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

Part Five

"We should think about getting up.  Sun's starting to take a dive
already.  You'll need to be on shift soon."

He's silent for a moment, brow scrunched a bit in concentration;
then his face smoothes out into its habitual non-committal
expression, and he retorts, "Okay.  I thought about it."  He burrows
further under the covers and takes her with him, ignoring her
squirming. 

"Mulder, stop that!  We really do need to get up!"  She's fighting
down the giggles when his roving fingers successfully catch several
ticklish areas, as she tries to slap them away.  He peeks at her over
the rim of the blankets and watches her trying to rearrange her
features into stern lines.  His eyes light up when he spots her
bottom lip quivering into a grin.  She never could hold out for very
long...

With a whoop of victory he drags the covers over their heads and
cocoons them in a dark cave of wool and cotton.  He pins her beneath
him and loftily decrees, "I don't see no stinking twilight, Scully. 
Must have been your imagination.  No twilight, no need to rise and
shine, yet.  Right?"

Her mouth is muffled against his chest.  "Murf, fhbbb, Mufff -"

"What was that?  Can't understand a word you're saying."  He eases
up a little, thinking she might be having a tough time breathing.  As
soon as he moves away, she pulls her face out of his skin and tries
to see his eyes, but it's completely dark underneath the load of
blankets and sheets covering them.   

"You're a mental case, Mulder.  Now let me up, before we both
suffocate."

"Nope.  Don't wanna.  Not yet.  I want to stay in bed and neck. 
It's dark, Partner.  Nobody will ever know."

In the artificial darkness he locates her neck with unerring ease
and runs a warm tongue along her carotid artery, enjoying the way she
shivers under his mouth.  Her voice is an irritable mumble.  "I don't
know how in hell you can find your way in the dark, Mulder.  More
than once I've almost poked your eye out because you wanted to play
'suck face' in a total black-out."

"Hey, I'm always ready to take advantage of a black-out.  If I'd
never done it, you'd have had to wait forever for my kiss of passion
and my hickey of delight."

"Oh, brother..."


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


CHAPTER TWELVE

Shadows and Light
By Gina Rain 
Email:  ginarain@aol.com
Spoilers:  Early Season Six


Like many people, Dana Scully has experienced random moments of free-
floating anxiety. Although her life has been full of occasions that
gave her just cause for panic, she usually dealt with them calmly and
rationally. It's been the vague feelings of unease without tangible
sources that she's found difficult to deal with; moments when a sense
of dread leached on to her like a shadow. However, being an
extraordinarily rational human being, she developed a plan of attack.
She used these rare moments as an opportunity for continuing medical
education. She'd fire up her mental microfiche machine and scan it
for the latest articles on anxiety disorders, trying to remember them
word for word. While she's never had Mulder's memory, hers is still
pretty damned good. And she's remembered birthdays, to boot.

After fifteen or twenty minutes of study, she'd be ready to bravely
walk on until, like all good shadows, her fears would slip from
conscious radar, taken for granted. 

The latest episode occurs the minute she walks through their office
door. It's been a rough week, case-wise. The conspiracy is once again
in full swing and paranoia runs high. She *knows* that.  She also
knows she's been in a bit of trouble. She hadn't really read anything
new on the science behind panic and her coping mechanism now looks as
sad as her dentist's waiting room; the one that was famous for its
huge collection of 1978 National Geographic magazines and 1983 Family
Circles. 

"Has the place been swept?" she asks Mulder after only a brief nod
of greeting.

He looks up from his monitor with a small smile. "All neat and tidy.
Good morning to you, too."

I'm sorry, Mulder. Good morning."

She stores her briefcase under her desk, quickly double-checking to
see if their "exterminating service" missed any stray bugs. She fires
up her computer, knowing that she'll be powering it down in a few
minutes after Mulder informs her of their daily wild goose chase.
They seem to be doing a lot of that lately.

"Hey, Scully," she moves her mouse into position to make logging off
easier. "It looks like we'll have a pretty quiet day of paperwork
ahead of us."

Paperwork? No. It can't be. Mulder never sits still for paperwork
while there's an injustice to be rectified. A dragon to be slain. A
hole to be spackled. And never on a day when she wants to be away
from these walls, this basement, this desk.

Sometimes, life sucks.

'SSRIs have become first line medication for the treatment of panic
disorder'...  Damn, who authored the article and what followed? And,
more importantly, why doesn't she have some handy dandy Selective
Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors in her purse?

Two hours later, she finds something better than SSRIs: Mulder's
version of their latest expense report. A work of fiction could not
be as creative or amusing. 

She gets up from her desk and heads toward the file cabinet. She
knows she needs to present him a copy of the list of justified
expenses in order to change Mulder's mind about charging the FBI
$37.53 for a pair of red silk boxer shorts. She's just reaching for
the top drawer when the lights go out. Completely. Goodbye thoughts
of Mulder's creative writing assignment, hello desperate need for the
serotonin stuff. 

She'd *known* something would happen. Didn't she feel it the moment
she walked in this morning? They are probably waiting just outside
the door, ready to burst in; guns drawn and ready. Guns with
silencers. Skinner would probably come in here in a few days, because
the cleaning crew would refuse to enter a room that has such a god-
awful smell permeating through the door, and he'd find their
bloodless bodies lying on the cold, dank floor.

"Scully? You okay?" 

She hears him rise from his somewhat squeaky chair, and walk in her
direction. This is followed by a "Fuck!" She can easily identify that
as the sound of Mulder injuring a random body part. Good. Well, not
that he injures a random body part but that she can try and remain
calm as she identifies normal, reassuring, fairly commonplace sounds.
It should keep her mind from things of a more fatal nature. 

"I'm fine, Mulder," she says.

"You don't sound fine. In fact, your breathing sounds really... loud."

"I'm fine, Mulder," she says again, feeling anything but.

"I'm on my way," he says and she hears his light steps on the bare
floors. This is followed by another "fuck," along with the metallic
sound of a wastepaper basket being overturned. An "oomph" follows
this and she jumps in the dark as one hand slams into the file
cabinet to the right of her face, while the other clumsily grabs on
to her left breast. Her accompanying gasp sounds louder than all the
breathing, fucks and oomphs that preceded it.

"Tell me," he says, "that's not what I think it is." 

"I can't do that," she says and feels him disengage by just opening
his fingers and drawing them away without fondling her in any way,
shape or form.

"You're gonna have to take my word for this, Scully, but, boy, is my
face red."

"Just... forget about it. Did you hurt yourself?"

She can feel him standing up straighter and moving aside rubble from
the trashcan with the toe of his shoe. He leaves his right hand on
the file cabinet and leans some of his weight against it. It's
beginning to feel like a conversation by the water cooler. Except
there's no water and no lights, of course.

"I'm sure I'll have some bruises tomorrow. Nothing I can't handle."

"Good. What do you suppose happened to the lights?"

"I don't know. Blackout? Circuit breaker overload? Fuse blew? It's
just too damned dark down here. We're safer just staying where we are
for a while and seeing what happens. If the lights don't come up in a
few minutes, we can try and make our way across to the other side of
the office and see if we have any flashlights there."

"Mine is in the car," she says sadly and notices her own breathing
quicken a bit in response.

She feels him move his other hand over to her left side - just to
the side of her breast. And he isn't exactly touching the file
cabinet, either.

"Mulder, there is no garbage can in your way and you haven't tripped
in the last few seconds, so you damned well better have a good
explanation."

"I'm checking your heart rate. I noticed before that it was going a
mile a minute."

She puts her hand on his arm and pushes it away. "I have a pulse in
my wrist, you know."

"Oh," he says. "I sort of forgot about that. Still, your pulse is
really too fast. Are you scared?"

"No, but I was. I was afraid of being compacted by a giant klutz."

His chuckle is warm and reassuring in the dark. She feels his hand
touch the side of her face. She can't see a damned thing, yet he has
perfect aim in locating all her body parts. What is he? Part-cat? Or
ex-male-hooker?

She feels him move closer. Why is he moving closer? Doesn't he know
about the imminent bloodbath waiting outside their door? Doesn't he
care that twenty-seven members of the conspiracy could be out there
with silencers? Doesn't he... oh.

He kisses her neck.

No doubt about it. He just kissed her neck. She knows because she
still feels the electrical surge that went from his lips all the way
down to her toes, with a few strategic stops in between.

"Mulder? What did you do?" she asks, and hears a breathless quality
to her voice that hasn't been heard in quite some time.

"If you have to ask, I guess I must really be out of practice."

"No. You seem good enough at it. I guess I meant, why?"

"Because I wanted to. Because we're alone in the dark and I've
already committed a grievous offense without meaning to, so I might
as well go ahead and get in trouble for something that I
intentionally set out to do. Or not get in trouble. You can never
tell with the dark. There are so many choices. So many infinite
possibilities." He lightly brushes his lips against the pulse point
in her neck. "You could smack me and tell me to stop - which I notice
you didn't do, by the way.  You could participate, which you didn't
exactly do, either, but I didn't really expect you to. Or you could
charge me with sexual harassment and ruin my otherwise stellar career
in law enforcement, which you probably will do once the lights come
back up."

"You're very cavalier about the possibility."

"Maybe it's because I thought it was worth the risk. Maybe I thought
it was worth almost any risk."

"*Almost* any?"

"Well, I'd still like you to speak with me and not think I'm some
pervert who has been lying in wait all these years for a fuse to
blow, or a circuit to break. I'd like you to still sort of like me."

"Well, it depends," she says with a frown he can't see.

"On what?"

"Did you do that... neck thing because you sensed I was
uncomfortable and wanted to help me take my mind off the situation?" 

"Hell, no. My hand was on an erogenous zone, Scully. That does
something to a man.  It fires off neurons or testosterone or
something. You're the scientist. You tell me. All I know is I was
standing in the dark with the one person I've always wanted to kiss
and the only one I wanted to help is myself - to you," he says, then
adds sheepishly, "Was that the right answer?"

It's desire. Not pity. Not mercy. 

Good answer.

She reaches out a hand and aims upward. Nothing. One more inch
forward. There he is. Her fingertips touch his nose. Nope. Cute nose
in its own way, but no. A little to the right. There, right there.
His cheek. Slide a bit more to the left. Hair. Curl her fingers a bit
and pull toward herself. Hello, Mulder.

Scully feels his breath as it nears her own cheek. She moves her
free hand up to the other side of his face and manages not to poke
anything in the interim. She pulls him forward some more and feels
Mulder's lips touch her face. She slides hers over until they are
lined up with his own and then puckers for all she's worth. The hand
he's using to lean against the file cabinet comes down and joins the
other to hold onto her waist. 

For a moment, she thinks about what a strange picture they must
present. Mulder is pretty much bent at an odd angle while Scully is
leaning up as far as her toes can take her; both of them perfect
poster children for future chiropractic care. But then he
participates in the kiss and she turns off all the machinery in her
mind. She feels his lips part and she meets him halfway. They are
both eager to be the first to taste each other. That initial velvety
slide of warm wetness sends another shockwave down to her toes with
detours along each erogenous zone Mulder didn't manage to hit,
intentionally or unintentionally, before. She melts just a little
along each one. 

And then the lights come on. She opens an eye to find his eyes
opened and looking just a bit frightening in close-up, hazel-toned
technicolor. Busted. Her tongue is still in his mouth and there is
just no way to ease out of this kiss in any kind of dignified,
businesslike manner. So, she closes her eyes and lets him do it. He
pulls her up against him for a moment, continuing their kiss for a
few seconds more. As she starts to pray for another blackout or
equipment malfunction or whatever the hell this was... he breaks away
and sets her back on her heels. 

When Scully opens her eyes, Mulder's seated behind his desk. She
knows she is flushed and notices the matching color in his cheeks,
not to mention the tell-tale Raspberry Sherbet lipstick smear around
his mouth.

She walks to her desk and pops up a tissue from its cardboard
container.

'A shadow is a dark space where something blocks light.' Ah,
success. Fourth grade science is still in the memory machine. But she
isn't seeing shadows at the moment. Nope. No vague feelings of
despair are haunting her now. She can put all those feelings of
silencers and serotonin away for the moment.

She is being presented with a greater problem, however.

Dana Scully is now desperately afraid of the dark. But she'll have
to find out why later. When she's alone, she'll pull out the
microfiche machine in her mind. No, that's only for articles. She'll
have to fire up the mental VCR instead. Pull out the tape of their
kiss. 

Their kiss...

She'll replay that moment... again and again and again, if she has
to. All to figure out whether she's been afraid of the dangers of the
dark with its promise of infinite possibilities, or actually afraid
that whatever caused the lights to go out has now repaired forever
and they'll never be caught in that situation again.

Yup, she'll look forward to a long and fruitful investigation. But,
for now, she has Kleenex to dispense.


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


"I suppose hiding out under the covers has its advantages.  Can't
see how ugly this room really is."

She pokes her nose out from the confines of a blanket and gives
their room the once-over.  "It's not too awful.  And it IS ours. 
That has to be worth something.  These bunkers were once quite the
fancy Army standard, you know."

"Who told you that tall tale?"

"I think I read it on the bathroom wall."

Mulder chuckles, "Well, that would explain it, then."   He sits up a
little, piling the covers around their shoulders as he leans against
the lumpy pillows.  Pulling Scully into his arms, he rests his cheek
on her hair as he looks around the room.

It's really an ugly room.  He's sure it was ugly when it was new. 
Years and years ago, somebody made the supremely stupid decision to
paint the walls and ceiling urine yellow.  The carpeting on the floor
began life as avocado green.  At this moment in their lives the
carpeting is a curious combination of residual green and basic never-
been-shampooed-dirty.

There isn't a redeeming feature anywhere in the room, but he knows
it doesn't matter, because as long as Scully's in here with him the
room is breathtakingly beautiful and he never wants to leave it...

"I wonder if rearranging the furniture would help a bit."  As soon
as the words leave her mouth, she winces and he snorts aloud. 
Meeting the sudden mischief in her partner's eyes, Scully knows
exactly what's running through his mind.  The last time furniture
movement occurred around them, far more than mere furniture got moved.

She smiles, and Mulder grins widely; both of them had no idea that a
little interior designing would take them one step further in their
relationship - well, certainly not at the time...


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


CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Helping Hand
By Donna
Email:  Donnah@stories.com
Spoilers:  None


"Hello?"

He smiles.  She sounds breathless.  "What's going on, Scully?  You
got a guy over there?"

"What's a guy?"  She responds dryly.  His smile grows; her memory
isn't too shabby either.  "What do you want, Mulder?"

"Oh, I got an email from some man in Nevada.  He - "

"No.  Stop right there.  It's Saturday and I'm not going to even
think about the office or emails or -"  The sound of the crash and
things falling sends adrenaline through his bloodstream.

"Scully?  Scully!"

"It's, it's okay Mulder.  I dropped a box I was trying to get down
from the closet shelf."

"Are you hurt?  I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

"I'm fine.  What do you mean a couple of minutes?  Got a new
transporter?"

"No, I'm only a few blocks away."

There is a tiny pause.  "Why are you only a few blocks away?"

"I, uh, I was going to surprise you."

"Well you have.  Mulder, I'm busy.  I'm spring cleaning and I have
no intentions of getting into a case or looking at an email from some
freak in Nevada who found your 1-900 number."

"I can help you get that box back up on the shelf."  He responds
quickly.

"Mulder, I am perfectly capable of -"

"Growing 10 inches?" He breaks in.

"Bite me."  At least that's what he thinks she said.  He doesn't
dare comment.

"I'm almost there, Scully.  Turn me away after you see me."

"Mufph."  

"I'm going to take that as okay.  See you in minute."  He presses
'end' on the phone and smiles.  He'd love to bite her, given a
quarter of a chance.

She answers his knock with her eyebrow high.  Apparently she's
started out the day with her hair in a ponytail, but nearly as much
is now curling around her face as is held back by the elastic.  She's
wearing chic frump, in fact, isn't that his t-shirt?

"Nice duds, Scully.  When did you take to stealing my clothes?"  He
walks past her into the living room.

"Anything that I find in my suitcase and wash, is mine," she
retorts, but her mind is on the delicious aroma surrounding him. 
"What did you bring?"

"Ah, you noticed the gifts."   He holds up the bag.  "Coffee and
cinnamon buns from that place you were talking about."  He bites his
lip to keep from laughing at the expression of bliss on her face. 
"Can you take a break?"

"A short one," she replies over her shoulder as she leads him to the
kitchen.

"So, spring cleaning, huh?"  He takes the cup she offers him and
sits at an angle from her at the table.

She already has her mouth full of cinnamon bun, but she nods.  When
she swallows she faces him.  "And I'm thinking of rearranging the
furniture in the bedroom too."

"Why?"

"To shake things up.  Just make a difference in there."  She watches
as he stands.  "Where are you going?"

"To check under the bed for pods."

She gives him a one-finger salute and he resumes his seat.  "Agent
Scully, did you just give me the finger?"

She rolls her eyes and takes another bite.  He has to grin at her
enjoyment.  He loves seeing her like this.  Hell, he loves showing up
uninvited to disrupt her day.

As she washes up, he wanders into the bedroom and sees the box that
has spilled all over the floor.  He leans over and picks up a book. 
Realizing what it is he flops down on her bed and begins turning
pages.

"What are you doing?"  She enters the room and stops to observe him.

He holds up the book, "You as a freshman.  I'm looking for your
picture."

"Mulder..." It is very close to a whine.

"Ah ha!  I knew it."

"Knew what?"  She grumps as she begins to pick up the rest of the
spillage.

"You were cute as a button and your hair curled!"

"Give me that!"  She yanks the book from his hands.  "Have you left
yet?"

"Hey, I'm here to help.  Are you really going to rearrange in here?"  

She straightens up and places her hands on her hips, as she looks
around.  "Yes."  She finally nods.  "I am."

"Okay, tell me what to do."

"Mulder, you don't have to help me.  Don't you have things you need
to do?"

He shakes his head, "Not if you won't discuss emails from Nevada
with me.  Come on, together it won't take long and we can grab some
lunch or something."  He already knows he's won, that light in her
eyes is worth any amount of sore muscles.

They stack the mattress and springs against the far wall and move
the frame enough to get the dresser out of the way.  She decides the
chair should go in front of the window.  

He does pick at her, but it is friendly and in less than an hour,
the room is put back together.  He makes himself comfortable in the
middle of her bed and looks up at her.  "Okay?"

She stands there, looking around.  She folds her arms.  "Scully?"

"I don't like it."

"What?"  He rises up on one elbow.

She looks kind of pitiful for a minute.  "I liked it better the
other way."

"Do you want to change it back?"

"I can't ask..."

"You didn't ask before.  I showed up and volunteered."  He stretches
and stands up, tugging the mattress off the bed again.

"You worked so hard."

"Don't worry, I'll demand payment later."  

Moving things back takes less time.  He knows where things go.  But
he does move the dresser farther from the window and leaves the chair
in front of it.  "I like it there."

She nods, "Me too."  She looks around the room.  "Yes, it's better
this way.  I don't want changes in the bedroom."

He bounces onto the bed.  "I hope that isn't a metaphor."

"What?"

"Nothing.  So, what's my reward?"

"Reward?  What do you want?"

He pats the bed beside him as he reclines against the pillows.  He
is delighted to see the blush that takes over her face.  She's
thought about it!  She has obviously thought about this!

He is in front of her in one swift motion, standing, no, looming
over her.  She doesn't retreat, turning her face up to his.  His lips
meet hers in a chaste kiss, then he leans back to gauge her reaction.
She smiles.  Her lips reach for his again before he can get his arms
around her.

God, is it any wonder he adores this woman?  

Someday, maybe they'll 'move the mattress' in a very different way. 
After all, he's dreamed of 'moving the sofa' with Scully for years.  

Later... he'll think about that later.


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


"I wanted you that day, you know."

Her soft words make him groan aloud, "Now you tell me!  You got any
idea how tough it was for me to let you go?  Allowing you to leave my
arms was as painful as having my heart carved out of my body with a
spoon."

Scully considers the analogy very carefully.  "Yes, I can see where
that might be painful.  But seriously, I wanted you, badly.  I was
also worried and unsure.  I knew we were moving into territory from
which there'd be no turning back, and even though we'd been dancing
around it for years, still when the moment came I found reasons not
to let it happen."

"Well, I can understand why, Scully.  Even though I wanted you madly
and thought I'd die if I didn't have you, deep down I knew we weren't
quite there.  But I'll tell you something: half the fun of the
romance is the anticipation."

Her snicker is uttered without malice.  "Well then, you must have
been anticipating enough to assure you were having a ball, Mulder...
for as long as it took for me to come around."

"Yes, indeedy, baby.  But when you finally started to come around,
you really blew me away..."


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


CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Rain Dance
By Lynn Saunders
Email: lynnsaundersfanfic@hotmail.com
Spoilers:  Early Season 7


Spring creeps in slowly, bringing warm sunbeams, morning dew, and
every possible shade of green, bringing new life and love. Suddenly,
every living thing radiates the energy of hope. She revels in it,
feeling as if she will burst.  This year, the air hums with
possibilities.

He asks her to jog with him on a Thursday, and she agrees even
though her evening run is the only personal time she gets. It's
something about the way he asks, sandpaper voice in her ear in the
middle of a committee meeting, coaxing her to break the established
routine. She honestly can't refuse this man who touches her
possessively, stands too close for comfort, and speaks to her as if
she's the only woman in the world. He is irresistible.

They avoid the bustling city streets, heading to the park instead.
It smells of fresh dirt and well-oiled leather mitts. The evening air
is unseasonably warm, even for spring, so he strips off his pullover,
revealing a t-shirt with "FBI" in bold black letters and a small
clarifier, which reads "Federal Bikini Inspector". He *would* own
that shirt, she thinks as she stretches, her muscles tingling in
anticipation.

The baseball field has been tended to recently in preparation for
little league games, and she stands at home plate, remembering his
arms around her. Only a year has passed since her baseball lesson,
yet it feels like a lifetime. So much has changed. So many things are
still changing.

They run the perimeter of the field as the sun slips lower on the
horizon, bathing the world in a purple glow. They don't talk as they
go, content for the first time in months to simply be near one
another. Instead, she watches him, the way his muscles ripple as he
runs, and he smiles mischievously every time he catches her gaze. She
realizes, on some level, that this slow dance, this seduction is a
dangerous thing. Yet, the thought of an explosion with Mulder makes
her insides flutter. She is well aware of the consequences. She knows
what she wants.

They are rounding the far corner of the diamond for the third time
when, in true spring fashion, heavy rain begins to fall without
warning. He stops, stunned for a moment, looking up into the sky with
a laugh until the thunder rumbling in the distance sends them rushing
for cover.

They cut across the outfield, sneakers squeaking against the wet
grass. He reaches the infield at a dead run and slips on the recently-
graded dirt, his knee hitting hard.

"Mulder, are you okay?" she asks, breathless and half-laughing. She
extends a hand and hauls him to his feet.  "Be more careful," she
adds with a wry smile.

"I'm glad I could amuse you, Scully," he answers with mock-
indignation.

Amusing Scully is, in fact, what he lives for, but he leaves that
part out. Instead, he allows her to lead him to the small dugout at
the edge of the field. Rain taps rhythmically on the shelter's tin
roof as she examines the scratches on his knee in the fading evening
light.

"What's your professional opinion?"

"I think you'll live."

She looks up at him with a smile, her damp hair curling around her
face in the most endearing way. He tucks it behind her ear gently,
his thumb tracing her fine cheekbone. This thing between them is new
and exhilarating, and he doesn't realize that he's going to pull her
near until she's already wrapped in his arms. Her fingers slide up
his shoulders, making him shiver.

"Scully?"

"Mm?" She blinks slowly.

He doesn't remember what he was going to say or if there were ever
any words at all. She seems to understand, though. He can feel her
smile against his lips as he kisses her thoroughly in the falling
spring rain, the smell of earth, fresh and wet, all around.

This evening, she saves him from one storm, even as he creates
another in her.


********************************
********************************
to be continued
************************************
************************************

Part Six


Outside their window the sun is sinking steadily. Inside the room
they're willing to stave off getting out of bed, in any way they can.
It's been wonderful just lying in each other's arms, thinking about
their past and remembering not only the good times but the bad as
well.  They're both sensible enough to understand how both sides of
the coin contributed to the shaping of first their partnership, then
friendship... and finally, their love.  It's a rare life that doesn't
include tragedy with comedy, and hate with love.  It's a boring life
that walks the mid-path and never dips to one side or another.

They know this.  But it took more than a few years to accept.

"I still wouldn't change anything, Mulder."  Her soft voice tickles
his ear.  She's tracing a finger over his chin, the rasp of a days'
worth of stubble prickling at her skin.  His eyes are closed but his
lips are curved in a smile of pure enjoyment, for there's precious
little in the world he enjoys more than her touch, however light and
brief.  Her statement only makes him smile wider, and his eyes flick
open, gaze at her, thinking how lucky he is to have her beside him.  

No, he wouldn't change but a few things, he decides.  He'd change
the length of time it took for both of them to wise up and figure out
they were meant to be together.  He'd change the danger level, not
necessarily for him but for her.  Yes, as a federal agent she was
expected to deal with terrible, dangerous situations.  It was her
job, and she was always the supreme professional.

But there were episodes in their past, her past... events that he
wishes so badly had been visited upon him, and not her.  Hideous
monsters, monstrous biological invaders.  One and the same, as far as
he's concerned.  Satan in disguise, no doubt.  That evil has so many
forms and comes in endless flavors.  It has entered their lives again
and again.  It has never beat them... but it came so goddamn close,
more than once.

Mulder shivers a little and clutches his lover even closer, long-
buried memories and traces of those dark times flooding him.  He
whispers, "I would, Scully.  I'd change a few things.  If I could go
back and do it again, I'd make sure the monsters we've had to deal
with would have met their demise before they could do damage,
especially to you."

She stares at him in the now-dim room.  "Mulder... there are events
you could never change.  Things happened to me for a reason, you know
that.  Whatever evil we faced, we did it together.  And we won. 
Together.  I can look back and feel pride; can't you?"

"Not always.  Not when it almost got you killed, Scully.  Not when
one in particular slithered back to the surface and tagged you as the
'victim that got away.'  Never that."

Oh, Mulder... she hugs him tightly, soothingly.  She knows which
devil he's thinking of.  She still remembers how she felt; how
vulnerable, how unsure that she'd done the right thing...

How fiercely glad she'd been to find that power within herself, to
be the one to do it.

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


CHAPTER FIFTEEN, Part One

Bonded By Faith
By xphilernj
Email:  xphilernj@aol.com
Spoilers:  Orison


"If you want to pack some things, we can get out of here." 

"Yeah." 

Scully pulls her Bible out of the dresser drawer and looks at him. 

"You can't judge yourself." 

She turns and sits on the edge of her bed.  "Maybe I don't have to." 

"The Bible allows for vengeance." 

"But the law doesn't." 

Mulder leans toward her to better see her eyes.   

"The way I see it... he didn't give you a choice. And my report will
reflect that... in case you're worried. Donnie Pfaster would've
surely killed again if given the chance." 

"He was evil, Mulder. I'm sure about that, without a doubt. But
there's one thing that I'm not sure of." 

"What's that?" 

"Who was at work in me. Or what... what made me... what made me pull
the trigger." 

"You mean if it was God?" 

"I mean... what if it wasn't?" 

Her eyes meet his and then she stares down at the Bible she holds in
her lap.  What more can he say to that?  

"I don't know Scully.  But there is one thing that I do know."  

Milder reaches over, lifts her chin to look at him; caresses her
cheek.

"You are nothing like Donnie Pfaster or Reverend Orison.  You had no
agenda.  You did the only thing you could do to survive."

"Mulder..."

"Scully, if he had stepped one foot toward you, I would have killed
him myself."

She pushes her cheek into the palm of his hand and closes her eyes. 
Her bottom lip starts to quiver and a tear trails down her bruised
cheek.  Mulder leans in and kisses the tear away.

"Come'ere."  

He sits beside her and pulls her into his body.  She wraps her arms
around his waist as she begins to tremble.  Mulder holds her until
she relaxes against him; then she moves back and looks up with tear
filled eyes.

"Thank you."

Mulder gently pushes the hair back from her face; then runs his
fingers across the bruise on her cheek.  She closes her eyes; a
slight smile tugs at the corner of her lips.  He leans in and kisses
her.  When he pulls away she sighs, rests her head against his chest
and tightens her arms around his waist.  Hugging her close, he rests
his head atop of hers.

"You ready to pack some things so we can get out of here?"

"Yeah."

She relinquishes her hold and slowly slides from the bed.  She makes
her way to the closet, stops and stands as if paralyzed.  Her dilemma
is obvious to him as she tries to pull her bag from the top of the
closet.  When he grabs it for her she swallows hard, trying to also
choke down the panic.  She glances up and all Mulder can see is fear,
sadness and a bit of anger.  She shakes her head and takes the bag
from him.

"It's okay.  Give yourself a break.  A little time.  Don't beat
yourself up about it."

"No, it's not okay.  You'd think after four years... I'm still
paralyzed with..."

Mulder places his hands on her shoulders and lowers his head so she
can look in his eyes.

"I told you before that Donnie did a number on you before like I had
never seen. And now, deja vu; here you are again.  He beats you, ties
you up and throws you in that damned closet.  You have every reason
to be paralyzed by fear.  You are still a strong person, Scully.  But
even the strong have their moments."

He smiles and she returns it.  She nods, turns and starts packing.

"I'm going out front and make sure everyone has left.  Let me know
when you're ready."  A pause at the door; he looks back. "Scully, are
you okay?"

"I will be."  She continues her packing as Mulder slips out.

~~~~~~

Mulder opens his door and leads her in.  She takes her bag and moves
to the sofa as he locks up.

"I think I still have some of the tea you love so much.  Would you
like some?"

"That would be nice.  Would you mind if I take a shower and change?"  

"Not at all.  You know where everything is.  Call out if you need
anything.  Your tea will be ready by the time you're done."

She turns to go and then glances back at Mulder and smiles.

"Thank you... for everything."

"Not a problem.  Now go and get ready for bed.  I'll be here if you
need me."

She nods and leaves the room.  Mulder finishes making the tea.  

~~~~~~

After the tea is gone she begins to yawn.

"Sorry.  I think I'm more tired than I thought."

"Scully, don't even apologize.  I'm surprised you haven't collapsed
before now.  Why don't you go on to bed?  I'll be out here if you
need me."

She reaches up and kisses him on the cheek and then runs her fingers
through his thick hair as she stands.

"Good night, Mulder. And... thank you."

"Night, Scully.  And... you're welcome."

He watches as she pads off to the bedroom.  Leaning his head back,
he listens to the little Scully sounds drifting through the door. 
With a smile, he closes his eyes; nods off to sleep only to be
awakened by soft moans and her calling his name.  Just as Mulder's
sitting up to go check on her, she appears at the door looking for
all the world like she's lost.

"Scully, you okay?  Bad dream?"

"Yeah.  Sorry if I woke you."

"Nah. You didn't wake me."  

He'd been reclined against the pillow resting on the arm of his
sofa.  With his foot planted on the floor and his left leg stretched
out across the seat, he pats the spot in front of him and beckons her
to sit.   She slowly walks around the end of the sofa and stands in
front of him.  She looks a little unsure but decides to sit and
recline against Mulder's chest.  He pulls the blanket off the back of
the sofa and covers her shaking body.

"What's the matter, Scully?"  

"Cold.  I can't seem to get warm."

Milder wraps himself around her.  With a free hand he pushes her
hair behind her ear and then rubs her shoulder and arm.  When he
kisses the top of her head he swears he can hear her purr. 

"You okay?"

"Better." 

She snuggles into his chest and rubs her cheek against him.  Her
body begins to relax as Mulder holds her close.  Just as he decides
she's fallen asleep, he hears her whisper.

"Love you, Mulder."

Mulder smiles and nuzzles the top of her head.

"I love you too, Scully.  Sweet dreams."

They both fall asleep in the comfort and warmth of each other's
arms.  

Tomorrow's another day that they'll face... together.


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


CHAPTER FIFTEEN, Part Two

BONDED BY LOVE
By Spangle
Email:  spangle1013@msn.com
Spoilers:  Orison


As he watches her sleeping, her head resting against the arm of his
sofa, titian hair spilling over the side, his heart breaks all over
again.  She murmurs his name softly in her sleep, the ghost of a
smile playing over her face.  He knows she feels safe here, with him
to watch over her, but all he's feeling is guilt.  Well not just
guilt... guilt and love.  Overpowering, overwhelming, and as he knows
all too well - inescapable.  Sighing, and wiping his hands tiredly
over his face, Mulder gets up from the sofa and wanders into his
bedroom.

He really ought to be sleeping; tomorrow is going to be one of those
long and trying days.  Donnie Pfaster's shooting must be explained to
the authorities, the appropriate paperwork must be filed.  Scully
will have to deal with the FBI procedures alongside the police, and
since he was there, so will he.

He's going to get her through this.  He's going to have her back -
as always.  He knows there is the chance that the shooting will be
questioned, but he isn't overly concerned.  What's keeping him up is
a sickening feeling that this is all somehow his fault.

He is, after all, the reason that Scully ever met Pfaster to begin
with.  All those years ago now, all because he was trying to involve
her in his life on a more personal basis.

A date.  That's what it was supposed to be.  A chance for them to
interact without work.  It just went wrong... dramatically wrong. 
Involving them in something that still isn't finished playing out.

Throwing himself onto his bed, Mulder stares at the ceiling, eyes
unseeing and conscience working overtime.  If she knew, Scully would
be mad.  Adding to his worries is the last thing she would ever want.
Knowing this though has never stopped him from feeling responsible,
even if it should.

"Oh Scully," he murmurs aloud, "I'm so sorry."

Her voice from the doorway startles him, forcing him upright on his
bed in a second.

"You have nothing to be sorry about."

"Oh, hey... I thought you were sleeping."

"I was.  When you left the sofa - I guess I knew you weren't beside
me, and I woke up."  Scully holds up her hand to stall the apology
about to fall from her partner's lips.  "No you don't.  Like I said
Mulder, I don't need to hear that from you.  I'm the one who's sorry -
encroaching on your off time like this.  Maybe I should have gone to
stay with my mother."

In the half-light of the room Mulder can see the droop in her
shoulders, and her bruised face looks worse than it did earlier when
he helped her pack a small bag to bring over with her.  Patting the
bed next to him, and hoping she won't take it the wrong way, he
motions for her to join him. Somewhat to his surprise, she actually
smiles and looks relieved, she moves swiftly and crawls across the
bed to him, before surprising him further and flinging her arms
tightly around his neck.

He's dreamt about things like this, but being the person he is,
allows himself to just enjoy the heavenly feeling of her in his arms,
for only a moment before he speaks.

"Are you okay?"

Holding on to him for a few seconds more, eventually she finds her
voice and releases her hold.  Sitting back on her heels she regards
him as she asks, "How did you know?"

He doesn't have to ask her what she's referring to... she wants to
know why he came to her apartment earlier, how he knew that she was
in trouble, that Pfaster was trying to finish what he started years
ago.  He isn't sure how to reply, he's still not sure himself why he
did what he did.

His silence prompts her to ask again.  "How?  How did you know - how
do you always know when I need you?"

H wants to tell her it's because he loves her, but he thinks she
understands without the words.  So instead he shrugs and just
answers, "Lucky hunch, I guess.  Not that you needed me, because you
handled him, Scully - you saved yourself."

Scully regards him quietly for a moment.  It's a moment that seems
to occur more and more frequently with them. A moment, when the mood
gets very heavy, all the unspoken truths between them weighing down
the very air.  A moment they have always ignored, backed away from,
lightened with humor or deflected with a change of subject.  Mulder
waits for it to pass, as it always does, but this time it doesn't.

"Mulder, if I saved myself - it was because of you.  Because I had
to... because I couldn't - leave you."

"Scully, I..."

"No, wait.  I need to say this.  The whole time Pfaster was there,
during the whole ordeal, I was acutely aware of not only my will to
survive, but your will.  Your passion for our work, for life, for our
friendship.  The thought of leaving you, of not being there, right
next to you, to help you, and support you, of not fighting the fight
with you - that's what kept me focused on freeing myself."

"And you did."

"I never thought about killing him, Mulder - not until after it was
over - he was just an obstacle keeping me from you."

Mulder stares at her, not certain what to say, or where she's going
with this.

"That's what concerned me afterwards, Mulder - and what concerns me
still."

"I'm not sure I'm following you."

Scully rises from the bed, and keeping her back towards him, she
makes her point.

"Don't you see, Mulder... I'm capable of killing - for you.  You
mean that much to me, being by your side in this, this whole journey
of ours.  I realized just how far I'm willing to go to see it
through."

Mulder rises and approaches her cautiously.  Placing his hands on
her shoulders, he pulls her back gently until she is leaning against
his chest, then he wraps his arms around her torso and buries his
face against her hair.  They are both silent, letting the intimacy of
their position settle over them.  It's Mulder who speaks first, not
raising his head at all, his voice muffled.

"It's the same for me, Scully.  I'm just as committed. Tell me you
understand that."  It isn't exactly the declaration he makes to her
every night in his dreams, but it'll do, until the right time for
more comes along.

She sighs softly, and her reply is spoken so quietly he almost
misses it, "I do, Mulder - I honestly do."

She pulls away from him, and he's sure that she's going to leave
now, go and stay with her mother, get some distance again - it's been
the way they've operated for so long, two steps forward, one back. 
When she returns to his bed, and curls up in it, he's so stunned by
it he can't move.

"Come and hold me, Mulder - let's get some sleep."

He goes to her gladly, curls himself around her, and holds on tight,
feeling lighter, somehow more secure than he has in ages.  He feels
they are closer to where he wants them to be than ever before.

He has her back, as always, and in each other's arms, they find rest.


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


What hasn't killed them has made them stronger.  That phrase could
have been written especially for them.  Each time one of them has
been slapped in the face with tragedy, adversity, a hundred different
kinds of danger... what has gotten them through was the strength and
fortitude each drew from the other.  

Mulder has claimed it as their own special truth, for a very long
time.

Sometimes he wonders if Scully realizes just how strong she really
is.  For all of the times she has taken care of him, when in her own
world she could be flailing under the pressure of personal grief...
it's a humbling thing.  And yet she's always there when he needs her,
that quiet presence, that gentle hand.  Sanity calming over his manic
waters, keeping him anchored, making him safe.  It's their pattern,
set on the day she walked into his inner sanctum, and repeated many
times over during the course of their relationship.  It has brought
them to this very moment, given them the privilege of being able to
share a narrow double bed in a world gone crazed, holding onto each
other and still finding pockets of glory amongst caverns of despair.

He could be out in the bitter cold, pounding his fists against the
sorrow and failure he's managed to build up, year upon year... but
instead a loving woman holds him and soothes him and tells him
everything will be as right as possible.  Now, today, this minute, in
the small block of time before they must rise and face their present,
she anchors him yet again when he thinks back on past losses...

And the comfort he was blessed to receive from her, the strength she
sent his way that kept him going, during one of his own darkest hours.


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


CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Angels
By Elizabeth Rowandale
Email:  bstrbabs@earthlink.net
Spoilers:  Closure


He once thought his mother was an angel; a soft voice and sweet
caresses and rose-scented skin calming a little boy's fearful dreams
in the middle of the night.  Somewhere along the way, she took on the
tint of humanity.  He saw she had flaws, weaknesses, needs of her
own.  That she was a person, after all, and not some higher being
known as mother.  But he loved her no less.

One day everything shattered.  Screams and harsh hands and strobelight
glimpses through banister dowels and he didn't trust anyone anymore
but
Sam.  And in a blink she was gone.

But he still loved his mother.

From a distance.

As time passed, and life thundered forward, and concerns about girls
and part time-jobs and algebra exams turned to career paths and
London night clubs and the inner workings of the criminal mind, the
spark of connection between mother and son flickered to the
forefront.  Nothing would ever be the same again.  But the touches
softened.  Trips home were full of tight embraces and gently adoring
smiles.  Hands were squeezed and pride radiated.

He caught glimpses of the midnight angel, all mixed up now with the
flawed and scarred woman in the house on the hill.

Then his career took over his life.  And just as the dark
machinations and illusions beneath the warmth of his childhood home
and family had been mercilessly thrust upon him, so came the
deception and horror beneath the surface of the world at large.

And mother had nothing to do with his day to day struggle.  She
belonged in a compartment somewhere else.  With Thanksgiving and
Hanukkah and garden parties on the Fourth of July.

Until it all crashed and got mixed up together.  All the dark forces
in his life meshed into one.  Those assaulting the trust in the world
were the same who had broken the sacred trust of his family.  And he
was left once more with only one person to trust.  Only one
comforting voice in his ear.  Only one soft hand in his hair, one
gentle gaze on his back as he pressed forward into the darkness.

But this time she came with blue eyes and fiery hair and a child's
belief in the omnipotence of science and the black and white of God
against the Devil where God always comes out on top.

She pulled him back to the surface.

A few short weeks ago, Teena Mulder died.  She joined the real
angels.  And he wishes he still believed in all of that.

Because he has learned he loved his mother all along.  Nothing ever
changed. Only the lenses he viewed it through.

He's sitting in the room in which she lived out her last days,
sorting through all the piles and boxes of things he promised his
mother time and again he would filter through and get out of her way.
And he's finding everything she ever saved of his life.  He is
finding the hair from his first haircut.  He is finding spelling
tests with big gold stars from the second grade.  He is finding
Valentine gifts signed Fox in crooked red letters.  He is finding
newspaper clipping of blurry black and white photographs outside
courthouses declaring the convictions of serial killer with his own
figure shadowy and hunched and distracted in the background.

And he is wishing for something as simple as a night on the sofa
with popcorn and a video with his mother and Sam beside him.

Every now and then he thinks he will have to stop.  That he can't do
this anymore.  That all of this is proof he has lost the fight.  He's
been fighting for so long to find the light again.  The trust.  The
truth.  And every time he thinks he has a glimpse of it, the glass
shatters and it all proves to be an illusion.

And like a cat with a sixth sense, each time he stops lifting
objects from the box, each time he feels the shadow closing over him--
her fingers graze his back.  Or his forearm.  Or brush through his
hair.

She moves about the room in silence.  Boxing, sorting, gathering,
labeling. She brings him bottled water.  She sits close and doesn't
speak.

Her scent is all around him these days.  His thoughts are layered
with memories of the horrible desolation of the first night and the
overpowering knowledge that his Scully's body was all he had for a
lifeline.  Wrapping himself around her, sobbing against the flat of
her stomach, burying his face in her tiger-lily hair.

The intensity of the connection has stolen his strength.  He is in
no condition to fight it.  He can only take what she has to offer. 
And she seems to have an endless well to give these days.  It is his
turn to grieve.  Hers will come again, as much as he would kill to
keep it at bay.

He knows he should thank her, out loud.  Should give voice and
definition to the ocean of gratitude within him.  But it has never
been their way, they have never been about verbal communication. 
Instead, he squeezes back on her hand.  Hard.  And he knows she
understands.  Knows she feels the need and desire and devotion in his
simplest touch.  Knows she will be there, warm and solid when he
wakes in the middle of the night.

Because she is Scully.  They are Mulder and Scully.  And if he is
fighting for anything at all these days, it has to be that.

He has to believe in angels, again.

He has to understand he never stopped.


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


"We've certainly run the gamut of old memories, haven't we?"  Her
voice is on the dry side but he can hear a nuance of levity.  He's on
his back, staring at the cracked ceiling with its ancient maze of
pipes, and she's using his stomach as a pillow.  Every so often she
chuckles when it growls against her ear.  He supposes they should get
up and go shower, go eat, go to what constitutes their jobs.  The
wind is kicking up out there, the sun is a fading glimpse of red
beyond the horizon, and yet he's loathe to move from this safe and
warm nest.  Out there, each minute is riddled with uncertainty and
worry, an unpredictable walk on a wild side neither of them could
have imagined years ago when they were still immersed in their quest.

But in here, he knows exactly what he's got, precisely where he's
been and where he wants to remain.  Maybe some of it wasn't good but
it was all theirs, and thinking back on it has helped him to
acknowledge and to accept the way it's formed them both.  

He muses, "Well, yes... but it's been a good thing, don't you think?
We've been too busy to do much more than exist, for longer than I
care to contemplate, and decent downtime has been way overdue.  
Besides, you started it."  He tenses his stomach muscles as the words
leave his mouth, anticipating her reaction.

But she merely turns her head to glare at him good-naturedly.  "Only
because you were doing that self-blame thing again.  Somebody had to
bring you to your senses."  Sitting up suddenly, she winds some of
the blanket around her body to keep herself warm, and faces him.  "I
could do it too, Mulder.  In fact, I have, more than a few times. 
I've had my moments of despair, blaming myself for undue strife
between us, worried that I'd fucked it all up.  I've done that panic
dance, too."

"I know you have, Scully.  But you never had to, not ever.  It never
changed the way I felt about you.  It never altered the depth of my
love for you."

She manages a smile.  "Well, sure I know that, now.  But back then,
the uncertainty ran amok and it could have ruined everything."

"But it didn't.  We didn't let it.  YOU didn't let it."  He reaches
for her hand, squeezes her fingers, warms her with his touch.  Tugs
her across the bed and back into his arms, under the covers where
it's safe and what's been done can't further damage them...


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

 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Arrested Development
By:  Tess
Email:  Tnv099@aol.com
Spoilers: En Ami


She can't sleep.

She lies in the darkness of her room, futilely searching for a
comfortable position. She plumps the pillow and turns onto her side
but she knows, deep in her heart, that it is not an uncomfortable
mattress but rather the thoughts that flit through her mind like
fireflies on a hot, summer's evening, preventing her from finding
rest.

She kicks her legs beneath the covers and sits up on the edge of the
mattress in frustration.  Scraping her hair away from her face, she
shoots a baleful look at the softly glowing numbers of the digital
clock on her nightstand.

She can't sleep and she won't be able to sleep until she talks with
him.  

Earlier, there had been little conversation between them on the
drive from the office building that had once housed Spender's
supposed office to Mulder's apartment.  His eyes had been grave and
his smile sad, as he had stepped out of her car.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he had promised.

And then he had disappeared into the lobby of his building.

She has spent the intervening hours in an agony of worry. What is he
thinking?  Are his feelings hurt?  Is he angry?  Does he think her
actions constitute a betrayal of their trust?  

And overriding every other thought is one - has she ruined things
between them?  

She needs to know.  It's just a little after midnight.  Technically,
it is 'tomorrow' she rationalizes.  In seconds, she has stripped out
of her pajamas and changed into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved
cotton sweater.  

Traffic is light and she arrives at his apartment building before
she can second-guess herself.  She sits in the car and listens to the
sounds of the engine cooling as she tries to organize her thoughts
and find the right words to explain her actions, but she is not sure
what she can say to make him understand.

She thinks that if she can just see him... touch him... the words
will come.  She prays it is so.

His apartment is dark when she lets herself inside.  She tucks the
key into the front pocket of her jeans and creeps across the floor
toward his bedroom. The door is standing ajar and she leans against
its wooden frame, taking a moment to watch him sleep.  He's left the
blinds open, allowing the light from the streetlamps to stream into
the room.  She wonders, as she often has, if there is a part of him
that fears the dark despite the shadows of the world in which they
work and live. He is curled on his side and his lashes are dark
crescents against the tender skin beneath his eyes.

"I'm awake."

His voice startles her and she jumps, pressing a hand between her
breasts.

His eyelids lift and he looks up at her.  Those hazel depths tell
her nothing.  His manner is neither welcoming nor dismissive.  She
wraps her arms around herself and takes a deep breath.  She wants to
rationalize what she's done. Wants to defend her actions.  Wants to
remind him that he has left her waiting and wondering and worrying
about him countless times in the past.

In the past.

But the past is just that and things are not as they once were. 
They have moved on and have even gone so far as to whisper of a
future together.  And she knows that justifying her actions with a
reminder of things past is not acceptable.

Not now.  Not in their present.  And certainly not in their future -
if they are to have one together.

The sheets rustle as he tucks one hand beneath his pillow.  Still,
he waits and yet she thinks - she hopes - that she sees a softening
in his expression.  

She rushes across the room.
 
"I'm sorry," she breathes as she falls to her knees beside the bed. 
Her gaze is locked onto his face searching for a sign of forgiveness.
He is watchful.  Quiet.

Her hand burrows beneath the pillow and she twines her fingers
through his in a death grip. 

"I won't leave you again."  Tears blur her vision and one spills
over her lashes. 

"You can trust me," she vows.

He untangles his fingers from hers and lifts the sheet in an
unspoken invitation.  She kicks off her shoes and crawls into the bed
with him.  She throws her arms around his neck and buries her face
against his throat.

He pulls her close with one arm and his breath feathers over her ear
as he speaks.

"I trust you, Scully."

She lifts a contrite face to his.  His hand smoothes the hair away
from her damp cheek.

"I can't live without you," he whispers.  In one sentence he sums up
the fears that had tortured him while she had been gone.

She twines her fingers into his hair and pulls his face down to
hers.  Her mouth moves over his, tongue darting out to trace the seam
of his lips; he opens to her.  Her kiss is a little wild as she seeks
absolution, wanting to convey faithfulness.  He responds, telling her
without words that all is well; that things have not been ruined
between them.

Her hands smooth over his chest; his skate under the hem of her
sweater to tease the soft skin of her back.  Her fingers dip beneath
the waistband of his pajama bottoms, nails scratching the hair-
roughened skin of his stomach.  He cups her breast in the warm palm
of his hand.  Her legs wrap around his waist and his hips surge
against hers.

He roughly pulls his mouth away and buries his face in her hair.

"Wait," he gasps.  Her chest heaves against his and she shakes her
head.  She wants his mouth again.  Welcomes his weight as he presses
her into the bedcovers.  She turns her head against the pillow,
seeking his mouth.  His fingers catch in the silk of her hair and she
opens her eyes to look at him.

"Not tonight," he whispers.  "Not yet."

His face is flushed.  His lips are damp and slightly swollen.  His
heart is pounding beneath her hand.  She aches for him.  Has always
ached for him. He feels so good pressed against her that she cannot
resist arching her hips into his hardness.  

His eyes slide shut and a groan rumbles deep in his chest.  She can
feel him pulsing against her. She knows that he is clinging to his
self-restraint.  And... she knows that he is right.

She dips her chin in defeat and acknowledgment.  

She turns in his arms and settles onto her side as he curls up
behind her.  His arm curves over her waist and she draws his hand up
between her breasts and presses her lips to his knuckles.

"Soon," she whispers.  It is both a question and a vow.

His arm tightens around her.

"Soon."



********************************
********************************
to be continued
************************************
************************************

Part Seven

"It was my turn to attempt falling asleep with my panties in a twist."

He smothers a laugh in her hair.  "Now there's a mental image I can
take with me, into battle."  

She pulls sharply on his earlobe, earning a yelp, and retorts, "It
wasn't funny, Mulder.  I couldn't sleep for hours, that night."

"What, you think it was any easier for me?  With you all cuddled up
into my groin?  Jesus!  I was dying for you.  But it wasn't our time,
not right then.  If we'd made love that night I don't think either of
us would have known for sure if it was real, or just a gut reaction
from almost losing what we had.  I think we'd have awakened the next
morning not only regretting it, but discovering new and efficient
ways to kill our friendship as well as any chance for lasting
romance."

Scully grumbles under her breath, "I hate it when you're right."

"What was that?"

"You heard me."

"Yep, I did.  I just wanted you to repeat it, preferably into this
tiny microphone I have hidden in my chest hair."

She offers up a wicked grin.  "What chest hair?"

"Oh, that was a low blow, Scully.  Maybe I should amend it... the
chest hair I used to have, that you yanked out by the roots with
those eager fingers of yours, the night we finally DID do it."

"I did NOT!"

His laughter rings out in the small room, and she reluctantly joins
in, giving up the indignant attitude, and letting the sweetness of
that memory wash over her again.


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


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN, Part One

Touch and the Easy Answer
By diehard
Email:  alvaradomccain@earthlink.com
Spoilers:  All Things


She awakens in the dark of Mulder's living room, to the gurgle of
his fish tank. The mollies still swim in lazy circles around and
around in a closed loop, there is still a faint light coming from the
kitchen, the blanket still holds the smell of his after shave. She's
wearing yesterday's clothes, she's still Special Agent Dana Scully,
but the universe shifted when she wasn't looking.  No, something
inside her has shifted, broke open, broke free. And she'd been
looking for it for years, in alleys and graveyards, in the office, in
rental cars and dozens of motel rooms. But she couldn't get to it,
couldn't quite reach it. 

She'd almost gotten her hands on it when she was dying, and after 
Antarctica and Africa, but somehow it slipped away. It's taken him
leaving for England, her finding Daniel and saying goodbye to her
past, her guilt, her fear. It's taken the white flash of revelation
at the feet of Buddha to show her that what she wants has been in her
grasp, but what needed to be freed were not her hands but her heart.

It's only a few minutes before she's sitting at the edge of his
mattress, watching him sleep. With her hand she strokes his forehead,
his mouth. Her eyes flutter closed when she feels him smile, his lips
parting beneath her touch, his warm breath bathing her fingers. Easy,
after all this time. Eager hands reach for her, and as she falls
toward him, he catches her.

Slowly, he undresses her and she helps him, the two of them together
pulling off her sweater, peeling off her skirt, the rest of it, until
it's them, just them, skin, and the dappled moonlight from the window
painting them as they move. Easy, after all.


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


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN, Part Two
All the Right Moves
By Maggie
Email:  mulderitsme@comcast.net
Spoilers:  All Things

She's his canvas. He paints her with his fingers in swirly stars and
floating lilies. He paints her with his tongue in supine flesh and
angel wings. 

Nose to nose he paints her a smile with his own, and were he a less
intuitive man, were he any other man, he'd call hers enigmatic. But
there is no other man. There is only the artist, and he alone knows
what that smile means.

He smudges it with kisses, melts it like candle wax, shapes it into
something holy, something new, something touched by God. He admires
his creation. 

He dips a finger into the well of her mouth; then brushes each of
her nipples into a new bud peak. He signs his name above her heart. 
I made this. This is mine.

She's beyond his canvas. She's his masterpiece.

~~~~~~~

He's her wilderness. She forges a trail of kisses from the back of
his knee to the back of his neck, stopping only to catch her breath
in the valley of his waist.

She rides him like the rapids, his hands on her hipbones, keeping
her afloat. Sometimes safety lives in danger. 

She climbs him like a mountain, staking claim. This is mine. She
plants a warm flat hand in the center of his chest, like a flag. This
is mine. 

This is the leaping place, she knows. Like the virgin tribeswoman
she sacrifices herself to his fiery depths, calling out his name and
God's when she finally topples forward, free.

She should have known how hard the fall would be. She should have
known how soft the landing.

He's beyond her wilderness. He's her whole wide world.

~~~~~~

This is the journey forward. This is the place to where all paths
have led. 

One man. 

One woman. 

One bed. 

One life.

Past collapse and intertwined arms. Past the quiet laughter and the
desperate sleep. Past the brush of lips on a forehead and the whisper
of words that come, finally, and are echoed in the silent, moon
kissed night, he enters her again. Slow. Steady. Soundless. 

He moves above her and she takes him in. Mouth open. Mute.
Magnificent.

This is beyond the journey forward. This is the coming home.

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


"And then you left me, in the wee small hours of the morning. I was
crushed.  Devastated."

She snickers at him, "Oh, you were not.  I seem to recall the
morning after, in the office.  The way you pushed me up against the
file cabinet and swallowed my tonsils.  I seem to remember not
putting up much, if any, kind of fight."

He remains adamant.  "That doesn't mean I didn't awaken the next
morning, all crushed and devastated that you'd left me in those wee
small hours.  I thought it had to be something I said.  Maybe my
deodorant failed.  I had all kinds of insecure moments, baby."

"Oh, for... Mulder, the night we spent together changed my entire
life, my whole way of thinking.  When I awoke next to you early that
morning, I admit that I panicked - a little.  But it wasn't because I
was ashamed in any way or regretted what we'd done."  She looks up at
him earnestly, willing him to understand something far in their past,
something he's obviously still confused about.  "In one night I
became this new person.  So had you.  It was overwhelming.  I needed
to go home, regroup..."  She sends a mischievous smile in his
direction, "reinforce myself for the onslaught I was, um, hoping for
when we met in our office.  The onslaught on which I believe you
didn't shortchange me."

He has to smile at her quick thinking.  "Nice save, Scully.  All
right, maybe I wasn't devastated and all that.  Maybe I understood
exactly what you were feeling, which was why I didn't go tearing off
after you, about fifteen minutes after you left and the sound of my
door shutting woke me up."

"Did you sit up in bed and replay every second of our night together?"

"But of course, woman!  What do you take me for?"

"Oh, I don't know... a typical man?"  She softens the declaration
with another kiss, adding, "Anyway, I had enough time to spend
overanalyzing our entire relationship, all those months while you
were gone.  And I had plenty of time to wallow in self-pity; that I'd
been hasty enough to leave too fast, that first night.  When I
thought you were... dead..."

Mulder is quick to soothe, "I know.  I do, Scully.  I can't even
imagine what you went through.  At least much of the time I was gone,
I was unconscious, deeply under.  But you... I still don't know how
you got through it."

She smiles mistily.  "I had a lot of help, Mulder, from a few very
good men."


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

 
CHAPTER NINETEEN

Second Chance
By Wylfcynne
Email:  wylfcynne@aol.com
Spoilers:  DeadAlive



She is drowsing on the sofa, drifting in a dream state where Mulder
is on his way home and she is waiting for him.  He will have dinner
with him, probably Chinese takeout, and a bottle of merlot, soft and
voluptuous.  They will snuggle together on the sofa and she will
drift off to sleep with his arms around her and his heart beating
strongly under her ear.
 
~thud, thud, thud~
 
Frowning, she blinks sleepily at the door.  Why would Mulder knock? 
He has a key...  She starts to get up.
 
~THUMP~
 
The impact against her diaphragm knocks her back onto the sofa, the
wind knocked out of her.  Reality comes crashing down with stunning
force.
 
Mulder is dead.
 
She is pregnant-- eight months gone.
 
The baby has just kicked her, hard.
 
And, ~thud, thud, thud~ there really is someone at the door.
 
"I'm coming!" she calls; both pleased and dismayed that her grief is
not audible in those few syllables.  How did she get so practiced at
hiding her bereavement?  
 
Getting up is difficult but she is accustomed to the careful
maneuvering required.  Once stable on her feet she pads slowly across
the room to the doorway.  She peers through the peephole and is
startled to see Walter Skinner restlessly shifting his weight from one
foot to the other as he waits for her.
 
She unlocks, unlocks and unchains the door. "Walter?  What's wrong?"
 
He stops moving.  The tension in his expression, in his body, is so
fierce that it makes her ache in sympathy.  When she gestures, he
steps inside and waits silently while she re-secures her locks.
 
"Scully, get dressed," he says quietly.  "I need you to come with me."
 
"Right now?"  She is puzzled; it's nearly eight o'clock at night. 
"Why?"
 
"It's important."
 
"Then explain it."
 
He looks away for a moment and then visibly steels himself.  "I
ordered Mulder's body exhumed."
 
White-hot rage sweeps through her in an instant. "Walter!  How COULD
you?!  After everything he suffered in life, couldn't you, of all
people, have left him in peace?!"  She turns away, fighting back
tears she does not want him to see.
 
"Scully, I had to.  I HAD to.  He's not dead."
 
She freezes for a moment, stunned at the lengths to which he will
demonstrably go.  Slowly, feeling as if she is about to break apart,
she turns to face him.  She opens her mouth, inhales the breath she
will need to shriek... and nearly chokes on it.
 
Skinner is standing at parade rest, his wrists crossed behind his
back, totally open and defenseless against any attack she might make.
But what disarms her completely is the tears she can see in HIS eyes.
 
"Mulder's alive.  Get dressed; I want to take you to him."
 
~~~~~~
 
An hour later she is settling into a chair at Mulder's bedside.  He
isn't even in ICU; this is a step-down room with remote telemetry. 
He is very still, limp and unconscious in the bed.  He looks a little
more
the worse for wear than the last time she saw him... but she cannot
tear her attention from the miraculous sight of his chest rising and
falling with regular, natural breaths.
 
"Thank you, Walter," she whispers, unable to do more. "For keeping
me alive so I could be here for this... for believing in him enough
to do this.  I can't-- we can't-- ever repay you for this."
 
Skinner, standing in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets,
shifts uncomfortably.  "I've learned to accept extreme possibilities,
over the years...  I suppose it's appropriate that I use his
teachings to help him.  And you."
 
She smiles.  But then her awareness of her friend and AD fades as
she focuses once again on the living, breathing body of her lover. 
She lays her head down on his chest and closes her eyes.  If she
concentrates, she can feel Mulder's arms around her...
 
... and the strength of a friend at her back.
 

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


There are new tears in her eyes when she blinks up at him, running a
palm over him in the exact random pattern as she'd done that evening
when she sat at his bedside and counted his breaths, dampened his
hospital gown with a storm of grateful weeping.  She remembers the
feel of barely-healed scars and ridges under her fingertips as she'd
touched his cheeks, along his neck, seeing a rainbow of bruises and
feeling phantom pain as each was revealed to her.  

Scully moves her hand in the same pattern now, over cheeks roughened
with blessedly normal evening stubble, down across firm skin that's
nothing more than tanned; skin warm and alive with his strong blood
beating beneath its surface.  Every time she remembers that night,
she shudders.  She has to suppose the recollection will always affect
her the same way, regardless of the number of years it retreats into
their past.

"Don't cry, please... it's over.  It's been over for a very long
time.  And it never hurt very much, really it didn't.  I can't recall
much pain at all."

"I've always thought it a blessing that you couldn't, Mulder."

The embrace they share is fierce and clinging, both doing their best
to shake off the memory, and lock onto something else.

"Did you ever think Walter Skinner would end up being that kind of
friend?"  His expression is serious but the lilt in his voice invites
a more light-hearted response from her.

Scully shakes her head, "Not really.  I think I had an inkling,
about the first time I realized how far he'd go to protect me and the
baby.  But until he brought me to your side that night, I still had
my doubts."

"Well, it's understandable."  Mention of their baby brings him a
clear picture of how she looked that night; of how shocked he was to
see her in the advanced stages of pregnancy, and he smiles as he
presses his lips to her bright hair.  "You were so beautiful to see,
Scully.  All flushed and lovely with the look of impending
motherhood.  In all my life I'd never seen anything so wonderful, as
the way you looked to me when I opened my eyes."

She manages a shaky, "Not as wonderful as you looked to me, Mulder,
when you opened your eyes... and asked me who I was."  At his
reluctant chuckle, Scully can feel again the overwhelming relief she
experienced at her lover's ability to joke around, during the most
inopportune and most dramatic moments of their lives, even if it
almost did her in.  "God, I could have shot you all over again for
giving me such a scare!  But instead I found myself thanking Him,
over and over." 

"If you could have seen your face, Scully..."

"Oh, I'm sure it spoke all the volumes I couldn't... especially
since I can still feel, to this day, the way my throat just closed up
with emotion."

The words they speak to each other are sweet and soak into their
hearts like life-giving rain on dry desert ground.  They coat
protectively, as they both recall the reunion.  They ease residual
anguish, still in place after all these years... anguish that they
had all-too-brief a time as a couple waiting out the birth of their
child - and so little time together as a family unit.  

Silence settles once more in the small, shadowy room, as man and
woman, father and mother recall in their own way, the last hours
spent with William...


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


CHAPTER TWENTY

Through Baby's Eyes
By Deia
Email:  adas1013@yahoo.com.br
Spoilers:  Post-Existence, pre-NIHT


He looks at the hands above him with a sense of anticipation.
They're familiar now, those hands. They soothe him at times. They
cherish him at others.

Delicate touches filled with love. He can feel it all too well. The
face that gazes down at him is just as mesmerizing. Looking at him as
if he is a miracle.

"Mulder, I need to feed him."

"But he's not fussing yet, Scully. If he was hungry, he would have
cried or something."

As if on cue, he starts whimpering softly in his crib, and those big
hands that were hovering above him a few minutes ago, pick him up and
lift him from his crib.

"Here we go, Will. Dad's going to feed you now."

"Mulder?"

"Let me do it, Scully. You're exhausted. He doesn't need to nurse
every single time; that's what the docs told you.  I'll give him the
bottle, so you can rest."

She is now at their side. He knows her hands well, too. She looks at
the man holding him with eyes full of love, and says something in the
man's ear that he can't hear, but he knows is something good, because
the man smiles broadly at her. She then kisses both of them on the
cheek.

"Sweet dreams, Will."

She leaves them, and a few seconds later, he sees the bottle in
front of him. Although he likes his mommy's food the best, he's
already seen this new feeding apparatus a few times, and knows what
comes out of it tastes almost as good.  

He takes the nipple and looks up. He feels secure and warm when he
sees the emotion in the man's eyes. After a few minutes however, his
little tummy fills and his eyes start to feel heavy. Although he
wants to stay connected with the man for a while longer, he knows
that sleep will win him over. 

It's all right, though. He knows the man with the big hands will be
there to pick him up again, when he wakes up.


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


Sometimes they make these elaborate plans, detailed and concise. 
All of them involve tracking down the people who have been raising
their son.  They'd find the address, drive there, walk up to the
door... and  when it opened they'd hold out their arms for the little
red-haired boy with the bluest eyes this side of heaven.  He'd run to
them, jump in their outstretched arms, bestowing sweet kisses, call
them 'Mommy' and 'Daddy'.  They'd be that family again.

Then one of them looks out of the dingy window of their drafty old
bunker, and sees what hell the world has become... and they
acknowledge they did the right thing by leaving William in what they
still pray nightly is a safe place.

He wouldn't be a little baby any longer.  He'd be a sturdy,
inquisitive, special boy.  They miss him so much.  They'll love him
for the rest of their lives on earth, and for whatever they find
beyond their deaths.  He was theirs for such a short time, but
they'll never stop being his parents.

"I still ache for him, Mulder.  I think of him every day, and I
offer up a nightly prayer, as we're walking the line and doing our
shift.  I stare out into the hot wind, or the freezing snow, and I
pray that he's still safe.  Still growing.  Still happy."

"I do too, baby.  Every day of my life.  But we couldn't have kept
him safe.  We know that.  We could barely keep ourselves alive, those
first years.  I never regretted putting my life on the line, day
after day - and God knows I hated like hell to see you in any kind of
danger.  But it would have broken us to have anything happen to
William, simply because in our arrogance and overconfidence we
assumed we knew best."

"We haven't always known what was best, Mulder.  We sure haven't
always done it.  Some of our biggest errors occurred because one of
us failed to remember that together we were always a hundred times
more strong."

"Don't think I still don't beat myself up on a regular basis -"

She interrupts him gently, "I didn't mention it to make you feel
badly all over again.  Besides, I've done my share of forgetting that
first and foremost we were partners.  The reason I said it was to
reinforce what we've been talking about all this time, instead of
rising and shining as we're supposed to be doing.  Together, Mulder. 
Always together.  What's in the past, is just that - past.  For every
time we lost each other, we managed to find ourselves again.  I may
have left you and you may have left me, but we always fought to get
back home."

"I'll never leave you again, Scully."

"I know you won't, my love... because I'll go with you when you do."


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


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A Letter to You
by Bertha
Email:  bertha0210@btinternet.com
Spoilers:  Post-The Truth


Dear Scully,
I felt compelled to start off this letter with a 'whoever finds this, 
I love you' - like the song. But this isn't our style, and I'm
writing this letter to you, not to 'whoever'.  

If you're reading this now, I guess you must have found out about my
condition. And I'm sorry for keeping this from you, for lying to you.
I know it seems conniving of me to hide this when so much of our
relationship is based on trust. When our lives seem to be constantly
surrounded by lies, the last thing you need is another lie. A lie
that I know will make you question my trust in you.  

But believe me - YOU are still the ONLY one I trust! I couldn't bear
to see the look on your face if I told you what I had suspected since
you brought me back from the clutches of Spender. That I was not only
losing my touch, but the headaches were getting more severe and
harder to hide from you.  

I couldn't bear to see the hopeless and frustrated look in your
eyes. To remind you of how close you came to leaving behind your
mother and brothers because of some hollow, personal cause of mine. A
quest which has cost you too much - your sister, Emily, your chance
at motherhood. 

Part of me wants to be a coward and hide, waiting for my impending
death like a cat when it senses its time is near. But I can't bear
the thought of never seeing you again - to be without your presence
until my final day here on this earth.  

Maybe in our next life, we'd have better luck. But for now, seven
years, though short, has been the greatest ever. 

Thank you, Scully, for everything. I wish I had a lot more time to
repay in kind all that you've done for me but I don't. Please don't
cry for me... 

Maybe now that I'm gone you'll be able to have your home with a
lovely white picket fence, a dog and kids running around. A man who
deserves all your love - and who isn't afraid of being constantly
second-guessed. A house filled with laughter and light. No talks of
aliens or shadow government lead by smoking men with no names. No 
crackpot partner to drag you off to Tennessee and be put to test with 
poisonous snakes.	

I won't say goodbye, Scully. But I do want to say this - I love you.
And this time I'm not drugged or delirious.  Y

Yours always,
Mulder

Despite herself, she can't stop the moisture from pooling in her 
eyes as she once again familiarizes herself with the words she had
come to know intimately when he was gone. She wonders why she still
keeps the letter, now that she has him back by her side. Perhaps it
is a reminder of the past. 

"Scully?" he pops his head into the room, announcing his return.
"What's wrong?"  

She quickly tries to hide the letter and wipe away her tears before
they fall. She senses him approaching, then feels the bed dips with
his weight as he takes a seat next to her. 

She gives him a fleeting smile. "It's nothing," she whispers.  

"It's not nothing when you have tears in your eyes," he reaches his
hand up to wipe them away. Imaginary tears now. 

Then he spots the letter she still holds in her hand, not having
succeeded in hiding it very well. Realization dawns suddenly as his
eyes widen.  

"I'm sorry." He says after a moment's silence. She knows what he is
apologizing for.  

"You should have told me," she said finally. "I could have helped.
You know I could have -" 

He chokes. "I know. But I'm here now."  

"You're here now." 

"No more secrets. I promise."  

"You promise?" 

He kisses her hard. Assuring her of his presence. Reminding himself
what the fight is for. 


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


In the minutes before they have to rise and face another night
patrolling the line that delineates their current world... former
Federal Agents, past partners and loving spouses hold tightly, kiss
deeply.  Reaffirming, reconnecting, refueling.  For all they have
lost and for all they've gained, for the sadness of their collective
pasts and the triumphs they've shared... life is still precious and
their love is still the driving force behind the strength of their
beliefs and their combined truths.

It's a nightmare outside their door.  They don't want to face it. 
But they're dedicated enough to face it without complaint.

They rise from their rumpled bed, take turns using the tiny shower
and nuzzle each other lovingly over bad coffee and pieces of toast
and stale standard-issue peanut butter.  They dress in warm layers
and they walk hand in hand towards the main bunker, where they'll
pick up the rest of their necessities; their weapons and riot gear. 
Mulder will go right out and start his shift, while Scully will stay
behind and give two hours of her medical expertise to anyone who
should need it, before she starts her own ten-hour shift.

Some of the members of their team are single and lonely.  Some of
them have no one to come home to, after a long shift out on the
freezing cold line.  They've all lost family, spouses, children,
parents.  Some are luckier than others, because in the midst of hell
they have found a kind of heaven.

As they enter the main bunker, stomping off the cold and preparing
to head into their respective duties... Mulder pulls his wife close
and kisses her tenderly, whispers something silly into her ear,
earning himself the pleasure of her giggle and one sweet smile.  She
walks away toward the Medac lab and he watches her until she
disappears through the old sliding doors.  

With a smile on his own face and the warmth of her kiss on his lips,
Fox Mulder gears up for another twelve hours of safekeeping what's
left of his world.
  
 
******************************
******************************
to be concluded in Epilogue
************************************
************************************


EPILOGUE


Dawn
By Avalon
Email:  Avalon@fuse.net 
Spoilers: Post-Truth, Post-Col


John Doggett winces against another icy blast of wind as it tears
across the open plain.  He tucks his chin further into the standing
collar of his parka and closes his eyes, but not before streamers run
from beneath his frozen lashes.  He shifts his machine gun to his
left hand and impatiently swipes at his cheek, the rough suede of his
gloves catching on three-day-old stubble.  

Fuck, it's cold.  He wonders if he'll ever be warm again.

He chances tugging up the sleeve of his bulky coat to reveal a strip
of pale skin and his Timex.  Oh six hundred, only three minutes away.
He feels the longing rise in him, like the sun that's begun to bleed
over the horizon on its morning ascent.  A steamy shower, clean
underwear, blistering soup straight from the hotplate, a couple of
pulls on his stashed bottle of Jim Beam, and a warm bed in his dark
corner of the officers' bunker.  Right now, in this place so many of
the grunts call Hell, it seems like heaven.

The packed snow under his boots crunches as he turns.  He scans the
perimeter of the compound again, his ice-chip eyes cataloguing every
dip in the terrain, every branch of the trees in the distance, every
push of the wind on the snow.  So far, they've been lucky.  No sign
of pursuit for over three weeks.  Maybe this time, they really are
safe.  Mulder balks when Doggett suggests it in the officers'
meetings, shaking his head in disbelief, but Doggett refuses to give
in to paranoia.  He has to believe they can win, or what's it all for?

Maybe he's just too damn tired to think about it any more.  Too damn
tired, and too damn sad, to consider anything else.

Mulder.  Doggett moves his face directly into the wind to look for
him.  He spots the other man on the other side of the compound, his
back hunched against the freezing onslaught.  Curled in on himself,
he reminds Doggett of a comma, a dark pause in the snow-bleached
landscape.  On impulse, he pulls the two-way radio from his belt and
awkwardly thumbs it on.  It crackles to life as he brings it close to
his face.

"Mulder."  Doggett slides the walkie-talkie up next to his cheek so
he can hear a response over the bellowing wind.

He sees the shape on the horizon straighten, and then the familiar
movement of the radio being raised.  The static lessens as Mulder's
voice breaks through.  "That's Captain Mulder," he answers, and
Doggett can hear the trace of amusement in his tone.  "We're supposed
to use our rank titles, remember?  Or were you sleeping during our
briefing yesterday, Captain Doggett?"

Doggett grins.  "Not me.  I was too busy wondering when we're going
to get the capes that go with these titles."  He glances at his watch
again.  "Two minutes to change.  Nothing happening over there?"

"Nada," Mulder answers, and Doggett thinks he can almost hear the
other man's teeth chattering as he speaks.  "Maybe you're right,
John.  Maybe we can relax a little."

Doggett blinks, surprised.  It's been a long twelve-hour shift, and
he's tired, hungry, and restless. He can't help but wonder if Mulder
is so dazed from walking the fence that it's someone else talking
instead of him. A little sleep and a lot of coffee will do wonders
for them both.

"We'll see," he says into the radio just as his eyes catch movement
to Mulder's left.  He automatically raises the machine gun, but stops
abruptly as his brain registers the scene.  The line of soldiers
moves out from the mess hall beyond Mulder, coming toward them,
walking with brisk steps.  They fan out to approach their posts, and
Doggett recognizes the huge shape that moves toward him.  Skinner. 
The former Assistant Director's twelve hours are about to begin. 
Doggett finds he doesn't have much sympathy at this point.  His body
is just too weary.

He stays put, waiting for his relief, and watches the two bodies
that move toward Mulder.  One is tall and broad-shouldered, bundled
from head to toe in military fatigues.  A new arrival, he's young and
idealistic and carries his machine gun like a professional, marching
with military precision next to the smaller figure that seems to
float alongside him.  Doggett recognizes the silhouette easily; the
flaming hair curling out from underneath her watch cap is a dead
giveaway.

Scully reaches Mulder and embraces him.  Doggett feels the familiar
tug of jealousy scrape through him, speeding his heart.  Monica used
to hug him like that when he'd arrive, hot and dirty and sweaty, back
at the spousal bunkers after a long day.  That was in the desert,
nearly a year ago.  She'd never had to endure the cold.  He was glad
in a way; she would've hated it.  He can still see her in his mind,
stretched out across his cot in all her naked glory, her dusky skin
shining with a thin sheen of sweat.  How he'd loved her.  How he'd
mourned, then ignited, when he'd found her on the field with a bullet
in her chest.  He couldn't remember the fight after that, but since
then, the younger men eye him with respectful trepidation whenever he
walks by.

He shakes away the thoughts of Monica.  He'll have plenty of time to
think of her after his shower, as he lies in bed and wishes for
brighter things.  He watches Scully instead as she extends her gloved
hand to Mulder.  Doggett notices the steam that rises between them
and understands: she's brought him coffee.  He can't see if Mulder
smiles or not, but the corners of his own lips tug upwards as he
imagines it.  Hot coffee and a warm body. Mulder truly has it all.

Skinner's slap on his shoulder jars him.  Doggett eyes the taller
man and nods his greeting, no longer feeling talkative.  He trudges
off behind Mulder and Scully, sliding his feet through the deep snow.
They walk slowly, arm in arm, and he can see Mulder's head tilt back
as he drinks.  Their whispers rise in airy streamers between them. 
The wind carries Scully's small laugh back to him, and he smiles
again, sadly.  She sounds like Monica.  Then again, anymore, every
woman does.

In front of him, Mulder stops for a moment, readjusting his weapon
on his shoulder, and he pushes the parka hood back from his face.  He
pulls the thick woolen scarf from around his throat and tucks it into
place on Scully.  Doggett watches as she beams up at her partner, her
face rosy in the dawning light... and he remembers what he's fighting
for.

END
  

Additional Authors' Notes:

Char Chaffin:  This is a true labor of love.  When I first came up
with the idea of putting together a fic gift for Sallie and Carol, I
had no idea how to accomplish it, but I knew if I asked their fellow
list members and friends, writers who have benefited in the past from
their help, that I'd get a lot of positive responses... and I sure
did.  Only a few of those I asked could not participate, mostly
because of RL commitments and too-busy lives.  But I can tell you,
they sure wanted to!  They became our cheerleaders, instead.

I would like to thank all the authors who so generously joined in
this project and whose stories amazed me, whose words enriched this
gift.  I am so impressed with all of you, my dears!  And I am honored
that I got a chance to write with each one of you.

Readers, if you like what you have read, please feed the authors who
have worked so hard on this story!	  And thank you so much for
reading!

And now, Sallie, and Carol:  I don't think there are words of proper 
gratitude for what you have given us; I for one cannot find them.  
Just know that we all treasure your friendship, are honored by 
your presence on our list, and are forever grateful for your editing 
and beta skills, that have made so many of our stories better!