and picked his way along the beach. The summerhouse was not that far from his aunt's. If he found the right pace in his running, he could be home in ten, fifteen minutes.

The rain had other plans.

Less than five minutes from his leaving, the beach was being covered by the transparent veil of water coming from the skies. In no time, his hair was splattered all over his head, and that stubborn lock of hair that kept falling onto his forehead was now doubly inconvenient: it slowed down his rhythm every time he had to whip the bothersome drops of water that his soaked bangs kept sending into his eyes, which also made him momentarily lose some of the leverage his hands gave him.

He couldn't blink fast enough to dispel the drops of water running into his eyes. He shook his head to ease the task a little bit, and then an amount of water twice as large found its way through his long eyelashes, along his face and down his nose. Breathing was getting difficult too: he was getting tired from the run in the wet, heavy sand, and from his effort of pulling air in without inhaling water.

But even all those drawbacks couldn't make him appreciate this stunning phenomenon of nature any less.

Blue was making room for gold and orange as the rain washed the dark clouds away; specks of purple and orange were emerging from the horizon ahead of him, enlacing its spectrum of colors with the green ocean. He wondered if it was too late on that summer evening for a rainbow.

He turned away from the sand and started to climb up the bank that separated his house from the beach. The water had made the soil slippery, and once or twice he had to grab the grass and dry roots to keep from falling.

Stunned, he stopped a few feet from the house to admire and worship Heaven on the front porch with surprised eyes.

When he was seven or eight, he had gone fishing with his father and they had gotten lost. They had walked in circles for hours and hours with no end. He was already tired, wanting his mother and his bed; he remembered that he had even wanted Samantha. All the little fish he had managed to catch and had been carrying in a plastic bag filled with water were not important anymore.

He just wanted the safety of his home.

He had been afraid, terrified. He was afraid of never seeing his toys or his friends again. He had been afraid of never going back home. His father just dragged him along the forest, large hands never letting go of his little one. Bill Mulder kept walking, a pack securely attached onto his back while his other hand held firmly the flashlight that illuminated their way.

Always calm.

He remembered that he was ready to embarrass himself doing something in his pants when he recognized the pathway that led to their house.

Later that night, when he had already pulled on his Scooby Doo pajamas and his father was tucking him into bed, he had asked his father if in any moment he had been afraid of never finding home again.

'You'll always find home if you just keep looking into the sky, Fox; Heaven is always different when It illuminates your home.'

Now, remembering the faint brush of his father's lips against his forehead, he realized that his old man had been a wise one.

Heaven was different on the front porch of his home.

There were the same colors, red and blue and gold, primary colors that mixed together, creating a shade that just his eyes were gifted to see.

Blue and white carried Heaven closer to him in the woody steps and its rosy arms timidly embraced themselves together. A thin layer of white opened hesitantly to him. Tiny shades of green, purple and vibrancy confused in the pallet of life and joy, mixing together the colors that made Heaven his beacon of light in the front porch.

In the pouring rain, he smiled.

She had come.


Chapter 21

"Excuse me."

Mara, Betty's daughter, was approaching them, carrying Mulder and Scully's orders, when Scully rose from her chair.

"What? What happened?" Mulder held her hand and stood up as well.

Skinner looked at the female agent, too.

"Nothing; I'm fine, Mulder."

"Scully..."

She caressed Mulder's face. "It's okay. I just need some air."

Skinner could tell Mulder wasn't entirely convinced, but he let her go.

"I'm just going down the street. I'll be right back." She turned to face Skinner. "Excuse me, sir."

Skinner silently nodded at her. Mulder's gaze followed her until she disappeared through the front door, then he sat back at the table.

"Is she going to be all right?"

The question sounded pathetic even to his own ears. Of course it would take a long time for Scully to piece together her shattered dignity and be fine again; longer than it would take Mulder.

"I hope so," Mulder said, his eyes sagging into the table. "For my own sanity, I hope so."

Skinner looked at the man sitting in front of him, and felt the urge to beat the selfish bastard into a pulp with his bare hands. How could he be such a son of a bitch to the point of not seeing what was beyond his own needs and purposes, of not seeing his partner suffering?

But then, where was the novelty of it? Mulder had always been like that, even when he was married. Skinner was surprised to see that Scully had lasted that long at his side, accumulating the functions of lover, co-worker and shrink. But then, Scully was an exceptional woman. She had stayed and succeeded where others had tried and given up.

Then a second later he looked at the agent's miserable expression. Mulder hadn't shaved, wasn't eating, and at this point Skinner doubted he would shave and eat again until the end of their ordeal. The minute Scully had left his side, all the composure and security that momentarily gleamed into his eyes were gone.

Skinner decided to give Mulder the benefit of doubt. And for once that morning, he acted not like the superior, but as a friend.

"Are you all right, Mulder?"

Mulder said nothing; he kept staring at the plate of pancakes Mara had just put before him. When he looked back at Skinner, his eyes were blank, seeking a response in the air.

"I can't be without her, sir."

Plain and simple as day, Mulder's words hit Skinner right in the gut. He knew that there was a real possibility that their partnership would not survive the hearing. What he hadn't realized was that the lovers relationship could end right here, at that diner table. And if it really happened, he knew Mulder would not stand a chance. Mulder without Scully was not a nice sight; it was plain pitiful. He felt bad because there wasn't a single thing he could do to help the couple; even an offer of support would sound empty and insufficient.

"She is a fighter, Mulder. She's not going to leave you like this."

A puff of air that sounded like a snort sagged Mulder's shoulders. "She resigned for less than this."

Skinner thought about the letter Scully had delivered after the hearing in June. He hadn't tried to talk her out of the decision. The document was still locked in his bottom desk drawer, without his signature on it.

"She stayed, Mulder."

"Until when? Scully is a proud woman. She worked really hard to be where she is now."

"Maybe now she is where she wanted to be."

"Scully doesn't live on maybes." Mulder lowered his eyes back to the plate, repeating in a small voice, "She doesn't live on maybes."

Skinner was pushing the eggs on his plate from one side to the other. He had lost his appetite.

"You can't act like that, Mulder. She will need your strength the same way you will need hers."

Mulder rubbed his face. "She will have my strength, sir. I'd never deny that to her. This time I'm ready to support her in whatever decision she decides to make."

"She will make the right one."

Mulder started to break some toothpicks in small pieces, lost in a place Skinner was not allowed to go.

"What about the bust?"

"Hum?"

"The bust," Mulder repeated, reaching for another toothpick. "That was a bust, wasn't it?"

Skinner fidgeted in his seat. "It was a drug trade, supposed to happen in your room."

"What happened? Did you find something?" He smirked at Skinner. "No, let me change the question; you sure found more than you were supposed to. Did you find the UNSUBs?"

"Yes, Mulder. There was a truck parked outside; the exchange was being made there."

The team that was keeping vigil outside the motel was radioed to check the truck immediately after the fiasco inside. And there they were, twelve men that didn't put up a fight to the team of fifty well armed officers from FBI, ATF and DEA combined. Skinner had been so caught up with his agents indiscretion, that he almost missed all the entertainment rolling outside.

But then, he had missed even Mulder's car parked by the curb.

"But it doesn't make sense," Mulder said, confused. "We were there; we heard nothing. And later, when we left, there was no evidence of an arrest."

"You were in shock, Mulder," Skinner said comprehensively. "It is natural; you had suffered a major trauma."

For him, the man that looked down into his plate holding back tears in no way resembled the witty, driven, real pain-in-the-ass agent he was used to working with. Once again, Skinner felt utterly helpless.

"This is not fair," Mulder said without lifting his gaze. "We're together for just two months. This is our second weekend together like this. We were supposed to be lying in a B
B in Virginia countryside..."

Skinner managed to swallow without spilling coffee all over the table. Two months together? Second weekend like that? What the hell...

Then he understood.

Holy shit!

They had been lovers for no more than two weeks.

He must have proffered the words aloud, because next Mulder looked at him with the eyes of a man that had been brought back to reality after shock therapy.

"I won't talk about it," he said, blushing furiously. "Even if I wanted to, you'd never understand." He looked like a stray dog lost in traffic with nowhere to go. Finally he found his destination and pointed at the entrance of the restaurant. "I..."

He didn't complete his sentence; he just went after his partner.

Skinner stared at the man walking towards the door. In one thing he had been right: Skinner didn't understand, but he wanted to.

He wanted to understand why Mulder had waited this long to act on the desire the whole Bureau knew he had always felt for his partner. He also wanted to understand how Scully, the most straight and by the book agent he ever had under his supervision, had succumbed to her partner's charm. He wanted to know how they had managed to be one of the most efficient teams in the FBI with all this sexual tension between them for all those years.

He wanted to understand what this so called being in love thing was like.


Chapter 22

There were sounds.

The rain was still falling in large droplets from the sky until it splashed onto the ground, spilling whispers of water in the grass. It was too late for the sun to show up again after the rain, but the rays of light would be strong enough to dry the landscape once the water ceased to fall.

It didn't matter to him; it made no difference.

For him, there were only sounds.

The sound of her sweet voice calling his name when she ran down the steps of the porch, her tiny feet smashing water into wood, then into grass.

He heard air being separated by the sudden movement of his long arms being opened to welcome her into his embrace.

He heard time going still when he kissed her and she kissed him back.

There was the sound of their laughter when he professed all the love he felt for her while spinning her around, her hair changing the direction of the rain every time it swirled around her face.

There was the sound of their joy.


They made it to his bedroom.

As far as he was aware, only their soaked shoes were left behind, kicked off outside the front door.

But then, when he opened his eyes, seeing that she was real before him, he realized that they were completely naked.

She was standing in front of him, her eyes as turquoise and quiet as the waters on a virgin beach.

He wanted to touch her, but he held his desire back. There would be plenty of time for that later. Now he just wanted to memorize her face.

Blind fingers wandered reverently over the white flesh of her forehead. He loved that part of her; from there came all the smart remarks and scientific theories she shared with him. He cherished that structure of flesh and bones that guarded the beautiful mind he loved so much.

His lips brushed the pathway his fingers had just charted. She closed her eyes and he smiled. He kissed her eyes, her nose, her chin. She gripped the hands that were cradling her face and kissed his forearm. He moaned her name before pressing his lips to hers. She let go of his arms and cupped his checks tenderly. One of his hands slipped all the way down her arm and onto her stomach, his fingers studying the texture, feeling the peachiness of the skin that molded her.

He let his fingers cup her breast and felt on their tips the beating of her heart. She made a pleasant sound against his mouth and he couldn't take it any longer.

Gently yet firmly, he pushed her body along the mattress of his bed.

The first time his naked body touched hers in its all extension, he was reminded of sensations already shared with others. Yet, with her it was still new. A myriad of sensations, positive vibrations emitted by the shuddering body pressed against his own.

He held her head firmly against the pillow, his eyes roving over her perfect lithe frame, anticipating the caresses his hands were to give her.

He found himself cloistered in the kaleidoscope of contrasts their union formed: large frame against a tiny one; his hands discovering curves, hers muscles; his fingers reaching deepness, hers exploring his length. New sensations that he had to discover with her, feelings he wished only he could reveal to her. Places never explored, opposites mingling together to create a new definition of making love. Slowly all his senses evaded him. For him there were no more sounds, no more voices, no more sight.

He was a blind man; her body was a white page, his only link to the world. If he wanted to survive in a world without senses, he needed to learn her, to read her. He needed to print himself into her with his kisses, his caresses, his love. He was a blind man discovering for the first time how to read, how to distinguish the map of her and never forget it.

His wandering hands explored her body, his lips acknowledging what made her be Dana Katherine Scully. So many small things, small wonders. Her small perfectly rounded breasts, her smooth abdomen, the curve where her narrow waist expanded to form her hips. Her shaped thighs, the copper 'v' forming a fur curtain between her legs, red lips hidden behind it.

He found them. He kissed those lips for the first time, his tongue darting forward, searching for the little, swollen version of pleasure he new he would find there.

Slowly he started to distinguish sounds again.

He heard sheets rustling under her feet; he heard the soft rasp of his hands over her legs, holding her in place; he heard unintelligible, throaty sounds coming from her as she urged him against her.

He heard his name coming from her mouth when she came in his. Hot, liquid, sweet.

Scully.

He needed to see her face.

His lips where guiding him back through the same pathway he had just explored. The flatness of her stomach, the salience of her breasts, the shallow hole of her throat. The stream of her lips providing him with cool water, washing her off him, gifting him with new life.

She needed to know.

He needed to tell her what she was doing to him; he needed to tell her what he had read in her book, what he had learned. He needed to tell her about her sweetness, the tang, tart taste he had found only in her.

The blue beacon of light coming from her eyes blinded him again, its intensity wiped from his memory what he had read, what he had learned.

But he had to tell her, he had to share with her what he had discovered, what he had learned. He had to find a way to communicate.

He kissed her again. He let her roll him onto the mattress and straddle him. He let her lips kiss and taste him. He let her swallow him, devour him entirely. He just stopped her when he was ready to explode.

He pulled her up against him and then rolled her back.

He looked deep inside of her eyes and then sank completely inside of her.

They rocked together until his finger joined them inside of her. Then she stopped, she shuddered, she came. They came.


He was holding her against his chest and her small fingers were making lazy circles around his nipples. He felt her blink against him and place a faint kiss over his heart. He pulled the sheets more firmly around their bodies and kissed her hair, muttering a soft, "I love you," against the red threads.

He could close his eyes and sleep with no fear.

She was there.


Chapter 23

The rain had stopped some time ago. Scully observed its last vestiges sliding down the window. She considered leaving her place in their bed to close the blinds, but she didn't want to disturb Mulder, who was sleeping on her shoulder, his left arm resting possessively over the sheet covering her breasts.

They had slept for a couple of hours before she woke him up, kissing his nose. She had meant for them to talk, but when his eyes locked with hers, they reached the silent agreement that talk would come later, that for now they would just enjoy their new intimacy. They made love one more time and it was almost midnight when she finally dragged him out of bed.

She borrowed one of his T-shirts and went downstairs to fix something to eat while he picked up their wet clothes, scattered all over the floor in the bedroom. Thinking about that now, she hoped that he hadn't put her pink twin set in the same basket with her jeans.

He met her downstairs and, after he had picked up the duffel bag she had left outside, they ate the cheese sandwiches she had made, cleaned up the kitchen and went back to bed. When they were settled, he pulled off her T-shirt and his boxers, telling her they wouldn't sleep until he made her come one more time. She had teased him, saying that he better be prepared to stay up the whole night. He accepted the challenge and, smiling wickedly, went down to business.

Literally.

She would never defy him again.

And now there he was, sleeping the sleep of the dead. She smiled and brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. He had earned his sleep.

Slowly, she studied the rest of the scenario surrounding them. The walls were covered with objects that had been part of his childhood: baseball and basketball banners, a small collection of shellfish, the book shelves filled with books that, she believed, used to be the focus of their owner's attention. If Sam used to be the kind of child who loved to nose around her brother's belongings, that room must had been paradise to her.

Sam... That was one of the few times where Sam and the man snoring in her embrace were together in a happy thought. She wondered sometimes how Mulder would have behaved as a big brother. More than once, in the beginning of their partnership, she had had the certainty that he was trying to use her as a surrogate Sam. Thank god he hadn't succeeded.

He should have been the kind of brother whose sister's honor was more important than anything. She could neatly picture him as the big brother who would wrestle with whoever pulled his sister's briads or stole her candy bars on Halloween. Fox Mulder, the Knight in Shinning Armor, the savior of young ladies in danger.

Without noticing it, she must have chuckled strong enough to make her lover blink against the pale skin of her collarbone.

"Hum?"

She caressed his cheek. "That's okay; you go back to sleep."

She kept drawing loose circles on his shoulder and back until he was lulled back into sleep.

She looked out the window. It was almost dawn already. Almost dawn and she was still surrounded by the wonder of this man asleep on her shoulder. So comfortable. Softy; safely resting in the place where he belonged.

She kissed his brow. "I wanted so much to be here with you, Mulder."

She whispered not to wake him up, but to find him in his dreams. If that was how it would be, she was willing to let down her walls, to let him teach her how to be, how to feel.

She felt herself getting moistened again, but this time it was not her body aching for release. It was her heart giving him a chance, a chance to show her that having his legs entangled with hers and the sheets twisted around their bodies was right, that there was no way for it not to be.

At that moment, as the teardrops ran down her cheeks, she committed herself to him. They deserved a chance to be happy, to free themselves of the demons that haunted their lives, that insisted in telling her that it couldn't be. Because it could, it would, even if took them forever to make it real. But she also knew that forever would never be enough, not now. Not when she'd just discovered what being loved by this man was like. She would need a lifetime to soak up all the pleasure that his passion brought to her life, to name all the sweet sensations his smiles brought to her soul, to release the tenderness and the love she felt for him. Just a lifetime, just forever.

Now she knew what forever was. Forever was the long minutes, hours of their lovemaking; forever was the span of time that each soft puff released from his nostrils took to play with the skin on her neck. Forever was all this and some more. And at that moment Dana Scully didn't feel the need to measure time anymore: that - what they really had - was enough. Forever was enough. Because forever was the two of them. Together. Always.


When the first rays of light were streaming through the window, warmth and wetness were fighting to wake her up. It took her a minute to attribute the warmth to the sun tentatively bathing her face and just a heartbeat to recognize the wetness as the butterfly kisses Mulder was placing all over her torso, up to her shoulder, until he reached her lips.

"Morning," he muffled between kisses.

"Morning indeed," she chuckled against his lips and opened her eyes.

He was looking for something in her eyes and she made sure to reassure him: She had no regrets.

"Yes, indeed." He gave her a full smile and bent down once again to recapture her lips with his own.

"Mulder..."

"Hum?" he was too busy kissing the way to her earlobe to give her his full attention.

"We need to talk." Her hands didn't stop the caresses on his back, shoulders, buttocks, wherever she could reach. But just her last statement was enough to get her his full attention. He let go of her earlobe and was staring at her, vulnerable, expecting.

"We need to talk," she said again, looking into his eyes. They were dark, reminding her of an old tree whose hard bark's layer kept falling onto the ground and covering it, creating a barrier that, while not so difficult to sweep away, was not that easy either.

"Mulder," she said, lying her fingertips on the skin of his face, searching for that mole of his that she loved so much. "I don't regret it," she whispered against his breath. "There's no regret," she whispered again, caressing his lower lip with the tip of her thumb.

"But..." he whispered.

"But what?"

"There are no buts?"

"No." She smiled up at him.

His face lightened up again and she received the smile she was hoping for as well as one more kiss.

"I love you." His large fingers were working on her hair, removing the damp red threads from her brow. He gently breathed her name and bent down to join their lips for the third time that morning.

She let go of his face and pulled him completely against her. It took them no more than that to be making love again.


Chapter 24

His hair was tickling her thighs like it had done the night before. She held his head, hoping to steady his convulsing body, but it too proved to be useless: he was moaning now.

"Mulder, stop," she urged him, smiling awkwardly at the passers by that kept staring at them.

He was shuddering, unable to contain his emotions. She was delighted for having him so at ease with her, but she was also embarrassed because of the show they were providing in public.

"I can't, Scully," he said between gasps of air, still convulsing. "This is just too good to let go."

She sighed, but started to shake too. "You're terrible."

He caught the hand that was caressing his hair and kissed her palm. "No, dear; you are terrific."

He placed her hand on his bare chest. Automatically, she started drawing little circles around his nipple. It hadn't been her intention, but he finally quieted down.

"Scully."

"Hum?"

"Show me again what she did?"

"Mulder..."

He started to play with her fingers. "Please."

"This will be the last time, Mulder," she said in a way that gave no room for pleading or discussion.

"Okay."

She straightened her tank top on her body and her posture against the trunk of the tree to not hurt her back. Mulder turned to lie down on his stomach, his chin resting on her legs, his eyes eager to see her performance.

She concentrated in order to find the right tone of voice and raised the longest finger of her right hand, gesturing to a fictitious passer-by. "I'll show you what to do with this finger. Do you see mine? I know what to do with it too."

Mulder burst out laughing again and rolled back onto his back, his head on the same place.

"Oh, boy. You mother didn't do that."

"Yes, she did."

"No, not your mother." He adjusted the short sleeves of his unbuttoned shirt over his shoulders. "That tiny thing that is your mother couldn't do something like that."

"I swear, Mulder. I had never seen my mother like that. She sure learned a thing or two in those twenty and plus years she lived on the Base," she added, joining him with a laugh.

Despite the tension she was feeling the afternoon before, she had definitely had a good time with her mother driving her to the airport. They were late and if it wasn't for Margaret's skills as a driver, Scully would have missed the plane to Boston. And then, she had experienced the shock of her life: her all too serious, too sweet, too much of a lady mother had blown her horn at at least two drivers who had cut her off on the highway, sworn against each red light they came across, dragged Scully along the corridor towards the glass boarding gate, and, of course, had that classic argument with the truck driver that had tried to take her place in the park lot. Margaret had been so high on her adrenaline that when she had handed the ticket to a stunned Scully, she slumped into her daughter's arms laughing her head off. She thanked Scully, saying that it had been a long time since she had had that much fun.

Suddenly, Scully realized she was laughing alone.

Mulder had pulled his sunglasses on and was holding his bottle of Gatorade on his chest.

"Your mother went to all this trouble to send you to me?" he asked quietly.

Scully thought back about her mother's last words to her. 'You take care, honey. And listen to him.' Scully had already handed her ticket to the clerk when her mother told her to say hi to Fox.

"She told me to say hi."

Mulder pulled his body into a sitting position in the grass. He didn't look at her. "Did you tell her?"

Scully crossed her legs into an Indian style and looked at a group of teenagers playing volleyball some feet ahead of them in the park. "Not too much. I didn't have that much information."

Mulder nodded and took out his glasses. "I think it's time for us to have that talk."

She didn't want to talk about that; she thought she wanted to, but she had been wrong. She didn't want to hear about his life with another woman. She didn't want to know how they had met, how they had fallen in love with each other.

He lined their sandals along the tree where she was resting and took a sip of her water. She pulled her bangs away from her eyes and held them atop her head with her sunglasses.

"Did you know my parents have a beach house in Virginia, Scully?" He finally looked at her.

She shook her head.

"Well, they do. It's a large house. I think they bought that when I was fifteen, or sixteen." He chuckled softly. "In summer that house used to rock. I would invite a bunch of friends and we would spend at least a week there, during school break. It used to be fun."

Scully imagined a group of adolescents with hormones pleading to be wasted from their bodies. Yes, definitely a lot of fun.

He continued, not giving too many details of that passage in his life. "They bought that house because they couldn't bear the thought of spending another summer on the island without her." He lowered his eyes for just a moment, then looked back at her. "I spent a week of my honeymoon there, Scully."

She pursed her lips and lowered her eyes to her lap, praying for God to give her the strength she would need to hear about it.

"I was happy. I had finally found someone that would stay with me and care for me, that loved me. After Samantha's abduction, I'd been in need of that stability for years. With Diana I found that."

Scully grabbed her cap and started to trace lines on its brim with trembling fingers. Something wasn't making sense. If he had been this happy with Diana, how could his mother have assumed that his marriage wouldn't last? And if he had loved and trusted that woman to the point of marring her, why did her aunt hate him that much?

Why had they divorced?

"Mulder," she called tentatively.

"Yes."

She looked back at him to find his eyes staring reluctantly at her. "Why does her aunt hate you?" At his pained expression, she tried to rephrase her question. "I mean, she deliberately ruined the night for you..."

"She knew I didn't love Diana enough, her parents knew that too. But still..." He breathed deeply and turned his face away from hers. "After the divorce I was with her one more time, Scully. And it was the last time, I swear."

Scully heard the beating of her heart start to falter, but she didn't interrupt him.

"You were missing. It was the second case they gave me before I gave up all together. I was investigating something in Seattle; she was there visiting her parents, and her aunt was there, too. We ran into each other and then... Anyway, that night, if she still had any hope for a reconciliation, she buried it for good." He looked for her eyes again. "I called her by your name, Scully." She gasped. "And I didn't mistake your names; I really called for you."

Her lips were moving, but she was too shocked to say anything.

"She cried, Scully," he said in a low voice. "And I felt miserable. It had already happened once before, during a one night stand. But Diana was not a stranger and I thought I could hold myself with her."

"Mulder, you loved her..." she managed to whisper.

"I thought I did; I was wrong."

She needed to breath. She needed to take the refreshing breeze into her empty lungs. He had called for her, more than once. And she still had been missing. It had been over four years ago. He had been lusting for her since then, even before then. She told herself not to assume that he had already been in love with her at that time; he barely knew her.

But there were other things. He had been thinking about Diana in that room with Gibson, she was sure of that. She also had seen his face when they were holding hands in that hospital, and later, when she had been shot.

"Gibson..."

"Gibson knew I was thinking about her, Scully. And he also knew that I was terrified, because having her back would mean that I'd have to tell you."

"And why didn't you, Mulder?"

"I was afraid of your reaction. I didn't know how you'd take it. I mean, for Christ's sake, I had been married once and, in five years, I never told you that."

"I would have respected you, Mulder, and you know that. It was personal at that time, none of my business."

He took her hand between his and squeezed it fiercely. "But it was, Scully," he said between gritted teeth, even with anger in his voice. "If you had told me this, that it was none of your business, you'd have killed me. I would have been devastated."

"Mulder..."

"I wanted your anger, Scully; I wanted you jealous of her." His voice softened. "But when we started going out together, I pushed it aside. I wasn't thinking about her. I knew I needed to tell you, but I just..." He released a puff of air. "I was afraid because I couldn't lie to you."

"Lie to me about what?"

He caressed her check with his free hand. "She was the one who asked for the divorce, Scully. I'd never tell you that I wasn't happy, because I was. And I'd never say that I regretted my marriage, because I didn't. And I still don't."

She wanted to cup her mouth and cry. She wanted to turn her back on him and run away from here and never come back. She didn't want to be so dependent on him. Didn't he know what he was doing to her? Having her there, holding her hand like that, his thumb caressing her cheek, and telling her that he didn't regret having gotten married? For crying out loud, the night before they had made love for the first time, and this morning they had skipped breakfast and almost missed lunch, too.

Ashamed, she realized that she wanted him to tell her that his marriage had been a mistake, that he had been too young, that she had taken advantage of him in a moment of crisis. But it hadn't been like that, and she believed that, if Diana hadn't asked for the divorce, he would still be married to her.

She tried to free her hand from his, but he held it firmly against his chest.

"I love you, Scully, only you."

She lowered her eyes, incapable of holding his gaze in hers. "You loved her too, Mulder. And you still care. What guarantee does it give me?"

"You gave sense to my life, Scully. With all the other women, even with Diana, I thought I had everything. And I was happy with that, really." With his index finger he tilted her head and smiled at her. "But with you I discovered things that I wasn't even aware existed. In the beginning you scared me, but later you became vital to my life."

She felt a single tear rolling down her face and he wiped at it gently with his thumb. "Forget that conversation about you making me whole, Scully. I didn't know what being whole meant at that time. This," he pressed her hand firmly over his heart, "is the real thing. I can't have less than that, Scully."

"How can you be so sure that this is the real thing, Mulder?" she asked, still not so secure about his words. "You've been there before. How can you be so sure that this is me?"

He moved closer to her, her hand still in his and his thumb on her cheek. "With any other woman I've been involved with in the past, I was always looking for something. Respect, tenderness, friendship, loyalty, love... You name it." His eyes were immersed in hers when he spoke again. "I can't pinpoint exactly when I stopped looking, Scully." He traced the contour of her eyes, her nose, her lips. Each caress sending waves of warmth and love to her heart. He was looking in wonderment at her, a man blessed with a miracle. "One day, looking at you, I just thought: it's over; I found her."

She was too overwhelmed with emotions to hold back her tears anymore; she let them slide free along her face and threw her arms forward around his neck, bringing him against her. She took his lips with her own in a deep, passionate kiss. In a second he embraced her around her waist and opened his mouth, his tongue swirling around hers, caressing her teeth, the inside of her cheeks, the roof of her mouth; hers doing the same for him. For a long time they remained like that, just kissing, tasting, feeling, living, their tears mingling with their saliva. And the same thought pumping with the cadence of a heartbeat: he loves me, he loves me, he loves me.

Finally, they came up for air and she pecked his honey like lips one more time before resting her head on his shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered against his neck. The skin of his face shifted against her brow when he placed a kiss on it. "You're welcome."

She touched her nose to his and smiled.


"Mulder, we're out of milk," she said, closing the refrigerator door.

It had been a short walk from the grocery store to their home, but the packages they were carrying were getting heavier by the minute, awkward to carry under the glaring sun.

She had mopped at the sweat that had broken onto her brow and had pulled out her cap; it was burning her head. Through the dark lenses of her sunglasses, she had seen that Mulder wasn't having as much trouble, even with the extra burden of a plastic bag. He just kept walking, whistling and smiling.

Their conversation had renewed both of them and she would have been floating like a helium balloon if it wasn't for the too heavy package.

And now she discovered that they had forgotten to get the milk.

He didn't even lift his eyes from the newspaper he was reading at the kitchen table.

"Mulder," she said again, taking the newspaper from his hands. "We have no milk."

He leaned back on the chair and crossed his hands behind his neck. "No big deal, unless you're going to use it now."

She turned to the sink to wash some potatoes. "No, I'm not. But tomorrow we'll have no milk to drink at breakfast."

"We'll manage, Scully." She heard the shuffle of the paper when he turned back to the news. "We can have orange juice tomorrow."

"You like pancakes for breakfast."

"Yeah," he said, distracted.

"So there will be no pancakes tomorrow."

At his lack of response, she looked back at him. He was too absorbed reading the sports section.

"Yes," she said, chopping the potatoes. "Definitely no pancakes tomorrow."

She opened the refrigerator to catch the onions they had just bought. "It's a pity," she said, feigning disinterest. "You know, since you told me that you liked to have a glass of milk before bed, I have this fantasy. Me and you and milk and bed..." She found the onions and started to look for tomatoes. "I was feeling like doing it tonight, but since we don't have the milk, that's okay. We can do it..."

She didn't bother in completing her sentence; she heard him throwing the paper aside and grabbing his keys, then the door closing when he went back to the grocery store. She sighed and shook her head, trying to decide if they should have green or red tomato salad that evening. She decided they were having green salad with the chicken she would cook later.

She had already chopped the rest of the vegetables and was brewing some coffee when she heard him calling her outside. She left the magazine she was reading at the table and went to see what he wanted.

He wasn't alone. A couple was talking with him at the gate. He looked at her and smiled, beckoning her to his side. When she got closer, he introduced the couple to her.

"Scully, meet my cousin Daniel and Emma, his wife. Emma, Daniel, Dana Scully." Mulder smiled smugly at Daniel. "I told you she existed."

Scully smiled at the couple and noticed how much Daniel and Mulder were alike: the same intelligent eyes and wittiness vivid in a beautiful face. Emma radiated energy and kindness, her open smile making Scully sympathize with her immediately.

"A stunning existence, I must add." Daniel kissed her face softly. "It's really nice to meet you, Dana."

"Dan, don't make her blush." Emma admonished her husband, then turned to Scully and hugged her. "It's nice to finally meet you, dear. Fox always speaks so highly of you."

"I bet he does." She took one of the bags from his hands. "I'm making some coffee. Don't you want come in?"

"Not today, honey; we're running late. We still have some gardening to do before mom comes back from Florida." Emma was patting Daniel's arm as she spoke. "But tomorrow we could have dinner together. What do you think?"

Mulder wrapped her red hair around his finger in lazy curls. "We have nothing planned for tomorrow night. What do you think?"

She smiled up at him. "Sounds good."

"Then it's settled; we'll be looking for you around six." Daniel shook Mulder's hand and kissed Scully's cheek. Emma did the same with both of them and soon the other couple was gone.

When they got back into the kitchen, Mulder put three cartons of milk into the fridge and kept the last one. She didn't give much importance to that, assuming that he was just going to have some of it with coffee. But when he took the carton and pulled her with him, she protested.

"I'm making dinner."

"I want supper. With milk."

He let go of her hand and turned off the flame.

"Mulder, dinner..." she babbled.

"We're going out to dinner later."

"But..."

They were already on the stairs and he stopped. "Look," he said, deadly calm. "You wanted milk, I got you milk. And now I want to drink." He smiled leery at her and shook the carton. "Care to join me?"

She laughed and slapped his divine behind, motioning him forward. "Show me the way, Milky Man."

He did.


Chapter 25

Even without being fully awake, he knew he was alone in bed. Last he remembered, they were lying on their sides, the flesh on her back keeping his bare chest warm and the tips of his fingers counting the beating of her racing heart after their lovemaking.

His chest was not warm anymore. He reached out for her; he just found a handful of sheet.

Cold sheet.

More alert now, he rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. His old bedroom was so familiar, but now seemed empty because she wasn't there. He turned his head in the direction of the bathroom; maybe all the beers and barbecue they had at Daniel's had finally caught up with her.

She wasn't there. The bathroom door was ajar and there was no light coming from there. He swallowed hard, trying to contain his fears.

Since she had come after him, rare had been the times when he had looked at his side and she wasn't there. While in bed, leaving would mean a quick trip to the bathroom or to the kitchen for some snacks. There hadn't been a single occasion when one of them had been gone long enough to cool the sheets.

Her side of the bed was cold.

He looked at the digital clock on the night stand. It was three o'clock. Where could she have gone at three o'clock? Panicked, he threw the sheets aside and went to the window. There was light coming from the front porch.

He sighed, relieved that she was fine before another wave of panic assaulted him: what could he have done wrong to put her away from him?

Everything had gone so right for them since she had arrived. They talked and she had forgiven him. He had done his best to prove to her that she was the one, that there would never be another woman for him. He thought she had understood.

She seemed to be happy when they were at Daniel's. She had laughed, she had asked questions about his childhood and made fun of him afterwards. And later, after they had made love for the first time that night, she gave him the package his mother had sent before going to Florida with Aunt Jane. Blushing, she told him that she would be happy helping him to build his new memories. He covered her body with his to prove to her that she already was his best new memory.

He started to look for his boxers among the clothes they had left on the floor. He found it between her black skirt and his khakis.

He found her sitting on the front porch, wrapped in a quilt. He called her before stepping outside; he didn't want to startle her. She turned at him and smiled.

"Come back to bed," he said very softly. "It's cold out here."

She opened the quilt in a mute invitation for him to join her. He stepped forward and sat behind her. As his arms were longer, he hugged her around her shoulder and held the quilt together around them with his other hand. She kissed his neck and leaned on him.

He nuzzled her hair. "What's the matter?"

"I'm just saying good-bye," she whispered.

He felt a lump in his throat. "Good-bye?"

Her hair brushed against his shoulder as she nodded. "Yes. This time tomorrow we'll be back in D.C., back to the normal life."

"Back to a new life, Scully. Don't forget that."

"Even with the X-Files?" She turned to face him, her arm resting on his thigh. "We won't be alone anymore, Mulder. Diana will be there with us."

He bent down slightly and kissed her lips. "Temporarily."

"I know." She played with the button of his shirt and he smiled; he loved to see her wearing his clothes. "But she will know, Mulder."

He bent down and kissed her again. "I'm not hiding you from the world, Scully. Not anymore."

She cupped his face and touched her forehead to his chin. "I don't want that, either, Mulder. I just..." She shuddered. "You were married to her, Mulder."

"And she already knows that I'm in love with you."

She smiled but then became serious again. "When we're in town it will be easy; we can spend the night in each other's apartment. But when we're out of town? I mean, Mulder, we can't just share a bed with her there, with us. It would be too much painful for her." She caressed the hair on his nape. "If it was me in her place... I wouldn't be able to bear the pain, Mulder."

He pulled her onto his lap and held her close to him. What a heart this woman had. With all the problems, all the adjustments they would have to make to work together and pursue a personal relationship, and she was worried about his ex-wife's feelings. He was sure Diana would not have such consideration if she was walking in Scully's shoes.

"She will manage, Scully; she is stronger than you imagine."

She shivered against him. It was getting colder by the minute. He once had heard that dawn was the coldest period of the day; a theory that proved to be right.

But he had another theory of his own and they still hadn't had the time to test it. He started unbuttoning her shirt. She looked at him quizzically and amused.

"Have you ever made love on a front porch?" he asked, nuzzling her neck.

She chuckled sensuously and reached for the opening in his boxers. "We'll freeze our asses out off here, Mulder."

He caught her in his arms, quilt and everything and lay her down on the wood floor. He kissed her breasts while his fingers flamed her insides. "Body heat, Scully; body heat."

She whimpered and arched her back, her small hand caressing him, making him hard. He buried his head into her neck and she guided him inside of her.

They just went back inside when the first rays of light appeared in the sky.


Chapter 26

Skinner had just hung up his cell phone when Scully and Mulder reappeared in the front door. Their twenty minute break seemed to have worked wonders on them. They were holding hands and, even though apprehension was still a strong emotion on their faces, they seemed to be more confident about themselves.

They sat back at a now empty table and Skinner gestured to Mara to bring them more coffee.

"I told Betty to take back your orders since you weren't here. Do you want something to eat?"

"No, sir. Thank you." Even Mulder's voice sounded more steady now. "We had a bagel outside. We're fine."

"I'm glad to hear that, Mulder."

He was being sincere; for a minute back there he had feared they were ready to give up on the game.

"Well," said Skinner, back into his A.D. mode. "I called the lab while you were out. We had some luck; Danny was there. He'll investigate all the phone calls that were made yesterday, be sure that you weren't called. I believe we'll have something tomorrow. But until then, is there anything else you want to share?"

"Meaning what, sir?"

Skinner was surprised with Scully's narrowed eyes; he would expect something like that from Mulder, not from her.

"Meaning that the OPR board probably will investigate this last assignment of yours, see how the two of you acted while in the field."

Mulder closed his eyes and cursed, then he reopened them and looked at him. "We acted like we were supposed to act: we went there and solved the case, reported to the SAC and came back to D.C. That's all."

"They'll want to see your report. Is it finished?"

"Yes, sir; it is. In fact, we delivered it to you just before we left yesterday." Scully looked directly at him. "Kimberly has it. I'm sure you'll find our report on your desk Monday morning."

"Okay. I'll check it then. But there are other urgent things I need to talk to you about." He breathed deeply before looking back at the agents. "The final papers to officially reopen the X-Files were ready to be signed on Wednesday. Since you were out in the field, I kept them in my desk." He paused for a minute to choose the right words; he would be walking in some gray areas and wanted to be prepared. "It means that the X-Files may remain closed depending on the result of the OPR." Their faces became pasty white. "So, if something strange or out of ordinary happened while you were working together, it would be better if you tell me now."

The agents glanced at each other before responding to his question. "No, sir. Nothing different happened. We just acted like ourselves."

Skinner didn't know if it was a good or bad thing, but it would have to do. "Well, this can help. If the SAC has no reason to file a formal report about your behavior, most likely there will be no reason to file a formal reprimand."

"There's no need for a reprimand, sir."

He didn't want to scare them, but Mulder was getting agitated and defensive again.

"This is a good thing, Mulder. But you have to face all the possibilities."

"Such as..."

"I can tell you without a doubt that your SAC in the case will be contacted, Mulder. A report of his own will be requested. They will compare notes."

"Which notes, sir?"

"Yours, Scully's and the SAC's notes. They'll look for discrepancies about your behavior."

"Skinner," interrupted Mulder, impatiently. "Quit beating around the bush; what the hell are you talking about?"

Annoying and a jerk; the real Mulder was definitely back.

"Sure, Mulder," said Skinner, involuntary flinching his nose, pissed to the bones. "In the OPR they'll want to know if you were really working, and not just screwing around." Skinner looked innocently at Mulder; he too could be as annoying and a jerk.

But when he saw Mulder's hand closing into a fist and his eyes assuming a dangerous shade of red, he knew he had exaggerated in the dose of his medicine.

"We don't screw around, sir."

Mulder's voice was nothing but a whisper, a very menacing whisper. And Scully's face was red with fury; she was really offended, which hadn't been his intention.

"I wouldn't expect less of you, agents," he said, trying to fix the situation. "But they will. In their ancient minds, working together and having a relationship are totally incompatible activities."

"For crying out loud, we weren't alone there. We were working with three local police officers, and Agent Fowley was there, too. They saw how hard we worked to solve the case. Are they supposed to make reports about us, too?"

Skinner had never been so afraid of fire. He had never seen Scully gesturing that much with her hands while talking. She couldn't let her Irish temper get the better of her. Of the two, she was the one he counted on to keep a level head. Nothing could save them if they both let anger rule.

"So show them how hard you worked, Agent Scully. You have to prove to them that your new status didn't interfere in your judgement."

She snorted. "Interfere with my judgement? Sir, I had to work twice as hard to prove to Mulder and Diana that a murdered man hadn't come back into the land of living people as a cat claiming revenge against the ones that supposedly had killed him."

Skinner wondered if he looked as dumbfounded as he felt.

"Hum, Agent Scully; you've lost me now. You what?"

"Hadn't done your homework before handing it to us, Skinner?"

Skinner sighed in exasperation, but said nothing at Mulder's snide comment.

Of course he had read the case before handing it to the X-Files trio. But all he had read was that a series of murders was happening in New Orleans and that there was a total lack of suspects. The investigators had pieced together that the victims had known each other at some point of their lives, but that was all. Nothing suspicious hung on the new victims, except that they had been in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Trust Mulder to turn a simple case of murder and the mystical atmosphere of the city where they occurred into an X- File.

"The same cat was always found in the locale of the crimes, sir," Scully explained. "From the beginning Agents Mulder and Fowley knew that the cat was connected to the crime or the victims, they just didn't know how. Agent Mulder suggested that the cat was doing the killings."

Skinner just looked at her. "What about Agent Fowley?"

"Diana agreed it was worth a shot." Mulder smiled smugly at Scully. "We decided to investigate it while Scully performed the autopsies and forensic work to get the proofs she needed to believe us."

Skinner remembered having seen Scully direct that look at Mulder before. This time he had the sheer impression that that raised eyebrow meant that Mulder wouldn't get any tonight. Mulder must have sensed the same thing because his smile was gone in no time.

"And did you come up with a suitable closure for the case?"

"Yes, sir." Scully sipped some of her coffee. "Further investigation showed that all the victims had, somehow, been related to Paul Gallagher, a man that had been killed a couple of years ago. Collecting evidence, we got to his ex-lover, Amanda Lukas, who happened to be the owner of Mr. Miou..."

"Mr. ... Miou?"

"The cat, sir."

Skinner motioned for Scully to stop; he wasn't in the mood to hear about another crazy occurrence today. He already had too many things to digest.

"That's okay Scully. I'm sure I'm going to get the real scoop once I read the report."

"But I can assure you, sir, that the cat had more to say about it than its owner."

"So now we're going to open an X-File about cats that talk, Mulder?"

Skinner masked his amusement at the defeated look he saw on Mulder's face excusing himself to use the restroom.

As he left the table, he remembered something he would never admit to Mulder; he wouldn't be the one to turn Scully's small victory into her partner's triumph.

He recalled having read something about a cat's appearance in the report.


Chapter 27

Scully grabbed the edge of her pillow and turned onto her side. She was counting the minutes, barely able to hold herself. She just wanted to catch the plane in the morning and leave that city from hell.

No; she wasn't being fair. The city wasn't that bad. Actually, it was beautiful, surrounded by the magic and sensuality that made New Orleans one of the most romantic places in the U.S. Things would definitely have been better if they had flown there for the right reasons: just for some romance.

Instead, they were there because of a cat.

Mr. Miou had been in each one of the five crime scenes they had visited. Be it an alley, or a staircase, there was Mr. Miou greeting them with his deep purrs, announcing his presence.

Diana had noted him for the time at the second crime scene they had visited, commenting to her and Mulder that the cat seemed familiar to her. Scully's great mistake had been her comment that cats looked all the same to her. Well, except for the color of their fur and eyes, they were all the same, weren't they?

But not to Mulder. If Diana had said she had seen the feline before, of course they would check it out; it could be helpful.

So there went her former partner and their new one after the story of the cat's life while she made autopsies and collected evidence in order to prove right their theory: the cat was involved in the crimes.

She collected evidence from each one of the bodies: gunpowder from gunshot wounds, the right angle on knife blows, the chemical composition in each poison sample. But not even a caramel fur of Mulder and Diana's main suspect.

She sighed and clutched the sheet firmly against her body.

In her opinion, Amanda Lukas, the cat's owner, was responsible for the deaths. All the victims had crossed at least once in her life, and not in a pleasant way. Each one of them had humiliated Paul Gallagher, her former lover in the past. And the last one of the victims had been Janet Gallagher, Paul's ex-wife. In Scully's opinion, they had reasons enough to keep Ms. Lukas in custody and make some further investigations.

But Mulder and Diana at that point were convinced that Mr. Miou was Paul reincarnated, and chose to follow the cat into yet another alley.

And they had found Mr. Miou ready to attack Officer Brandon, who, curiously, happened to be Amanda's new lover.

After a heated battle involving trash bins and a bunch of stray cats, the group of three ended up in the hospital. Diana had four stitches on her forehead and three on her left hand, Mulder had five stitches on his forearm and Officer Brandon would spend the night in the hospital due to a slight concussion. While visiting her boyfriend, Amanda had assured the three federal agents that the killings would stop now.

Mr. Miou had been taken to a foster home for animals.

And it had been up to Scully to bring Mulder and Fowley back to the hotel after they had had the necessary tetanus shot.

A bandaged arm snickered around her stomach and pulled her against his bare chest.

"Still awake?" he asked sleepily.

"Tonight was too intense. My adrenaline's still high."

She spit the words at him to let him know that she was still fuming, mad out of her senses with him. It seemed that he wouldn't buy any of it.

"Uh, Scully. It must have been fantastic because I remember nothing. Do you want to do this again, see if I get some insight?" He slipped his tongue inside of her ear after having bitten her earlobe. The son of a bitch knew exactly what to do to drive her crazy.

"Actually we can't do it again because we didn't do it once."

He moved his hand upwards and insinuated his fingers in the opening of her pajama top. "I fell asleep on you?"

She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the thumb that was caressing her sensitive nipple in lazy circles. She barely whispered "Yes, you did."

He licked her jaw and she sighed. "It's a shame. We have to fix this."

He moved the hand that was resting bellow her pillow and pulled up her pajama top. His palm slid warm against her belly and her spine went cold. She felt the hair that covered her arms and legs bristling, making the silk blue layer that had been protecting her since she had gone to bed extremely uncomfortable. She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him to stop. She just managed to emit a throaty moan.

"Did you say something?" he asked as he removed her top.

"I'... mad... oh... you."

In her fogged mind, Scully thought about her grammar lessons in fifth grade and Sister Angelica telling her group that English wasn't such a complex language, that it wasn't that difficult to put a verb between a subject and a object. Sister Angelica had been so very wrong. Every time Mulder had one of his limbs between her legs, English proved to be the most difficult and incoherent of the languages.

He chuckled against her ear. "Wrong answer, Scully." He kissed the curve where her jaw met her neck. "I want you crazy."

Between a groan and another, he also got rid of her pajama bottoms. He positioned himself right behind her and placed both hands on her waist, pulling her securely against him. She freed one of her hips from his hold and placed his free hand back where she wanted it.

Oh! And, of course, he had other abilities: even one handed he could strip their clothes without loosing his hold on her. He had discarded his boxers and now she had all of him pressed up on her back.

His breath was warm against her nape. She bent back her head, seeking more of his warmth, finding his lips pressed against her hair.

"I want you as crazy as you make me, woman."

Somewhere around her brain, in that tiny part that insisted on keeping working despite his proximity, she registered that he was losing his ability of speech, too. Good. It meant that now she would need just another couple of caresses before having him lost in her. And before she got lost in him.

"Oh God, Mulder."

She turned her head on her pillow and kissed him. He hooked his arms around her waist and turned her over on the mattress. Briefly she opened her eyes to find his hazel pools glaring intently at her.

"I want to be on top," she groaned between smacks and wet kisses.

"Whatever you want, Scully," he panted against her mouth.

She rolled him onto his back and straddled him, letting just the tip of him slip inside of her before stopping.

"Scully," he groaned, exasperated.

It was hard, but she had to do this. "You ditched me."

He cupped her neck and pulled her against him, trying to kiss her mouth again. She didn't let him. "I went after our suspect."

Her hands were slipping on his slicked chest, making her lose her balance, her control. "Mulder... You... after... cat."

This time he pulled her completely against him and kissed her mouth. "No shop talk while in bed. We had agreed about it."

He had a point. But it was before he had ditched her.

But he was so irresistible. And she was aching for him.

She let him in inside of her and they groaned in unison.

"God, Mulder. This feels... so good..."

Large hands cupped her buttocks and pushed her forward to meet him in his thrusts, quickening their movements.

She was so close...

"Come.. with... me...Scully."

She felt his trembling finger entering her, looking for her tiny nerve. She held her breath as he stroked her clit, rubbing it in small circles, back and forth. Her nostrils weren't pulling enough oxygen into her lungs. She wanted to breath through her mouth, but she feared the butterflies floating inside of her would fly away and she would lose her control. She was getting so hot; her moisture melting into him, making him slide even further into her.

Butterflies escaping from each pore in her body.

From her mouth.

"Mulder..."

She cried, falling from the edge of her sanity, meeting him halfway.

She slumped against him and bit his shoulder, hard. When he cried her name, she didn't know if it was for pain or pleasure. But she knew that in the end he would be happy anyway.

When the hand that was caressing her back didn't move any more sweat, she knew it was time to dismount him before they began to freeze. She lay on her side, facing him. He smiled down at her and kissed her lips.

She didn't kiss him back.

"What's happening?"

She saw concern growing in his eyes and decided to do nothing about it. He deserved some suffering after what he had done.

He turned onto his side and propped himself on one elbow. "Come on, Scully. Tell me what this is now."

"You ditched me, Mulder. I told you to wait for me and the back up but you didn't listen to me."

"Scully, we went after a cat."

"A cat that you believed to be a murderer."

He chuckled and looked startled at her. "And he pulled the trigger? Stabbed that woman? Come on, Scully. You can do better than that."

She didn't turn down her gaze. Her face was burning and she felt the pins and needles floating in her scalp, typical signs of embarrassment. Couldn't he just see that she didn't want him running around with that woman? And besides they had really been in peril in that alley.

"Goodnight, Mulder."

When she tried to turn over, he grabbed her firmly around her shoulders. "Oh no! You're not going to sleep. Tell me what is this all about."

"You could have been killed."

"Scully, they were just cats."

She pointed at his arm. "So tell me: what is this? Agent Fowley is injured too and Officer Brandon is at the hospital. And don't you look at me like that because you know I always worry when you do this kind of stupid thing."

He caressed her face with his knuckles. "It's my job, Scully. And it's yours, too."

"My point, Mulder. Why didn't you wait for me?"

His silence was her answer.

"You can't keep doing this, Mulder. Don't try to protect me like that."

"You have to give me time, Scully. I'll learn."

She let her hand slip up and down along his arm. "Learn what?"

He pulled her against him and kissed her soundly on the lips. This time she allowed her tongue to caress him back.

"Just give me time, okay. I won't do it again."

He touched his forehead to hers.

She closed her eyes and decided to at least try and believe in him.


Chapter 28

From his spot in the doorway, Skinner saw that the couple was discussing something, but they stopped as soon as they saw him approaching their table.

They weren't happy.

"There's just one more thing I need to discuss with you," Skinner said, sitting back in his place at the table. "That was your first assignment back in the Bureau, with a new partner. There's the real possibility that Diana will be called."

"She didn't spy on us, sir. She was there to work."

Skinner wondered how Mulder could be so obtuse.

"Mulder, whoever did this, set you up, had everything very well orchestrated. Nothing was left behind, from the day of the A.D.'s rendezvous with Trajan to the location of your motel. But I don't know if we can prove that you were cheated. Evidence shows that you were there willingly."

"But it was a set up, sir," Scully said. "Please, don't tell us you don't believe this."

"It's not about whether I believe it or not; it's about what we saw."

Scully lowered her eyes. "Nobody had the right to see that, sir; nobody."

"Scully, please; we did nothing wrong."

"Mulder, for them our very existence is wrong."

Skinner looked aside in respect for the couple. He agreed with Scully: things would not be right. Not so easily, anyway.

"Mulder, didn't you notice anything different? Any kind of suspicious phone calls? Is there the possibility that you were followed without knowing it?"

"Sir, we were not hiding the fact that we were seeing each other. And we essentially spent this whole week out. We just came back on Thursday evening. We saw no body, we talked to no one other than Diana. And even with her, we just talked at the airport and said our goodbyes, see you tomorrow."

"What about yesterday? What happened before you left the office?"

"Diana and I, we went to your office to hand in our report. Scully stayed in the basement putting some files in order."

Scully reluctantly looked at Mulder. "Mulder, did you say anything to her?"

Mulder looked surprised at her. "Don't you even go there, Scully; she had no reason to do something against us. This is nonsense." He turned his gaze to Skinner; he flinched under the hazel intensity. "I didn't talk to anyone about our plans because we hadn't planned on stopping at that motel. It just happened."

"What?" Another new piece information and Skinner was afraid to hear about it.

"We were heading to Virginia... but..." Mulder stopped, gasped and cleared his throat. Then he completed in a very small voice, "we had to stop."

"Mulder, if you were heading to Virginia, how could you have ended up in Baltimore?"

Silence.

Skinner was a man of facts. He liked to hear out all the parts involved and then get the best solution to a problem. Sometimes it turned out to be an easy task, like how to pay attention in a conference and at the same time mentally list all the items he needed to get in the grocery store on his way home; or how to watch the football games on TV while checking reports in the office. But that morning, every time Mulder or Scully came with an explanation, he got worried.

"No, Mulder; there must be something wrong. If nobody knew where you were heading, how could they have spotted you so easily without following you?"

"Sir, believe me: somehow they did."

"But how? God, we're not talking about an ordinary Volkswagen Bug. We're talking about a truck that could easily hold a lab in it."

"Skinner, for the last time: we saw nothing."

Mulder spelled his last words the same way Grandpa Skinner had told him he couldn't have sex until he was eighteen. No matter that he was twenty and had lost his virginity at sixteen: if he tried to argue with Grandpa Skinner, thing would get worse. Once again he turned to Scully, seeking support; maybe the two of them could combine forces and talk some sense into that partner of hers.

But he had never seen her turning all those shades of red at once, not even the night before.

Suddenly he didn't want to know anything else.


Chapter 29

Scully was rearranging the files in the cabinet when he got back from Skinner's office. He stopped at the doorway and just stood there, admiring her.

Her hair was pinned up on the top of her head, two red strands falling on her face. Absently, she pushed one of the strands away from her eyes with the back of her index finger. She was wearing her glasses and chewing on a pencil, sexy as any woman who packs a gun should be allowed to be.

One file in particular caught her attention and she put it atop the cabinet to take a better look at it. And he used this opportunity to take a better look at her stockinged legs, the first one since this morning, when he had been enclosed in the circle of said legs in her shower. They had missed breakfast in favor of their sexual indulgence, but the trade had been worth it.

More than worth it.

During her reading, she raised one eyebrow and he smiled. Even now, after five years, that movement still had the power to send him to distraction. And her movement combined with that skirt she was wearing were motives to cause him some concern. Like in the beginning, Dana Scully still turned him on just by breathing the same air as him. And to have her there, sharing the same space with him five days a week, knowing for the past week exactly what those layers of clothing were hiding, wasn't a good thing for his blood pressure.

He needed to ask his mother if there was any case of heart failure in the family. If so, he needed to see a cardiologist ASAP.

"Fox, could you please step aside? I need to get my purse."

Diana's words drew Scully's attention towards them. He turned his head and saw Diana standing awkwardly behind him, trying to gain access into the room.

"I'm sorry, Diana. I got carried away for a moment back there," he apologized, making room for her to step into the office.

"You've been doing that constantly of late," she said back, looking at Scully in a way he didn't appreciate. She picked up her purse that was hanging behind a chair and headed back to the door. "I never saw you so carried away, Fox," she said before leaving.

While closing the door, he turned his internal knob and assumed his Profiler!Mulder self, then tried to distinguish all the emotions he had seen in Diana's eyes. There had been hurt, longing, regret and another one he couldn't identify.

He went to his desk still thinking about it when the blinking icon on the computer screen caught his attention. He had mail. He forgot Diana's existence the minute he clicked the virtual envelope and found the message they had been waiting for the whole day.

"Hey, Scully; that B
B in Virginia confirmed our reservation," he said without stopping his reading; he needed to be sure that they were booked in the room whose windows opened to the lake he had seen on the Internet. She would be glad; she had wanted that room as much as he had. "And we've got the room that faces the lake."

He made a one-hundred eighty degree turn with his chair expecting to see in her face a smile that matched his own.

And again he found her looking at him like he had lost all of his senses.

He was getting tired of that.

"What now, Scully?"

She closed the iron cabinet, the impact of her heels hitting the floor telling him there was a storm coming. This time he was prepared.

"Mulder, did you see her..."

"Yes, Scully; I did. And I'm sorry if it offends you, but that's how things are going to be. She knew what she was getting into when she came back from Europe. And I've already told you I'm not hiding you from the world. Or from her, for that matter."

For a moment she had stood there, in front of him, open mouth and confuse stare. Then she stirred her head and tried to speak again.

"Mulder, we're at work. We established no rules but this one: not getting distracted during work hours..."

"And I respected that until five minutes ago, when I came back from our supervisor's office and officially finished my shift. Just then I stopped and took my first good look at you since this morning." He sighed. "I'm just human, Scully. I acted like SuperMulder for five years; give me a break."

Her shocked semblance vanished in two seconds and she smiled at him. "What I'm going to do with you, Mulder?"

"I had an idea or two this morning, but your alarm clock hates me."

She ruffled his hair. "Come on, partner; let's go. We have a room to check into in Virginia."

He didn't wait for a second invitation.

He shut down the computer and grimaced as he pulled his jacket on. On their way to the garage, he noted how hot it was. And cursed at his and the other male agents' fate, having to wear that ridiculous suit and tie when it was at least eighty degrees outside.

Luck of Scully and Diana that, like most of the other female agents, were wearing skirts and short sleeved shirts at work.

"I forgot to pack my conditioner, Mulder."

He unlocked the door on his car and immediately turned on the air conditioner.

"You're not traveling with this thing on, Mulder."

He turned off the air and counted to ten.

"You don't want to stop at your place to get it, do you?"

She opened the CD case he kept on his dashboard and started to flip through it. "No, I don't. But could you please stop at a Seven-Eleven so I could buy some?"

"I think we can do that."

They had already left the building and she still hadn't chosen anything to listen.

He held her hand when she went past Otis Redding for the second time. "Why don't we listen to Otis? I bet you'll like it."

Through the corner of his eyes he saw her studying the CD. "You surprise me all the time."

"Don't like good, old Otis?"

"Don't know a lot of things about good, old Otis."

He considered singing 'Try a Little Tenderness' to her, but why scare her off if they had the CD in hand.

She inserted the plastic disk into the CD player. As she pushed the play button, the radio spilled back to them Otis's soul in an emotional lyric.

'I've been loving you Too long To stop now'

He had forgotten that that was the first song on the CD, otherwise he would never have listened to this while Scully was at his side.

The fact that he had already told her that he was in love with her, that she was the most important person in his life, that there would never be another woman to him made no difference; those were his feelings for her that he just let come to the surface when he was ready to do that.

But this music had the power to peel the protective layers he had so carefully constructed during all his life and that he had just become conscious of its existence when he met Scully.

He reached for the gear lever at the same time as his eyes peeped at her face.

A curtain of red hair covered her eyes partially. Her head was slightly bent forward while she accompanied the hypnotic voice. He ached to touch her, but he feared that if she returned the gesture, he would not be able to hold himself back and claim the desperate singer's plea as his own.

'Don't make me stop now'

What would he do if Scully ever told him that they couldn't be anymore? Would he be able to let her go and keep going with his life? Or would he get over his pride and beg her to let him stay with her?

He remembered her nails sliding down his back the night before, his tongue circling her navel this morning. He remembered having breakfast in bed with her for the first time at the summer house, their walks along the beach, the sound of her laugh. There were so many new things about her that he was discovering now and that made him love her even more.

He could never get over her.

'Don't make me stop now Darling, believe me, please, 'don't make me stop now'

He didn't want to stop ever. If she just allowed him to love her the way he would like to...

He felt a warm weight on his thigh and lowered his eyes.

She was stroking the fabric of his slacks, her attention fixed on the movement of the cars ahead of them.

Was she conscious of what she was doing?

"I love this song, Mulder. Hadn't heard it in years, though."

"Of all his music, this one's my favorite."

She smiled, looking at him. "What about this one? 'Tenderness', isn't it?" she asked, checking the CD's case again.

"You know nothing about ole Otis, Scully. This one is 'Try a little tenderness', child," he explained.

Another Scully look. "Child?"

He smirked at her, knowing that he was getting into a good one. But he couldn't just resist; he had to tease her. "Why? Don't you like it?"

Another Scully's look. That could be really interesting.

"You know, Mulder; I bet this child here could give you a little tenderness."

He inhaled all the oxygen he could gather into his lungs, some of the scent of her perfume coming along with it and heading directly to his groin. He was a troubled man.

Thank God.

He was still thinking about what to tell her when she zipped down his fly. Another wave of cold sweat assaulted him.

"But I don't know if you deserve it, Mulder."

If he could speak, he would tell her one thousand one hundred and four reasons why he deserved it. However, their current situation inside a car in movement told him he should use what little was left of his driving lessons to keep them alive and not to miss their exit.

He pushed the gas pedal further when she squeezed him. "God, Scully."

His boxers and his shirt were getting damp and he was sure she knew that. He could sniff his own arousal in the air filling the car.

He turned to find her smiling sweetly at him.

"Do you need more tenderness, Mulder?"

He shook his head 'no' but muttered a strangled 'yes'. And sweat sliding down his back.

"You got me confused, Mulder." She was squeezing him in and out. "Do you mean yes" - in - "or no" - out.

He just meant for them to get safely to Virginia, and soon.

"Scully... stop..." he grunted, his eyes barely fluttering open.

"Don't want stop..."

He missed the exit.

When he pushed down the brake pedal, preventing them from hitting the car in front of them by just one inch, she stopped.

"Gee, Mulder; I'm sorry. Are you all right?"

She was frightened, her rounded open eyes looking like a oversized pair of blue marbles. Her face was flushed and she was squeezing him 'yes'.

And now he would be manly and do what any respectable macho man would do.

"Get out now."

"Mulder, I... I said that I'm sorry... I didn't mean for this like that..."

"Scully, just shut the hell up and get out of here."

"Mulder..."

"Now!"

Quickly she released her seat belt and opened the car's door.

"My wallet is in my jacket's pocket. Get my credit card and pick up a room."

"Room? Mulder, where do you want me to..."

He would have laughed at Scully's scared, confused face if he didn't have to deal with the tangible problem in his lap.

"The motel, Scully; there's a motel over there." He pointed at the motel across the street.

Scully looked at his choice of a motel and shivered in that warm August night. "Mulder, we could just keep going; we're less than an hour from Virginia... I promise I'll be quiet... We can wait for you to recover..."

The unsteadily rise and fall of his chest betrayed the supposed calmness in his voice. "Scully, you can cross the street and get into that motel now or I can go there myself."

She stared at his problem. "You can't be serious..."

He pushed the red button on his seat belt; he would show her how serious he was.

She slammed the door shut. "No; that's okay. I'm going."

"I'll be right over. You better be finished when I get there."

He waited while she crossed the street before making a U turn in the highway, which was surprisingly quiet for a Friday evening in the summer. And besides, who cared? In his condition, the best move to take would be to stay away from movement and crowded spaces.

He decided against parking in the motel's parking lot; he estimated that two hours would be enough for them to take care of his... situation and take a nap afterwards. That lake in Virginia and their exquisite room would have to wait a little longer.

He imagined the Sumo wrestlers he had seen on TV two nights ago engaged in another kind of dance for exactly four minutes before picking up his jacket on the passenger's seat, right where Scully had left it, and held it in front of him. That thing would be useful for the first time today. He locked the doors and decided to leave their bags in the truck, no need to take them with him, and headed to the building.

He found Scully at the clerk's desk, still signing them in.

"You're not finished yet?"

"There was a problem with your credit card."

He had never seen Scully apologize that much.

"Is it solved?"

"Yes, sir; room 15."

"Thanks. Let's go, Scully."

The hall seemed to have no end, and when he found their room, he inserted the key into the lock on his third attempt. He didn't have that much trouble in locking it behind him. His left hand loosened the tie around his neck while his right one fumbled with his belt.

When he pulled his shirt over his head he noticed that Scully was looking at him bewildered. She had just gotten rid of her shoes.

"Do you need a written order, Scully?"

She unzipped her skirt and pushed it down with her hose and panties. With renewed vigour, he sat on the bed and got rid of his slacks and boxers.

Next he knew, a warm, naked bundle threw herself at him, knocking him down on his back in the bed. His socks were still on.

"Uncle Foxy is enthusiastic," she said, playing with 'foxy'.

He pulled her body against his and kissed her lips. "Uncle Foxy is enthusiastic, euphoric, ecstatic."

She started to squirm in his embrace. "And rambling," she laughed against his lips.

He laughed with her and rolled them in the bed. "Stop mocking me."

"I can't, Mulder. You've been acting so weirdly today... Ouch, Mulder," she moaned.

He had two of his fingers inside of her and his mouth on her breast; if she kept talking after that, he would give up and call it a night. There was a John Houston movie on TV later tonight.

"Mulder, stop."

Stop?

No, she couldn't have asked him to stop. The bells ringing in his ears must have been fooling him.

But she was; she pushed his hand away.

"Scully? What? Did I hurt you...?"

She smiled up at him and took him in her hands. "No; you're not hurting me." She ran her finger from his tip to his base. "But you were the one with the problem, remember?"

Oh, yes; he remembered. How could he forget when she was doing that thing to him?

He let his head fall onto her shoulder and started to kiss her neck, his tongue sweeping the hole in her collarbone. He moaned her name against her skin. Her scent invaded him, turning his world upside down.

"Let me help you, Mulder."

"If you keep that up, Scully, I..."

She was reducing him to a puddle on the bed; even these slurred words had been difficult to him.

"Please, Mulder..."

She was pleading to pleasure him. Pleading...

"I can't do it twice..."

She pulled him up against her mouth and kissed him. "You will. Trust me... you will..."

He trusted her.

He trusted her enough to let her make him come. And he trusted her that, when the time came, he would be able to come again inside of her.

That was what he thought when he spilled into her hands and kissed her, that he would come inside of her, later.

When the colors exploding in his eyes lost some of their intensity, he found her smiling up at him.

"You lie down. I'll clean you up."

He was too exhausted to do anything more than simply nod. She left the bed, her body swinging on her way to the bathroom. He closed his eyes and sighed, waiting for her. She came back a few seconds later, carrying a damp wash cloth. Tenderly, she cleaned him with the warm cloth, her lips leaving a path of kisses all over his body. When she was through, she went back to the bathroom and closed the door. He heard the sound of the toilet being flushed and then water running.

The click of the door being opened announced her return. She lay down facing him.

"You're good at this."

"It was the least I could do after putting you in this situation. Am I forgiven?"

He chuckled. "Forgiven? Scully, if I knew that this is the way you would apologize, believe me, I'd have made it crystal clear all the times you gave me a hard on."

He waited for a smart remark of her own that didn't come. He turned his head slightly in her direction to find her studying him intently.

"I didn't know you cared that much, Mulder."

"I did, Scully," he said serious. "Maybe not from the very beginning, but I cared."

"I'm not even your kind of woman..."

He turned onto his side and cupped her cheek with one hand. "You became the only kind of woman I'll ever need. That's not enough?"

She smiled softly. "Will do."

He kept caressing her face until he thought she had fallen asleep. He pulled the soft red quilt over them and got closer to her, his arm thrown on her hip.

"Make love to me, Mulder," was her simple request.

He did. He lay his body over hers and made love to her the way she deserved to be loved. Tenderly, carefully, cherishing and worshiping every inch of her, reassuring her that he loved her, kissing her with all his sorrow for making her believe that he could never love her because she was short, because she was red, because she had freckles all over her skin. Saying that he loved her because she was short, she was red and had freckles all over her skin. That he loved her for all the novelty she had brought into his life. Saying that he loved her for all that without telling her a word.

Afterwards, when they were satiated, he rolled onto his back and she followed him, curling her small body against his. She took one of his hands into hers and kissed it.

"I love your hands. You could hold the whole world in them."

"I needed big hands to cup my big nose," he joked.

"Don't say it; I love your nose." And as to prove it to him, she kissed the only piece of his body he hated.

"You can't be serious, Scully. Look at this; it's monstrous."

"I love everything that is a part of you, Mulder, that makes you what you are," she whispered hoarsely, looking into his eyes.

A new kind of sensation spread itself all over him, its warmth filling his eyes with tears. That was the closest she had gotten to telling him she loved him. He would cherish that moment and her words until the day he closed his eyes to eternity.

He smiled at her and she smiled back. She had understood.

"We can nap for a couple of hours. Interested?"

"You wanted to leave earlier, Mulder..."

"We're booked until midnight."

She nodded and rested her head on his shoulder. "Just for a couple of hours."

"And then we go."

"And then we go."

He turned off the lamp on his bedside table and closed his eyes, the sound of her breathing lulling him into sleep.


He woke sometime later with the sheets on his stomach and Scully's warmth on his back. He looked at his watch. They still had twenty minutes.

She had one of her arms on his side, her hand resting on his belly. He covered her hand with his. The hand that carried his world in it. The hand that he carried in his.

She was right. He could carry his whole world in his hands.

He closed his eyes, deciding to join her in sleep for ten more minutes. Then he would get up and take a quick shower before waking her. It wasn't even a quarter past eleven yet and they were booked until midnight anyway. They would be arriving in Virginia around one-thirty. That was fine; they could sleep in tomorrow and then decide what to do afterwards.

Thinking about all the places he was going to take Scully to, he drifted off into sleep.


At eleven forty-two, the loud pop of the door hitting the wall woke him up.


Chapter 30

Skinner was frustrated.

He had been sitting with Mulder and Scully for over one hour trying to sort out their situation and had gotten almost nothing.

He wasn't exactly mad at them. For all they had told, they were innocent in all of this, as he was expecting.

What bothered him was to know that they might be punished because of something that had escaped their control. And he wasn't considering the bust and its aftermath.

They had waited this long to what? To have their affair exposed like a cheap sex performance, like the ones you pay a couple of dollars to see on the adult channel. Skinner knew that deep feelings ran between them, that they couldn't be sold that cheap.

But he also knew that any further help would be out of his hands to give. He hoped that at least the phone call had been a mistake, that they really hadn't been called on their cell phones. He hoped that his help would be enough to give back some of Scully's dignity to her, and that she didn't leave Mulder.

"Believe us, sir: somehow they knew where we were going."

He nodded at Mulder.

"I don't know how much I can do to help you," he said, addressing both Mulder and Scully. "I hope the lab's results will provide something in your favor, but other than that, I kind of have my hands tied until Monday morning."

Scully looked out the window, Mulder's hand between hers. "I just wanted to understand why." She looked back at Skinner. "Why they keep doing this to us?" Not waiting for an answer, she looked back out the window.

"Is there anything else you want to know, sir? I mean, if there's some blanks in what we told you..."

Mulder sounded defeated, lost. Skinner had the feeling that most of the agent's sorrow came from the hollowness they had heard in Scully's voice.

"No, Mulder; that's fine. I told you I didn't want to pry into your relationship." He gestured to Betty for her to take their check.

"I'll pay for this, sir."

"That's okay, Mulder. Don't worry. Take her home."

Mulder muttered a thank you and urged Scully onto her feet.

Skinner stood too and shook hands with Mulder. "I'll stop at the Bureau on my way back and take your report home with me. I'll also call your SAC in New Orleans and ask for a copy of his report when he has it done. In the mean time, you go home and rest."

"Thanks for your help, sir. We really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it, Scully. I may call both of you tomorrow. I think it would be a good idea for us to meet at the Bureau first thing Monday morning, before the other agents arrive."

"No problem, sir."

He felt uncomfortable to ask this, but he needed to. "Where will I find you?"

"I'll be in my apartment and Agent Mulder will be in his, sir."

Skinner ached for Mulder's surprise and disappointment at Scully's words. It was the right thing to be done, but Mulder looked like he would burst into tears. Scully also looked like she would give in to tears, but after his earlier confession, Mulder was his main concern.

"Okay. Take care, agents."

When Mulder and Scully turned their backs to Skinner, she in front of him, their synchronized steps carrying them to the entrance of the restaurant, Skinner saw that one thing had already changed that morning.

Mulder didn't have his hand on the small of her back.


Chapter 31

The first thing he noticed when he opened his eyes was that it was already late evening.

Twenty-seven minutes past seven, according to his clock radio clock.

He blinked to adjust his eyes to the darkness of the room. Scully had closed the curtains while he was sleeping. She hated sleeping with any kind of light on; she was always closing curtains and blinds. He may have problems finding sleep but when he found it nothing short of an alien falling from the skies right over him would wake him up.

He had doubted he would be able to sleep at all, even more after he had left Scully at her apartment.

They hadn't talked on their way back to her building. They hadn't even said good-bye. He dropped her at the building's door and waited to see her go inside safely. He waited for her silhouette to appear in the window before going to his own apartment. He did what he had told Skinner he would do, support her in whatever decision she made. If she wanted to be alone, he would leave her alone and bleed in another place.

Less than an hour after he had arrived home, she had knocked on his door. He took the bag hanging on her shoulder and locked the door behind her. He did his best not to let his surprise show; he tried to show her that she was where she belonged. When he got into his bedroom, she had already pulled off the bedclothes and borrowed one of his T- shirts, her favorite nightgown. He stripped into his boxers and lay down, spooning her.

He slept for almost five hours.

"You awake?"

He found her backlit by the dim light coming from the hall of the living room. Her hair was mussed and the T- shirt's neckline had slipped to her shoulder. She was barefooted and holding a glass of water in her hands.

How could he go back to those days when waking up to find her standing in the doorway to his bedroom - their bedroom - had just been part of his dreams?

'Don't make me stop now, Scully.'

"I just woke up. You?"

She walked to the bed and sat beside him, putting the glass of water on the bedside table . "Just before you. I was thirsty. Did you sleep well?"

He pushed his body against the headboard into a sitting position. "As well as the circumstances allow."

She lowered her eyes to her hands. "I'm sorry, Mulder."

"Scully..."

"I should have waited."

She could have waited; he could have waited. What they couldn't do was feel sorry for what had happened. They couldn't regret *them.*

"They would have found a way to do that sooner or later."

She pursed her lips. Her face was flushed and her eyes were still puffy from sleep. "I hate staying like this. Maybe there's something we could do, Mulder."

There was just one thing he wanted to do: he wanted to assure her that he was fine, that they would be okay. He wanted to wake up in her arms, sobbing, she soothing his pain, telling him that it was all a bad dream.

He had woken up; the nightmare didn't vanish with her presence. Having her share a bed with him the past two nights was tangible proof. This was real.

And their reality had become his worst nightmare.

"What can we do, Scully?"

She spilled her frustration into the air with a sigh. "I don't know, Mulder. I don't even know what happened, what those people wanted in our room."

"It was a bust, Scully."

He told her everything Skinner had told him previously. Her eyes never left his face, but once or twice she grimaced and twisted the sheets around her fingers. When he was finished, they shared a long silence.

"So," she said, breaking the silence, "it was a drug bust."

"Yes, a big one."

She muttered, "Damn," and left her place in the bed. She paced to the bathroom doorway and came back, her face a mask of defeat.

"Damn it, Mulder. How could we let ourselves be fooled like that? What were we thinking?"

The cold fingers of fear were running up and down his spine. "Scully, please..."

"Where did that truck come from? We were followed and didn't even know that."

"There was no truck following us, Scully. The street was most likely empty," he said, trying to soothe some of her anger without success.

"They knew, Mulder; they knew. Somehow they knew." She closed her right hand in a fist and started punching her left one.

He was desperate in seeing her lose control like that. He needed her rational mind now to convince him that everything would be okay.

"How could they have known where we... Oh my God."

Her fist was frozen midway in the air, no more sounds coming from the small arch her lips formed.

He threw off the bedclothes and walked to her. He reached forward with his shaking hands but she turned away and walked back to the bed and sat down. He knelt down in front of her and took her cold hands between his.

"Scully, talk to me."

She stared at him with vibrant eyes. He hated such vibrancy because they were caused by unshed tears.

"The credit card," she stated, her hands gripping his.

"What?"

"Your credit card," she said again, "it wouldn't go through. Something was blocking it."

"Do you think they traced it?" he asked softly.

She nodded and breathed deeply. "It would be so easy for them."

It would be too easy for them. If the Gunmen, in that shabby pigsty they called headquarters could do almost everything, why wouldn't the Consortium that had the money and the authorization to do such a degrading thing?

But if they wanted to harm them, why wait for the two of them to come back home? They could have bugged their room in New Orleans and have used whatever they had gotten anytime. He and Scully had spent every single night there together. The other bed in the room she was supposed to share with Diana hadn't had the weight of her body on it for the time they were working on the case.

"It's possible." He kept his stare on their hands. The long arms of his guilt were embracing him in such way he couldn't breathe.

She didn't want to be in that motel. She had wanted to keep going. He let his lust for her put them in that unbearable situation. There were tears threatening to roll down his face. He couldn't cry; she needed his strength.

"We'll find a way, Mulder."

There was a tiny smile on her face when he looked back at her.

Her force, her strength, her determination. Everything they were. They couldn't sit and wait for things to resolve, by their hands or others. That just wasn't them.

"And we'll fight," he said resolutely.

Snapping into action, he stood up and took the telephone. "I'm calling the Gunmen. If we were traced, they will find a way to discover it." Before pushing the speed dial, he stopped and looked at her. "I'll have to tell them."

She seemed to be embarrassed but still gave the authorization he needed. "It's for the best. Do it."

He flashed a victorious smile at her. The Consortium be damned; they were back.

"Byers speaking."

"Byers, it's me. Turn off the tape."

He rubbed his forehead while Byers rustled around, clicking off things.

"Done."

"I've got a job for you. Is it possible to find out if my credit card was traced yesterday?"

"Exactly when could it have happened?

"Early evening, around seven-thirty. I was at... what's its name... Hold on a minute." He picked up his wallet and took out the slip the clerk had handed in the motel. "Here. D'Azur Motel, phone 443-4567. It's in Baltimore."

"...567," Byers mouthed, taking notes. "I'll verify the phone calls made between seven to eight-thirty. Did you use your AMEX?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll start a search in the AMEX lines and see if they had a problem yesterday evening. It may take some time. Where are you?"

"At my apartment. My cell phone is on."

He felt Byers hesitation over the phone. "Hey, Mulder; is everything okay? You sound kind of... frantic."

"We're going to tell you everything. Scully and I will stop by. Just call me when you get the information."

"Working on it, Mulder."

He hung up the phone and walked back to her side.

"How do you think they'll be able help us?" she asked when he sat beside her.

"You know them, Scully; they'll find a way. But in the mean time we should do something ourselves. We can't just sit here while Skinner and Byers do all the work," he finished, staring at their deformed reflection on the TV screen.

"Maybe we could do a background check," she said, worrying her lower lip. "Find out who the people inside of that truck were."

There was a knock on the door and he looked out the doorway in the bedroom with worry, wondering who could it be.

He felt the palm of her hand on his arm. "It's okay, Mulder. I ordered a pizza while you were sleeping."

He smiled at her. "Pizza? Like mushroom pizza?"

"No," she said, raising from the bed. "Pepperoni. I know you like pepperoni. And lots of vegetables for me."

He didn't tell her that at this point he really didn't feel like eating. He knew his woman. She would force him to eat at least one large slice covered with melted cheese. He would eat for her.

He stopped her when she was walking to the living room, a twenty pressed in the palm of her hand. "Be sure it's just the pizza guy before you open the door."

He saw a hint of disdain in her eyes before she padded to the living room. If he had taken the money from her hand and gone to answer the door himself, as he would like to do...

Instead, he went to the bathroom and splashed some water on his face, giving her the time to have some autonomy in their situation.

After deciding that half a minute was more than enough time for her to decide how much to tip the delivery boy, he pulled on his jeans and went to the living room.

"Where's that pizza, Scully? I can't smell the pepperoni."

There was no pizza. There were Diana standing in the doorway and Scully glaring at her suspiciously.

"Diana? What are you doing here?"

He walked to Scully and stopped at her side, not touching her.

"I know what happened, Fox. I came here to help."

He opened his mouth to talk but Scully didn't give him the time. "Thank you, Agent Fowley, but Mulder and I are working on it right now."

"Scully, wait," he said, advancing in Diana's direction. At that point he would hold on to any hope and offer of help he could find to keep Scully and the X-Files. "Let's listen to her. How did you find out what happened?"

Diana blushed slightly when she answered his question. "Sanders told me."

He looked surprised at her. Diana and Sanders? He never noticed anything while they were working under Sanders. But then, Diana had always been the most discreet person he had ever met. And that coming from a person that knew Dana Scully was something to consider.

She looked like she wanted to hear him say something about that matter.

There was nothing for him to say.

"And how do you expect to help us?" Scully was not making a question; she was demanding an answer.

"I have the name of the man who made the phone call," Diana said. "We could go after him." She handed him a strip of paper.

He took this small piece of information that meant so much to them. "Lester Peevy?"

"Yes, Fox." She looked at him triumphantly. "Now we have a name, it will be easy to find this guy." They had a name. The Gunmen could find this guy easily. They would know who was behind all this shit they were in.

"Mulder, I don't think it's a good idea. We should pursue a more substantial lead."

"We have a name, Scully. How more substantial could it be?"

"A name that we don't know the origin of. We should be careful, Mulder." She looked at Diana defiantly.

"Why, Agent Scully?" Diana said offended, stepping even closer to him. "I know you have no reason to trust me, but I have interests in this matter, too."

Scully glanced at him briefly before looking back at Diana. "Of course you do." She held her ground and didn't back away. "That's what's worrying me."

Worrying her? What was she talking about? Diana wanted to help them and she was refusing her help? More than that, she was openly telling them she didn't trust Diana.

"Scully..."

"Fox, maybe it would be better if we could talk alone."

Diana didn't even flinch when Scully looked piercingly at her. He hadn't liked the way Diana had uttered the words, but he was inclined to agree with her. Somehow, whenever his ex was around them, Scully got into that defensive mood.

"Scully," he said placing an assuring hand on her arm, his eyes begging her to trust him. "Why don't you wait for me in the bedroom? We can..."

She quirked her head aside in his direction, her lips parting slightly, her eyes filled with hurt.

"Scully, it's not..."

She held up her palm, ordering him to stop. "Fine, Mulder."

She hadn't understood.

Frightened, he followed her with his gaze as she walked back to the bedroom and softly closed the door.

He breathed small puffs of air and closed his eyes. Could this weekend get even worse?

"Fox."

Diana really seemed to be embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, Fox." She took out her keys from her pocket and started walking to the door. "I should have called before coming here."

"Diana, that's okay." He gestured to the couch. "Sit down for a minute, okay? I'll be right back."

The hall to the bedroom had never been that long while he walked, repeating his mantra 'please Scully, please Scully, please Scully.'

He had prayed for nothing.

She zipped up her jeans and sat down on the bed to put her shoes on, the T-shirt she had been wearing lying folded on the chair near the window.

"Where are you going?"

She finished tying her right shoe. "Home."

He felt all his limbs turning into gel. "Why?"

Left shoe tied, she stood up to tuck her shirt inside her zipped up jeans. "I'm not going to wait in your bedroom, Mulder."

He looked at her bag on the floor, right where he had left it. "You were going to spend the night."

She slid the bag on her shoulder and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "It would have been a mistake."

"We are not a mistake, Scully," he whispered.

She looked aside and, like a miracle, something inside of her softened, her eyes acquiring a lighter shade of blue. "No, Mulder," she said quietly. "We're not."

And she left.

Fighting the turmoil inside of him, he looked at the spot she had glanced to and his gaze fell on the portrait on the bedside table.

The portrait she had given him last week, displaying his and Samantha's smiling faces.

The photo he had planned on replacing this weekend with a photo of him and Scully.

She had walked away and he hadn't changed the photo.

He went after her barefooted and pulling on the T-shirt she had left behind.

"Scully."

He found her ready to step into the elevator. She looked at him, her beautiful face showing all her tiredness.

"Don't go like that, Scully."

"Maybe she's right, Mulder. Maybe you should talk with her alone. She will be able to help you; she's a good investigator."

She hadn't understood.

"Don't go like that, Scully."

"I don't know any other way to go, Mulder."

Stunned, he winced when he reached out to cup her cheek and she turned her face away. If she had slapped him it would have hurt no less.

"We have to talk about this, Scully. Give us a chance to make things right."

"Mulder..."

"I'll stop by your place," he said with a confidence that wasn't in him at that moment. "We can talk there, like we should have done yesterday."

She opened her mouth to say something but stopped. Instead, she nodded and walked into the elevator.

As its doors were closing, he begged her one more time.

"Wait for me, Scully."

The door closed on his face.

He walked back to his apartment and closed the door. He leaned his back on it and slid to the floor, his nervous fingers tangling in his dishevelled hair.

"Fox, are you all right?"

He lifted his head to find Diana walking in his direction.

"We will be fine, Diana," he whispered, staring at his hands. "We will be fine."


Chapter 32

All the warmth that had enveloped the mug, making it too hot to her touch, had faded a long time ago; there was no longer a sheen of sweat staining the yellow china. The condensation had formed a round puddle on the cherry wood, marring the surface that until yesterday had been perfect. In her frenzy to get the tea ready and check out the list Frohike had emailed her shortly after she got home, she forgot to grab a saucer to use as a support to the mug. Right now, she was still too enthralled in her reading to pay attention to the furniture.

The names danced in front of her like the flame she had seen in Mulder's eyes two evenings ago, when he had laid her down on that same cream surface, insisting that he wanted to make love to her there. She had been adamant in telling him they were not going to leave their mark on her desk. He had pouted, whined, kissed her thoroughly while pulling her clothes off her, but she still said no, leading him by his beltloop to the bedroom.

They ended up loving each other on the hallway floor, on their way to her bed.

Now the desk would hold a mark that wasn't theirs.

Her glasses reflected back the light coming from the screen and she blinked to ease some of its brightness.

She didn't want to think about him. She couldn't think about him.

But God, was it hard.

None of the dozen names displayed before her was Fox Mulder, and yet he was there, all around her. There were the chocolate colored threads wrapped around her comb in the bathroom, and the toothpaste tube showed the mark of a squeeze right on its middle. She was to teach him how to get the most out of the toothpaste tube and that he had to clean the comb after using it.

Now she might not have the time to show him any of that.

The list; she had to go back to the list.

Travis DeStefano Audi Caine Will Randolph Leonard Bettwieser

The list kept going; she just couldn't go past the fifth name. They were all made up; those people didn't resemble big shots enough to have such shipment of guns with them. Through the look on their faces, she could see they were a fine example of the dirtiness you could find on the streets. However, she was also an investigator; she didn't find in them the malice to make them the finest sample of scum of the earth. The colored faces she was seeing on the computer screen were the ones of little thieves hired to do the dirty work.

But for whom?

The imaginary scent of Morley invaded her nostrils. She had the face, she had the smell of smoke. Yet, she didn't have the name to go along with the lone figure her catholic heart hated even more each passing day.

Victor McSweeney

Victor McSweeney. This one she knew. Rapidly, she typed her ID number to gain access on the FBI files, rejoicing when she discovered they hadn't blocked her access.

Yet.

Victor McSweeney. Age: 37; features resembling a young Paul Newman; a criminal file as long as the actor's career.

Drug dealer.

Loan shark.

Main suspect in dozen murders.

She could discover even more if she found the sheet of paper she had just printed among the several white sheets displayed carelessly around her laptop.

She found the right paper at the same time as he unlocked the door.

He entered her apartment dressed in darkness. Dark jeans, dark T-shirt, dark boots, dark leather jacket.

He put the bag he was carrying on the floor before crossing the living room to where she was sitting, by the window.

Two day old stubble darkening his face. Dark circles around his eyes.

Darkness embracing his soul.

"You waited."

It was a few minutes past eight when he had asked her to wait for him. She had waited until two o'clock in the morning.

"Yes, Mulder. I did."

Darkness in her voice.

Through the years she had learned to distinguish some of his made up faces and gestures, but most of all, she had learned how to read his eyes. They were slightly narrowed, tiny veins of red tinged the area where whiteness should reign. Eyes without brightness; eyes full of defeat.

She turned her attention back to the sheet of paper she had in hand.

"What are you doing?"

He walked closer to her and stopped behind her chair. He bent forward and started muttering the names he read on the screen.

"Leonard Groo, Daniel Cherrington, Talman Reed, Marcellous Tincher..."

The warmth brought by his proximity and the odor of musk and leather coming from him distracted her for a moment. She inhaled musk in the sheets of her bed, and there was a blouse in her closet - the purple one, she was sure of that - that still carried the scent of leather the floral conditioner she used hadn't washed away. He had thrown the jacket on her shoulder the night he had taken her out to some stargazing on their bench, the second time he had asked her out.

The first time his lips brushed against hers when he walked her back to her door.

She pressed four fingers against her lips to keep the tears at bay.

"What are you doing, Scully?"

She waited for the invisible cords of desperation to loosen some of its tight hold around her throat before answering him.

"Some research. Those are the men they were looking for in our room."

"I don't know any of them."

"There's this one." She pointed at the name in question. "Victor McSweeney."

"Victor McSweeney... Victor McSweeney..." He caught the paper in her hand. "Of course. Victor McSweeney. Big shot. We never put together enough proof to catch him, though. Did you get this from the guys?"

"Yes. Frohike emailed it to me," she said, catching the paper he was handing back to her. "I called him on my way back home." She took off her glasses and started organizing the papers inside a folder. "Did you and Agent Fowley go after that guy?"

Mulder nodded and stepped in front of her, sitting on her desk. "Lester Peevy, a small potato. He was as good as dead, though."

"He's dead?"

"Yes, Scully. He is."

She closed her eyes in respect for a man that was almost as much of a victim as they were.

"They traced my credit card, Scully."

She raised her eyes to meet his gaze.

"I stopped by the Gunmen's on my way here. Byers had a report. A problem in the AMEX line at almost exactly the same time as we checked into that motel."

"How do you think it will help us?"

His index finger traced the lines of the lamp on the desk and her own fingers itched to touch his. "I don't know. I... just don't know." He faced her again. "What did you get?"

"A few things. Victor was released; no sufficient proof to keep him. The reports Frohike sent, however, show that his bank account miraculously increased by three- hundred thousand dollars overnight."

Mulder bit his lower lip the same way he used to capture hers while they were kissing. "What about the other guys?"

"Each one of them is one-hundred thousand dollars richer."

"To spend in prison?"

"They have families, Mulder. Wives, kids."

"Kids won't have to work," he sighed.

"They will be fine," she said, putting her glasses on the desk.

He picked them up. "And what about us, Scully?"

Doubt shone in his eyes like it did on the morning they woke up together after making love for the first time. Now she didn't have a reassuring gaze to gift him with.

"I don't know, Mulder."

"Don't say that, Scully."

The hurt in his voice acted like knives in her chest, opening the wounds she had managed to cure in his absence.

"It's late, Mulder. Let's not discuss it now," she said, leaving the chair she had been sitting on.

"Sure." He stood up again. "You must be tired; it was a long day." He took off his jacket and put it on the back of her vacant chair. "Get the bed ready while I lock everything."

She observed motionless as he waltzed around her house, checking the lock on the windows before closing the curtains, the tight short sleeve of his T-shirt revealing the perfectly shaped muscles of his arms.

"I'll heat up the milk." He headed to the kitchen. "Do you want some?" he asked, opening the refrigerator's door. He would find nothing there; they didn't have milk at home.

She felt another lump in her throat.

They didn't have milk...

"We don't have any milk, Scully?"

...at home.

"No," she mouthed to herself.

"Scully?"

She felt his breath on her nape and got still before he could touch her.

"Mulder, I'm tired. I'm not up to anything."

"Neither am I, Scully." He hugged her from behind and kissed her hair. "I just want to sleep, too. Go to bed. I'll be right there."

She transferred all the energy she had in her body to her hands. With a feather like touch, her fingers freed her from his embrace. She didn't turn to him.

"Scully..."

"You're not staying, Mulder."

"Why?"

The strangled monosyllabic echoed in large waves in the room, gripping them as invisible cuffs to their despair.

"Where's Diana?" She couldn't bring herself to face him.

"What does Diana have to do with it, Scully?"

She said nothing, just kept her back to him.

"Damn it, Scully. Talk to me."

Her lips quivered and she bit the inside of her mouth hard. If she would cry that night, it would be for another kind of pain.

"I left you here alone. You came after me." He didn't raise his voice, but it was trembling with anger. "I don't want to fuck you; I just want to sleep with you," he pleaded.

She knew that his nose now must be red and his face flushed. She could feel in her bones how close he was to tears. If he started crying, there was nothing that could hold her up.

"What do you want from me, Scully?"

Very slowly she turned to look at him.

"I wanted you to go to mass with me, tomorrow. That was why I went to your apartment." All her emotions showed in the quietness of her resigned voice.

"I will." He stepped closer to her. "I'll go to mass with you tomorrow. I think I have a suit here. If I'm wrong, we can go to my house now and sleep there."

"I don't want you to do that, Mulder. I have no right to ask you this."

"You have every right to ask me anything, Scully."

"Not this, Mulder." She opened a sad smile at him. "We have different beliefs. I put my faith in God. I know I'll find some comfort at His house. And I also know that you'd just find peace if you went after that guy, whether it was with me or not. You put your faith in people."

"I didn't want to hurt you."

"I know you didn't." She reached out and caressed his face. "We want the same things, but this time I don't think we'll get it together. I have to go where my faith guides me. You should do the same"

"My faith is in you, Scully," he whispered at her.

"So trust me with this." Her thumb traced the birth mark she loved so much. "I'm not going anywhere, Mulder."

"So don't send me away."

"I'm not." She wiped the corner of his eye. "But I think we should not be together right now. Go home and rest."

"You know I won't be able to."

"You will." Her lips caressed his cheek. "Think of me. I'll be thinking of you," she whispered against his face.

There was an hesitant nod against her temple and a kiss in her brow. "Pray for us tomorrow," he said, letting her go.

"I will."

He picked up his jacket and walked to the door. "Let's go meet Skinner together on Monday, okay?"

She swallowed hard and nodded. "I'll pick you up at six- thirty."

He almost smiled at her before going away.

She kept staring at the spot he had just left. Her finger brushed away a tear that threatened to fall.

He had left his bag behind.


Chapter 33

She was enveloped in a world of white cotton candy, soft and cozy at last. Until some tickling static entered into her peaceful sleep, itching her nose. A disoriented finger moved the pushy nuisance aside, but it kept going back to its original place: over her nostrils, down to her lips.

In the end, it was not the fringe of the afghan covering her that woke her up, but the jingle of the keys turning in the lock. She thought it was him.

"Mulder?"

Another jingle of keys, this time hitting the hardwood floor, followed by a sudden gulp of air.

She turned her head on the couch's arm she had been sleeping on and glanced at the doorway. Her mother stood there, dressed for mass, her left palm pressed against her torso, her breathing out of rhythm. Scully threw the blanket aside and dashed to her mother.

"Mom," she said, holding Margaret by the elbow to motion her towards the nearest chair.

"Jesus, Dana," said Margaret, still recovering from the fright. "Don't do this again."

"I'm sorry, Mom," Scully apologized, setting Margaret on the sofa before heading to the kitchen to get a glass of water. "I forgot you were coming over."

When she got back into the living room, her mother looked quizzically at her.

"I thought I could water the plants before going to mass," she said, accepting the glass Dana was handing her. "What are you doing here? Weren't you going out of town with Fox?"

Scully arched her eyebrows and stared at her hands, embarrassed. Her mother was not a child; Margaret knew she was sleeping with Mulder. After all, she had driven Scully to the airport to meet him at the beach house. What made her uncomfortable was that she hadn't seen her mother since then. Scully had called her twice, first to say that everything had gone right in Quonochontaug, and later to ask Margaret to care for her house on the weekend.

"Is everything okay, dear?"

Scully pushed a lock of hair away from her eyes and sat beside her mother. "We couldn't go this weekend." She smiled ruefully. "Maybe we'll never be able to."

Her mother's eyes narrowed with concern. "Dana, what happened?"

Margaret snatched her daughter's hands between hers. Scully placed their entwined hands into her lap. Her heart was coercing her to lie her head down in her mother's lap and be a child again.

"Did you and Fox get into a fight?"

She shook her head. "No, Mom."

Margaret freed one of her hands and finger combed her daughter's hair. "So tell me what is this, honey. Why are you so sad?"

The curtains on the window filtered some of the rays of light illuminating the living room. However they didn't provide enough shadow to hide her shame from her mother.

"The Bureau knows Mulder and I are together,Mom," she finally said.

"And is it a bad thing?"

In the cream colored beacon of light, the clusters of dust swirling around the living room became quite distinguished. They seemed to be floating all in the same direction: towards her face to land at her feet.

"It wouldn't be if half the Bureau hadn't caught us... together."

Margaret's fingers got lost in one wave of her daughter's tousled hair. She looked at Scully like she hadn't understood, until the knowledge of the situation landed in her hand, its weight making Margaret slid her palm against Scully's face.

"They... They didn't..." Her mother's eyes became dark.

"They... did, Mom."

Margaret's eyes filled with compassion as she tenderly cupped her daughter's face. "Oh my God, Dana. How?"

How? Just because she couldn't refrain herself from touching him, from feeling his skin against hers. Just because she couldn't wait to have sex with him again. Just because she decided to act like a passionate woman for the first time since she didn't remember when.

"I don't know, Mom. They just appeared from nowhere."

"Oh, dear." Margaret squeezed the hand that she kept in her hold. "I can't begin to imagine what that was like."

"Disastrous can't begin to describe it, Mom."

Her mother's pads tenderly caressed the skin on her cheekbones. "Oh, Dana. And what happens now?"

"There will be a hearing on Tuesday to evaluate our behavior. A.D. Skinner is on our side. And Mulder has some friends doing some research. We're fine."

"Dana, you're not fine."

Scully had been wrong. The cluster of dust first landed on the coffee table, forming a tenuous film of particles of earth and grey powder of the cement on the curbs. They needed rain to moisten the air, like the one that had fallen at the beach house last weekend. Just to purify the air.

"Dana?"

She looked back at her mother. "I miss the rain, Mom."

"Rain?"

Scully let go of her mother's hand, ignoring the confused stare that followed her when she knelt down on the edge of the rug that lay under the coffee table. The dark glass was becoming greyish. It was funny to see how one of her favorite toys as a child now bothered her. When she was four or five, she loved to imprint her little digits on any dusty surface, whether it was Ahab's rarely used old Ford windshield or her mother's side and coffee tables. On cleaning days, she would volunteer to take care of the furniture that served as a canvas to her childish imagination. She recognized the stoic face reflected on the table, blinking back at her; it was the one she had learned to make when Margaret would come with a rug cloth and clean out her artistic patterns.

"It rained when we were at the beach house, Mom. Good, old fashioned summer rain." She smiled at her reflection, her finger tracing loose dusty clouds. "I hadn't enjoyed one in years."

She felt the slight movement of the rug under her knees when her mother moved to be beside her. "Summer rains are always beautiful, Dana."

"That one was special, Mom. I will never face the rain again with the same eyes."

Margaret sat down on the floor and pulled her into her embrace. She went willingly, resting her head on her mother's bosom.

"Where's Fox, Dana?"

When she heard his name, she kept her eyes open in hopes that they would remain dry. "I don't know. I sent him home last night."

For a few moments she enjoyed the quiet rise and fall of her mother's chest and the soothing rhythm of the heart pulsing under her ear without saying a word. The knowledge that Margaret was there, her slender fingers untangling the knots in Scully's hair were almost like a balm to her bruised soul.

Almost.

"I think you should be with him now, dear," Margaret said, quietly.

She wanted to blink, but she had to keep her eyes dry. "I can't, Mom. He needs to make an important decision. I can't interfere in that."

There was a tender kiss on her forehead. "But his decision will interfere in your life, too, Dana. Maybe you should talk."

She nuzzled her mother's linen dress, inhaling the loved scent of spring flowers and comfort. "No. This is something he has to decide by himself."

Her mother cupped her neck and gently pulled her head to meet her gaze. "And what about you? Are you just going to accept whatever he decides?"

She felt some humidity behind her eyelids and she arched her brow to keep her eyes open. "I don't know. The only thing that I'm sure of is that I'll respect him."

"And what about you?"

She stared at her mother silently. For that she had no response.

Margaret gently pushed Scully aside and smoothed her wrinkled skirt. Then she took her daughter's hands and pulled her onto her feet. "Go take a shower while I make us some coffee," she said, moving towards the kitchen.

"Mom, mass starts in twenty minutes," Scully argued, following her.

"I know," Margaret replied, already opening the cupboard to get the coffee pot. "But if you hurry up we can make the nine o'clock mass."

"Mom..."

"Look, Dana," Margaret said, putting the pot away and looking at Scully. "I understand if you don't want Fox's comfort. And I, even loving you so much, won't be able to give you what you need right now." She smiled softly. "Let the Lord be that help, huh?"

The smile she gave back to her mother was small, but genuine. "I'll be ready in twenty minutes."

On her way to shower, she glanced at the coffee table.

It didn't seem so dusty anymore.


Chapter 34

The white folder Scully had handed to Skinner now lay open on his table, its contents carefully being analysed by him. He flipped through the sheets of paper with clinical eyes and occasionally would go back one page or two to look for information that he had missed or that hadn't been clear. He could avoid all that trouble if he just asked her what he wanted to know. Scully had gone through that file so many times the night before, searching for the smallest bit of information that she had put there without noticing it and that could help with their situation, that she had memorized it in its entirety.

Her analytical side, however, told her she had left nothing behind; she would never let one of her reports be less than perfect. And for once she was suffering because of that.

Beside her, Mulder was reading all over again the copy of Agent Fowley's report. Occasionally, his index finger would push his golden wired glasses further into his face, as if this simple act would help put what he was reading into better perspective. For her there was just one thing to be considered: nothing short of a miracle could save them.

Skinner finished his reading and put the papers on his desk before looking at her. Scully reached out and took SAC Hoffman's notes again to have something in her hands and to dismiss Skinner's gaze. No matter that they had been sitting in his office for the last couple of hours, reading files, discussing facts with the same goal in mind. No matter that she was beginning to trust Skinner as an ally now. She had never trusted her naked body to him, and he had seen it.

Mulder carelessly threw the papers he had with him on Skinner's desk, his glasses following suit. Luckily they landed on the folder he had just discarded.

"I won't accept this."

Automatically, Skinner started putting the papers back together. "You have to, Mulder. Unless what she wrote here isn't true, this will be considered in the hearing tomorrow."

"This is nonsense."

"This is factual, Mulder."

Scully closed the folder she had picked up, but kept it with her, in her lap. Instinctively, she placed her right hand on Mulder's forearm to still some of his agitation.

"Do you want facts? I will give you facts." His right hand yanked the report she was holding from her. "This is what happened there and that's what matters." He stood up and shoved the folder before Skinner. "We went there and solved the case. We stopped the killings."

"Nobody is going to question that, Mulder. They know what you did there." Skinner remained sitting, in a clear demonstration that he wasn't intimidated by her partner's attitude. "This is not the point and you know that. Now you better sit down so we can finish with this."

"Mulder," Scully called him calmly, ignoring all the fear and anger boiling inside of her. "Sit down. This is not helping."

"Don't you understand, Scully?" He looked down at her. "Don't you understand what's happening here?"

"I do understand, and unless you calm down, we won't get anything resolved here."

For a few seconds he just stood there, looking at her, and she feared he was going to start arguing again. Instead, he walked to the middle of the room and she saw the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he breathed.

"I know. It's just that..." The querulous tone of his voice was gone. In its place there was just defeat. "We can't let them do this to us."

"I'll do my best to help you, Mulder. But you have to calm down," said Skinner, leaning forward.

"I know, sir." Mulder moved his attention back to Skinner. "But..." He stopped and walked back to his chair without sitting in it. "We were together there, but that's all. While we were there we worked, and we worked really hard."

"I know, Mulder. SAC Hoffman emphasized this side of your professional behavior while on the field." Skinner pointed at Mulder's, mutely ordering him to sit down. "But they're interested in knowing what happened after that. Agent Fowley states that you would work until midnight and then retreat to your room."

"It didn't happen like that."

"Agent Scully slept in your room, Mulder."

Scully raised her voice for the first time that morning. "We shared a room, sir, but I don't see how it damaged the case or the investigation."

The two men stopped their rambling to pay attention to her petite figure that always managed to grow a good six inches when she was defied or disrespected. That was how she had been able to survive in a man's world, being more confident and sensible than they could be.

"I told you I didn't want to pry into your relationship, Agent Scully."

"That's what everyone's doing nowadays, sir." She gestured to all the papers on the desk. "This is the most perverse attitude the Bureau could have taken towards us."

Scully grabbed the edges of the desk in an attempt to regain her composure. An outburst like that was not what she had in mind. But damn it. She and Mulder were being treated like they had flown to New Orleans with the sole purpose of having sex.

The air in the room felt heavy and thick, making it difficult for her to drawn oxygen into her lungs and breath. It hurt to be there.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, sorry for lashing out at Skinner when he was trying to help them.

"That's alright, Scully." Skinner handed her a tall glass of water and she breathed a thank you while sipping some of the cool refreshment.

Skinner pulled out yet another sheet of paper from a drawer and handed it to Mulder. "This is Danny's report. Our computers didn't register any call to your cell phones on Friday evening."

Mulder slumped back in his chair and took one of her hands in his. "Finally good news. So I believe they're going to call off all of this shit now, won't they?"

"Not so fast, Mulder." Skinner pointed to the folder containing SAC Hoffman's report. "Both Hoffman and Diana stated that you went after the suspect without a back up team."

Scully went still in her chair.

"Yes, sir; we did."

"And Hoffman said that Scully had already called for help, but that you, Agent Mulder, refused to stay there and wait."

Mulder tightened the grip in her hand. "It didn't happen like that."

"So you tell me, Mulder; what really happened, since all you have to say in your defense is that it didn't happen like that."

"They were just cats. Diana and I could perfectly handle the situation by ourselves."

"Were you there with them, Agent Scully?"

She disentangled her fingers from Mulder's. "A few blocks away, but... Yes, sir."

"Why didn't you take Agent Scully with you, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder looked visibly taken aback by those questions. He fidgeted in his seat as if it was on fire. "There was no need for Scully to come with us."

"You ended up hurt and so did Agent Fowley."

"Fuck, Skinner," shouted Mulder, losing it completely. "You were supposed to help us."

"That's what I'm doing, Mulder," said Skinner, resigned. "I'm just anticipating what the OPR Board will tell you: that you were trying to protect her."

Scully sank in her chair, incapable of holding herself up any longer. In her almost seven years of working with the FBI, she had never been this humiliated. Her career, her work as a field agent, all the training and sacrifices she had to make in order to be what she was, were now reduced to nothing under the serious accusation Skinner was making. She had lost her status as a Special Agent, she was no longer an MD, she wasn't even partner of The Most Unwanted Agent of the FBI anymore. Everything she had fought so hard to achieve in a world where men rule, now had been reduced to two single words: she was Mulder's Lover.

"I respect her too much to do such a thing to her, sir."

Mulder's reaction was all wrong. It was weak, unsure, automatic, a kid begging for a puppy, claiming that he would be responsible for it.

"After what we saw in that motel room, Mulder, this is not the conclusion they'll come up with, and both of you know that."

Mulder bowed his head. For Scully, that was a new signal in their silent communication: the moment her partner recognized her as what she was now.

She was just his lover.

"You're our superior, sir." Deep inside of her she found what remained of the FBI agent she once had been. "Tell us what you think as our superior."

Skinner paused. In each breath, every time his eyes wandered between her and her partner, she decoded a secret message the A.D. refused to tell them.

*Us* was something of the past.

"I'd say, Agent Scully, that it's time for the two of you to consider what to do with this partnership."

Scully felt the bitter taste of her pride sliding down her throat on its way to her stomach, the salt of their relationship sharply tingled her eyes. However, this last tangible sense of victory she wouldn't give them.

Skinner stood up and started organizing the folders on his table in one neat pile. "I'm going to join the board in one hour. We'll make the preliminaries for the hearing tomorrow," Skinner said, awkwardly. "I'll take the evidence you collected with me."

Leaving his chair, a disoriented Mulder pointed to the documents they had brought. "Shouldn't we be there, sir? I mean, you're going to discuss us."

"We're going to analyse the effects your relationship may have on your work, Mulder."

Scully lay her eyes on their five years working together compacted in four plastic folders and a brown envelope.

Skinner looked at the clock hanging on the wall. "It's ten past nine. You better go now."

Scully bit her lower lip and briefly glanced at the pile of papers before heading to the door. She had a hand on the doorknob and Mulder's palm pressed on the small of her back when Skinner called them one last time.

"Yes, sir?" Mulder replied for them.

Skinner smoothed the bare skin on his head and took some hesitant steps towards them. "You're aware that the shift in here started just ten minutes ago. This hallway must be crowded by now."

"Don't worry, sir." Mulder snorted. "We're already all fucked up." He smirked. "This time they won't have to wonder. They saw." And with that, he pulled the door open and pushed her through it.

They had spent the last five years confined in the basement and its dark stairs and walls without window nor any natural light. And then there was the X-Files office, with numerous shelves and books scattered everywhere. They had lost everything with the fire, minus their will to keep going. Slowly they were reconstructing what they had lost. Friday afternoon she found the two strange currencies newspapers Mulder had bought in New Orleans piled on his desk. The medical journals she had brought from her apartment were neatly organized in the corner she had claimed as her own in their coming back, and even Diana's magazines had found a tiny place on their new bookshelves. They were rebuilding their home in the FBI.

However, she had always had a soft spot for the third floor.

She had always loved space. Clear, bright, large spaces. And the third floor was like that. That had been her thought when she stepped in Skinner's officer for the first time: so that's what being an A.D. was like. Large walls, large windows, light coming from everywhere. And the neatness, the rich scent of mahogany coming from each piece of furniture in the room, mixed with the odor of power those walls exhaled. Halls built to hold four agents walking side by side without brushing into each other. Walking up that halls, listening to the heels of her shoes hitting the tile floor had always made her believe that she was untouchable, feeding the sense of pride she had born with, making her feel important.

The halls on the third floor were sparking with life.

Not groups of four, but five agents were walking up and down the pristine white corridors, chatting about the events of the weekend, heading to their places in the several bullpens all over there.

Chatting about them.

Was it her imagination or had the voices really stopped the moment she and Mulder reached the corridor?

Briefly, for a whisper of a moment, they stood there, facing their co-workers.

She was ready to face them. For the last two days she had been preparing herself to meet these people and send them to hell the moment she heard the first snide comment.

None came.

The hand on her back urged her forward. She stepped once, twice, three times, and so on. Her eyes kept staring at the people in front of her. Each step carrying them closer and closer to the elevator. Each look of pity, of malice, of wonderment blinding her, slowly, continuously, merciless. She felt their eyes on her back, following them, the humming of their comments closing behind her like the waters of the Red Sea had closed behind the believers on their way to the Promised Land. The hand that once had been her savior in countless occasions, keeping her safe, was the final proof of their sin, his fingertips burning on her back the sores of their guilt, of her shame. She felt herself growing hot, but the front zipper on her black jacket was down, showing the whiteness of her blouse and the glistening of her cross. The heels of their shoes hitting the floor composed the dreadful tune of their downfall. On her shoulders lay all the glances they were receiving, all the commentaries she was hearing, making it too much to bear.

The column of her spine started bending, and his hand was there to stead her. Only this time it wasn't enough. She walked the last feet towards the elevator looking at the tips of her shoes.

Luckily, their waiting didn't take too long. As soon as they stopped in front of the steel door, it opened and yet another group of agents stepped out of it.

"She may be tiny, but man, what a body!"

That was what she last heard before she saw her red fury faced partner pinning Agent Danson in the back end of the car.

"Mulder!"

There were two other agents in vain trying pull Mulder off the brunet man.

"Are you fucking crazy, man?" Danson shouted, taken aback by the sudden assault.

Agents Jackson and Gray had finally freed Danson's when Mulder barked at him, "I catch you talking about her like that again, I'll kill you, you fucking bastard!"

Before Mulder's menace, Danson launched himself against her partner again. He would have gotten Mulder square in the eye if Agent Gray hadn't held his fist.

Scully held Mulder through the collar of his jacket and his sleeves.

"That's okay, I got him." The other agents freed their hold on Mulder and she pushed him inside of the car. "Let's go, Mulder."

She pushed the bottom to the first floor endless times in hopes of getting away from that place. Mulder was leaning on the wall behind her, sweat glistening on the skin of his face. She glanced at him long enough to see that he was fine before she started pushing the white button again.

Just when the door was starting to close, a pair of chocolate colored hands kept them open.

"Is he okay, Agent Scully?" She heard, in a distance place, Agent Jackson asking her.

"We're fine, thanks," she responded, looking hesitantly at some point on the man's face, but not his eyes.

"We were not talking about Agent Scully, Agent Mulder." Jackson nodded at her. "I'm sorry for what happened."

She didn't have the energy to nod back at him.

But she did find the center folder of a magazine for men lying at her feet, where a bimbo that couldn't be an inch or two taller than her, stared back at her with an inviting smile on her red lips.

Jackson let go of the door, and they finally found themselves enclosed in the coldness of the elevator, like two strangers that by coincidence shared a seat in the bus, miles apart from each other. Fortunately, there was no more stopping on the way.

Her car was parked outside, so they stepped out of the elevator into a lobby full of young visitors from some kindergarten school in the neighborhood, and two young women, probably their teachers, telling them to stay in groups.

She had left her car half a block away from the entrance of the building. She spent their short walk considering what to tell him in their twenty minute ride to his house.

And what about him? Why couldn't he look at her and tell her what he was thinking?

They stopped on opposite sides of the car, the keys of the silver Taurus already in her hands, when he spoke to her again.

"I'm going home, Scully."

She almost let the keys fall.

"Home?"

"Yeah." He looked at the direction of the subway. "I'll take the subway."

"Mulder, you came with me. I can take you home." He looked impassible, with his hands tucked inside his slacks' pockets. "We have to talk, Mulder."

His lips turned upwards in a sad smile. "Talk? We won't talk, Scully. We don't know how to do this."

Rarely had been the times when he had presented her an argument and she had accepted it so peacefully. He had given up on them. She just wanted to know how long it would take her to do the same.

"Mulder..."

"I'll see you tomorrow." The intensity in his eyes burned her soul, something inside of her telling her that that was the last time he was carving himself into her like that.

"You take care, Dana."

He left her there, standing on the curb, looking at his tall figure going away in that sunny morning in August.

Her name rang in her ears, obliterating any other external sound, any other thought, making her loose her way. She forgot she was going home and that they had a hearing the next morning. She just remembered the smallness of her name coming from his mouth, and that the last time she had heard him call her that she had walked away from him.

The keys she was holding found their way back into her pocket without her noticing it. Her feet found a pace of their own and carried her away from there, aimlessly through Pennsylvania Avenue. She ignored the trees, the traffic, the lives pulsing in the busy avenue.

She had lost him, but God would have to give her the courage to let him go.

Yesterday she had knelt down on the floor of the church with her mother at her side and had asked for the same thing, the strength to let him go if it came to that.

Life on the base taught her that sooner or later someone was always left behind. She had lost count of how many faces she had forced into the oblivion, or had not become attached to in order to not suffer when it was time to go. The moment her father retired from the navy and they settled for good in Baltimore, she had believed that her need to be detached would be over. She couldn't have been more mistaken.

First she said goodbye to Ahab.

Then Melissa.

Emily.

And now Mulder.

She would not cry. Their ordeal was almost over. She had to hold herself together until the end.

She needed to learn how to say goodbye again. For her, the proper place to do this had always been the church.

Her family had gone back to her parents house after her father's ashes had been thrown in the sea and the wind had carried the Captain all over the waters that he had become part of. She, on the other hand, had chosen the comfort of the chapel she had found in her earlier days with the FBI, trying to find her peace with her deceased father, until it was time to join Mulder in their office. Mulder had found her in that same place hours after Melissa's funeral, and two years later he had spent hours sitting in a quiet place behind her when they had come back from San Diego, after having made the symbolic funeral for her little girl.

Always Mulder.

Briskly, she walked along the large sidewalk, towards a small church a few blocks down on the avenue. She fingered her cross. That would be a nice place to learn again how to let things go. She was going to light some candles, one for Mulder and another for herself. A third candle would be for the destiny of the X-Files.

'The fourth one will be to illuminate our way,' she planned as she stopped at a traffic light, waiting for her turn to cross the street.

'Apart.'


Chapter 35

When Mulder had walked away from Scully earlier that day, the thought of taking a plane to fly to the Vineyard hadn't crossed his mind. It had been like a trance: in one minute he was walking towards the subway in Washington, DC, and then in the next one he was looking for a men's store downtown on the Vineyard because he needed a clean suit for the hearing tomorrow.

The sight of his mother's well cared for garden and the bluish walls of the house he had spent part of his teen years showed him that there was no better place to be.

His mother greeted him at the front door with a smile, and even though his arrival had been unexpected, she made no comments nor questions about his being there.

He and his mother had spent the day in friendly silence, she working downstairs on her china paintings, and he getting to know again the old bedroom he hadn't visited in years, while trying to push aside any thought of Scully.

Scully.

When her absence had become too much for him to bear, he borrowed his mother's car and drove to Vineyard Haven, the busiest town on that small piece of land surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean.

The summer was the reason Martha's Vineyard existed. They were in middle August and yet the agitation of the town was in full swing, meaning that there was still life in the city. There were big queues of expensive cars in front the restaurants and the shops were making good money with the vacationers crowding their rooms searching for mementos for the ones that couldn't come. Kyle O'Brien, a basketball pal in his highschool years, went to Havard with the profits of his father's restaurant in Haven. Considering that the restaurant used to open its doors just from May to middle September remaining closed the rest of ther year, just like a good part of the shops all over the island, it was a good mark.

He stopped at a traffic light and a BMW convertible full of college girls stopped at his side. The driver, a beautiful brunette bearing a large smile winked at him. The other girls in the car made a great effort to suppress their giggles and show him that they were very much adults. He shook his head and smiled softly. What was it with young people nowadays? He was at least fifteen years older than those girls and yet they were waving and blowing kisses at him?

Scully liked older men.

Where that came from he didn't know, but there she was again, invading his thoughts like a thief.

Would she have blown the horn at him and called him 'Foxy' like the girls in that car, now driving down the avenue to chase boys their own ages, if they had met years ago?

Would he be with her now if he hadn't taken a coward's way and left?

No, that was not fair. He was not a coward. How many cowards would leave the best half of themselves behind in hopes that she would be better without them?

He was getting depressed again. He was used to the misfortunes of life, but this time the deities that governed the universe and insisted upon tormenting him were being far too cruel. Why give him the opportunity to have her, to get acquainted with her skin and the taste of her just to have her taken away from him like that?

Time to travel another 12 miles back home.

Mulder turned the car to his left, taking the road that led to his mother's. His hands were getting sore from driving so long, and there was the beginning of some numbness in his legs and butt from sitting in the same position for hours.

And then there was the remembrance of that disgusting shadow in her eyes when they found themselves alone in the elevator, after that sorry spectacle he had made at work.

Yes, he had made the right decision.

Sometime later he was relieved to see the white gate of his mother's house before him.

He parked the car in the driveway and rubbed his eyes. He was trapped in that state where his body was exhausted, but his mind refused to shut down. Aside from the occasional nap on his couch, he had been up for the last forty eight hours, since he had left Scully's apartment.

He had left Scully.

He had done the right thing. His running away couldn't be classified as a ditching. Or a betrayal of trust. Or anything that dramatic. For a man that was used to letting emotions rule his life, it was natural to be a little confused with his behavior in the last several hours. Fox Mulder was not used to being a rational man.

Scully had done a terrific job.

He opened the door to his mother's kitchen and tried to keep his movements quiet. It was late and his mother should already be asleep. He shouldn't be up at this hour either, since his flight was due at six o'clock in the morning.

Even the option of sleeping in had been taken away from him.

He put the toiletries bag he had purchased on the table and started looking for something to eat.

It was odd to be sneaking food from his mother's refrigerator at eleven o'clock at night, but he was really hungry. He had had a slice of homemade chicken pie and some lettuce and tomato salad for lunch, and that was all.

He found the leftovers of the pie, but put it aside. He needed something lighter, otherwise he really wouldn't sleep tonight. He took the carton of milk and closed the door, then he opened the cabinet to get a glass. Maybe there was a box of Oreos somewhere in the kitchen.

"There are chocolate cookies in the jar on the table, Fox."

His mother was standing in the doorway, wearing a light blue robe and her glasses. Her slippers had muffled the sound of her steps.

"I'm sorry, mom. Did I wake you?"

"No, I was awake, reading in my bedroom. Did you have a good time in town?"

He shuddered. "I just needed to get out for a while. I had a better time driving your car. What a machine!"

"I told you it was easy to drive."

"I could get used to having a car like that."

She tucked her hands into her pockets and leaned on the doorway. "Your birthday is close. Who knows?"

He put his glass on the table and opened the cookie jar, then he pulled out a chair to sit down. His mother observed him without moving. When he paid special attention to her, he noted that she looked undecided between staying or leaving him alone.

He pulled out another chair for her and went back to the cupboard. "Do you still prefer your milk with sugar, Mom?"

She smiled gratefully at him and joined him in the room. "Yes. It's behind the coffee pot."

He picked up the sugar pot and another glass and went back to the table. Teena had picked up a plate on the counter and now she was putting some cookies on it.

He looked at his mother's hands. They were still delicate, the hands of a pianist. He had been glad to know that she was painting again. He remembered seeing her painting delicate china dolls for Sam and herself; in fact she had quite a collection of them. Also her paintings were famous at birthdays parties and wedding showers, as well as in the social auctions on the island. She was really good at that. More than once he had heard his father telling her that he would leave his job in the government and they would open a gallery in their garden. Laughing, he would tell her that they would be rich in no time. She would tell him how silly he was, but that she loved him anyway. She had quit doing that soon after his family ceased to be.

"What's that, Fox?"

Mulder blinked, coming back to reality. "Nothing." He picked up a cookie and started munching on it. "This is good. Homemade?"

"Yes." She served him some milk. "I made them while you were out." Teena took one for herself and broke it in two. "You were out for a long time."

"I needed a break. That's why I came here." Then, looking back at his mother he completed. "I hope you don't mind."

Teena looked shocked. "Of course, not Fox. This is your house."

"Last time I came here it didn't look like that, Mom."

"Last time you came here I didn't recognize you."

He started gathering the cookie crumbs from the table with the palm of his hand. "I wasn't myself that day, Mom. I was sick."

"Dana told me something like that."

When he heard her name, it took him a second to release the breath that had been caught in his throat and to start cleaning the table again. However, his mother saw his reaction.

"Is there a problem, Fox?"

He felt like she was mocking him. Compared to the things he had seen in the X-Files, or to the events of last June, when he had been close to an intergalactic trip with his partner, the nightmare he was living was nothing. He should be ashamed for giving that much importance to something as trivial as dumping his girlfriend.

Only that said girlfriend was the meaning of everything in his life.

"I didn't paint the beach house, Mom." He looked at Teena and tried to smile. "And a few weeks ago I found out what it would be like to be an uncle."

His mother looked at him confused. "What are you talking about?"

He sniffed, fighting hard the tears smarting his eyes.

"I miss her, Mom."

Teena looked at him for a moment before lowering her eyes to her hands. "We're not talking about Samantha here, are we?"

He shook his head and reached out to get another cookie. He broke it in small pieces and, not satisfied with the result, he started rubbing the tiny particles between his fingers.

"Is it Dana?"

He grabbed another cookie and his mother slapped the back of his hand.

"Don't waste my cookies."

Teena looked at him horrified. He was speechless.

She had slapped him again.

When she had done it last year, he had felt both the physical pain and the hurt in his soul. Then came the humiliation of being slapped and not being allowed to hit back. And finally came the hiatus of one year separating him and his closest alive relative.

This year it made him laugh.

And Teena was still looking at him bewildered.

"What is it, Fox?"

'This is normalcy, Mom.' He wanted to shout because it was normal and sentimental, and it was amusing and it was good.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he said and drank some milk taking care not to choke. "But that was such a mother thing."

Teena entered into the spirit of his playful mood. "So now my acting like a mother makes you laugh. You show me respect, boy."

He stopped laughing but kept the smile on his face. "No, Mom. It makes me feel normal."

Teena braced her arms on the table. "It's good to be normal, isn't it, Fox?"

"What do you mean?"

Teena tilted her head in his direction. "I think that young lady is a good influence in your life."

That put an end to his smile. "The best influence."

Teena sipped her milk and studied him some more.

"What is this, Fox?"

He thought about everything that had happened between him and Scully in those last couple of months, from who would throw out the trash to who would pay the bill in the grocery store. And then there were the waiters referring to her as his wife, and the pleasant smile on Ben's face when he had taken her out for some ice cream in Quonochontaug. 'Now your mother won't have to help you finish your ice cream, huh?' Ben had asked, smiling gently at Scully. He had laughed and hugged her fiercely to him.

There was sleeping and waking up with her, and kissing and touching her. There was loving her and dreaming, just for a moment, that she loved him, too.

She never told him she loved him.

"I'll never be able to give you grandchildren, Mom."

He'd never be a father. He knew that Scully's infertility didn't make him sterile, too. It was just that the thought of fathering another woman's child didn't seem right to him.

"Fox, what happened?"

That creeping sensation that he was going to cry came all over him again. He wondered if he needed to look strong to his mother all the time. Couldn't he just now, just that once, accept the comfort she was offering to him?

"They won't let me work with Scully if we stay together, Mom."

Teena diverted her gaze from his again. "I'm sorry, Fox. She seems to be a very competent professional."

"She's the best partner I ever had."

"Ah." Teena straightened the table cloth. "But, I'm sorry. I still don't understand."

He massaged his forehead with the tips of his fingers. That was a subject he didn't feel comfortable discussing with his mother. In the past it had always lead to terrible arguments and snorted words.

"Something happened, something pretty bad. It's complicated."

"Could you be fired?"

"I don't think so. But if we don't put an end to our relationship now, they will dissolve our partnership."

"I see." Teena nodded, her eyes still on the table. "How do you feel about it?"

He chuckled. "My work is important, Mom."

"Your happiness should be important, too."

"The X-Files are the only means to bring Samantha back home." Teena breathed deeply. "And I need Scully's help to bring her back to you."

He had to fight the tears twice as hard, but not one drop fell from his eyes. Neither from his mother's. Twenty-five years of experience had made them masters in masking their weakness.

Twenty-five years of a life that wasn't theirs to live.

"There has to be another way, Fox."

His mother's voice was so low, he thought he had imagined she was talking to him.

Teena spoke again, louder this time. "There has to be another way of having my little girl back."

For the first time in his life, he saw a glimpse of innocence shining in his mother's eyes. They shared that certitude that one day they were going to see her again. Scully had been the one to keep the hope alive in him. He was not going to kill that hope in his mother. He would do anything, sacrifice whatever he needed to find his mother's daughter.

He touched her hand. "I'll find her, mom, I..."

"No, Fox," Teena said. "Don't turn this into a promise." She turned to him and covered his hand with her other one. "I don't want you to promise me this."

"But..."

"If you just knew how much I miss her, Fox. How much I miss the things I never experienced with her." Her lips quivered and her voice was heavy with emotion. "There are so many things in this life I don't know." She looked back at him and her eyes gleamed. "I wanted to know what is it like to teach my little girl to cook. Or to fuss at her for spending too much money on clothes." He smiled at her, his lips quivering, too. "Can you imagine Sam with short hair, Fox? Or with it dyed in green?" She sobbed. "Can you imagine what it would be like to have her home?" His mother started crying, sitting at that table, holding his hand.

He felt like trash for putting his romantic interest in front of his mother's needs like that. She had been suffering for as much as time as he had, only that her pain was much deeper than his. He couldn't heal her nor erase the past. What he could do was keep searching for a cure. Keep searching for Samantha.

"I'll be sixty next year, Fox," she continued softly, her voice faltering with the tears. "I sure had my share in life. But I still have the hope that I'll know something before I die." She smiled tenderly at him. "I hope to know what is it like to see at least one of my children happy. And you're here." His eyes filled with tears. "That's the one thing I want you to promise me, that I'll see at least one of my children happy."

She rose from the chair, wiping her eyes. "I changed the sheets on your bed and that store sent your suit. It's in the closet," she said, trying to regain her composure. She put the cookies they had left on the plate back into the jar. "What time are you leaving tomorrow?"

"The cab is coming at a quarter past five," he whispered.

She opened a drawer and pulled out a brown bag, then put some cookies in it. She walked to where he was and put the bag before him. "Take those with you. Airline's breakfast is awful."

He smiled at her. "Thanks, Mom."

As if guided by an impulse, she bent down and kissed his hair. "You better go to bed now. It's already late." She touched his chin and looked at him with red eyes. "Good night, son." She caressed his face and left him in the kitchen.

He kept looking at his mother until she disappeared up the stairs.

He vowed to himself he would never see his mother crying over Samantha like that again. Like he had vowed the people that had abducted Scully wouldn't go unpunished. Like he had vowed he would not let anyone take his partner's dignity away.

He was determined in honoring all of his vows. He just needed her at his side, in any capacity. Besides, she was as commited to the quest as he was. If fate wanted them to be just partners, so let it be. He would not assume the risk of losing her forever because of his love for her. Maybe in the future they would have a chance to try again. And when it happened, he would do better, he would make her fall in love with him.

He made a last vow. He would give up on everything to make his mother happy and to keep Scully at his side.

He crossed his arms on the table and rested his head on them.

He would miss his happiness.

He would miss Scully.


Chapter 36

There were the physical signs of *deja v=FB*.

The flickering light of the street lamps casting a soft glow into the night.

His car sliding quietly on the silent avenue.

The phone call in the middle of the night obliging him to leave anything else behind.

The differences were that it hadn't been an anonymous call and he was not involved in another bust.

This time Skinner believed he would just act as a listener to Agent Scully.

Actually, after the meeting he had with the hearing board this morning, it was clear that the best help he could offer was his ears. He could also offer his shoulder for her to cry on. After the events of that morning he knew just how much she could be in need of that. An ordinary woman would accept his generosity without a second consideration.

Only Scully was not an ordinary woman. No ordinary woman would have faced so many prying eyes at once and keept her dignity.

Mulder was a hell of a lucky man.

Skinner had also agreed to meet her at the diner in Alexandria because he could use the distraction. Not that in this acute situation was he going to enjoy himself, but at least he wouldn't be walking up and down the floor of his apartment like an animal in a cage. Talking with Scully sure wasn't going to relax him, but it might tire him out enough to sleep until tomorrow morning.

He glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

12:47 a.m.

There would be no tomorrow morning for anyone.

Turning to the right, he saw the blue luminous of the diner where he could read *Fort*.

At that time of the night he had no problems parking his car. When he opened the door and stepped onto the pavement, he felt every bone he had in his body popping. He grimaced and streched his arms as far as he could. His old body didn't have resistance to that much pressure anymore.

He shoved his keys in his jacket pocket and started walking to the small diner, taking in the surroundings. He was slightly familiar with that neighborhood. He was sure he was close to Mulder's place.

He opened the glass door and entered in a bright room with cream walls and a few people. A beautiful redhead wearing a blue apron that matched the little restaurant's furniture smiled at him. He smiled back at her and was ready to ask for information when he saw the shade of red he was looking for at a table in the back of the diner, watching the street outside through a large window. He smiled at the waitress again before walking to the table.

Scully had changed the black suit she was wearing in the morning. Like him, now she was wearing jeans and a man's shirt, pale green. Getting closer to her, Skinner saw that she hadn't been watching the movement out the diner. She was studying the pale face of the woman staring back at her in the large window.

"Scully."

She turned to look at him. He was glad to see that neither her eyes nor her nose were red; she hadn't been crying. There were no wrinkles in her forehead nor in the corners of her mouth. If he had to put a name to her expression, he would call it serene.

"Sir," she said, "Thanks for coming."

He sat down in a chair across from her and together they waited for the waitress to come and get their orders. His order, since Scully was holding a cup of coffee.

"Would you like to order now, sir?" the smiling girl asked him.

"A cup of coffee. Decaffeinated."

"A decaf," repeated the girl, writing on her yellow pad. "What about you, miss? Would you like to order now?"

Scully shook her head and the girl went to get his coffee.

If it was possible, he felt more embarrassed now than he had felt in their two previous meetings.

"This is Mulder's neighborhood, isn't it?" he asked awkwardly.

Scully looked at him. Her eyes were clear. "Yes, he lives a few blocks down from here."

The girl brought his coffee and they remained in silence for a few moments until she spoke again.

"This morning he said he was going home. He never came, sir."

He frowned slightly. "Do you think that he went after someone?" He mentally reviewed the list of names she and Mulder had given him that morning, worried that he had gone after that guy, Victor something.

"No." She bowed her head and a lock of hair brushed her face. "He just didn't come." She blinked and kept staring at the dark beverage in her cup.

He rubbed his hand on the cup, robbing it of its warmth. He looked at Scully and realized something new about her. The woman before him was wearing her lover's shirt and had waited an entire day for a man that didn't come. Without make-up and a suit, she looked ordinnary. That was the first time that he looked at Scully and didn't see in her a defiant, competent and brave woman. He didn't see in her the beautiful woman he knew she was. For the first time, he saw Dana Scully as a mortal woman, and he was afraid of that.

"Why did you call me, Scully?"

She looked at him and pursed her lower lip as if selecting the right words.

"I want to ask you a question, sir."

"Agent Scully, you're aware that I can't tell you what was discussed in the briefing this morning."

"Yes, sir. I'm aware of that." She stared out of the window. "I want to ask you something concerning Agent Mulder."

"What?"

She inhaled deeply before looking back at him. "I want you to tell me everything you know about Agents Mulder and Fowley's partnership." She gulped before continuing. "I know you were their superior for some time."

That question crammed Skinner in a place he didn't want to visit. He was aware that with Agent Fowley's return questions would be raised. What he had never considered was that he would be the one answering Scully's questions.

"Agent Scully, I'm not the right person to talk about it with you."

"Sir," she said, her voice steady again. "I could ask one of his friends, but I'm not interested in hearing about his personal life."

"Scully," he tried again.

"I know they were married."

Skinner saw by her quivering chin just how much that fact hurt her, yet in a few seconds she regained her composure.

"And I know they kept working together even being married."

"I think their partnership didn't last six months, Scully."

She lowered her voice. "They were married, sir."

"They weren't a threat, Scully," he said softly. "When they worked together, the X-Files were nothing. You made them together."

Scully's eyes gleamed, but she kept her control. The Scully he knew would never let the tears threaten to fall along her face in his presence. Her force was still there, but there were small details, and yet irrefutable evidence, that Agent Scully would never be the same again. He was seeing the usual discipline and determination In her, but her fighting spirit was not there.

Mulder was not there.

That was the one thing Skinner had always been sure nobody would ever taken away from her - her partner.

"I made my decision, sir. But I need to know how they worked together before acting on it."

Skinner looked at her startled. At that moment he realized what that meeting was for.

"You can't do this to him, Scully."

"I can't let him choose," she said firmly.

The only words that came to his mind at that moment were the ones Mulder told him on Saturday morning - 'I can't be without her, sir.'

"Scully..."

The years he had spent in Vietnam made him familiar with sacrifices. He was an ex-Marine. He had been trained to lie down his life if needed in order to protect and to save. That night he was learning that some sacrifices could be made in life.

"Please, sir."

He was not the kind of man that would cheat life in order to avoid its lessons. He could not agree with its teaching methodology, but he would never run away from it.

He gestured to the waitress to bring them some real coffee. He had a tale to tell, and he needed to be alert to tell her everything he remembered.

Even though he didn't have the sketchiest idea of how to do it.


as now can't reveal the mystery of tomorrow but in passing will grow older everyday just as all that's born is new you know what I say is true that'll be loving you always Stevie Wonder, As

Chapter 37 of 37

A thousand words could do no more damage to a man's soul than would a thousand knives piercing through human flesh.

Mulder was the living proof of that.

Sitting there, staring at the vacant chairs of the five lions that had just shredded and slashed his and his partner's capacity of working together after...

Just after.

His outwards appearance carried the marks of the brutal assault they had just suffered.

Waxen face.

Clammy skin.

Frozen lips.

Sagging shoulders.

Eyes deprived of any emotion but one.

Despair, so much despair that even the lingering touch of the woman sitting beside him couldn't relieve it. The touch of the wrong hands.

Skinner felt sorry for Agent Fowley.

He just couldn't stand that situation anymore. He left the sixth chair on the tribune and headed to the hallway to wait for Scully's return.

"We'll figure something out, Fox."

Skinner heard no response from Mulder, but he did feel the agent's gaze following him towards the door, silently pleading for help.

Skinner felt like the worst son of a bitch alive for ignoring the other man; he kept walking without looking back.

Once outside, he closed the door behind him and his eyes slid shut. How long it would take until the morning was over?

What a hypocritic he was. The morning would be over as soon as Scully came back from his office.

The irony of the situation was that had Mulder and Scully been caught in any other circumstance, they might have had months to collect proof of their innocence. But here, having involved in their case a FBI Supervisor and four Assistant Directors, who were eager to show how efficient they were, all it took was seventy-two hours to impair five years of hard work and dedication of two of their most loyal fellows.

Once again Skinner felt sick with the system.

"Anything wrong, A.D. Skinner?"

"Nothing that I'm aware of, sir," Skinner replied, opening his eyes.

"Good." Trajan opened the last button of his jacket. "You know that this was necessary, Skinner."

Skinner looked up at Trajan and nodded. "I know that it was necessary. What nobody seems to realize is that they are two of my most efficient agents. They're good together."

"I know," Trajan agreed. "I've listened to some stories about them. Pretty interesting I must add, pretty intense." Trajan snorted. "I like Mulder, Skinner, I had never seen him before that... indiscretion. I had heard about his passion for the unknown, that he wouldn't measure consequences to find a truth he so elusively pointed out, even with nobody to support him. I'm not sure if having this passion directed towards his partner is in their best interests as agents. I don't know if they would be impartial while in the field."

Skinner saw in Trajan's last words the opportunity to make one last try. "So reconsider this, sir. Give them a chance to work together again and prove that nothing changed." Trajan rolled his eyes, but it didn't refrain Skinner. "They work well together, they always have. Besides, this is not the first time two agents have been involved."

"I know what you're referring to, Skinner," Trajan gently interrupted him. "I know he and Agent Fowley were married. At that time they weren't under my care, otherwise it would have never happened. Never."

Skinner stepped aside when Trajan held the doorknob.

"Where's Agent Scully? She left right in the beginning of our break."

"She won't be late. She's a very disciplined agent."

"I know," Trajan acquiesced. "She'd better be back soon. I want to get this situation over with as much as you do Skinner." Trajan hesitated before opening the door. "I'm not the villain here, but I must keep the order. That's my job, and I'm proud of it." Then he turned his back on Skinner and entered in the room.

Skinner just sighed, and waited.

It didn't take too long for the other members of the board to appear, and soon everyone was back inside the room.

He would give up his Italian tie collection if he could just avoid the impending events that would follow Scully's return.

The sound of her heels echoing on the hallway floor told him he was too late with his attempt of a bargain.

She stood in front of him holding the manila folder she had showed him that morning.

"I'm ready, sir."

He knew that already. She had been ready since he had finished telling Mulder and Fowley's story of working together as partners at two o'clock in the morning. That was not the kind of bedtime story he would like to be telling, but she had asked for this. In the end, Mulder would be the one paying for the nightmare of their lives.

Scully reached out to turn the doorknob and he did the same, putting his hand upon hers.

"Think again."

"I've spent enough time thinking about it, sir," she said, staring at their hands. "There's nothing else to be done."

Skinner cursed under his breath. Why did she have to be that stubborn?

"There's always something that can be done, Scully."

When she looked at him, her lips were a thin line with a slight, almost imperceptible curve on their corners. In her eyes he saw a glow born not of happiness, but of the wisdom acquired through the years working and suffering beside her partner.

"I have to do this now, sir." She gently pushed his hand away and turned the doorknob. "I have to do this while I still can," she whispered softly.

'That's it,' he thought watching her walking into the room, 'the end of everything.' The other shoe had most definitely dropped. He was the only one that hadn't seen it yet. Resigned, he followed her towards her and her partner's future.

Walking to the main board, he saw that Diana had gone back to her chair in the end of the room. All the members of the OPR were already in their places.

"A.D. Skinner, please sit down so we can continue with the session."

Before sitting beside A.D. Sanders, Skinner glanced at the partners sitting side by side.

He wasn't supposed to feel that aching in his heart.

"Now that A.D. Skinner is here, we can return to our discussion regarding Agents Mulder and Scully," said Trajan without lifting his eyes from the report he had in hands.

"Excuse me, sir."

Scully's loud and clear voice drew everyone's attention towards her. Skinner grimly nodded his encouragement at her. Now those sons of a bitch would know the strength of that woman.

As would Mulder.

Mulder.

His gaze had followed Scully as she stood beside him, the manila folder in her hands.

"Agent Scully, could you wait until I'm finished with my next questions?"

"I'm afraid I can't, sir," she said without flinching. "You'll finish with your reading, more questions will be made, more answers will be given, and Agent Mulder and I will still be ignored."

"Agent Scully," Trajan said in a complacent tune, "I know this is a tense situation, that's why I'll completely ignore your last remark. Now, please sit down."

"All I'm asking is for two minutes of your attention, sir."

While the other four members of the board and Trajan exchanges glances, Skinner followed Mulder's reaction. His jaw was clenched and his right hand closed in a fist, his eyes lost someplace on Scully's skirt. 'Be strong,' Skinner was mentally repeating when Trajan spoke again.

"All right, Agent Scully; you have your two minutes."

"Thank you, sir." She briefly looked at each person sitting on the board. "It won't take too long."

Trajan quirked his head, giving her permission to start. In the back of the room, he saw Diana leaning forward in her chair.

"When I was offered a position to work with Agent Mulder five years ago, I listened to several warnings about his unconventional theories and unorthodox behavior. I was told that it would be career suicide if I accepted this job." The words rolled from her mouth in an unremitting flow of lucid ideas. "In the beginning I was inclined to agree with them. By the end of our first case together as a team, I realized that this had been the most unrivalled decision I could have made in my professional life."

Mulder lifted his eyes to look at her face and his expression spoke volumes of gratitude. That unsolicited sensation that he had betrayed this man's trust spread inside Skinner all over again. He wished Scully would shorten her speech so he could flee from there.

After having delicately moistened her lips, Scully continued. "Agent Mulder is a competent and serious professional who believes in what he does. Working with him in the X-Files division proved to be an elucidating path in my life, in all capacities. For this alone I'll be eternally grateful for the opportunity that has been given to me."

Skinner knew the exact moment Mulder became aware of the meaning behind Scully's words. He got still in his chair, and the momentary ember that had blazed in his eyes died all at once. His fingers, that until now were held in a tight fist on the table, spread themselves on the veneer surface, gripping its edge. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down and his head unconsciously shook in denial, asking her to stop.

"Agent Mulder's work is important. I worked with him, I know the seriousness of the information his files carry. I had the certainty that my working with the FBI could make a difference to mankind; I was wrong." Scully, just for a second, lowered her eyelids and looked at Mulder, then she looked back at the people on the board. "Agent Mulder is the difference." Swiftly she left her place beside Mulder and walked to Trajan. When she was right in front of him, she handed him the folder. "I won't be the one who will take this away from him."

Trajan picked up the folder and carefully pulled out the sheet of paper that carried the warrant demise of the five year old partnership. Trajan perched his glasses on the edge of his nose and started reading the document Skinner had helped Scully to compose.

After what seemed like time enough to read just the first lines of the letter, Trajan made his inquiry.

"Is this your transfer request, Agent Scully?"

Sanders and the other A.Ds looked startled at Scully. Mulder's eyes were wide open. Slowly he braced his elbows on the table and entwined his fingers together, then he pressed his lips against them.

"Yes, sir; it is."

In the back of the room, Skinner saw that Diana couldn't take her eyes off Scully. She seemed to be as much taken aback by Scully's attitude as any other person in that room was, yet Skinner could swear he saw a timid hint of joy on her face.

"Don't you think this is a hasty decision, Agent Scully?" Trajan asked softly.

"I was sent to debunk Agent Mulder's work, sir, but his work can't be debunked because it's serious and it's noble. It's also a menace to too many people. I think it was clear with the fire and with all the other loses we suffered through the course of the years. Yet all those defeats, if nothing else, made us stronger." She stopped and looked at the paper in Trajan's hand. "It wasn't an easy decision, sir, but it's the right one. I won't let what we had be used to destroy him."

"We won't discuss your personal lives here, Agent Scully."

"No, sir. We won't discuss anything personal here because there's nothing personal to be discussed. I can't stay because it would give ammunition to discredit his work; I'll be accused of cooperating with his convoluted theories even though I had never done something like that."

"This issue was never raised here, Agent Scully. We know you and Agent Mulder are both professionals. However, I won't permit two romantically involved agents who happen to be partners to keep working together. The consequences can be disastrous both personally and professionally."

"You are denying us a chance," came the shaky reply from behind Scully.

Mulder was standing behind the table they had been sitting at, but in two long strides he was in front of Trajan, too.

"Mulder, don't," Scully muttered.

He just ignored her. "Based on what you saw you're putting down not only our capacity of working together, but also..."

"Agent Mulder," Trajan gently warned him, "we won't discuss this again. I don't want to know how long you've been involved nor anything concerning this matter. What I do know are the procedures both of you are used to taking in order to protect each other. It wasn't even three months ago when you were at this same room because of this same situation."

Mulder stared directly at Trajan's eyes. "You're taking away my partner," he mumbled in rage. "And I don't even know why."

"She chose to leave, Agent Mulder," Trajan reminded him.

Mulder shook his index finger in front of Trajan's nose. "You gave her no option and I won't accept this!"

"There's nothing for you to accept, Mulder," murmured Scully, avoiding look at him.

"You can't just leave me!"

Skinner forgot how to breath. Beside him, Sander was sweating and had ducked his pink tinged face. The other A.Ds and even Trajan fidgeted uncomfortably in their chairs while Diana wiped the corner of her eyes before Mulder's painful wail.

"You can't leave me alone, Scully."

Tears twinkled in Scully's eyes.

"I won't leave you alone, Mulder," she assured him with the tenderness of a promise. "I'm sure Agent Fowley will gladly stay in my place." Reluctantly, Scully looked back at Trajan. "She's a good agent, sir. Agent Mulder and she had already worked together. She'll know how to help him."

"Agent Scully, their partnership didn't work out."

"I'm sure they won't commit the same mistakes now, sir."

Mulder reached out as if to touch her, but his arms surrendered to the tension being inflicted on him. Skinner had seen enough fallen soldiers in his life to know when a battle had been lost.

Trajan cast a conciliatory look at her. "You don't have to give up on everything, Agent Scully."

"I can't have less than what I had, sir. In any capacity." Glancing one last time around the room, she completed softly. "There's nothing else for me to do here." Without asking for permission, she turned on her heels and her confident gait carried her out of the room.

The moment was frozen in time. No one moved, no one said a word. Breathing came out just by instinct. The room was warm, but the chill of the excitement created goosebumps on his skin. There was no embarrassment, and one day he would be over that sickening feeling of failure. Scully was a woman of attitude and Skinner unconsciously knew there was nothing he could have done to change her mind. He had done the right thing, he had saved a soldier.

He looked at the spot in front of the tribune.

And he had killed a warrior in the process.

Mulder was shaking. His respiration came in raged wheezes from his mouth. His eyes were dark, and his blank look was fixed on no one in the room. His large nostrils were red, his waywardness was the stake holding him up.

"Agent Mulder?" came Trajan's concerned voice.

He lifted his eyes in compass with the rapid rise and fall of his chest. The flames burning in there evaporated into steam Trajan's self confidence until it disappeared completely, making the supervisor back away.

"Fuck you."

His words came in the form of a cold whisper that filled every corner of the still silence in the room.

Mulder stormed out from there. No one dared to stop him.

If Skinner had to pinpoint how long they remained there, sitting in total silence, he would be at a loss.

Maybe it had been when Trajan weakly ordered someone to go after them. Or maybe it was when he saw Diana standing to do as they were told, and he had to dash out through the door.

"I'll get them, Agent Fowley."

It was five steps from the door to the elevator. By his second step he wished he had stayed inside.

Mulder was clinging at Scully despairingly. The whiteness on the joints of his fingers contrasted with the hunter green of her jacket sleeve, their tips turning red. The lock of hair covering part of his temple kept mimicking the soft shaking of his limbs as he stared at her angst filled face. The intensity in his eyes was absorbing the sorrow in her face and turning it in his own. Fear that in his desperate state he would end up hurting Scully, Skinner got closer to them and held Mulder by his arms.

"How do you expect me to do this?" he heard what was left of Mulder's voice asking Scully. "I can't do this." Her pursed lips started trembling and her throat moved softly when she swallowed a sob. "I don't know how to do this anymore, Scully," Mulder pleaded again. "Don't make me stop now."

This time a soft sob broke free from deep inside of her and Skinner had to make a monumental effort to guard one of his own. He didn't have the right to be there and be the uncalled witness of that moment. He didn't have the right to stand right behind his broken agent oblivious to any other living being but to the woman he loved, pressed by his large hands against the cold steel of the elevator's door.

He didn't have the right to see all the burden of the love they shared sliding in two crystal goblets down the woman's face.

"My beautiful Mulder."

In the whisper of space they had between them, she stepped forward to brush perfect lips against Mulder's forehead.

The elevator's car had finally found its destination and opened its door to her.

"Scully..."

"Let her go, Mulder," Skinner said with tenderness. Mulder's arms lay limply when Skinner pulled them away from Scully.

Without turning her back on them, she stepped into the car. Its door closed again, taking the woman that seemed impossibly small from the top of her high heels away from them.

"Don't make me stop now, Scully," Mulder whispered to his own reflection on the polished steel door.

Part of his duty as an A.D. was to offer support when one of his agents was in need of it. It was professional and it was right.

"I can't go through it again."

Skinner knew which words to say to the grieving; he had uttered them to Mrs. Mulder when her son had been reported missing, and repeated them to Scully when her sister had died.

He had no discourse to say to the ones grieving the living. To improvise the words would make them sound artificial, but he would still do this if he was sure the agent was going to absorb them before they vanished in the air like smoke.

Smoke.

First he listened to the raspy friction, the sound of flesh rubbing metal, then the timid, almost non-existent flickering of fire coming into life. The tang, spicy smell of herb burning completed the picture. He half stepped sideways to confirm his suspicious.

The fucking bastard was a few feet behind them, a cigarrette firmly held against the shadow of the mischievous smile his lips formed.

"So it came the day when she finally left you."

Mulder, that until now was unaware of the man's presence, turned his body towards the voice, too.

"The cancer, the little girl, two abductions. If I knew you were the key to push her away, I'd have come up with that last... scheme much sooner. The most effective means are indeed the cheaper ones."

"You..."

"Of course it was me, Agent Mulder," the Smoking Man replied to Mulder's sputter. "You knew it was me; you just didn't have the proof, as always." He smiled sweetly at Mulder. "Next time I'll plant more evidence for those hacker friends of yours. But of course there won't be a next time. Agent Scully's gone."

The magnetism of the whole situation was holding Skinner to the floor, otherwise he would have already lunged against the older man.

"Fifty years of study, Agent Mulder. Do you know how much this was worth?" The Smoking Man shook his head. "That's what your last Romeo-in-love act cost us, Agent Mulder. Fifty years of study were lost in Antartica, and all of it because you couldn't stay away from her." He took a long drag of his cigarette, pensive. "It's fair: fifty years of progress for five years of your life."

Mulder's body waved and Skinner had to hold him upwards.

"I know it's not easy, Agent Mulder, but look at the bright side of the situation: we have fifty years to reconstruct; you've just lost five of yours."

He had taken everything he could. Forgetting the boneless body he had in his arms, Skinner launched forward and trapped the other man against the wall. In a brisk movement he had his gun pressed against the man's side. "Enduring the rest of my life in prison will be worth it if I kill you."

"You could allege temporary insanity due to this stressful job and keep your pension, Mr. Skinner."

Skinner trembled and he freed the safety of his gun. "Don't tempt me," he hissed and pushed his body away from the Smoking bastard. "Just get the fuck away from here."

Smoking Man straightened his black jacket and dragged the cigarette one last time before throwing it on the floor. He nodded solemnly at Mulder and walked away.

With his hands still shaking, Skinner holstered the gun on his back again, then turned to look at Mulder.

There were two long trail of tears on the agent's face.

"Come on, Mulder," he said gently, holding the agent by his arms. "Let's sit you down."

He was taking Mulder to a bench in the hall when he heard steady thud of heels touching the floor behind them.

"Fox, are you all right?" Diana asked.

Mulder didn't emit a sound and Skinner feared he was going into shock.

"Agent Fowley, he needs a moment. Could you please go back inside and tell them that?" he asked more harshly than he should.

Diana cringed, but instead of stepping away, she moved forward to meet them.

"I'm sorry, sir, but they sent me here to get my partner back into that room."

Skinner held nothing personal against Diana, but he wasn't in the mood to deal with her audacity right now.

"It's an order, Agent Fowley."

"The supervisor sent me here," she said petulantly.

"Agent Fowley..."

"That's okay, Skinner. I can go back now."

Mulder spoke softly. Despite his tears, some of his self confidence was gleaming again in his eyes.

"You don't have to do this now, Mulder," Skinner tried to reason with him.

"I have a job to finish. I won't let him win." He looked at Diana and said, "Let's go."

Diana smiled and reached out her hands to him. Skinner let him go. Diana embraced Mulder around his waist, her left hand held his left arm against his side, and her right one rested on his belly while they walked past Skinner.

"She didn't believe in your work and you accomplished all of this, Fox. Imagine what we can do together again."

Skinner closed his eyes and sighed sadly. There was another pool going on, this time to know if Mulder would stay with Scully. The odds were forty to one that he would leave her in favor of the X-Files. Skinner was the one who had anonymously made his bet that they would stay together.

He smoothed his jacket and pushed an imaginary lock of hair away from his face. When he was reasonably recovered, he started walking to the OPR room.

He didn't care for the money. He just wished that this time the house would lose.

And they would win.

End Book I of III

until the rainbow burns the stars up in the sky
until the ocean covers every mountain high
until the dolphin flies and parrots live at sea
until we dream of life and life becomes a dream
until the day is night and night becomes the day
until the trees and seas just up and fly away
until the day that 8x8x8 is 4
until the day that is the day that are no more

Stevie Wonder, As


Author's Notes.

That's the end of the first part on this journey. I wouldn't have come this far without the help of some valuable sources.

- All the information about the FBI and about Martha's Vineyard came from the fabulous Deep Background.

- Alanna has a beautiful page about Martha's Vineyard, too. The pictures in there are highly inspiring, and she gives us a poetic description of the things she saw. Try it, it's worth the visit.

- And then there are the fantastic people on Haven Message Board that answered my weird questions about life and customs in the United States and never mocked me.

All of you were great help. Thanks :)

And then there is that bunch of people that were my source of support and inspiration during this long journey.

- My Beta Reader Team: Georgia, Mish, Toniann, trixie and Eden, who appeared in different stages of my writing, but that there's no doubt about their importance in this process. You were one of the best English courses I've ever had. I have a basket full of cocadas to you here in Brazil, my dears :)

- My cousins: Rosi, Li, Ana, and my sis Patty-Patty - you won't understand this one, but thanks for the support. A cerveja e por minha conta :)

And, of course, thanks for the incentive that all of you offered to me, and a special thanks to a group of ladies - you know who you are - that was always there, whether making questions or encouraging me to write more. Thank you.

Toniann, thanks for the beautiful house that Kimpa's new dustjacket made even better.

Dri

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