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Title: Latitudes II Summary: The events of New Mexico are still haunting Mulder and Scully, and the family takes some time away from it all. Margaritaville "Some people claim that there's a woman to blame People begin to pour out of the hotels and condos to watch the sun make its lazy way down towards the water's edge. Couples nestle in lawn chairs away from the waves, and sit holding hands. Others set up cameras to capture this nightly event. The clouds are thin, and the sun has turned them into brilliant shades of pink and blue. A young man playfully chases an even younger woman down the beach, and the two of them end up wrapped in each other's arms, standing in the waves. Newlyweds, probably. Enjoying their honeymoon and the prospect of a normal life together. And here I sit alone. I am so tired of Mulder's self pity. It grows old, always having to say that it isn't his fault. Sometimes I'm so thankful that I had Christopher because then he no longer had the 'right' to lament over my infertility. He probably believed that was his fault, too. And in a way, maybe it was. But it doesn't matter now. "Can I buy you a drink?" someone asks me, as I sip on a Diet Coke. I look up to see Dylan Keanally, or someone who looks like him and I am speechless. Nothing in my life is private anymore. There is no escape. He slides into the chair next to me and makes himself comfortable. "No, you can't," I tell him loudly, and I go to get out of my chair. "Dana, sit back down. I need to talk to you," he says. He places his hand over mine as if I'm an old friend and it makes me apprehensive. Does everybody know me? Does everybody have the right to approach me just because of my job? "So talk," I say, without looking at him. I wanted to sit at this patio bar, drink my Diet Coke and watch the sun set the rest of the way. Why can't I just watch a damn sunset without this man showing up? "Don't let him go looking for Jasper," Dylan tells me resolutely. "He is going to want to, but you have to stop him. It is too soon." "Too soon for what?" I ask. We still haven't figured out who Jasper is or even how we are going to find out who it is. "Too soon to know what the future holds," he tells me. "Too soon for you to find out." A young woman with a dark tan and sun bleached blond hair approaches us to get his order. His hand is still over mine, and he tells the waitress to bring me a different drink, a strawberry margarita with sugar around the rim of the glass. And an extra strawberry as garnish. I have no idea why he thinks I would desire such a concoction. "You know what the future holds?" I ask him incredulously. No earthly creature, not even this man or whatever he is, knows the exact path of the future. "I know enough to guide you on the correct path now. I know you and Agent Mulder well enough to be able to second guess what your next step will be. He's reopened the X-Files, and he is going to start looking for the answers to the newest questions. Don't let him go," Dylan tells me. I hear a blender running behind the small bar, and it must be the drink he ordered for me. "I can't stop him," I say, remembering all the times he has gone on without me before, or gone on his own way without telling me where he was going. He has done it so many times that I have almost given up. "Remind him of what happened when he went off with Diana. He's lucky that he's alive. The others weren't so lucky," Dylan says, as a tall, rosy colored drink is set in front of me, complete with a sugared rim. "Are you saying that Thomas Erickson is dead?" I ask, my mind hoping to get some answers to give to Senator Erickson. "Take a drink. Quit working for a few minutes. You need it," he says, finally removing his hand from mine and leaning back in his patio chair. I touch the sugar with my finger and remove some from the frosty glass. I put it on my tongue cautiously, making sure it is really sugar. "You are as paranoid as Agent Mulder," he says with a laugh. "Do you think I have to drug you to get you to do what I want?" "I'm not sure. I don't really know what you want," I say, as I take a tentative sip from the drink. It is pretty watered down, and even though I don't drink much, I don't think this one is going to send me into drunken abandon. "I want you to do whatever you have to do to keep Agent Mulder from roaming off, do you understand?" he says, his eyes pleading with me. "On one condition," I say, wanting to bargain with him. He looks pretty desperate at this point, and I want to use this to my advantage. "I don't make deals," he says, bluntly. "Then I can't promise you anything, now can I?" I say to him, getting more bold with this person. He can't just show up with half answers and tell me what I have to do. "What is your condition?" Dylan says with a heavy sigh. "Tell me how far this goes back?" I ask. I want some clue as to how long our lives have been plotted and mapped out to fit someone else's scheme of things. "A long time. The testing began decades ago. That is all I can tell you, Dana. Enjoy your drink. I think I see your significant other coming," Dylan says, as he slips out of his chair and vanishes around the backside of the bar. I can feel Mulder's presence behind me in a matter of moments, and he places his hands on my shoulders. "Have I driven you to drink?" he asks, noticing the frozen drink in front of me. "Someone ordered it for me," I say, and he sits down in the chair Dylan just left moments before. "Should I be jealous?" he asks me, his face serious. "Tell me about your grandparents, Mulder?" I ask, as I take another sip of my drink and sit back in my chair. He looks confused by my question. I went from being cross with him on the beach to filling in his family tree. "I didn't know them very well. My mother's parents were pretty old when she was born. I think my grandfather was dead before I was even ten. My paternal grandparents were always traveling, sending post cards from the four corners of the globe," he says, as he stares thoughtfully over his peaked fingertips. "Should I ask your mother?" I ask him. His mother and I have grown closer over the last few weeks. She is just as mysterious as her son, and she keeps just as many secrets. Yet I have grown to appreciate the life she lived with Mulder's father. And with this man who is her son. "Sure. I don't see why not," he says, and someone comes up to ask if he wants to order a drink. He places an order for something tourist but not fruity and he looks at my glass as if I've finally lost it. The waitress tells him she knows exactly what to get. Within minutes he is sipping on a rum runner, while I take small sips of my drink. "Why did you walk off?" he asks me, placing his hand over mine. "Because I can't spend the rest of my life telling you everything is not your fault. That can't be my main role in your life. Not anymore. Everything is different now. I can't be ..." I start to say, not knowing how to express all the things I can't be anymore. "You can't be there twenty-four hours a day to be the voice of reason? To tell me to slow down and consider all the possibilities, not just the most obscure one?" he says, as he settles back in his chair. For some reason, he has on a pair of sunglasses, and the astonishing sunset is reflected in the shaded circular lenses over his eyes. "Yes. I can't be all those things and your ... whatever I am, too," I say, trying to come up with a term that would describe us. "Fiancée is always a good word to use. Oh, I forgot. You haven't put your ring back on. Lover would be another good one, but that doesn't apply lately either," he says sharply. It hurts him and I know it, but I haven't felt comfortable with sliding the ring back on my finger. Or with other more intimate things. "Mother of your child?" I snap back just as sharply. "I think that supersedes all those other things right now." The two of us sit in our own small envelope of silence, as the people on the beach continue to clamor on about the setting sun. I turn my head from him to watch it as it finally dips below the water, and disappears quickly. Some say they can see a flash of green right after the sun vanishes, but I've never seen it. This time I was lucky I got to see the sun set at all. "Tell me what to do to get us back on track," Mulder says, and I still don't turn to look at him even though the spectacle is gone for the night. "Forgive yourself. No one else can forgive you until you do that," I say softly. He doesn't say anything back for several minutes. I know he is contemplating exactly how to annotate allow himself the forgiveness he needs. "But it is all my fault ..." he starts to say. "Maybe it was her own damn fault," I state in a tone that shocks him. "Did you ever think of that? Did you ever consider that she thought she was getting away with something, that this would never happen to her?" "I know she was involved, but ..." he stammers. "She didn't deserve to die? Goddammit, Mulder. Yes she did!" I yell at him, and people heading back to their hotel rooms turn their heads to look at me. "She deserved it because she put herself in that position." He sits across from me, stunned. I find it hard to imagine that time in my life when I didn't wish anybody dead. Now the list seems to grow all the time. Fowley's name had been on it for years. "What in the fuck happened to you? When did you become like this?" he asks me as he stands up out of his chair and throws some money down to cover the cost of his drink. "I'll see you later." This time I get to watch him walk away. Why Don't We Get Drunk "I just bought a water bed, I think she said her name is Kelly. I don't know. Maybe she said Kayla. All I know is she won't leave me alone. She is just one year over half my age, barely old enough to be in here. She plopped herself down right beside me immediately after walking in and checking the place out. I must look like an easy target, a man drinking alone who would be glad for her company. By the time she approached me, I had already done several shots of tequila in my attempt to drown out the preceding month. I can barely hear over the music playing in here. I'm beginning to believe there is some obscure law in the state of Florida stating that all tourist-based establishments must play Jimmy Buffett at least once an hour. That, and there are parrots in cages lining the wall. When in the hell did parrots become indigenous to this state? "What did you say you do again?" Kelly-Kayla asks me, as she adjusts her top once more. What is it about young women that they are always fiddling with their clothes? I can't remember Scully doing that. "FBI agent," I answer simply, hoping that is the answer I gave before. She looks impressed. I don't know why. "Do you have a big gun?" she asks with a smile, her eyes wandering over me. Can't she tell I'm not interested? Can't she see I have a kid and a ... partner at home? Or in this case, down the beach. I just smile back at her, and slug down another shot. "So, what do you do, Candy?" "Kali," she says, correcting me. "I work down the street at the nail shop." For a second my tequila-addled brain tries to figure out why this girl would work in a shop that sells just nails. Why not a whole array of hardware? Then she holds up her hands to show me these sparkling atrocities with rhinestones on them. I have never appreciated Scully's hands more than I do right at this moment. "Do you know what these are good for?" she asks, with a grin. "Not for typing, that's for sure," I slur. This girl is trying to take advantage of me because I'm drunk. What is this world coming to? "I have no clue what they are good for." She leans closer to me and whispers something in my ear. The only words I can make out through all the noise in here are tickle and balls. I think that is what she said. "I can see where that would come in handy," I say, as I watch a man much closer to her age walk in and sit down. She looks over to him, and then back at me. Maybe this will be catalyst I need to get her away from me. "That man is watching us. Should we go? My condo is right down the street ..." she says, her hand going over top of mine, her long nails tracing over my skin. "Kali, you are a nice kid. I don't think that guy is watching us. I think he is watching you. If you really want to take someone home tonight, I think you better look elsewhere. I would start with him," I say, and her expression turns sour. "Are you sure?" she asks me, leaning closer to me. "I could show you the time of your life." "He's sure," the young man from the bar says. He is now standing behind her, with his hand on her shoulder. "My friends call me Dyl. Why don't we go somewhere quieter?" he asks her and flashes her the most charming, boyish smile I've ever seen. Kali seems to be taken with him immediately. Of course, I don't think it is too hard to take her anywhere. The two of them are barely out the back door when I see Scully walk in the front, put her hands on her hips and look around. Her eyes make contact with mine, but her face certainly does not light up. Maybe I should have kept Kali around awhile longer... "Mulder, how much have you had to drink?" she asks, as she looks at the various glasses on the table. "Those ... aren't all mine," I say, pointing to a few with lipstick prints on the rim. Her eyes travel from those glasses to my face and back again, as if she is checking me for matching prints anywhere. "Don't like drinking alone?" she asks. She has now crossed her arms in front of her, and several of the patrons who saw who I was with a few minutes ago are now snickering about this. Probably thinking I just got busted by the wife. "On the contrary, I love drinking alone. She was trying to pick me up, not the other way around. Then some nubile young buck came by and swept her away," I say, and the tiniest of smiles moves across her face. She is amused with the notion I can't pick up twenty year olds at a bar, that I am past my prime. Well, I'll show her ... "Can I join you?" she asks, leaning down and whispering in my ear. All of a sudden she looks two billion times sexier than any twenty year old ever could. It must be love. "If you promise not to yell at me. I'm drunk and probably couldn't handle being rejected twice in a row," I say as she sits down. "Want anything?" "Whatever she was having," Scully says, nodding at the stained glasses. "Tequila?" I ask, just a little stunned. Ms. Strawberry Margarita is going to do shots of tequila? "Yes. The one way you can forget who you are and what you think you have done for one night is to get you drunk," she says, taking one of the shot glasses with some liquor in it, and downing it. "And you are going to get drunk beside me?" I ask, not understanding the logic behind what she is doing. "Why not? What's good for the goose is good for the gander ... or in this case, what's good for the gander is also ... oh, hell. You know what I mean," she says, almost laughing. "It's just this one time, Mulder. I don't think we will be returning to the Sunshine State any time soon." "Not until we bring the kid to see the Mouse," I say, and she smiles and nods. The waitress comes over and retrieves all the old glasses and takes our order, questioning which one of us is the designated driver. I tell her we are staying right down the beach, have no car and will take a cab. That is if we can remember where the condo is by that time and she seems happy with that answer. Soon the two of us have downed several shots, and she is laughing like I've never heard her laugh before. I move the strap of her tank top over, and tell a bad joke about her tan lines. She laughs at it, and I try to commit to memory the exact amount of tequila it takes to make Scully laugh like a young girl. "You wanna go?" she asks me, her eyes examining me closely. "While we still can?" "Sure. Let me pay the bill and we will go ... home. Or whatever the hell it is," I say, as I settle the bill with the waitress. I got stuck paying for Carly's drinks, too. We walk out to the beach and both stop when we reach the white sand. "Which way is it?" we both ask at the same time. Simultaneously, our heads both turn to the right and to the left. I never thought to take better notice of where we came from. Then again, I never had any intentions of doing shots at some gulfside bar with Scully drinking right along side of me. "Left," she says. "Right," I say. We both look in the direction we just stated, hoping to find something familiar. It isn't easy once the sun goes down. It is totally black in the direction of the water, and most of the establishments on the beach don't shine search lights up and down it. "Well, this time if we go straight ahead, we will drown," she says, laughing a little. "Okay. Then we will go right," I say, swearing I recognize that palm tree down away from us. "Left," she says again. "Really, Mulder. I'm right this time. I might be drunk, but I'm right about left." "Then left it is," I resign, following her through the thick sand down to the wet sand near the shoreline. It is much easier to walk on the hard, wet sand after a few drinks than it is to walk through that soft stuff. Soon we find ourselves faced with a sign for a park I know I didn't walk past on my way down the beach. "Did I say right? I meant left," Scully says, while we both stand and read the sign. The park closed at sundown, and is empty right now. The only noise is the wind blowing off of the Gulf of Mexico through the Australian pine trees that fill the park. "Can we sit down for a minute?" "Sure," I say, and the two of us search for a place to rest. We end up reclining against a large, uprooted tree. It has been in and out of the salt water so often that it looks like driftwood now. "So, did you think about going off with her?" Scully asks after a couple of minutes. "Who?" I ask. "Miss Lipstick," she says. I had forgotten all about ... whatever the hell her name is since we began our trek down the beach. "Probably not any more than you thought about going off with Mr. Strawberry Margarita," I answer, pulling her closer to me. What we're wearing was fine when the sun was beating down on us, but now it is getting cool. "The thought never crossed my mind." "I'm glad," is all she says. "So, do you think we're getting back to the condo tonight?" "Ever do it on the beach, Scully?" I ask only to be answered with silence. "Okay. Ever do it on this particular beach? With me?" "Sand gets in peculiar places," she says quietly. I don't want to know more. "We can wash off in the water. Come on, Scully. We're drunk and stuck out somewhere on a beach. What else is there to do?" I ask her. "Try to find our way back to the condo?" she says, in her all too serious tone. I should have brought the tequila with us. Instead, I choose to pull her onto my lap, so she is straddling me, our faces only an inch apart. "You think this is going to work?" she asks, her voice a fraction less serious. "This always works," I say, and I pull her closer to me, and kiss her. Tequila, rum and strawberries are the flavor we create together, something different than ever before. My hands pull the hem of her shirt out of her shorts, and wander over her warm flesh, moving to her breasts. My thumbs draw tiny circles across her nipples, and she sits up straight, enjoying this thoroughly. "Is it working?" "Shut up, Mulder," she says, as she puts her arms up, allowing me to pull the shirt all the way off. Her nipples stand erect, the dark pink flesh standing out against the pale skin of her breasts. That pale only goes so far, and it gradually turns into a slight tan. Enough of a differentiation in tones that you can tell she just spent the week in the sun. My mouth moves to her breasts, pulling in one nipple and rolling it around on my tongue. I can have her breasts again, without any surprises, thanks to her doctor. I swirl my tongue around one nipple, and notice how less sensitive she is to my touch, how much more pressure I can apply to them before she reacts. I guess I can thank the kid for that. But I no longer have to share. She tugs my shirt over my head as soon as I stop caressing her with my mouth, and her tongue flows across my neck, delving into hollow under my jaw line before moving to my ear. It hasn't even been a whole month since we last made love, but it feels like eternity. I had dreams of her while I was in my coma, images I barely remember. Even when we were apart we were together. She leans into me, her soft breasts pressing against my chest, and we just hold each other for a few scant moments. Scully moves away from me, and stands up, reaching once again for her shirt. She pulls it over her head, but doesn't tuck it back in. Why didn't I notice how tightly it fit before? Or that she wasn't wearing anything under it? My self flagellation made it so I didn't notice anyone but myself. "We have to be a little less obvious," Scully whispers, as she motions for me to stand up. "And how do you intend on doing that?" I ask her, to be answered by her slipping off her sandals, and dropping her shorts and panties to the sandy ground. Her shirt is long enough to cover her, at least here in the dark. "Come with me," she says, and I follow her, kicking off my shoes in the process. She wades fearlessly into the water, and I try to remember that most man-eating sharks don't reside off the coast of Florida. A few, but not many. Besides, we've faced far worse than sharks. "Don't forget to shuffle your feet." No sharks, no mutants, but maybe stingrays. What in the hell did I get myself into here? She wades out until it is past both of our waists, the gentle waves soaking her white shirt. The water is cool against my skin. Cool and dark. I can't even see my knees let alone my feet. She grabs the waistband of my shorts, and pulls me to her, while her hand slowly undoes the button and then the zipper. Tugging them down isn't so easy in the water, but she and I manage to get them far enough down so the essential parts are accessible without my shorts drifting off to Texas. The sensation of the water combined with the simple nearness of Scully is enough cause for me to grow hard, and her hand moves under the water to feel me. "See, we are less obvious this way," she whispers in my ear as she wraps her legs around me. She teases me ever so gently, rising up and down on the waves, my cock grazing her with each crest of water that goes by. "Oh, yeah. I bet," I say, knowing exactly what it looks like we are doing. I watched several couples do this very same thing today in broad daylight while I was sitting on the beach. "Well, it makes me feel better," she says softly, as she slowly lowers herself onto me, knowing so well the precise angle in which to settle her body, knowing me so well. "How is this?" "This is just fine," I say, thrusting into her, following the rhythm of the waves as they beat out a gentle cadence against our bodies. The mixed sensations of the cool water and the heat within her body is an unbelievable pleasure, and I want to sink into her warmth even more. Her legs wrap tighter around me, as if I am a drowning man and she is my life preserver. In a way, she is. With each thrust, we create waves of our own, adding to the serene ones the earth and the moon are already creating. Is the tide rising or is that my imagination? Perhaps we will drown while I am engulfed by Scully. Perhaps I don't even care. Her eyes look up at me and reflect the full moon above. Our only light is that moon and the stars, but I can see her as if we were in the blazing sunlight and sense her every move, her every need. I know her now. There are a few things that even the darkness cannot hide anymore. "Lean back a little," I murmur quietly, and she complies, letting herself tilt back towards the water. I put one hand behind her back to support her, and then lifts the hem of her shirt, so I can find her lit with ease. Aroused already, she gasps when my fingers draw out the patterns she likes on that part of her body. I cannot thrust into her and do this, and the water becomes still around us with just this slight movement. "Yes, like that. Yes, oh yes," my usually quiet Scully utters, and I begin to appreciate tequila and moonlight even more. "Move, Mulder. I want to feel you move inside of me." I comply as well as I can, trying to keep all these rhythms in time with the waves. Trying to feel and enjoy everything, remembering every little detail of the cool water splashing against us, of the tide rising higher as we travel right along with it. The feel of reaching the crest of an imaginary wave, and looking down before plunging into the darkness of the sea. It doesn't take much more, and the two of us are riding a current we created on our own. I submerse myself into her deeply, sinking further into her with every ripple her body makes. I pull her closer to me, holding her against me as both of our bodies calm down. I can feel her heartbeat quiet down until it, too, is matching the soothing meter of the waves. She moves from me, and helps me tug my soaked shorts up into place, and she pulls her shirt down. I take her hand and she leads me from the water, my legs struggling to walk, let alone through this soft sand. We both drop to the ground in front of our weathered log, and sand sticks to nearly every inch of exposed skin. And some not so exposed areas. "Do you think we can find the condo now?" Scully asks from beside me. I'm on my back, watching the stars in the heavens. "Yeah. I think we go that way," I say, pointing in the direction from which we came awhile ago. "You sure?" she says, bantering with me. "This time I know I'm right," I tell her, and she lays her head upon my wet chest. Then it dawns on me, through my slightly tequila bewildered mind. We totally forgot something while we got caught up in the moment. I guess we get to test her theory about no more children. Grapefruit-Juicy Fruit "Grapefruit I wake up to the sun shining too brightly through the bedroom window. My mouth tastes terrible and I seem to have a light layer of sand still covering parts of my body. The sheets are gritty, and it looks like we brought half the beach home with us. What in the hell happened last night? I look over to Mulder sleeping naked on his stomach without any covers. He has the same dusting of sand on him. Sand in places sand shouldn't be. Now I remember. Rum Runners and Margaritas somewhere. Oh, God. And tequila. I don't usually drink. Don't have any desire to. But last night it just seemed right. It was time to let go. The mirror reflects back a woman who looks crazy. Not only am I covered with sand, but my hair is standing in all directions, and feels like it was last washed in salt water. It probably was. I notice I'm beginning to form tan lines, although they are slight. I remember Mulder making some smart ass comment about them at some point in the night, but for the life of me, I can't recall what he said. He begins to wake up behind me and I can see his reflection as he sits up holding his head. Mulder must have the same headache I do. I wonder if all his other parts ache as much as mine? I feel like I walked for miles. "Hi, you," he says, as he rubs his eyes. "Did I tell you what a roasted turkey and a girl in a bikini have in common?" Now I remember. "Yes, you did. Now stop staring." "Why?" he says, not even making a move to look away. "Because I look awful," I answer, turning to face him. "No, you don't. You look like someone who had a whole hell of a lot of fun last night. Or was it this morning?" he says, standing up, and pulling me into his sandy arms. "But you are a little abrasive right now." "And you aren't?" I ask, as my hand goes around and brushes sand off of his ass. It gives me an excuse to touch him there, as I slowly make sure I get it all off of every inch of skin. "Happy Mother's Day," he whispers in my ear. I had almost forgotten. "Should we celebrate by doing what we did to make you a mom?" "I know you are good, Mulder, but I don't think you can whip up a hurricane," I tell him, smiling at the memory. It was so traumatic then, but the hard edges have worn off of the images from that night and all I'm left with is a thought of what occurred because of it. "Give me a minute. Let me call some of our *friends.* I think I can order you up a hurricane by noon," he says, and we both laugh. Our old friends and their 'projects.' "No, that's okay," I tell him, as he pulls me in closer. He rubs against me, our skin grinding like sand paper. "Let's take a bath." "We can make our own little hurricane in the whirlpool tub. Is that close enough?" he asks, as he pulls me in the direction of the tub. "Close enough for government work," I say, as I allow myself to pulled along with him. Just like last night. He just asks and I follow. Have I always done that? The rolling bubbles soon cover us, washing away the grit from last night. I'm sitting between his legs, and he is washing the sea out of my hair. He has gotten good at this hair washing since Christopher was born. "Well, how did that get tangled up in here?" he asks, as he shows me a tiny shell on the palm of his hand. "That was in my hair? I can't imagine how that could have ever gotten there," I say coyly, playing along with him. "Were you seduced by Neptune last night? Did he talk you into following him out to the sea, so he could slowly make love to you under the waves?" he asks, his voice right by my ear now, soft and low. "I was seduced into the sea, but it wasn't Neptune who got me there," I say to him, leaning forwards a little so he can finish my hair. "I believe it was the other way around, Agent Scully. I don't think you've got your facts straight. I'm pretty sure it was you doing the little seduction into the sea bit," he tells me. "You'll never convince me of that," I say, and he grabs the small cup we use to rinse Christopher's hair from the side of the big tub. "Tip your head back," he says. "I don't want to get it in your eyes." I comply, enjoying the feel of the warm water cascading down my back, taking with it any evidence of our seaside follies. Rolling over in the water, I straddle his lap. The warm water is bubbling all around us, forced into its own turmoil not by nature but by air jets. I want to feel him inside of me, around me, no matter how badly my body hurts right now. We must have walked a couple of miles last night. I stroke up and down until I feel him grow hard beneath me, yet I continue to tease him, wanting this moment to go on. We have a tub just like this at home. How come we don't use it more often? His eyes never leave mine, and desire is written across his face. He watches me as if I am the only thing he needs in life, as if I could provide his sustenance for an eternity. I wonder how I look to him? My body takes him in as far as I can. He makes a sound that is half a gasp and half a growl, and I smile at him. It has yet to get old. Every time is something new, as our bodies come together again and again. Whether it is fast or slow, each time is special. He begins to move beneath me, his body seeking the wet friction that only I get to provide now. It is hard to tell where the wetness of the warm, rolling water ends and where my own wetness begins. It is hard to tell where I end and Mulder begins. Perhaps we are simply one now, joined together here under the water again. My hands are behind his shoulders, on the edge of the tub, as I try to leverage myself on his body. I want it faster and harder, but I don't want it to end. Why does it matter? When this ends, I can have it again. Anytime. He is mine now. I am his. He pounds into me and I struggle to meet his forceful thrusts with a counter-thrust, allowing him to sink into my depths. Our bodies in motion are adding to the whirlpool of water surrounding us, sending it up and over the edge with a big splash. Who cares? Nothing else is important right now. Not work, not parenting, not this endless struggle we've put ourselves into. We are alone now, and for a few minutes, no one else matters in this world. Someday we will be alone again. Will it still be like this? His hands are wrapped around my waist, and I struggle to match his pace. My face is so close to his, and no words are necessary. Our eyes tell each other what is happening down beneath the water, how close we are to drowning in each other. Suddenly, my body hits that point of no return, and I fall on top of him, our wet bodies sticking together. I am coming and coming and his hands never left my waist. "That was a good one," he says, his voice rough with desire still. I look at him, and he has a pleased smile on his face. "Yes, that was a good one," I agree, my body still in spasms. "Now it is your turn." "But it isn't Father's Day," he says, his body still in mine, thought he has stopped thrusting. "We can celebrate early," I say, as I begin to rise and fall on him once again. I am done for now and can focus only on him, watching his reaction as I sink onto him, and hold him there, moving slow and deliberately. "Could you, um, move a little faster, Scully?" he asks, his eyes pleading with me. "You want Father's Day to come really early, don't you?" I ask, teasing him. My hands go to his chest, feeling the wonderful wet smoothness that is him. "I would like Father's Day to come soon," he says, his eyes closed now, his head back on the edge of the tub. I move with more intent, taking him in further and further. Faster and faster. The water is still splashing all over and I begin to wonder when my mom will be back and can we get this all cleaned up by then and who cares? She knows what we do. She could be doing this herself now. I smile at that thought. Mom in a whirlpool bath with some man, fucking him hard. Well, why not? I return my attention to the man beneath me, the only person I would ever want to be in a bathtub with for eternity, and I move the intensity of my movements up a notch. It is just enough to make him come, and I sink down on him, taking even more hot wetness into me. We were already careless last night, though I believe Mulder doesn't think I remember. How could I forget? But what will be will be. I kiss him as he moans something truly guttural, and it resonates between us. His tongue searches for mine, and this is where I want to be. Nothing can stand between us if he doesn't let it. I've been told this is the only way it can be. That is good because it is the only way I want it to be. "What would you like for Mother's Day, Scully? Do you want us to take you out to breakfast? Do you want us to leave alone all day? Tell me what you want," he says as he pulls his mouth away from mine. "Mulder, the fact that I'm celebrating Mother's Day in the first place is in itself the best gift I could ever receive. All I want to do is spend the day with my family," I tell him. He places a light kiss on my forehead and pulls my slick body closer to his. What more could I ask for? Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes "It's these changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes My son toddles out to the water's edge on awkward, chubby legs. His mother holds one of his hands, steadying him as he goes into a new, perilous territory. The sun is setting on my last day of vacation, and we spent most of it splashing at the beach, watching Christopher discover everything that he can suddenly see from an upright position. He has a new sense of freedom now, as clumsy as that freedom may be. Can it be possible that he is walking? He is only ten months old. Are they supposed to walk at ten months? Next thing you know he'll be asking for the car keys to take a girl to the prom. Going away to college. Having a family of his own. I certainly hope he will have all of those things, that someone doesn't take it all away from him. He reaches up towards the sun, as if he can touch that glowing ball in the sky and make it his own. I would give him the sun and the moon and stars if I could, but I can only give him the best life I possibly can. Scully coaxes him to the soft waves, holding both of his hands so he doesn't feel that he is going to be washed away on a strong current. I watch from the beach, enjoying just being a spectator right now. I love to watch them together. A bigger wave takes them by surprise and Scully pulls Chris out of the water before it can go over his head. She stands out there, with him in her arms, both of them laughing with delight. She hugs him tight, and he puts his head on her shoulder, his arms now wrapped around his mom's neck. No one could ever love her more or need her more. Except another child. Or me. I have to go back to DC in the morning, to another review. Skinner called and told me that most of the strong need for placing blame has passed, and now they just want to discuss some other incidents. And to find out what direction I'm taking the X-Files. I didn't know its direction had ever changed. I want to get back to look into some other things, like the full identity of Jasper. It has to be important. Scully and Christopher turn to face the beach, and I can see his eyes trying to find me on the shore. Scully points in my direction, and whispers something in his ear. He squeals with delight over whatever it was she just said to him. As she wraps her arm around him again, I notice a glint of something on her left hand. She put the ring back on. The End Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. They belong to FOX, CC and 1013. None of these songs belong to me. They belong to Jimmy Buffett and MCA. No infringement is intended and absolutely no money is being made by this hobby of mine. Just ask my husband.
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