TITLE: Truly Madly Deeply
AUTHOR: Jenna Tooms
EMAIL: jenna@secretcountry.net
RATING: NC-17
KEYWORDS: MSR, AU, adult content
SPOILERS: through season 7, but veering off into its own universe
pre-"Requiem"
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully face the biggest adventure of all:
Parenthood.
SUMMARY of Runaway: Where has Scully been, and why did she go there?
DISCLAIMER: CC's. 1013's. Fox Network's. GA's. DD's. Not Jenna's.

    ~Truly Madly Deeply: Runaway 1~

    December 5, 2000

   Leslie, Alabama

    The employees of the Blue Moon Diner spent slow periods that
morning putting up Christmas decorations: plastic pine boughs with
red velvet ribbons, silk poinsettias, a wreath on the front of the
cash register. Spike, the day cook, had his radio tuned to a
station that played Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole, and by four
o'clock the station had played three different versions of "The
Christmas Song." The little diner was warm and homey, a welcoming
shelter against the wet December day.
    Scully glanced at the clock, removed the pencil from behind
her ear and closed her notepad. "Luana," she called, "it's four,
I'm going to go."
    "Okay, Katie." The other waitress waved to her from the other
end of the diner. "Have a good night."
    "Thanks. You too. Good night, Spike. Good night, Emmanuel,"
she called to the cook and the dishwasher, and they waved to her.
    "Take care, Katie."
    "Good night." Scully made her way to the back of the diner, to
the staff's changing room. She'd been there since six-thirty and
her entire body ached, particularly her feet. The front of her
uniform was stained with egg and syrup and ketchup from the
breakfast rush, and she peeled it off gratefully.
    Violet, the manager, poked her head into the changing room.
"You okay, honey?"
    "Yeah, I'm good."
    "I ordered the next size uniform for you and it should be here
at the end of the week. Can you manage until then?"
    "I'll be fine. It's just a little tight around the bosom right
now."
Scully wiped her face and arms with a paper towel and pulled on
the plain white shirt she'd worn to work that morning. It was a
little tight across the bosom too.
    "Katie," Violet said hesitantly, and she crossed her arms.
"Are you sure there's no chance of you heading home before--you
know, before."
    Scully zipped up her jeans and smoothed her shirt. "No," she
said quietly. "No chance."
    Violet didn't say anything for a moment, then blurted, "Did he
hit you?"
    "What?" Scully turned from the mirror where she'd been pulling
out the clips from her hair.
    "Your husband--your boyfriend--whoever you ran away from. Did
you leave because he hit you?" Scully didn't answer, turning
instead back to the mirror and brushing out her hair, and Violet
said, "You're not the first little thing to show up one morning
with no money and nowhere to go. I do try to help you girls but I
honestly think it's better to go home and face your problem than to
run away from it. If your man's been hitting you, you should go to
the police."
    "Violet," Scully said softly, "I can't go home. My problem
isn't as simple as abuse. I know you mean well--you're a real
sweetheart, Violet, you really are--but it's just better for
everyone that I hide for a while."
     Violet nodded and sighed. "I know you don't want to answer
questions, and I honestly don't want to pry, but a woman in your
situation needs family around and you're going to need more money
than I can pay you to cover your bills."
    "I'll be all right, Violet. When the time comes I--well, I'll
be all right." Scully sat down to pull on her sandals. She'd
discovered after the first day that no matter how cold it was
outside her feet needed the air once work was over.  "You're a
dear, Violet," she said and stood to kiss the other woman's cheek.
     Violet nodded again. "Take care, dear," she said, and left
the changing room.
     Scully stood still for a moment, rubbing her forehead. While
she was working it was easy to forget about the loneliness but
sometimes--like after a conversation such as this--it came crashing
down on her all over again. She hated feeling so far from home.
    She lifted her head and straightened her shoulders, picked up
her coat and her purse, checked to make sure she had bus fare, and
stepped through the changing room door.
    She froze when she heard the voices from the diner. Her hand
twisted into her coat.
     "You sure you haven't seen this woman? She might be going by
another name."
     "No," Luana said, handing back the photograph to the man
across the counter. In the kitchen Spike stood scowling, his arms
crossed over his chest. "I've never seen this woman, ever."
     "Picture her with brown hair, or even blonde. Please. It's
very important that I find her."
    "I've never seen her, sir," Luana said, her voice rising in
her nervousness.
     Violet said quickly, "With the bus terminal so close by we
see more people than we can keep track of. She might have passed
through."
     The man at the counter nodded, putting the photograph away in
his wallet. "Could I have a cup of coffee and a slice of blueberry
pie?" he said quietly, and sat down on the stool.
     Luana hesitated, then put the cup and saucer in front of him.
"Just a moment and I'll get your pie," she said and went back to
the kitchen.
     Scully leaned back in the changing room doorway and closed
her eyes.
    Her heart was racing. She heard Luana approach, and when Luana
slipped her hand into hers she gripped it tightly.
    "Is that him?" Luana whispered. "He's so--he looks like a
movie star."
    "That's him," Scully whispered. She missed him so much she
ached inside.
     "He's having some pie, he may be here a while. I'm such a bad
liar, I'm sorry, Katie. I don't think he believed me when I said
I've never seen you. He had such a pretty picture of you."
     Scully thought she knew which picture he was using. He'd
taken a roll of her a few months before, when they'd had a Labor
Day picnic out in the country. His favorite had her lying with her
face against the grass, the green of her dress blending with the
green beneath her. "I'll stay here for a few minutes, then try to
sneak out the back."
     "Is it true?" Luana whispered.
     "Is what true?" She opened her eyes to look at Luana's
excited, frightened face.
     "Did you leave him because he was hitting you?"
     "No. No," Scully said, though Luana's expression said she
didn't believe her. "Nothing like that, I promise. He's--he's the
best man who ever lived." She wanted to look at him again, to drink
in his beloved face and even hear his voice one more time.
     Luana said, her tone awed, "I have to get his pie."
     "Put on a little extra whipped cream for me, will you?"
Scully said softly, and Luana smiled a little and nodded.
     "See you." She hurried to the kitchen.
     Scully waited a few minutes, pacing around the changing room,
and then quietly hurried to the kitchen and out the back door by
the garbage bin. On her way out Spike handed her a take-out bag,
with a wink and a smile. "Thanks," she whispered, and left.
     Her bus came a few minutes later and she sank into the seat,
relieved and heartsore all at once. She could have gone into the
diner. She could have slid onto the stool beside him and calmly
ordered a slice of pie, and he would look at her and gasp,
"Scully," and then they would fall into each other's arms--
    Of course, once their joyous reunion was over, leaving him
again would be even harder than the first time.
     She buttoned up her coat as far as it would and buried her
chin in her collar. She missed him, she wanted him, she was more in
love with him than ever.
     "Mulder," she whispered painfully and leaned her head against
the window, which was cold and beaded with rain.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Scully had no TV. Every penny she had saved from selling her
car was safely in the bank under her new name. She paid her rent
and her groceries from the miniscule amount she made from the
diner. She even went to bed early so she wouldn't have to waste
money on electricity after sundown.
     She did have a small portable stereo, though, and she'd found
a classical station that played operas twice a week. She turned on
the radio as soon as she got home and smiled at the familiar chords
of the overture to The Magic Flute. She put the takeout bag into
her tiny refrigerator and hung up her coat, took off her sandals
and her jeans, put on her slippers, wrapped herself up in a blanket
and settled down on the futon with her feet propped up on the
armrest.
    Her feet throbbed, and spasms shot through the muscles in her
calves. She could hear Mulder's voice scolding her in her head:
"Why are you working for minimum wage at a nowhere job? You have an
M.D., you're a federal employee, you could do anything. You should
be doing anything but this. You have to think about your health."
     Well, she thought. I'll sacrifice a few varicose veins for a
peaceful life.  She stretched out her legs and pulled them up, and
began to rotate and stretch her feet in a way that helped the
soreness. It would start all over again tomorrow, but that was all
right. She'd made this choice and would live with it.
    As she stretched her feet she rubbed her stomach beneath the
blanket. Her stomach felt firm and round, and incredibly warm to
the touch. She hadn't felt any movement yet, but she supposed that
would happen soon.
    She'd found a doctor here the second day, right after she
found her job--a general practitioner who'd delivered all the
babies for the last twenty years within fifty miles. She liked him.
He was kind and knowledgeable, and didn't ask too many questions
after the first discreet glance at her left hand. She supposed he
assumed the same thing everyone else had: that she had left an
abusive relationship and was hiding while she waited for her baby
to be born.
     Her baby. Scully smiled, feeling the familiar tears of
amazement and joy and frustration form in her eyes. She was having
a baby with the man she adored and had to hide it from everyone she
knew, including him.
    And now here he was in Leslie. So close. And it had only taken
him two months to find her--she'd thought it would take longer.
Apparently her trick of giving post cards to truck drivers to mail
from their next stop hadn't worked. She hadn't left a paper trail
of any kind, she'd been so careful--but what was a thousand miles
compared to a man like Fox Mulder?
     Even Frohike didn't know where she was or why she'd gone.
He'd been wonderful, better than she could have prayed for--he told
her to sleep and he'd take care of everything. So in a few hours
she woke up on the couch to find a new Social Security card and
driver's license in her hand, and a note that read, "Don't leave
until I get back, I need to give something else to you too." That
something else turned out to be cash, and she hugged him and said,
"Tell Mulder I'll get in touch with him as soon as I can. Thank
you." She emailed him sometimes from one of the computers in the
county library, to tell him she was okay, knowing he would give out
the news.
     That must be it, she thought, and sighed. She'd hoped a new
email account at every use and the anonymity of the library would
be enough to disguise her, but apparently not.  To give Frohike his
due, it probably had taken a lot to convince him to reveal her
location to Mulder.
    She sighed again and her hands stilled, and she turned her
head to the side and closed her eyes. Maybe he would give up. Maybe
if he were denied enough times, he would decide she wasn't there
after all and go on to his next lead.
     And maybe the stars would stop in their courses, she thought,
and resigned herself to the fact that she couldn't avoid him
forever. In the next few days she would have to either leave or
face him.
     She didn't want to leave Leslie, that was the trouble. She
had a job, an apartment, friends, a good doctor, and just that
weekend she'd bought a crib. She didn't want to sell the crib and
get back on the bus. She didn't want to run anymore.
     That left facing him. Explaining herself to him. Hoping he
would understand and leave.
     "Hopeless," she said out loud. "Perfectly hopeless. He won't
leave."
He'd followed her to the ends of the earth before, he'd do it again.
    Scully rested a few minutes more, then forced herself to her
feet and went to the fridge to see what Spike had given her. A BLT,
carrot sticks, fruit salad, and a slice of apple pie.  She ate the
meal slowly, washing it down with plenty of milk, brushed her teeth
and put on her pajamas. She read for a while, sometimes out loud,
and when the opera was over she turned off the stereo, unfolded the
futon and got down on her knees.
     She wasn't sure when she'd begun praying again--recently, but
before all this trouble started--but it took on a new urgency to
her now. She prayed for her family, her sorely-missed friends, the
souls of her departed, her new friends, and last and longest for
Mulder.
    She shivered beneath the blankets until the bed began to warm
from her own body, and fell asleep to the tap of rain on the
windows.

~Truly Madly Deeply: Runaway 2~

    The breakfast rush usually ran from seven-thirty until ten
o'clock.
Scully had noticed they served more pancakes on Thursdays than any
other day, which struck her as an interesting quirk. Her
waitressing skills from college had come back to her quickly,
though she'd noticed that people were more patient with her now
that she was beginning to show. She suspected it had something to
do with the gaps between the buttons on her uniform across her
breasts, as well.
     The constant stream of customers eventually slowed, and
Scully and Luana lounged behind the counter. Scully leaned against
the counter with her back to the door, holding herself up to take
her weight off her feet. Luana drank coffee and told her about her
last date.
     "So then he said, 'But Lulu, honey, don't you think it's time
we move to the next level in our relationship? We've known each
other for so long.'" Luana rolled her eyes. "First of all I hate
being called Lulu. And then that garbage about the next level--I
mean, these things should just happen, don't you think? When it
feels right. I hate the idea that you have to sleep with a guy
after so many dates. So I said to him, 'Look, honey, I will stay
here with you as long as you want and I will neck on this couch
with you as long as you want, but these legs are not opening until
I am sure you're not going to forget my name the next morning.'"
    Scully laughed. "You actually said that?"
     "I said it. I had to say it in words he would understand."
She laughed too. "So he pouted a little bit but then we ended up
necking on the couch a little more and then I went home. And we're
going out again on Saturday and maybe if he's really nice I'll be
in the mood."
     "More power to you," Scully said, and they bumped fists,
laughing. Behind Scully the bell on the door tinkled.
     "He is about the nicest boy in Leslie," Luana said, starting
to move towards the end of the counter to go out onto the floor,
but she paused and her face paled. She made a little whimper and
looked despairingly at Scully.
     "What?" Scully whispered, and put herself off the counter and
turned around, just as Mulder slid onto the stool opposite her.
     Her breath caught in her chest and she gripped the edge of
the counter tightly. He looked tired and sad, and he smiled at her
uncertainly. He opened his jacket and from the inner pocket took
out a small stack of postcards. He turned them over so that the
writing showed, and fanned them out like a hand of poker. Their
corners were bent and they all showed signs of wear and crumpling.
     He read off one in a soft whisper, "'Dear Mulder, don't worry
about me. I'm safe. T.M.D.'" He turned to the next, "'Dear Mulder,
I pray for you every day. T.M.D.' 'Dear Mulder, I miss you so much,
but please believe this is for the best. T.M.D.'" He looked up at
her and said, "Do I need to mention I'm not convinced?"
    Scully exhaled and said, "How did you find me?"
     "Frohike said he was getting emails from you, so I had Byers
hack into his computer and find out where they were coming from.
You could have emailed me, Scully."
    "I wrote you."
    "But then I could have emailed you back." He laid his hand on
the counter, palm-up. "Will you come home, please?"
    "I can't." She wanted to put her hand into his so badly her
fingers twitched.
     "Why not?"
     "I just can't. Please. Tell my mother I'm okay and just--
please, go home."
    "I'm not leaving without you," he said, his voice low and
firm. "I came here to bring you home and if you're not coming home
then I'll stay here. I hate being without you."
     The door tinkled again and a group of kids came in,
chattering loudly. The local high school was a few blocks over and
many of them came to the Blue Moon for lunch. Scully glanced at
Luana, who had been watching the two of them closely and biting her
lip. Her hands were twisted together between her breasts. "I have
to go back to work."
     "Scully--" He glanced around the diner and Luana gave a
muffled gasp.
     "I have lunch at one," Scully said. "We can talk then."
     "I'll be waiting," he said, standing, and he went to a far
booth on the other side of the diner.
     Scully looked at him in despair for a moment, and then picked
up her order pad and her pencil. "Back to work, Lu."
     "Katie?" Luana whispered.
     "It's not my real name." She tightened her apron around her
waist.
     "What is your real name?"
    "Dana." She started towards the table full of teenagers, when
Luana grabbed her arm and leaned in to whisper.
     "Katie, is he--he's your baby's father, isn't he?"
     Scully looked at her, nodded quickly, and went to take the
orders.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Mulder drank cup after cup of coffee, and eventually ordered
pancakes and sausage to stop Spike's evil eye. "Should I spit in
the batter?" Spike asked Scully when she brought over the order.
     "He's a friend."
     "Oh. So he's not the greasebag."
     "No. He's the good guy."
     Spike grunted, pouring batter onto the griddle. "Do you want
to hear my theory? This guy adds a whole new wrinkle."
     "What's your theory?" It never failed to amuse her, how much
people speculated about her life story.
     "My theory is you were married to a jerk. Then you fell in
love with this guy, and when you husband found out he scared you so
much you left. Am I close?"
     "Your theory touches on the truth but doesn't quite cover it,
no."
She finished pouring the glass of juice and went back to the floor.
     Mulder caught her hand when she set down the glass of juice.
"How much longer until your break?"
     "Half an hour." Her fingers curled around his hand
reflexively. His touch was like a jolt of electricity. "Behave
yourself, Mulder," she said softly.
     "I'm tempted to pick you up and carry you out of this place,"
he said.
     "You'd have to fight Spike on the way out," she said, and
gently pulled her hand from his. "We'll talk. I promise."
    He nodded, and she felt his eyes on her as she walked away.
     Finally the third day-waitress came in and it was one o'clock.
Scully put aside her pad and pencil and folded her apron, got
herself a chef's salad for lunch and joined Mulder at his table.
     She could feel the hunger in his gaze as he watched her. "You
look good," he said softly. "Really good."
     "I'm doing all right."
    "Do they run you ragged?"
     She smiled, still watching her fork move among the components
of her salad. "It's a hard job."
     "It must have some attraction for you, if you'd chose this
over, say, a hospital or law enforcement, some place where you
actually have some skill."
     "I'm a good waitress," she said, surprised into looking at
him. "How do you think I paid for med school?"
     "That's not what I meant. I just don't get it, Scully, you've
got so much education and this is all you could find?"
     "They don't ask questions," Scully said, dropping her eyes
again.
His face was so sad she could hardly bear it. She ate a few bites,
and put down her fork when Mulder's hand covered hers.
     "You didn't even say goodbye," he whispered, and she bowed
her head for a moment. "You left and you didn't even say goodbye."
     "Please don't make me cry," she whispered, her eyes already
smarting.
     "You know, at first I thought you'd been abducted again. I
was frantic. I was terrified. That first postcard, Scully--I sleep
with it. I'd kiss it because your hands touched it. I've missed you
so much, Scully." His voice was low, rough, a breath above a
whisper and so intense it made her shiver. "Why did you leave?"
     "Will you believe me, no matter how strange it sounds?"
     "Of course."
     She leaned forward, and he leaned closer to her in response.
She whispered, "I'm pregnant."
     Any number of expressions crossed his face, finally ending
with incredulous joy. "Scully," he whispered, and he lifted her
hand to his mouth. He kissed her knuckles and pressed her hand
against his face. When he opened his eyes, though, they were
troubled. "But I still don't see--"
    "I was going to tell you. I was trying to find the right way,
the right time. I mean, we'd never talked about it, Mulder, I
honestly didn't know what your reaction would be. And then--" She
stroked his face and took a deep breath. "Then Alex Krycek came to
me."
     "Did he hurt you?"
     "No, of course not. He told me--he gave me proof--that They
want my baby."
    Mulder's jaw clenched and she felt a deep shudder of anger go
through him. "What did he say?"
     "He gave me a tape of C.G.B. Spender and one of the nurses
who works at my OB/GYN's office. He was offering her huge sums to
give him as much information as she could find about my test
results, my due date, everything. He told her he was my estranged
father. He said--" She almost choked on this--"he told her he'd
give anything to see his grandbaby."
     Mulder didn't answer out loud, but his hand gripped hers more
tightly.
     "Then Krycek told me they were planning to kidnap me and hold
me until my baby was born. He said he wasn't sure what they planned
after that, whether they'd hold me longer or kill me or convince me
my baby had died--or even wipe the pregnancy from my memory
altogether. He said he couldn't let them do that to me, and that I
didn't have much time but I had to leave as soon as I could."
     "Scully," Mulder whispered, and again he kissed her hand.
"Why didn't you tell me? I could have come with you --"
    "Krycek made it sound like if they found us together they'd
make the consequences worse for you than they would for me." She
looked at him miserably.
     Mulder slid around the booth until they were thigh-to-thigh.
"Scully," he said softly, right into her ear, and Scully had to
close her eyes at the rumble in his voice. "You know I would never,
never let anyone hurt you. I'm not afraid for myself--"
    "But I am." She leaned her head against his shoulder and spoke
against his neck. "I'm afraid for you. Leaving was the only thing I
could do."
    "Scully, do you really want to do this alone?"
     "I have to."
 "You're not answering my question. If you tell me right now to
get up and go, I will get up and go. But if you have any doubts--if
you want me at all--don't make me leave you. If you have any doubts
at all I won't go."
     Scully couldn't answer. She just leaned her head against his
neck again, inhaling the scent of him and trying not to tremble.
     He cupped her cheek in his hand. "I know you can do it alone.
I have no doubts about that. But I don't think that you want to."
     "I don't want to do it alone," she whispered, and Mulder
exhaled and hugged her with one arm.
    "Okay, then. Then we need to figure out what to do next."
     "I don't know what to do." He was wearing a denim shirt, and
she lightly ran her fingers over his chest. He felt warm and solid,
and the denim was soft. He smelled like the rain.
     "I'll stay with you. We'll figure things out."
     Scully reminded herself to breathe again, in and out. "Stay,"
she said, and Mulder hugged her again and kissed her forehead.
    "Do you want to go now?"
     "I can't just up and leave, Mulder, they're counting on me."
She picked up her fork again, reluctant to leave the circle of his
arm. "I should eat. I'll finish my shift and we can talk more at
home."
     "Okay." He looked back at the counter. "Will it be all right
if I wait here?"
     "Yes. You're not bored?"
     "I brought a book." He smiled at her and she managed a chuckle.
    She ate a little more of her salad, then said, "Tell me how
you knew to come back here."
     "Well . . . I didn't order any whipped cream on my pie
yesterday." Scully made a sound between a sob and a chuckle, and he
smiled at her again. "It came back from the kitchen covered in the
stuff, and that was the best clue I've had all month."
     "Whipped cream." Scully shook her head. "I told Luana to give
you extra. I could have sworn you asked for some."
     "That's because I usually do, I think." He kissed her
forehead again. "Eat your lunch."
     When Scully was finished she brought her dishes back to the
kitchen and put on her apron again. She was about to go back to the
floor when Luana pulled her aside again.
     "Katie? Or should I call you Dana now?"
     "Call me Katie."
     "You know, watching you two--" She glanced at the table where
Mulder waited. "I don't think I've ever seen anything like that,
outside of the movies."
     "Like what?" Scully said, genuinely puzzled.
     "The way you talked, like there's nobody else in the world
but you two. He watched every bite you put in your mouth. He looked
at you like you're the air he breathes." There were tears in her
eyes and she blinked them away. "I hope someday somebody looks at
me like that."
     "Luana," Scully said gently, "I'll tell you something. True
love is mostly about shared pain."
     "You really don't think that, do you?"
    "Today I do." She looked at Mulder, who smiled at her again
when he sensed her gaze. "If this story has a happy ending, maybe
I'll change my mind."

~Truly Madly Deeply: Runaway 3~

Leslie, Alabama
December 6, 2000

    Violet came in at four o'clock, just as Scully was getting
ready to leave again. She removed Luana's purse from the other
chair as Scully was pulling on her shoes, and said, sitting down,
"I'm told that's your fella sitting in number eight."
     "Yeah. That's him."
     "He's cute," Violet said artlessly, and Scully smiled despite
herself. "Well, as I live and breathe," Violet said, "you do smile."
     "I have been known to, yes."
     "Then I guess you'll be heading home."
     "I really don't know. We haven't made any plans. He wants to
be with me, and that's about as far as it's gone."
     "And you want to be with him?" Violet said carefully, and
Scully looked up at her.
     "More than anything."
     Violet nodded slowly, looking around the cramped room. "I'm
going to put the Help Wanted sign back up. You get us your new
address when you can and I'll forward your check."
     "I'll be in tomorrow."
     Violet nodded, obviously not believing her, and Scully
decided not to press her point any longer either. She put on her
coat and said, "Goodbye, Violet," and the other woman said softly,
"Goodbye."
    Mulder stood up from the table when she came back to the floor.
"Ready?"
     "Yeah."
     "I have my car, I'll follow you."
     "I take the bus."
     "Then we'll drive." He took her hand, and then pulled her
into his arms and hugged her tight. It occurred to Scully then that
he had yet to kiss her, but she thought, I'd rather be alone when
we get to that particular reunion.
     The rain had picked up again. Mulder zipped up his jacket and
pulled up his collar, and Scully opened her umbrella. It was
uncomfortable for-her to hold it high enough to cover them both,
and after a few steps Mulder took it from her hand and held it,
mostly over her head. They walked close together, and after a few
minutes Mulder nudged her lightly with his elbow.
     "Sandals, Scully? It's freezing out here."
     "My feet are hot after work."
     "You'll catch pneumonia or something."
     "I am taking care of myself, Mulder."
     Mulder shook his head, then said, "Here's the parking lot."
He stood still, frowning.
    "What?"
     "I can't remember what the car looks like. It's a rental--
I've had so many in the past few days I'm not sure which one I
drove here."
     "Here." Scully held out her hand and Mulder gave her the
keys. She checked the license number on the key ring and found the
car in minutes, and unlocked the door.  "Are you coming?"
     "Are you driving?" he said, smiling.
     "I know the way, don't I? Get in."  Scully got into the car
and buckled herself in, and Mulder got into the other side. He
shook out his damp hair.
     "I have towels at my place," Scully said, wiping some water
from her face.
     "Sorry. It was dripping."
     "Do you want to stop at your hotel?" she said as she started
up the car.
     "Uh, sure. It's not the best room but we can talk there --"
    "I mean to get your things."
     He stopped fingering the water from his hair and looked at
her. "Do you want me to stay with you?"
     "I thought we agreed on that already."
     "I didn't want to assume anything."
     "I think at this point that's something it's safe to assume."
     "Okay," Mulder said, looking happy for the first time that
day, and Scully pulled the car out of the parking space.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    When Scully unlocked and opened her front door, she felt
embarrassed about her apartment for the first time. It seemed so
stark and spare and small. She noticed the stained carpet, the
cracked linoleum in the tiny kitchenette, the complete lack of
personality the rooms had.
The only spot of brightness was the nook she was putting together
for the baby, the crib and the mobile and the blanket and the
Beatrix Potter print she hadn't yet hung on the wall. She was
tempted to turn around and tell Mulder they should stay at the
hotel after all.
     But she stepped inside and closed the door behind Mulder.
"I'll turn up the heat," she said, going to the radiator.
     Mulder stood where he had stopped, twisting his hand so that
his bag twirled in lazy circles, and he said, "You're certainly
unencumbered by furniture, I see."
     Scully shoved her hands deep in her coat pockets. "I know.
It's awful."
     "There's potential. What about the bedroom?"
     "You're standing in it."
     "You mean this is it?"
    Scully pointed around the room. "Kitchen. Living room. Bedroom.
Bathroom. Nursery."
     He hitched up his bag and said, "This isn't even a studio.
It's a room. It's one step above squalor, Scully."
     "Anything better would require a credit check and since the
name I currently live under has no credit history this is the best
I could do." She pulled off her sandals and her coat. "Go dry your
hair."
     "I'll be right back." He went into the tiny bathroom that was
just off the kitchenette.
     While he was gone Scully hung up her coat, and Mulder's as
well, on the coat rack in the corner behind the door. She looked in
the refrigerator for something to make for dinner, but the only
items in there were milk, cottage cheese, apples and bread. She
thought there might be some packages of ramen in the cupboard, and
her box of Cream of Wheat was still half-full, but she was
embarrassed to offer any of these to him. He wouldn't believe she
hadn't had time to go grocery shopping lately. "You're starving
yourself," she imagined him saying.
"You're starving my child."
     We're not starving, she thought, and closed the refrigerator
door. We get three squares a day and I eat everything the doctor
says I should. She doubted Mulder, coming from a family with both
old and new money, would ever understand you could live on nothing
and still do all right. She could tell him her memories of some
lean times in her childhood that might convince him otherwise.
    She sat down at the table and wrapped her arms around her
middle. There was no point in getting defensive when he hadn't said
anything yet.
     When he came out of the bathroom his hair stuck up around his
head like prickly hedgehog. He said, running his hands through it
and making it stick up even more, "Better?"
     "Not really. Come here."
     He pulled the other chair so he could sit beside her, and
bowed his head so she could calm his hair down. Its softness always
surprised her. She smoothed his hair and lifted his face, and she
leaned forward to kiss his closed eyelids. He shivered and exhaled,
and Scully leaned her forehead against his and moved one hand to
stroke his neck as the other rubbed the back of his head.
    "I've missed you so much," he whispered.
     "I've missed you too." Even just the rain-fresh scent of him
catapulted her to a thousand memories, the smells and the tastes
and the sounds of him.
     "Why did you leave, Scully?"
     "I told you why."
     He shook his head slowly. "You should have come to me," he
said, looking at her, and she could see the pain in his eyes. "Even
if we were apart for a little while we could have found a way. Two
months, Scully . . ." His hand gently rubbed her thigh. "It's been
agony."
    "I know."
     "You look exhausted," he said after a moment.
     "It's been a long day."
     "Lie down. I'll make dinner."
     "I don't have much to cook with." She amended as he stood and
went to her cupboards, "I don't have anything, really. I haven't
had a chance to go to the store for over a week. Usually I get
something from work when the cupboards get bare."
     He looked at her with an unreadable expression and opened a
few doors and shut them softly. "I'll get some things. What would
you like?"
     "Whatever you'd like to eat." His mouth quirked and Scully
flushed, and said, "Eggs, maybe some things for a salad, whatever
you'd like for breakfast. That sort of thing. Orange juice."
    "All right." He spotted his coat and went to put it on. "I
won't be gone long." He paused and looked at her again with that
blank expression. "You'll still be here, right?"
     "Yes."
    "Try and rest a little." He let himself out.
     For a moment Scully just sat at the table, her hands clasped
together, then she pushed herself to her feet and tottered to the
bathroom. She wanted a shower, to wash off the sweat and grease of
the diner--and she could admit to herself that she wanted to smell
nice for him. If this evening led to where she hoped it would she
didn't want him to find her smelling sour and tired.
     She undressed and started the water, and inspected her
reflection in the mirror. She thought, and had always thought this
from the first moment she noticed it, that her pregnant belly and
fuller breasts were beautiful and lush like a piece of ripening
fruit, but she wasn't sure Mulder would feel that way. She looked
different, there was no way to deny that.
    On the other hand, that he found her sexually attractive at
all had always been somewhat of a surprise. The dark, tall, slender
women from his past couldn't be more different from her small,
round, pale self--yet countless times he had kissed every part of
her body and told her how much he loved it and exactly why. "From
your rosebud lips to your sugary toes," he would say, and she would
laugh, and they would collapse into kisses.
    Scully wrinkled her nose at her reflection and got into the
shower.
It seemed like an age since they had been so careless and happy.
     When she got out of the shower she dried off and wrapped the
towel around her, and opened the bathroom door. She hoped that
Mulder had come back, but her apartment was empty and still a
little cold. She hastily shut the bathroom door and wrapped another
towel around her hair. She ventured back into the apartment and got
her pajamas and bathrobe from the bureau against the wall. She
dressed, shivering, and turned up the radiator some more. She left
the towel around her hair and wrapped herself up in a blanket,
turned on the radio and settled herself on the futon.
     Her body thrummed pleasantly with warmth and relaxation, and
she leaned back her head against the back of the futon and closed
her eyes. The radio played Eric Satie and she allowed herself to
daydream, to remember, and to look forward to Mulder's return.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Scully woke up when someone knocked on her front door, and it
took a moment for her to untangle herself from the blanket and get
up from the couch. She went to the door and said softly, "Who is
it?"
     "It's me, Scully. My arms are full."
     Scully unlocked the door and opened it, and Mulder came in,
juggling four bags of groceries. "Quick, take one," he said and
Scully grabbed the most precarious one. Mulder set the bags on the
kitchen table and straightened his back.
     "What did you get?" Scully opened the bag she held, and took
out the carton of ice cream. "Mulder--"
    "Just the basics," he said, and started putting the groceries
away.
    He'd gone overboard, way overboard, and Scully watched him,
the pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream cradled in her arms. It was an
indulgence she hadn't allowed herself for weeks. She could already
taste the marshmallow cream and caramel.
     "Mulder, you bought too much."
     "I just wanted you to have a choice. Put the ice cream away
before it melts, please?" He started rinsing fruit in the sink.
    Strawberries. It was December and he'd bought fresh
strawberries. "I bought stuff to make waffles."
     "I don't have a waffle iron."
    "Then I'll make pancakes."
     Scully wiped the frost from the lid of the ice cream. She
felt near to tears at this very Mulder-like gesture. There was so
much food, more than the two of them could eat before it spoiled,
surely.
     But he had always indulged her this way. Dozens of flowers
when she thought she might get a bouquet, silk and lace lingerie
when she expected a blouse, Godiva chocolates when she mentioned a
craving for M&Ms. Mulder gave love in deluges.
     "Or maybe you don't want pancakes?" Mulder said, and she
remembered he was waiting for her answer.
     "Pancakes are fine. Yours always were the best." She put the
ice cream into the freezer, shifting and stacking the four cartons
until they all fit. Four cartons, all her favorite flavors. His
apology for not finding her sooner.
     "I guess I should have known you were okay when the only
thing missing from your apartment was the portable stereo and your
favorite CDs," Mulder said eventually, when the kitchen was stocked
to his approval.
     Scully had rewrapped herself in the blanket and watched him
from the futon. "I let you know as soon as I could."
     He cracked an egg into the pancake batter, and the two of
them were silent as he ran the blender. The trick to good pancakes
is plenty of air, he'd told her the first time he made her
breakfast. Years and years ago--they'd known each other six months,
maybe seven, he had talked her into staying late so they could
review a case with a promise of breakfast. She'd thought, Cold
cereal and instant coffee, and got Mulder's pancakes with fresh
strawberries and syrup. It had been a pleasant surprise.
     She could count on one hand all the times she'd cooked for
him, but it would take the two of them together to count the times
he'd cooked for her. In hindsight she thought it was part of his
courtship, letting her see his domestic side to counteract the
wild'n'wacky Mulder she saw every day. She didn't think he'd
consciously decided, Knowing I can cook will drive Scully wild, but
it had worked.
     She loved his cooking ability the same way she loved his long
narrow toes and his often juvenile sense of humor. As she watched
him move around her tiny kitchen she sighed, and had to ask herself
how she had managed to go two entire months without seeing him. She
wanted to just drink him in.
    "So," he said when he shut off the blender.
     "So."
     "Why Alabama? Why this place?"
     "Well . . . I wanted a small town, someplace inconspicuous.
Someplace we'd never been on a case, of course. We've never been
within fifty miles of Leslie. And I wanted someplace no would guess
I'd go."
     "It's easier to hide in a big city."
     "Maybe, but in a small town people tell you if someone's been
asking about you. You saw how it was in the Blue Moon. They've
taken me in. They've adopted me. They care about me, and I care
about them. I've found a good place to call home."
     "I see," Mulder said. He ran his fingers under some tap water
and threw a few drops onto the griddle. He nodded in satisfaction
to the outcome of this ritual, and poured circles of batter onto
the griddle. "But aside from the friendly natives . . . "
    "And I like my obstetrician."
    "Well, that's a good reason right there."
     Scully frowned a little, not sure if he was being sarcastic
or not, and said, "The bus station is down the block from the Blue
Moon. I got off the bus and walked down the street, trying to
decide if I wanted to get on the next bus that came through, and I
saw the Help Wanted sign . . . I don't know, Mulder, it seemed like
all the answers had been handed to me. I felt safe here from the
moment I got off the bus, and everyone was so friendly and
understanding. I saw no reason to move on. So here I've been."
     He nodded, watching the pancakes. "So your main criterion was
just a place that felt safe."
     "Yes."
    He said after a moment, "You know, when that first postcard
came I stayed in bed for two days."
     "Oh, Mulder," she said softly.
     "There didn't seem much point in getting up. You were gone,
the work had been going nowhere for a long time, you were gone . .
. I said that already, didn't I?"
     "You did."
     "Well, that's the way it felt. You were gone. You'd left me
nothing but a postcard, not even an explanation." He looked at her,
his hands braced on the counter. "And now I find out it's because
of Krycek . . . I don't know what to think."
     "He had a tape recording, Mulder, of the Smoking Man and one
of the nurses at my doctor's office. He offered her five hundred
thousand dollars for access to my records. She refused but I could
hear her wavering about it. Why would he offer so much money to
know about my baby? How did he find out? Why does he care, why are
they watching me? Doesn't that scare you? It scares me."
     "Our baby," Mulder said softly.
     "Our baby. Sorry. Habit. Our baby."
     "That's another thing, Scully. I'm getting closer to
understand the whole leaving thing but not telling me about the
baby . . . I don't know what to make of that." Scully bit her lip
and buried herself deeper in the blanket wrapped around her. When
she didn't answer he sighed and turned back to the griddle. "It
feels like you don't trust me," he said, slipping a spatula under a
pancake.
    "Mulder, it's not that. Never that."
    "Then what? Did I ever say anything or do anything to indicate
I wouldn't be happy if this happened, that I didn't want children
or didn't like them or something to scare you off about it?"
    "No--but you didn't say anything to show me that you wanted
them, either. I mean, not really. Not recently."
     "It never really came up, did it," Mulder said, his voice
low. "I never thought it would happen. You didn't either, I think.
I didn't mention it because I thought it would hurt you and you
never mentioned it because you didn't see the point."
     "So when it did happen," Scully said quietly, "I didn't know
what to think or do and . . . and I was scared." She could feel his
surprise that she would admit to this, and she looked out the
window for a moment before looking back at him. His face was
sorrowful, and he put down the spatula and came over to the couch.
He knelt down in front of her and she sat up, and he put his hands
on hers and then slipped them around her hands and gripped them
tightly.
    "You are not alone," he said fiercely. "You are not alone,
Scully."
    She leaned her head against his, and took her hands back to
wrap her arms around his neck. "I know," she said, and shivered
deeply at how surely she knew it. She added after a moment, "The
pancakes are burning," and he jumped up to tend to them.

~Truly Madly Deeply: Runaway 4~

    Neither Mulder nor Scully had much to say during dinner. He
had not unpacked his bag, instead putting it in the corner by the
coat rack.
He was not exactly moping but his face was sad, and Scully did not
know what to say to make him smile. She praised his cooking but
that barely got a glimmer.
     He's not going to stay, Scully thought, saddened. He's found
me, he's satisfied I'm safe, he'll say goodbye and have a nice
life. She sighed heavily and hung the dishtowel on the edge of the
sink.
    "Mulder," she said, and he stopped stacking the dishes in the
rack. "Mulder, I want you to understand something."
     "Okay," he said cautiously.
     "Everything I've done, I did because it seemed wisest at the
time. Maybe I could have thought more and not acted so quickly, but
I honestly didn't feel I had time to think."
     Mulder leaned against the counter, with his arms crossed over
his chest. He said, "But when where you going to tell me? You've
had two months to make decisions and settle yourself, and it looks
to me like you're no closer to wanting me around than you were two
months ago."
     "I've wanted you, Mulder, but I've been afraid to send for you.
Krycek said--"
    "Krycek said," Mulder scoffed. "Why would you believe a thing
he said?"
     "Even if parts of it were lies enough was true to frighten
me. He knew things. He knew how long you and I had been lovers,
what nights we spent at your apartment and what nights we spent at
mine, he knew cases we'd been on, he knew where we went in our
spare time, he knew movies that we'd seen together--" She stopped,
shaking her head. "He frightened me, Mulder. He knew things only
you and I should know."
     "He knew you were pregnant quickly, didn't he."
    "Less than a week after I found out."
     Mulder closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled. "It sounds
to me like he's been stalking you."
     Scully blinked--she had not thought of that. "Maybe--or
gathering information about us--I haven't thought about why,
really. Just that he knew those personal things . . . He said my
leaving would protect you more than anything he could do."
    "What do I need protection from? Did he tell you that?"
     "He said to study the baby properly they would need all three
of us, but they didn't necessarily need us alive."
     "Oh, Scully," he whispered.
    "At that point he'd told me so many truths he could have told
me the most blatant of lies and I would have believed him."
     "So you left."
     "So I left."
     He said quietly, "When were you going to tell me I'm going to
be a father?"
     "I really hadn't thought that far ahead." She could hardly
bear to look at Mulder's angry, sorrowful face. "My only thought
has been to wait until it was safe."
     "And when would that be, Scully? You and I both know that day
would never come, if Krycek is telling the truth."
     "I've been living on hope the last two months, Mulder, what
else do you want from me?"
    "You've had two months to get used to this and I just found
out today. I don't know what to think. I don't know what I feel
right now. I want to be with you but I'm beginning to think the
last thing you want is to have me around."
    "It's dangerous," she said softly. "I want to be with you but
not if it's safer to be apart."
    "Do you really think you're in danger?" Mulder said, sounding
like he might possibly believer her.
     "I don't know. I don't know anymore. I don't know what to
believe."
    "I'm tempted to believe that Krycek told you what he did
because--" He sighed heavily. "Because he's like that, he likes to
play mind games. If he's obsessed with you--which is what it sounds
like to me--it wouldn't surprise me that he would try anything to
get you into a vulnerable position. And what's more vulnerable than
a woman who's pregnant and alone and scared?"
    "You think all of this--he did all of this--just to make a
move on me?"
     "I don't know, but it wouldn't surprise me."
     "But the tape, Mulder, what about the tape? That was real."
     "I don't know what to think about that. That's the part that
doesn't fit, and that's enough to make me think there is a threat
of some kind to you. I doubt it extends to me, really."
    "What do you want to do?" Scully whispered.
    "I want to stay with you." Mulder's voice was low and husky.
"I want to protect you. Will you let me do that, Scully? Will you
let me take care of you?"
     Scully swallowed hard and protested softly, "But if there's a
real danger to you--"
    "Tell me to go, then. Tell me to go and I will. But you have
to tell me to go, Scully, look me in the eye and tell me to go."
    Scully stared at him, truly lost for what to say. "I want you
to stay . . . but I should tell you to go," she whispered, and
Mulder hung his head.
 After a moment he lifted his head and said, "I'll stay at the
hotel until you make up your mind." He went into the bathroom and
shut the door, hard enough to shake the walls.
     Scully sank down onto the sofa, worn out. She felt as sore
and weary as if she'd been beaten. She wanted nothing more than to
crawl into bed and sleep for an age or two.
     That meant making up the bed. She pushed herself to her feet,
groaning a little, and unfolded the futon and started to prepare it
for bed.
     Mulder came out of the bathroom, tucking his t-shirt into his
jeans. He didn't look at her as he said, "I guess I'll come by
tomorrow while you're at work-- if you want me to, of course." He
picked up his jacket, then caught sight of what she was doing. "You
going to bed?"
     "I'm tired."
     "Do you do this every night?"
    "Every night." She spread the sheet and smoothed it out.
     "Let me," Mulder said, moving towards her. Scully stepped
aside and let him finish making up the bed. She took off her
bathrobe and hung it over the side of the futon, and when the bed
was made he led her to it and tucked her in.
    "Sleep well, Scully," he said, touching her shoulder, and
picked up his jacket again and headed towards the door.
     "Mulder," she said. "Mulder, don't go."
     "I think it's best that I do."
     "I want you to stay with me."
     He paused, one arm in his jacket, and he said, "You mean just
for tonight."
     "No." She held out her arms to him. "I mean always." He
didn't move and she opened and closed her hands encouragingly.
"Come here, Mulder. Stay with me."
     He dropped his jacket and threw himself into the futon, onto
her, and buried his face in her neck. His arms and one leg as well
wrapped around her, blankets and all. His face was hot and damp,
and it took her a moment to realize he was weeping.
 Scully stroked his hair tenderly. "Sh, Mulder, sh. It's all
right. We'll find a way. I promise. It'll be all right."
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    When her alarm clock went off Scully didn't want to move. Her
bed had never felt so warm and soft, and Mulder's body felt utterly
right in her arms. His head was against her breast and one leg
nestled between hers. One hand was spread over the upper curve of
her belly.
     Their times together like this had been altogether too few,
she thought. She'd hardly ever just lain in bed, holding him, awake
while he slept and savoring this quiet time together.
    Finally she kissed his forehead and moved out of bed. Mulder
grumbled in protest and burrowed into the warmth her body left
behind. He usually did this when she left him first, and she smiled
at how some things never changed.
     Since she'd taken a shower the night before, she decided she
could skip it now, and just dampened down her hair and washed her
face. She clipped her hair up and dressed in her usual jeans and
button-down shirt.
     As she was making her breakfast by the light over the stove,
Mulder mumbled, "I'm awake, you know." He sat up, rubbing his face
with the back of his hand.
     "Good morning."
     "Do you have to go to work today?"
     "Yes," she said, smiling at that, too. It was rare that
Mulder could convince her to play hooky.
     He grumbled, shifting a little, and said, "So what am I
supposed to do all day?"
     "I don't know . . . just be inconspicuous."
     He grumbled again. "I wasn't followed."
     "I hope you're right." She came back to the bed and stroked
his hair for a moment, and kissed his forehead. "The day will just
fly, even if you're being careful."
     "Sure it will." He wrapped his arms around her again and
pressed his face against her stomach. "I think I shouldn't hang
around the diner today."
     "No, probably not."
     "So I'll pick you up when you're done. And I'll drive you
there this morning."
     "Thank you, that would be nice. It'll give me a little more
time."
     "Time to what?" he said softly, and his forefinger brushed
the small of her back.
    Scully shivered and her fingers tightened for a moment on his
shoulder. Sixteen hours together and they had yet to so much as
kiss, despite sleeping in each other's arms.
     "Time for a leisurely breakfast," she said in a trembling
voice. She cleared her throat. "Would you like some Cream of Wheat
and toast?"
     "I'd love some Cream of Wheat," Mulder said, his voice
insinuating more than his words ever could. His arms released her
and she went back to the stove, where her cereal bubbled merrily
away. She stirred the pot and listened to Mulder as he got out of
bed, stretching and groaning.
     "Oh, my back, Scully."
     "We could always sleep on the floor."
 He snorted in response and went into the bathroom. While he was
there Scully laid a towel on the table and set the pan on the towel.
    Mulder came out as she started the toast, and he set the table
with bowls and spoons. He'd taken off his t-shirt and denim shirt
to sleep but left on his jeans, and he looked rumpled and sleepy.
She loved how he looked in the morings. She hadn't forgotten this,
but seeing him like this reminded her in a way that made her
tremble a little and brought heat to her cheeks.
     She wished there was enough time to seduce him, that she had
the energy and stamina for a seduction. Maybe when things were
better settled between them, when she was more certain he would
stay. She did not want to seduce him into staying, though it would
probably work.
     Scully flushed and glanced at him, hoping he couldn't read on
her face what she was thinking. That's not worthy of him, she
thought. He won't sleep with me if he's not going to stay, no
matter how much he might want to.
    Maybe that's why he didn't try anything last night, she mused,
a bit despondent at the thought, and she watched him sprinkle brown
sugar on his cereal and spread butter on his toast.
    "Scully? You okay? Do you feel sick?"
     "I'm fine." She added at his look, "My morning sickness has
tapered off the last week or so. The second trimester is a little
easier than the first."
    "The second?" He swallowed his toast. "You're in the second
trimester already?"
     She sipped her juice and said, "Yes."
     She watched him eat for a minute or two, then he said,
between bites, "When is the baby due, Scully?"
     "Early May."
     "I have so may questions I want to ask you. I don't know
where to start."
     "Well," Scully said slowly, "I'm healthy. The baby appears to
be healthy. Everything is progressing normally."
     "That's good. And, um . . . how, exactly, do you feel? About
all of this, I mean."
     "Excited. A little scared. Lonely," she added, and Mulder's
eyes held her as firmly as any embrace.
     "That's easily fixed, if you want it to be."
    "I want it to be," she said softly.
     Mulder's gaze held her for a moment more, then he cleared his
throat and continued eating his breakfast. "What time do you need
to be at work?"
     "Six-thirty."
     "Six-thirty to four? That's inhuman."
     "I get an hour for lunch and two fifteen-minute breaks. It's
not so bad."
     "What does your doctor think of you being on your feet eight
hours a day?"
     "He thinks I shouldn't but he understand the economic
necessity."
     "You need to take care of yourself, Scully."
     "I also need to eat and pay rent."
     Mulder ate a few more bites and said, "Well, we'll work on
that."
    She set down her spoon. "What does that mean?"
     "Just--you know. We'll work on that. That's all." He gestured
towards her bowl with his spoon. "Eat, Scully, you don't want to be
late."
     Scully ate a few bites, thinking over their conversation,
then she said, "Don't start making plans for me, Mulder."
     "I wouldn't dare," Mulder said, smiling like he would dare
and she would enjoy it, too.

 ~Truly Madly Deeply: Runaway 5~

    Mulder pulled the car to a stop in front of the Blue Moon, and
smiled at her ruefully. "Bye, Scully," he said softly. "Have a good
day."
     "Bye," she said, her eyes focusing on his bottom lip. She
wanted to kiss him. Hard. Long. Just one kiss, to say goodbye, to
say I'll see you later, to say I'll miss you.
     But she could just imagine what the results of that kiss
would be: the two of them necking in the car until the windows
steamed up and the car rocked with their passion. As pleasant--no,
as wonderful as that would be, it wasn't how she wanted to restart
their relationship.
     "Bye," she said again, ran her hand quickly over his and got
out of the car, struggling a little with her new center of gravity.
He waited until she was inside to drive away.
     Luana pounced on her the moment Scully entered the changing
room.
    "Katie! You came back! Are you staying? Is he staying? What
happened last night?"
     "Relax a little, okay?" She started to change into her
uniform. "I'm staying, I think he's staying, nothing happened last
night. We talked."
     "You only think?"
     "I'm not completely sure. He wants to stay. I want him to
stay. We're not sure if he should." She sucked in her stomach as
much as she could to button the sturdy dress, and exhaled, hoping
the buttons would hold. One more week, she thought, at most, and
then she would be just too big. The larger-sized uniforms were
already claimed by other waitresses and she would just have to wait
until the new one Violet had ordered for her came in.  She'd seen
the maternity uniform in Violet's catalogue: a blouse gathered
beneath the breasts and flaring out over the belly, and elastic-
waist pants. She was not looking forward to that stage of pregnancy-
-not the clothes part of it, anyway.
     "He's your baby's daddy, doesn't that mean anything?"
     "It means something," Scully said, sitting down to put on her
shoes. "Of course it means something. We have other considerations,
that's all. It's not as simple as wanting to be together."
     "I swear, you are the strangest woman I have ever met in my
entire life," Luana said. "Most girls I've known in your situation
would do anything to make sure their babies had a daddy. But, yeah,
before you say it, I know. You're not most girls."
    "No, I'm not," Scully said, grinning.
     Luana went on changing into her own uniform, then said,
"Katie, tell me something."
    "All right."
    "Yesterday, when he read your postcards. You didn't sign any
of them, did you? They just had those initials at the end. T.M.D.
What's that mean?"
     "Oh. That. It's--um, it's a shorthand. He came up with it. We
used to work together and we didn't want anyone to know we were
dating each other. But he likes to tell me he loves me, so he would
write 'T.M.D' at the bottom of notes and memos and things."
     "But what's it stand for?"
     "Truly, madly, deeply, as in 'I truly, madly, deeply love
you'--I know, it's silly."
    "It's sweet," Luana said. "It's very sweet. I knew it. He
worships the ground you walk on."
    "Oh, I wouldn't put it that far."
    "I would. He does, doesn't he, he followed you all the way
from wherever you're from and he sat here all day yesterday waiting
for you--it's the kind of thing most people would die for, Katie.
Most people would die for a love like that."
    Scully looked at Luana and said, her voice firm, "I would die
for him, Luana, don't get me wrong. I know the value of this. I
know how precious this is. And I would lay down my life for him. I
would. But I'm in no hurry to die." Luana's eyes had grown very
wide and Scully said hastily, "Never mind, Lu, I just--it's early.
I'm feeling melodramatic. We should get to work."
     Luana bit her lip, her forehead drawn in thought, and
followed her out to the floor.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    The morning went like normal. Scully served pancakes, French
toast, scrambled eggs and halves of grapefruit. She poured endless
cups of coffee and glasses of orange juice. She laughed at jokes,
responded gently to the sweet flirtations, and gave icy glares to
the crass ones. She picked up napkins and wiped up spills, set up
booster seats and held a baby while the mother looked through her
purse for the car keys. The baby smelled like talcum powder and
milk, and looked at Scully with solemn brown eyes.
     My baby will have eyes like that, Scully thought, she'll have
Mulder's eyes. She restrained herself from kissing the baby's hot
forehead and handed her back to the mother's profuse thanks.
    When the diner slowed down and they started to prepare for
lunch, Scully perched herself on the stool at the end of the
counter and swiveled her head on her neck until her spine cracked
back into place.
     "Oh, I heard that," Sandra, the day manager, said with a
grimace. "You've got to have that man of yours give you a good
backrub tonight."
     "We'll see," Scully murmured.
     "What's his name, anyway? You haven't told much by way of
details."
     Scully hesitated, then said, "Steve." Mulder would make a
good Steve.
     "Steve?" Luana said. "I would have thought he'd have one of
those hero's names like . . . like Thorn or Blade."
     Sandra hooted with laughter.  "Blade! No mother in her right
mind would name her child Blade. You've been watching soaps again,
Luey."
     "I have a cousin named Blade," said Carrie Ann, one of the
teenage girls who worked part-time. "His parents wanted him called
something strong."
    "Some mothers will name their children anything," Scully said,
remembering the revulsion Mulder had to his own name.
     "You got a name picked out for your baby yet, Katie?" Carrie
Ann said.
     "There are a few that I like. I like old-fashioned names for
boys, classic names. Like James or Adam or Caleb. His middle name
will be William, after my father. If it's a girl I may be a little
more daring. Girls can have stranger names than boys, it seems
like."
     "You like Bible names," Carrie Ann said. "I have a cousin
named Shiloh and her sister is named Havilah, and they're both out
of the Bible."
     "Maybe not that daring," Scully said. "More like Georgia or
Roxanne or Bettina." She added when they all were silent, "Or maybe
a good Irish name like Molly."
     That went over much better with the others, and they all
started chatting about the strangest names they'd ever heard and
what they wanted to call their children. Scully rubbed her stomach
a little, listening to them with her eyes closed.
    She'd grown accustomed to the smell of cigarette smoke lately--
the Blue Moon was not a smoke-free restaurant--and so thought
nothing of it when someone took the stool beside her who smelled
strongly of cigarettes. But her eyes flew open and she stopped
rubbing her stomach when a soft, familiar voice said, "So you want
to name your baby after Mulder's mother. How sweet."
     Every muscle in her body tensed to run, but she managed to
say calmly, her voice low to avoid alarming her friends, "What are
you doing here?"
     "I'm just checking up on my friend. How are you, Dana?" He
took out a package of cigarettes from his coat and started to take
one out, then put it back with a modest expression. "Forgive me. I
should be more considerate of your delicate condition."
    "I'm fine," Scully said. "I'm just fine. What are you doing
here?"
     "I told you. I'm checking up on you. It's a pity, you being
alone down here in this strange town. A single woman with a baby on
the way . . ." He shook his head in a mockery of pity. "Alone.
Friendless. No one to turn to."
     "Stop it," Scully whispered. "Just stop it. I heard that
phone call you made to my doctor's office. Do you honestly think I
wouldn't run away as far as I could if I knew about that?"
     "I just want to be sure your baby is healthy. You've had such
a hard time of it, Dana."
     "Bullshit," Scully hissed, and then glanced at her friends to
make sure they didn't hear her. Luana was looking at her, her
expression concerned, and Scully decided to end this conversation
as quickly as she could. "You listen to me, C.G.B. Spender or
whatever the hell your name is. I will do whatever it takes to
protect my child from you. I will go anywhere, I will run as far as
I can, I will give birth in a cave if that's what it takes. I will
kill you if I have to."
     "I'm here to help," he protested. "I'm here to give you
anything your heart desires, anything you could want for your baby.
The best doctor, a beautiful home, a private hospital where you can
relax and let yourself be taken care of--"
    "You'd slit my throat as soon as my baby was born."
     "Never. I'd never raise a finger to hurt you or your child.
We just want to know how this happened and if we can reproduce it
and how it affects your child."
     "You wouldn't believe me," Scully said. Luana nudged Sandra
and now they both were watching her, trying not to be obvious. "But
you can't reproduce it. It's more than science can do. "
    "Let us try, Dana. Think of the blessing it would be to other
women in your situation--"
    "All the other women in my situation are dead. Aren't they?"
She glared at him. "Burned by those madmen or eaten away by cancer.
I'm the last one alive."
    "There are others."
    "Even if I believed you about that I still don't believe your
motive is altruistic. I've seen what you people to do children.
She'd be a test subject, an experiment. You don't know the value of
a single life."
     "Depends on where you buy it," he said, standing, and he said
a voice that carried throughout the diner, "You can't keep me away
from my grandchild, Dana," and he turned towards the door.
     "You are not my father!" Scully said, and put her hand over
her mouth before she could say anything more. He just smiled at her
over his shoulder and left the diner.
    The other women were at her side in a moment. Luana put her
arm around Scully's shoulders and Spike came out of the kitchen, a
carving knife in his hand. "Should we call the police?" he said.
    "No police," Scully exclaimed. "They can't help. I have to go,
I can't stay here, I have to go, I have to go now--"
    "Who was that?" Sandra said. "Your man's father?"
    "No--maybe--I don't know. I'm going to be sick. Lu, help me--"
    "Come on." She supported Scully to the ladies' room and stood
back as Scully vomited helplessly into the toilet. When she was
finished Luana brought her a Dixie cup of water and a paper towel.
She sat down on the floor beside her and stroked her hand.
    "It's not safe for me here," Scully said miserably. "I wanted
to stay here, I really did, but I can't now that he knows where I
am. Where am I going to go? What am I going to do? Oh, God, I
thought I'd found a home--"
    "Sh, Katie," Luana said, putting her arms around her again.
"Come on, now, is it that bad? Would he really hurt you? Couldn't
you get a restraining order or something, to protect you?"
     Scully shook her head. "That wouldn't stop him. Nothing will
stop him but me being out of his reach. I have to go. I have to go
today."
     "I'll call your apartment and see if, uh, Steve is there. You
stay here, okay? I promise you're safe here." She stroked Scully's
face for a moment, and Scully managed to smile a little despite her
rising hysteria. "I'll be right back," Luana said, and left the
bathroom.
     Scully wrapped her arms around her middle and leaned her head
against the cool tiled wall. "I'm going to do everything I can to
protect you, little baby," she whispered, and wished fervently that
she could feel some movement, a flutter, a kick, something to prove
that her baby was thriving inside her. "Everything I can," she
whispered again, closing her eyes, and she couldn't stop shivering.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    "She's in here," Scully heard Luana say as she opened the
changing room door, and Scully looked up from her contemplation as
Mulder came into the room. He paused and then knelt at her feet and
wrapped her up in his arms. "It's okay," he said. "I promise it's
okay. I'll never let him hurt you."
    "We have to leave." Her fingers dug into his jacket. "We have
to get out of here. Quick as we can. I don't know where to go,
Mulder, I don't know where we can go that will be safe."
     "Sh, honey, sh. I'll keep you safe. I promise. I'll take you
anywhere you want to go. Come on, let's go."
 He started to rise and she clutched at his shoulders. "We can't
go back to the apartment. He'll follow us. He's probably waiting
outside with a--a tranquilizer gun or something--we have to hide
somewhere."
     "Okay, okay, we'll go to a hotel for a while. On your feet,
honey. Your boss said it's okay, she understands. Come on. Let's
get out of here." He helped her to her feet, one arm around her
shoulders and the other guiding her along as if she were enfeebled.
She leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes. Even
thinking felt like too much effort.
    Luana was waiting for them. "Katie? Are you going to be okay?"
     "Yeah--um--but I don't think I'll be back tomorrow."
     "Oh, Katie."
     "Thank you, Lu," she said, and Luana tried to smile.
     "Be safe," Luana said. "Send us a picture of the baby."
     Scully nodded, too overcome to speak, and Mulder said,
"Goodbye, Luana. Thank you."
     "Your name's not really Steve, is it," Luana said.
     "No. It's Mulder. Goodbye."
     He had parked behind the diner, next to the dumpster, and he
made sure Scully was safely buckled in before going around to the
driver's side. She hadn't stopped shivering, and she took Mulder's
hand tightly in both of hers when he was beside her in the car.
     "Scully," he said softly, and leaned over and smoothed her
hair back behind her ear. "It'll be okay, honey."
    "I'm scared," she whispered. "I hate being scared."
     "I know. But it's okay to be scared. I'm scared too." He
stroked her cheek and said softly, "And I'm sorry I wasn't careful
enough. I thought I was. I did everything I could think of. I paid
in cash. I changed cars. I doubled back. I used fake names. I did
everything--"
    "I think he already knew where I was," Scully said dully. "I
think he was just biding his time until I felt safe and then
pounced. He'll always be able to find us, Mulder."
    "No, he won't. I won't let him hound us. We'll think of
something, Scully, I promise. But let's go somewhere you can rest.
You look too pale." He put his arm around her shoulders again and
she leaned against him as he started the car.

    ~Truly Madly Deeply: Runaway 6~
    Scully woke up abruptly when Mulder opened the passenger's
side door. It was still light out: the sun shone strongly beneath
the layer of clouds. Scully raised her hand to shield her eyes as
Mulder knelt down to talk to her.
     "Where are we?"
     "It's called the Sleepy Time Inn. We're about forty miles
from Birmingham." Mulder smiled uncertainly. "I just drove, Scully.
I didn't know what else to do."
    Scully nodded slowly, looking around the parking lot. A series
of low buildings, painted in faded but welcoming colors, enclosed
the lot, and there were no other cars.
     "Come on," Mulder said. "I've already checked us in."
    "What name did you use?"
     He gave a tiny smile and said, "Steve, of course. Come on,
Katie."
     She returned his small smile and unclasped her seat belt.
Mulder helped her out of the car, and locked and shut the door
firmly. He held her around the waist and she pressed her face
against his side as they walked to the room. At every step Scully
expected a shot to sound, to feel the stinging pain rip through her
body.
     The only sound was the crunch of their feet on the gravel.
Scully exhaled with relief when Mulder closed and locked the door
between them and any threat.
     She sank down onto the bed and then lay down, huddling into
her coat. After a moment Mulder covered her with his jacket and lay
down beside her. He wrapped his arms and a leg around her and
pulled her close.
     "You're shivering."
     "I'm cold." She turned towards him and pressed her cheek to
his chest.
     "Do you want to get under the covers?"
     She shook her head. "Hold me for a while?"
     "I'm not letting go." His lips grazed her forehead. "What do
you think we should do?"
     "I don't know. Anywhere we go he'll find us."
     "Maybe."
    "I don't want to live on the run, Mulder, I can't. Not with a
child to think about."
     "I know, honey."
     "Maybe we should go back. Maybe he was telling the truth--
maybe he wants to make up for all the pain he's caused us."
     "Scully," Mulder said gently, stroking her cheek with his
thumb.
     "There's no where to go, Mulder, there's nowhere safe
enough." She pressed her face against his chest. She couldn't stop
shaking.
     "Scully," Mulder whispered, and started kissing her around
her face. "We'll figure something out. We will. I promise. I won't
let him hurt you. I won't let him near our baby."
     She tilted her face up but when he did not kiss her mouth she
sighed and pulled away from him. She sat up and started to unbutton
her coat. "I'm warm now, I think," she said, sniffling a little.
She shrugged off her coat and set both coats aside, and let her
hands fall into her lap when she felt his hand rest lightly on her
back. He traced her spine upwards and Scully stifled a whimper.
     "Lie down, honey," he said in a voice as tender as his
caressing hand, and Scully lay down, cradled in his arm. He kissed
her forehead and Scully laid her hand on his chest. "Are you
comfortable?" She nodded. "Are you warm enough?" She nodded again.
His heart thumped steadily beneath her ear.
     Lulled by his warmth and the slow way his hand stroked her
hair, Scully dozed. She thought drowsily, I wish we could be like
this forever, and moved her hand over Mulder's chest.
     "I think," Mulder began, barely above a whisper. He paused,
his fingers still combing lightly through her hair. "I think we
should get married," he said, and Scully's eyes flew open.
     "Now?" she whispered.
    "Yeah. Now would be a good time. Don't you think?"
    "I haven't--I mean--I haven't thought about it."
 He stroked the back of her hand on his chest. "It might be a good
thing. You know, legally."
     "Oh," Scully said. "Legally. Legal reasons are good reasons
to get married." She closed her eyes again. It was ridiculous to
feel so disappointed.
     Mulder stroked her hand for a moment more, then moved from
beneath her to sit up. He picked up his jacket and rummaged in the
pockets for a moment, and came up with a small black box. He held
it out to her.
     Scully sat up too and said, "Mulder? What's this?"
     "Something I've been carrying around a long time."  His face
was utterly serious, and he leaned closer to her, still holding out
the box. It was cardboard with flocked paper over it and a snap
closure. Scully's hand crept towards it and she pulled it back.
     "I--" she said, and her hand dropped. "I can't take this,
Mulder."
     His steady hand faltered a bit. "Why not?"
     "We have more important things to talk about. We have to
decide what to do about the Smoking Man and where we should go and
how we can hide--"
    "Our future," Mulder said. "This is part of it, too." He said
hesitantly. "Don't you want to be married to me? Because I'd really
like to be married to you."
     "Why?" she said before she thought, and Mulder had the grace
to look amused.
     He finally lowered the box and said, "I think part of it is
that you're having our child -"
    "So you want to marry me just because I'm pregnant."
    "No. But if you weren't pregnant I don't think I'd ever be
brave enough to ask. Do you want to know how long I've been
carrying this around?"
     "How long?"
     "Ever since your cancer went into remission."
     "Mulder," she said softly, and took the little box from his
hands. The corners were fuzzy and rounded with wear. The thick
paper was scratched in places.
     "I've been afraid. I'm still afraid. But you might actually
say yes so I'm asking. Will you marry me, Scully?" he whispered,
his head low.
    "You haven't answered my question," Scully said in the same
soft tone. "Why do you want to marry me?"
    "Because . . ." He lifted his head and looked at her keenly.
"Because I want to belong to you."
     She studied him for a moment, then flicked the snap that held
the box closed. She parted the lid and gasped when she saw the
ring. Two bands of white gold held filigreed floralets, which were
set with white and blue diamonds. It was delicate and elegant. She
knew it would look perfectly at home on her finger.
     "I had it specially made," Mulder said softly. "I took a
picture of you to the jeweler and I said, 'This is what she looks
like. Make something that looks like this.'"
    "Mulder," she said again, and took the ring out of the box.
She turned it over and over, watching the shine of the metal and
the sparkle of the stones. "It's beautiful."
    "So? Will you?"
     "Mulder," she said in a quivering voice, "I don't know."
    "What? What don't you know?"
    "Krycek said--"
    "Whatever his reasons, I think you did exactly what he wanted
you to do. I'm surprised he never showed up to see if his plan
worked. He lied to scare you, Scully. He lied."
     "The Smoking Man was there, he's in Leslie right now! He told
me he wants to study me! He wants to study our child! How can you
take this so lightly?"
     "I'm not taking this lightly. What's at issue here is our
future. I'm not making plans, okay, Scully? This is an option. I
just happen to think it's the right one. We get married. We stay
together. We take care of each other. We become a family. Can we do
that, Scully, can we make something permanent and meaningful?"
     The ring felt hot from being clutched in her hand. She
slipped it onto her thumb and whispered, "I'm afraid."
     "I know you are, honey. So am I."  He moved closer to her,
supporting himself on his elbow. His head was nearly in her lap.
"But you and I, we've always been better together than apart." He
stroked her kneecap. "I'm so miserable without you."
     "I know." She eased her hand into his hair and he moved
closer still, to rest his head on her knee. "I'm miserable without
you, too."
     "Then why be apart?" Mulder whispered, and started to rub his
open mouth against the denim that covered her knee.
     Scully bent over him and wrapped her arms around his head. It
was rash--it was foolish--it was asking for trouble and heartache--
    I want, she thought, touching her lips to the lightly tanned
skin at the back of his neck. I want this future he sees for us. I
want us. I want him.
     In her arms Mulder shivered and laid his cheek against her
thigh. She stroked his hair with both hands and kissed his head.
She took the ring from her thumb and placed it in Mulder's hand.
     His fingers closed around the ring. He sighed and raised his
head, and looked up at her with sad but resigned eyes. She smiled
and touched him under his chin, and held out her left hand flat to
him.
    "Put it on me," she said.
    His face solemn, Mulder sat up and took her hand. He caressed
it a moment or two, and held her eyes with his as he slid the ring
onto her finger.
     Scully felt as solemn as he looked, as solemn as if she were
in a church before a priest. She wanted to say something but every
word seemed inadequate. She touched his cheek and he smiled, and
took her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist.
     "Soon, Scully," he said. She nodded, closing her fingers
around his hand. She hesitated, then lifted his hand to her mouth
and rubbed her lips against the back, against his fingers. He
flexed his fingers but otherwise didn't move. She thought he hardly
dared to breathe.
     She went on kissing his hand for a few moments more,
breathing against his fingers and cupping his hand to her cheek,
until he took his hand from her grasp and cupped her face in both.
He still barely breathed, while she couldn't get enough air to
satisfy her lungs.
     "I missed you," he whispered.
     "I know."
     "I've wanted you so much."
     "So have I. I wanted you last night."
     "Why didn't you say something?"
     "We've been apart a long time, Mulder."
    "Exactly."
     "And you were so unhappy last night. I didn't want you to
feel pressured." She added at the disbelieving sound he made, "And
I wasn't sure you felt the same way."
     "Honestly, Scully . . ."
     "Yes, honestly. There have been changes. With me. With my
body."
     He continued to hold her with his warm friendly hands, with
his dark depthless eyes, and he said softly, "So you thought that
because you look a little different I wouldn't want to touch you.
Is that it?"
     "It's been known to happen. Fathers sometimes have trouble
adjusting."
     "Mothers too, I think." He let go of her face and picked up
one of her feet, running his fingers lightly along her instep.
"Granted, this, for example, looks a little more worn than the last
time I saw it. Your poor little feet, working so hard . . ." He
rubbed the sole of her foot deeply and Scully inhaled, shuddering.
"And what do you think about it, Scully? What do you think about
this different body of yours?"
     "I think it's beautiful," she said, and Mulder smiled, still
rubbing her foot. "I think I look healthy. I think that sometimes I
even look happy. I think my body is doing just what it needs to be
doing right now, and I haven't tried to hide that from anybody."
     He nodded, looking down at her feet in his hands, and said
quietly, "So, can I see you?"

    ~Truly Madly Deeply: Runaway 7~
    Scully blinked, surprised by his question, and whispered,
"What?"
     "Can I see you?" His voice was soft and reverent.
     "What do you want to see?"
     He whispered, "I want to see how your body is different."
     Trembling at the familiar tone in his voice, Scully got up
from the bed and stood in front of him. Mulder moved to sit on the
edge of the bed, watching her closely as she unzipped her jeans and
unbuttoned her shirt from just below her breasts to the hem. The
two halves of the top fell away, revealing a belly that looked as
creamy and round as a scoop of French vanilla ice cream. Mulder's
eyes widened and his lips parted, and he glanced up at her quickly
before placing a warm hand on the upper curve. It looked very dark
on her pale skin.
     A wave of tenderness swept through her--she closed her eyes
and put her hand on his shoulder. The father of my child, she
thought, and then, Just as it should be.
     "This is right," she whispered, and he glanced up at her
again, smiling a tiny bit. His hand smoothed over her belly as if
he were petting her.
    "Do you feel anything?"
     "Not yet. Soon, I expect."
     "Will you tell me when you do?" He sounded shy, and she smiled.
     "Yes. Though you don't be able to feel her kick or anything
for a while yet."
     "Her? You think it's a girl?"
     "More boys are conceived than girls are, but more girls are
born."
     "Why is that?"
     "You men are just fragile, I guess." She smiled again, moving
her fingertips to his hair at the back of his neck. He closed his
eyes and exhaled slowly, and his breath brushed her skin.
     Scully shivered, surprised at how much it affected her. But
then her stomach had always been sensitive. Charlie used to render
her helpless by tickling her on her stomach, and Mulder had quickly
discovered that a zerbert to the stomach would make her laugh.
    His hand paused at her shiver, and he frowned. "Are you cold?"
    "No. I'm all right."
     He nodded, and his hand resumed stroking. She was about to
tell him she wanted to lie down again when he leaned forward and
kissed her belly, just above her navel. She gasped outright and her
fingers tightened on his neck reflexively. In response his lips
opened and his tongue dragged over the patch of skin beneath his
mouth, and when again she gasped his other hand came up to cup the
lower curve of her belly. He stroked and massaged her belly, and
kissed it with soft wet sounds that seemed to echo in Scully's
ears. She realized dimly he was murmuring something, and at first
she thought it was "my baby, my baby" -- no, it wasn't. "My body,
my body"? No.
     "My beauty. My beauty."
     "Mulder." Her head was spinning. "Mulder. Please."
    He slid forward, off the bed and onto his knees, still holding
her, still kissing her. Her legs trembled and she held onto his
shoulders with both hands, her eyes squeezed shut. She rocked back
on her heels as his mouth moved ever lower, to the waistband of her
panties, and she thought she might cry when he paused.
     His voice was hoarse. "Scully?"
     "What?" Her lips were dry.
     "Do you want me to stop?"
     "No," she whispered, then cleared her throat and said, "No.
Don't stop."
    He moaned in his throat and settled onto his knees, and slid
her jeans and underwear from her waist to her feet. She stepped out
of them, holding onto his shoulders for balance, and sighed a long
soft "Ohhh . . ." as he set her feet apart and started kissing her
thighs, her inner thighs, her knees. He held onto her calves and
massaged them with strong, sure fingers. He even bent to the floor
and kissed her feet, and Scully looked down at him, puzzled but
pleased, splaying her toes.
     He rose again, onto his knees, and his hands slid upward to
cup her bottom. He kissed her stomach again, and then lowered his
head and parted her lower lips with the tip of his tongue.
    Scully moaned, bending over him, clutching his shoulders. She
ran her hands through his hair, traced the curves of his ears and
the lines of his jaw. She wanted to tell him things, everything,
things she'd never told another living soul, but when she opened
her mouth to speak all that came out was his name.
     All the while his tongue lapped at her, dragging moisture
forward to her clit, which his tongue circled and teased and
stroked. He nipped it with his teeth and soothed it with his
tongue, and his hand smoothed back her curls and reached up into
her, one slender finger soon joined by two more. And he hummed,
moaned, softly growled, telling her without words how delicious she
tasted.
     "Mulder . . . " She found herself rising up onto the balls of
her feet, lowering herself again, anything to bring more
stimulation, more sensation, to the orgasm that was coiling inside
her. Though his actions were centered on only a small bundle of
nerves she felt them throughout her body, tingling in her
fingertips and her nipples and the soles of her feet and the top of
her head. She felt as though she were burning. "Mulder . . ."
     "Anything for you," he paused long enough to say, his fingers
circling a spot inside her that would make her combust if he didn't
stop it, but oh she'd kill him if he stopped it, she would, she
would, she would do anything for him, it was true, he knew it and
he'd always known it--
    "Mulder," she gasped, clutching at him, and he held her while
she shook and cried out and tried not to fall.
     His knees cracked when he stood, and they both smiled at the
sound, suddenly shy. His jeans did nothing to hide the erection he
bore, but as if he were unaffected he lifted her gently and laid
her on the bed, where she continued trembling. She held onto him
tightly, not allowing him to rise, and he swept back the hair from
her forehead and kissed it tenderly.
     "Thank you," he whispered, and she almost laughed.
     "I should thank you." Why was it that men always had such
lovely eyelashes? she thought, and cupped his face to feel his
lashes under her thumb. The gesture made him smile, and he returned
it, framing her face in his hand.
    "You taste like a mango," he whispered, and now she did laugh,
a low, pleased sound. "I meant it, you know. I'd do anything for
you."
     "I know." Her hand looked small on his chest, and she slid it
down and tugged at his shirt.
     "Scully." He grabbed her wrist. "It's okay."
     "It's not."
     "I don't want to do anything that might hurt the baby."
    She looked up at his face. He meant it, she could see that.
She wanted to laugh. "You've got a lot to learn about pregnant
ladies," she said, pushing herself up on her elbows. "First lesson
is you can have sex right up until the end, if you're so inclined."
     "Really?"
     "Really. I don't know if you'll want to, necessarily--"
    "Oh," he said, low in his throat, and he moved beside her to
start caressing her belly again. "I think we'll want to."
     A new erogenous zone, Scully thought, letting her eyes fall
closed and herself fall back onto the pillows. She looked at him
through her lashes and said, "Mulder. I want you to do something
for me."
     "Anything," he murmured, exploring the curves and valleys of
her body with his nose.
     "You haven't kissed me yet. Kiss me."
     He paused and looked up to smile at her. "That I know I can
do," he said, and moved up to stretch out beside her again. He took
her chin between his forefinger and thumb and grazed her lips with
his a few times before kissing her, deep, long, tender, warm. He
broke it long enough to whisper, "I love you, you know," and then
resumed kissing her sweetly, as if they had all of forever and then
some to make love.
    It's different when you know it's the first of many, she
thought.
Almost like a wedding night. Trying to start it right.
     And oh, had he started it right.
     When his mouth finally left hers it was to travel slowly over
her face, her neck. He undid the last few buttons on her shirt and
unclasped her bra, and his hand swept over her breasts, testing
their weight and heat. Scully grabbed his wrist and watched him as
he looked at her, waiting for some sign of distaste at the changes
of her body. "Mmmm . . . warm," was all he said before capturing
one in his mouth.
    Scully's back arched and she thrust her hands into his hair.
In truth lately she'd been too exhausted to even think about sex.
There were rare times when she'd missed him more than usual and
sought relief from her own hands, but it had been hopelessly
inadequate despite the increased sensitivity of her body. Now,
tired as she was, post-orgasmic-lull as she was, at the touch of
his mouth to her breast she thought she heard every nerve sing like
a chorus of morning birds.
     "I've missed you," she managed to say between gasps. "I've
missed this."
    He released her nipple and gave her breast one more kiss, and
he said in a rough voice, "I've missed your body. I've missed your
kisses. I've missed your hands in my hair. I've missed everything
about you."
     Scully cupped Mulder's face in her hands and drew him up to
kiss him. "Don't," she said simply, though she wasn't entirely sure
what she was asking him.
     "I won't," he said, and lowered his head to her breast again.
     She touched him as he suckled her, feeling the way that his
muscles moved beneath his shirt, her fingers through his soft hair,
against his rough cheeks and his blissfully-closed eyes. His heart
raced beneath her fingers.
     She needed to kiss him and lifted his head from her breast,
and pushed him onto his back. Her fingers shook as she tried to
unbutton his shirt, and he had to help her with his own shaking
hands. Finally she gave up and yanked, and buttons flew everywhere.
     "Scully, this is my only clean shirt."
     "I didn't notice you fighting," she said, and tore the
buttons from his cuffs as well. He began to laugh, raising his arms
so she could take the shirt off him, and when she yanked off the
white t-shirt beneath it he wrapped her up in his arms and kissed
her, still laughing.
     "God, I've missed you. I've missed you." He stopped laughing
but went on smiling at her, running his fingertips up and down the
side of her face.
     Scully pushed herself onto her knees and pulled off her shirt
and bra. Mulder sat up as well and started to gently pull out the
little clips that held up her hair. "I like this look, you know,"
he murmured," but I want to feel it in my hands." She could only
nod, and shook out her hair when he had taken out all the clips. He
twisted the length of her hair up in his hands and let the curls
fall between his fingers. "You're so beautiful." His hands slid
down her face to her neck and he traced her collarbones with his
thumb. "Sometimes when I couldn't sleep I'd remember one thing
about you, one thing that I particularly missed, like this right
here." His thumb settled in the hollow between her collarbones.
"I've always loved this, right here." He leaned forward and kissed
it. "And this here." He kissed where her jaw curved into her neck.
"And this part here." He stooped and she leaned back against his
supporting hands, and he suckled the skin of the underside of her
breast.
     Scully focused her eyes on the light on the ceiling. Her
entire body heaved with the effort to breathe as he kissed and
kissed and kissed her, whispering how much he loved this part and
that. She wanted to return the attentions, to lavish her tongue on
him and tell him how precious, how beloved, he truly was.
     But it was hard to concentrate when his mouth was doing such
wonderful things to her.
     Breathe . . . breathe . . . breathe . . .
     Finally he lifted his head from her. His eyes glittered. "How
you doin'?"
    Scully managed a chuckle and slid down his body a little to
rest on his thighs. The front of his jeans bulged tantalizingly.
She licked her lips and tugged on the top button, and Mulder hissed
and dug his fingers into the coverlet.
     "Scully . . ."
    "Gimme." She popped the buttons down his fly and eased her
hand along his hip. He grunted, closing his eyes and turning his
head away, and Scully pushed on his shoulder until he gave in and
lay down.
    She tasted his Adams apple, his ears, his forehead. She teased
his nipples and ran her hands up and down his sides, snuffling her
nose in his chest hair. She eased his jeans down his narrow hips,
kissing his stomach, and whispered, "Up," as she lowered his cotton
boxers from his waist. He raised his hips to help her and his hand
caressed her hair for a moment before she slid out of reach. She
sucked his toes and kissed his knobby knees, stroked his long
thighs and finally settled herself on her haunches, focusing her
attention.
     His penis was thick, erect, and hot, the color of dark wine.
Scully used her fingertips first, drawing them over his testicles
and lightly up and down his length. The way he moaned made her
smile, and she wrapped her hand around him and began to pump him.
     "Ohh," he breathed, and she nuzzled her mouth against the
plane of his stomach on the journey downward.
     "Miss me much?" she whispered, and he grunted something
unintelligible and put his hands on top of hers.
     "Too good -- please --"
    "I haven't even started yet."
    He groaned and released her hands, his head flopping against
the bed. She could feel his eyes on her, burning with lust, as she
licked her lips greedily and took him into her mouth.
     He tasted exotic and familiar, salty, warm. Scully felt her
eyes roll back in her head and she couldn't stifle the moan that
arose, and Mulder moaned in response. His fingers caressed her
shoulders.
She polished his hipbone with her palm as she bathed the head of
his cock with her tongue, danced her fingers over his thighs. He
moaned her name again and again.
     Scully wanted all of him at once, the taste and the feel and
the heat of him, she wanted to suck on him and fuck him, she wanted
his tongue and his fingers and his cock. She was shaking with need
for him. She balanced herself on one hand and the other crept
between her legs, where she was still slick and slippery. Her
fingers passed over her clitoris and she moaned again, and Mulder
said warningly, his head tossing, "Scully, don't do that, please
don't do that."
     She shook her head lightly, taking him deeper. She passed her
fingers over his lower ribs, a silent message: Come for me. Be
selfish. Let me take care of you.
    His hands fell away from her shoulders and he groaned, his
voice rough and low.  She followed the sound of his voice with her
tongue and her lips, the rise and fall of his voice guiding her to
where and how he wanted to be touched. He had always been a vocal
lover, talking and whispering to her until he couldn't form
coherent words anymore.
     And now that he'd decided to go along with her preferences
his noises were much more encouraging, syrupy with pleasure, from
deep within his chest. She felt every moan shiver through him, and
they made her moan in response. She closed her eyes as colors
danced behind her eyelids, and her hand and her tongue stilled for
a moment as she came again, shuddering throughout her body.
     It was too much for Mulder. His body arched off the floor,
his legs shook, his fingers dug into her scalp and his hips thrust
and thrust.
Scully gulped his come, one hand still stroking her clit in slow,
languid movements to prolong her own orgasm as long as possible.
    His grip on her head eased up and turned to tender stroking,
and she lifted her mouth from his cock, giving it a few last laps
with her tongue, and stretched herself out beside him, her hand on
his heaving chest. Mulder gathered her into his arms and placed a
sleepy kiss on her forehead, and said, still gasping, "Is it so
terrible that I'd like to make love to you tonight? Just good old-
fashioned ordinary fucking?"
     "Wasn't that good?" she teased, and he kissed her again.
     "You know it was, but that's not the point."
     "We have plenty of time."
     There was a slight pause, and Mulder said in a hurt tone, "I
seem to recall you saying that before."
     "Well," Scully said slowly, "we've got that time back now,
don't we."
     "Yeah. I guess we do." He shifted a little, turning her more
to his side, and kissed her over her face for a few minutes.
     Scully stroked his hair and returned his kisses, and then
said, "I want to clean up a little bit. I'm sticky."
    He grinned at her, a wicked gleam in his eye, and took her
hand and started to lick her fingers. Scully laughed softly and
pulled away from him, picking up her discarded shirt. "I won't be
long." She gave him one last kiss and went into the bathroom,
buttoning her shirt as she went.
     Dreamily she ran a washcloth under the running tap and wiped
away their residue from her hands and legs and face. She reached
for one of the complimentary toothbrushes but decided, no. Not yet.
She wanted the taste of him to linger.

    ~Truly Madly Deeply: Runaway 8~
    A streetlight shone in through the curtains when Scully woke
up a few hours later. She blinked a few times, letting her eyes
adjust, and then embraced the nearest pillow to her chest and
snuggled her face against it. It smelled like Mulder.
    Mulder! She opened her eyes and looked around the hotel room,
and finally saw him at the table. He was staring out the window,
his chin in his hand and his legs sprawled. He looked over to the
bed at the sound of her stirring.
     "Mulder?" She sat up, the sheets falling to her waist. "Can't
you sleep?"
     "Are you thirsty?" he said in answer, and she saw the heavy
glass on the table by his hand. "Do you want something to drink?"
     "Yes, please."
     He stood and brought the glass to her, and held the rim to
her mouth. He'd put his jeans on again, and Scully found that more
unsettling than his silence. Ice clinked against her teeth as she
drank and she shivered at the coldness of the water as some ran
down her chin and onto her chest.
     "You got ice," she said when he took the glass away.
     "Yes." He wiped up the spilled water with his fingertips, and
that made Scully shiver again but with warmth this time. He still
smelled of them, a dark base note of sweat and sex in the
antiseptic room, and Scully put her hands on his denim-clad hips.
     "Come back to bed," she said softly. With his back to the
light his face was cast in shadow, and she didn't know how to
interpret the sigh he gave and the gentle way he laid his hands on
her shoulders.
     "I can't sleep, Scully."
     "Who said we'd sleep?" She smiled up at him, circling the top
button of his jeans with a fingertip.
    "You need your rest." His hand moved heavily through her hair.
     "I had a good nap this afternoon. Lie down with me, Mulder."
He'd lost weight recently. His jeans gaped a bit at the waist and
she slid her hand into the gap, against his warm hip. He made a low
noise that was neither protest nor encouragement, and his hand
cupped the back of her head. He tilted her face upwards.
     "There's still one thing you haven't told me. Something that
I just can't figure out."
     "What is it?" Soft was the wrong word to describe his skin,
though there was something vulnerable and sweet about the skin
covering his waist.
     "Why you were afraid to tell me about the baby."
     "Mulder . . ." She sighed and withdrew her hand from his
jeans. He went on holding her head, however, stroking her cheekbone
with one thumb. Like a film noir cinematographer, he'd placed them
perfectly: his face in shadow and hers in light.
     "Did I ever say I didn't want children, or didn't like them?
Did I ever do anything to show you that I didn't?"
     "No . . . but it's very easy to want children abstractly.
When you're faced with it in actuality it's terrifying."
     "So you faced that terror alone. Like you don't trust me with
your fear."
     "Mulder. . . ." she said again.
     "Or maybe you don't trust me with your joy."
     "It's not about trust."
     "Everything is about trust. It always has been."
     "How could I have told you? 'Pass that file and by the way,
I'm pregnant'? Come on."
     "Don't get defensive, Scully."
     "I'm not defensive," she muttered, and his silence felt like
a reproach. She said, "Or maybe I could have left the stick with
the little plus sign on your desk. That would have been subtle."
     "It has a certain poetry," Mulder said, and she wished she
could see his eyes, to tell if he was joking or not. "It was on
your mind, though, wasn't it? You suspected for a while."
     "The symptoms added up, that's all. I didn't want to believe
it."
She felt him sway a little and she said, "I don't mean it like that.
I couldn't believe it. It seemed so . . . impossible. I was afraid
to find out if it was true because I didn't want to be
disappointed. And I didn't want you to be disappointed either."
     "You never have to protect me from yourself, Scully," he
said, and his thumb brushed the corner of her eye where maybe a
tear or two had escaped. "You know, a large part of your allure is
that you're so mysterious and complex but sometimes it gets a
little wearing."
     "Forgive me for having a personality," she said tartly.
     "I love your personality," Mulder said. Scully sighed and
leaned her head against his stomach. He stroked her hair and the
back of her neck and said, "I love you. I do everything I can to
make you believe that. I love you with all of me and I feel like I
just wait around for these crumbs . . . I don't want you to change,
Scully, I just want you to remember."
     "I do remember," she said, her voice trembling. "I live and
breathe on it, Mulder. It gets me out of bed in the mornings and it
rocks me to sleep at night."
     "If that's true," Mulder said in a sad, tender tone that hurt
more than a slap in the face, "then why hide this from me?"
     Even in the dark his gaze felt scorching. She said, "Because
everything is different now and I was afraid of the change. I
didn't want you to treat me differently or think of me differently.
I wanted that good time, that wonderful happy careless moment, to
last just a little bit longer. I didn't want you to treat me like
I'm fragile."
     "You are fragile," Mulder said. "You're my tulip."
     "I am not! This is just what I'm talking about. I'm not a
tulip. Good God. I'm a flesh and blood woman who happens to be
pregnant--which is, by the way, a very healthy state of being."
     "But you're also everything else that you are to me. My tulip
and my little squirrel and my queen of heaven. And now the mother
of my child . . . that's powerful stuff. I don't think you've ever
really understood the power you have over me--or if you do, you
don't want to believe it."
     "But I don't want to have power over you, don't you see? I
just want to love you."
     "And that's power. Right there, that's power." He took her
hand and pressed her palm to his chest. "You own this, you know. I
just wonder if you really want it."
     "I'm wearing your ring, aren't I?"
     She thought he might be smiling. "That's a good symbolic
gesture, but are you going to back it up?"
     Scully straightened her spine and lifted her head. "Name the
day and I will. It will be permanent. It will be meaningful. It
will be everything you want, because I want it too."
     Mulder exhaled and sank down onto his knees. He lifted her
hand from his chest to his mouth and kissed it, and when he cupped
it to his face she realized he'd been crying -- for a while, from
the feel of it.
     "Mulder," she said, overwhelmed by the tenderness she felt
for him, "lie down with me. I need to hold you."
     He snuffled a little and stood, stripped off his jeans and
got into bed beside her. She turned to him and took her into his
arms, so that his head was against her breast and his body enfolded
against hers.
He sighed, rubbing his stubbled cheek against her for a moment,
and then his hand shyly crept down her body to gently rest on the
outmost curve of her belly.
     "I was afraid to want this," he said softly.
     "So was I. Now that we have it, now what?"
     He was silent a moment, and said, "We do our damnedest to get
it right."
     "Okay," Scully said. "I can live with that." She could feel
him relaxing as she held him, his body easing and smoothing against
hers.
His hand slid lightly up and down her side. She whispered, "I do
want you around. I need you." She looked up at the shadowed
ceiling. "Our baby needs you."
     "Our baby," he murmured. "Have you thought about what you
want to name her?"
     "I have a few ideas."
    "Tell."
    "If it's a boy his middle name will be William."
     "Fair enough."
     "For a first name I think something solid and traditional,
like Caleb or Benjamin."
     "Those are nice."
     "If it's a girl I think something less traditional. Roxanne.
Georgia. Bettina," she added, and Mulder's hand paused its gentle
teasing.
     "Bettina," he repeated and sighed. "No."
     "I thought it was a Jewish tradition to name a child after a
deceased relative."
     "It is, but I don't want to name her Bettina."
     "Why not? It's an unusual, pretty name. It's got personal
meaning for us. I think it would be a good way to honor your
mother."
     "After the life my mother led giving a child her name feels
more like a curse than an honor."
     "You don't mean that."
     "Yes, I do, Scully. And what would we call her? I don't
especially like Betty and I don't want to call her Teena."
     "Then we'll call her Bettina."
     He sighed again and was silent a long time. "No," he said
finally.
"Any other name you like but not that one. Please, Scully. I can't."
     "All right, love, all right. What about as a middle name?"
     "Well . . . maybe."
     She nodded, satisfied with that for now. She played with the
hair on the back of his arm and said, "What about you? Any names
you like?"
     "Hey, just as long as it's not Fox."
     "Or Bettina."
     "Or Bettina. Or Samantha."
     "Why is my family okay and yours out?"
     "Because . . . because it is. William is fine. Margaret is
fine. What about Margaret? We could call her Daisy."
     "Daisy is pretty . . ."
     "Margaret Bettina," Mulder said. "Daisy. That might work." He
sang against her belly, "'Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do, I'm
half crazy all for the love of you . . .'"
Scully laughed softly and he looked up at her. He smiled at her
and moved up to hover over her body, holding himself up with his
hands planted on the mattress by her head. "Or we could name her
after you and call her Tulip."
     "Mulder," she began, but laughed instead of lecturing him.
     "There's a little anonymous poem. 'My love is more beautiful
than the Rose of Sharon . . .'"
    "Mulder. No flower names, all your romantic notions aside.
Except maybe  Daisy."
     "That's a good old-fashioned name, isn't it. Sweet."
     "Sweet. Very sweet. Kiss me." She pulled his head down to
hers and kissed him, nudging open his lips with the tip of her
tongue. He parted his mouth and her tongue darted in, to tease and
taste his mouth until his tongue chased hers into her mouth where
he gave her the same treatment.
     They barely paused for breath between kisses, barely let one
end before the next began. Still, he held his body away from hers
no matter how much she soothed and stroked him. He caught her hand
when she slid it down his thigh and held it by her head.
     "Don't," he whispered.
     "Why not?"
     He chuckled slightly against her neck. "Give me a minute. I
want this to be good for you, too."
     "It's always good for me when I'm with you."
     He moaned against her neck, losing the mouthful of skin he'd
been working on, and swiftly kissed her mouth before sliding his
lips to her soft underarm.
     Scully squealed as his tongue tickled her and she tried to
free her hand from his. He chortled in triumph and nibbled and
kissed his way up her arm to her trapped hand, which he kissed as
seriously as if it were her lips. She watched him through half-
closed lids, marveling, as she often did, that he loved her body,
loved her, with such focused passion.
     She caressed his face until he opened his eyes and looked at
her. "I want you," she said simply. "I need you."
 "I need you too," he said, his voice growing more husky with
every word, "I need you so much, Scully, every day, all the time, I
need to see your face and hear your voice and feel your skin . . .
need to touch and taste and smell you . . ."
     "I know." She arched up towards him, gliding her hands to his
hips.
He settled against her carefully, still keeping most of his weight
off her body.
     "Are you sure this won't hurt the baby?"
     "I'm sure."
     "'Cause that's the last thing I want to do." He sucked the
base of her neck. "I don't want to hurt her . . . I don't want to
hurt you."
     "You won't hurt us."
     "Us," he murmured, and moved down her body to place wonder-
filled kisses on her stomach.  "This is so beautiful, Scully. It's
us. It's you and me. It's something we made . . . something that
exists because we made it."
     "It is beautiful." She smiled at him and touched his cheek.
Part of her was surprised at how quickly he was ready for her
again, but it was only a small part. The rest was pleased that he
was as hungry for her as he had always been, as she was at this
moment for him. Her legs fell open at his touch and Mulder slid
inside her, still gentle, still careful. They both moaned, soft and
low, and though Scully wanted to close her eyes at the sheer
pleasure of the sensations he produced, she couldn't tear her eyes
from his. She could believe anything when he looked at her like
that, like she was goddess and lover and friend and companion all
at once, keeper of his secrets and guardian of his heart.
     She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his
waist. "Deeper," she breathed into his ear, and he groaned and
kissed her.
He grasped her thighs and brought her legs higher, making her gasp.
It was hard to respond to him the way she wanted with the
unaccustomed weight of the baby, but he seemed willing to make up
for it, to maneuver her body to give her the most pleasure he could.
     Her hands glided over him, scratching his skin lightly and
caressing his face. He turned his head to kiss her hand whenever it
passed near his mouth. Sweat began to drip from his hairline, and
she gathered it up and sucked it from her fingertips.
 He slid his arms under her head and kissed her mouth, and she
parted his lips to him, welcoming his tongue. He kissed her
luxuriously, his thrusts within her slow and deep. He paused his
kiss long enough to whisper, "Doing all right?"
     "Mm . . . yeah . . ."
     "You don't need to rest or anything?"
     "I'm good . . . so good . . ." She brought down his head to
kiss him again. "Feels so good . . ."
     "Yeah?" He withdrew from her almost entirely and thrust again
in one long stroke.
    "Ahh . . . yeah . . ." She slid her legs up higher until they
were nearly under his arms. "Deeper," she whispered again. "Please,
deeper." Her hands moved restlessly over his sides and back. She
didn't know how to explain it but when they made love she reached a
state of heightened awareness, so that everything--the sheets, the
walls, Mulder's skin, the furnishings--took on a new significance,
as if she'd never touched them before.
     "You okay?"
     "I'm wonderful. Don't stop yet."
     He chuckled low in his chest and took her breast in his
mouth. She could sense his control slipping, that he was trying to
keep his movements slow and sexy, but his body had other ideas.
Scully swept the hair from his forehead and whispered, "Just let it
go, love. I trust you."
     Mulder turned his face away for a moment, pausing. A drop of
sweat cascaded down the side of his face and Scully flicked her
tongue to lick it off, which made him shudder. He wrapped her hair
in his fist and tilted back her head, and his mouth fastened onto
her neck as he thrust within her, hard and fast. His grunts came
from deep in his chest and she moaned, "Let me hear you. I want to
hear you." Her hands fluttered and danced over him. With each
contraction of her womb she imagined her baby awash in salty waves
like a skiff in a hurricane.
     She laughed even as she moaned and Mulder's mouth released
her neck. "Scully?"
     "I was just thinking--what Daisy thinks of this--who dares
disturb Her Majesty's slumber--"
    Anxiety creased his forehead. "Should I stop?"
     "No! God, no. No. Don't stop. Don't stop until you're done.
Don't stop, Mulder, don't stop," she chanted as he ground against
her, until his body shuddered fiercely and his face closed off to
her just for a moment.
    He collapsed onto her and then like an afterthought he pulled
them both onto their sides. "Wouldn't do to crush you," he
whispered.
     "You're not going to crush me," but she made no move to
change their position. She loved to be held like this, wrapped up
in him as if there was no end to her body and no beginning to his.
     Mulder nuzzled his face against her hair but didn't answer.
His breath was already evening out, and she smiled and worked free
one arm to slip her hand into his hair. She lightly scratched the
base of his skull, knowing this would send him into sleep, and he
sighed in contentment.
     "Love you," he whispered.
     "Love you." She hauled herself up a little to kiss his
forehead and his lips, and then tucked her head under his chin.
     She was on the verge of sleep herself when she felt something
in her belly--a quiver of movement like a breeze against her cheek.
Her eyes flew open and she held her breath, and after a moment or
two she felt it again. It was like a rose petal, like distant
music, like a shy first kiss.
     Scully took Mulder's hand and pressed it over the flutter,
and after a moment he mumbled, "Scully . . ."
     "I can feel the baby move. Go back to sleep."
     "Mm," he said, and then propped himself up on his arm, his
eyes open wide. "Scully? You can feel her?"
     "It's very faint. Can you feel anything?"
     "I think . . . no. No, not yet." He bent and placed kisses on
her stomach, beside where she held his hand.
     "I was afraid," Scully said quietly. "My doctor said if I
didn't feel movement by the end of the week he wanted to do an
ultrasound, to see if she'd--if I'd--"
    "If she'd died," Mulder whispered.
     "Yes." He looked up at her and she touched his cheek. "But
she's moving."
     He sighed and kissed her stomach again, and laid his head
just above where the rise began. His hand stroked her stomach and
she caressed his hair.
     "Scully?"
     "Yes, love?"
     "Did you pray tonight?"
     Scully paused. He'd been bemused by her habit before, never
ridiculing it but not taking it seriously, either. She said simply,
"No, I haven't, thank you for reminding me," and slipped out of bed
to kneel beside it. She watched, dumbfounded, as he got out of bed
and knelt at her side and put his arm around her.
     "I'd like to pray with you." He looked away a moment, and
when he looked back his eyes were damp. "I want to thank somebody
for this and God seems like a good idea."
     Scully put her hands on top of his on the blanket, but it was
a few moments before she could speak. When she prayed her voice was
steady, and Mulder's hand tightly clasped hers.

    ~Truly Madly Deeply: Runaway 9~
    Scully awoke abruptly, gasping, both hands flying to her
stomach.
She lay tensely for a moment, her breath harsh in her ears. Her
wide- open eyes flew about the dim room, barely noting the pale
sliver of sunshine coming in beneath the blinds. She felt like
someone had been watching her, as if she'd been surrounded by the
Grays that had inhabited the dream that woke her. She felt as if
the door had just closed behind someone who should not have been
there to begin with.
     Behind her Mulder mumbled and pulled her closed to him with
his arm across her chest. Beneath her hands the baby made her tiny
rose-petal movements and settled into sleep again.
     Safe. They both were safe. Her love and her child, safe.
     Deliberately Scully slowed her breathing to Mulder's pace and
willed her heart to slow down as well. Calm, she thought, be calm.
Just a dream like a dozen others you've had. Just breathe, it's
behind you now.
     After a moment Mulder ran a sleepy hand through her hair.
"Scully? You're awake."
     "Yes."
     "Are you okay?" He placed his hand just beneath her breasts.
"Your heart is racing."
     "Nightmare," she said, and he made a soft sound in his throat
and pulled her closer.
     "Do you want to tell me about it?"
    "I--" She took another deep breath and slowly let it out. "I
dreamed that They had you. You and the baby both. I could see what
they were doing to you, how much they were hurting you, how much
they were hurting my baby. I screamed and my voice made no sound.
There was an invisible wall between us and I hit it, I beat on it
as hard as I could, but I couldn't break it down. I could see you
both looking at me--your eyes--" Her voice quivered and she turned
to Mulder and pressed her cheek to his chest.
     "Oh, honey," he murmured. "Sh, sh, now. It's all over."
     "You looked at me as if I could save you," she said and began
to cry in earnest. Damn damn damn, she thought, but only kept her
face hidden against his chest as he stroked her back and hair.
     "Do you want analysis or comfort?" he said after a while, and
she choked out a laugh.
     "Comfort, please."
     "Always." He continued to kiss and stroke her, and eventually
her tears and trembling slowed and stopped. She lay quietly in his
arms for some time longer, though, listening to the steady thump of
his heart.
     "You know," Mulder began, then paused.
     "What do I know?"
     "I understand it's common for expectant mothers to have
dreams about their babies, but I'm not sure this fits into the
usual, uh, paradigm."
     "The books say it's common to have dreams about giving birth
to a fish or some such creature--or a hamburger--" Mulder laughed
and she smiled a little and continued, "but of course I have dreams
about giving birth to E.T."
     "They're just dreams, honey."
     "I know . . . I've never been very good at guiding my dreams,
though. Most of the time I don't even realize I'm dreaming until
after I've woken up."
    He moved off his side onto his back, so that she was partially
draped over him, her cheek on his chest. "How much, do you think,
this dream was influenced by memory?" he asked softly, and she
raised her eyes to look at him.
     "Very much."
     He sighed and put his hand into her hair to rub the back of
her head. "I wish you'd let me take you to a hypnotherapist. You
need to get these memories worked out-- "
    "Mulder . . ."
    "I know, I know. I worry, that's all."
     "I know you do." She propped herself up on her elbow. "I'd
rather deal with these memories my own way."
    He rolled his eyes and flipped aside the blankets to get out
of bed.
"What do you want to do for breakfast?"
     "I don't know." Scully lay back, pulling up the sheets, and
watched him as he stretched and walked to the bathroom.
     "I could get something or we could order in."
     "I doubt anyplace around here delivers breakfast."
     "Or we could go out. How do you feel about that?" He paused
in the doorway to the bathroom to look at her.
     "I think that would be all right. What time is it?"
    "My watch is on the night stand." He went into the bathroom
and shut the door.
    Scully hauled herself closer to the night stand and picked up
Mulder's watch. Ten after nine. We need to get going, she thought,
and then flopped back despondently to the pillows, clutching his
watch. Get going where?
     She slipped the watch onto her wrist and turned it so that it
faced inwards. The watch was too big, of course, and slid down her
arm nearly to her elbow. She turned it to the inside of her wrist
and ran her fingers around the face. Ten after nine, nowhere to go,
nothing to do but find another place to hide.
    I've already run, she thought, and look what happened. Mulder
found me, the smoking man found me without breaking a sweat. I
don't want to run . . . but what will happen if we stay still?
     She drew the blankets up over her head and curled herself up
into the smallest shell she could manage.  The panic felt cold and
sharp, and she wished for one moment that she could be normal,
worrying about nothing more than whether to paint the baby's room
pink or blue.
     The bathroom door opened and Mulder said, "Scully?" as he sat
down beside her on the bed. He stroked her back through the
blankets. "What is it?"
     "Mulder--" She clawed the blanket away from her face and
grabbed his hands, sitting up. "Mulder, where are we going to go,
what are we going to do? I can't think--I don't know the answers--"
    "There's a Denny's just up the highway," he said cautiously.
"I noticed it last night."
     She wanted to hug him and slug him at once, and she said,
"After breakfast. Today. Tonight. Tomorrow. What are we going to
do?"
     "Oh," he said, wrapping her up in his arms. "Is that all."
     "It's an important question, or had you forgotten? We have
nowhere to go and nothing to live on and a baby to care for, and I
need a doctor, Mulder, I need to see a doctor and be monitored and
make sure the baby is healthy--I need ultrasounds and tests and
vitamins--"
    "Scully," Mulder said, "you are beginning to sound hysterical."
     "I am not hysterical, I am telling you what's necessary.
Where in the world is a safe place for us? Have you thought about
that? I can't stop thinking about that. There is nowhere we can go
that he can't find us. He'll hunt us down, Mulder, he'll torture
and torment us and we'll never be really safe, Mulder, don't you
see? I can't raise my child in a world like that but I have no
choice. There's no safe place. No safe places anywhere."
    "Scully," he said more firmly, and held her face between his
hands.
"Scully, look at me. Look at me. Look into my eyes, okay? Are you
looking?" She nodded, her eyes locked onto his. "You're looking?
Okay. Listen to me. I will find you a safe place. I promise.
Somewhere in the world, there is a safe place for us. You want to
know where I think it is?" She nodded again and he kissed her
forehead. "I think," he said, "we have to go back to Washington. I
think that's where we'll be safe."
    "Mulder, you're nuts."
     "You knew that already." He grinned, easing his hold on her
face.
     "You're serious," she said in disbelief.
    "Yes. Think about it, Scully, we'll be close to our friends,
your family. We need our friends. You need your mother." His voice
dropped low and he said, "I need you to be in a place where I know
people will take care of you if I can't."
     "Do you expect something to happen to you?"
     "No, honey, no. But we have to be prepared. And think of it,
Scully: your own doctor who's attended you for years, and your
mother around to pamper you and advise you on what's going on, and
the guys around to buy you goofy presents and spoil the baby. How
does that sound?"
     She sniffled. "Sounds like a daydream, Mulder."
     "But a nice daydream. Don't you think?"
     "Yes. Very nice." She leaned her face against his shoulder
and wrapped her arms around his chest.
     "We can make it real, Scully," he said in his softest voice,
the one that warmed her like spiced cider. "I want to make it real
for you. A home of our own, near the people we love. Will you let
me do that?"
     "And go back to work at the FBI?"
     "I still love my work, Scully. I don't want to leave it
unless we have no other choice. Would you want to go back?"
     "I don't know. I can't imagine leaving Daisy in daycare. I
wouldn't trust anyone enough to take care of her."
     "Would you want to stay home, then?"
     "I don't know." She lolled her forehead against his shoulder.
"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know . . . I told you I don't
have any answers. I don't have them. Every option I see seems
hopeless."
     "Not hopeless, honey, I promise. There's hope for us."
     "He could walk into her school and give them a smooth story
and take her away. He could take her off the street while she's
playing. He's so good at lying she'd believe him no matter what we
taught her."
     "I'm trying to find the answers for you, Scully."
     "I know, I'm not being very helpful." She looked up at him
and ran her thumb along the side of his face. "I don't want to live
on the run."
     "I know."
     "But I don't see how we could live a normal life, Mulder. At
this point the only thing I can think of is finding some remote
hiding place out west somewhere and living in a cabin in the
woods." She sighed. "I want to lie down."
    He arranged the pillows and got beneath the blankets with her.
"You know, Scully, if you want me to change my name to Bubba and
work in a gas station I'll do it. But I really think the best thing
to do is go home."
     "No one would believe you as a Bubba."
     "Well, there goes that plan, I guess."
     "I'd go anywhere if I thought it was safe enough. Anywhere in
the world. Going home seems like asking for more trouble that we
can afford."
     "Everything is asking for trouble. That's what we do, Scully.
It follows us around."
     "I've noticed," she said dryly.
     "I'd rather be where I know you can be safe, you know,
secured away by people we trust, than out in the middle of nowhere."
     "But the Cancer Man--"
    "I know, I know, he could do anything to disrupt our lives and
probably will do more, but the thing is, Scully, would you rather
let him know we're afraid of him or show him that we're not?"
     Scully scowled. He was doing this on purpose, the bastard.
"You said that just to piss me off."
     "Or to make you think. You think better when you're angry
than when you're scared." He brushed back some hair from her face
and smiled at her sadly. "Let's go home, Scully. Come home with me."
     She leaned her head against his shoulder again, but not with
despair this time. For the first time since she smelled the Cancer
Man's cigarette smoke in the Blue Moon, her mind felt clear and
smooth. Every option led one place: home. She wasn't sure if it was
the home Mulder meant or if there was another one waiting for them
somewhere, but it hardly mattered. They would find it.
     "Home," she said, looking up at Mulder again, "but first we
go back to Leslie and get the things I bought for the baby."
     "Are you sure? Do you think it will be safe?"
     "I don't want to leave those things behind."
     "But they're only things, Scully."
     "But they're special things. I found the most beautiful
christening gown, Mulder, it's perfect, it's got tatted lace on the
collar and the hem and there's a little cap . . ." She stopped,
because his expression was entirely too indulgent. "I guess I
shouldn't go into why I like the stuffed animals, should I."
     "Because they're based on the original drawings from Winnie
the Pooh?"
     "Yes. That is why. The original Eeyore is much cuter than the
Disney one. Am I obsessing?"
     "Yes, but you're allowed. If we do go back to Leslie, though,
I think I should go the apartment myself. Maybe you could wait in
the car or something."
     "Mulder, if something happens to you--"
    "Nothing will happen, but I'd feel better knowing you were--
you know, elsewhere."
     Scully thought it over a moment, then said, "All right. Take
me to the Blue Moon. They'll watch over me there."
     "All right," Mulder said softly, and there was something in
his tender gaze that made her blush and smile.
    "What?" she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I
know I'm a mess."
     "I was just thinking . . . all sorts of mushy things that
will embarrass you if I say them out loud, so I won't."
 "Oh, I don't know . . . I don't mind mushy things once in a while.
Try me."
     He went on smiling at her, and said, "I love way you look in
the morning. All tousled and pink. You look like you got some good
lovin' last night."
     "Must be because I did." She started to stroke his chest and
he closed his eyes and chuckled.
     "Just call me angel of the morning, baby," he said in a
gravely voice, and Scully laughed.
     "Actually, what I really want this morning . . ."
     "Uh-huh?"
     "What I really want is eggs."
     "Oh." He looked only slightly disappointed. "Time to get you
some breakfast."
     "Time to feed the pregnant lady. God, I sound like a zoo
attraction. See the amazing expanding woman and her bottomless
belly." She sighed.
     "It's cute, that bottomless belly of yours." He gave it a
kiss and a few loving pats. "Good morning, Daisy Day," he said,
giving her stomach another kiss, and he got out of bed.
     "Mulder, wait. C'mere. Give me your hands."
     He put his hands in hers. "I'm not going to feel anything,
it's too soon."
     "Try. For me." Scully placed their hands on her stomach,
moving them around to follow the baby's movements. "Anything?"
     He shook his head. "Not yet."
     "You will. It's so wonderful, Mulder, she's moving around."
     He touched her cheek, smiling. "Do you want the shower first?"
     "I can wait." She watched him go into the bathroom, her hands
still on her stomach as she felt the baby swim around like a lithe
fish. Little fishie, she thought, little Daisy Day. Be well, my
baby, she thought, and took a deep breath and let it out. She
imagined the last of her panic slip away like an outgoing tide, and
in a few minutes she could feel her body loosen and relax. She
thought she might even sleep a little longer.

    ~Truly Madly Deeply: Runaway 10~
    "Katie!" Luana cried when Scully entered the diner, and she
rushed from behind the counter to hug her. "Are you okay?"
 Scully rested her head on Luana's shoulder for a moment, hugging
her tightly, then lifted her head and said, "We're okay. Did he--
did that man come back?"
     "I haven't seen him. I don't think anybody here has--but
there's been a car out in front sometimes. A big silver car, a
Cadillac, I think. You sure you're okay?" She glanced at Mulder,
who stood protectively behind Scully with his hand on her shoulder.
"Are you here to stay?"
    "No. We're leaving. We're going home."
    "Oh," Luana said softly,"I'm going to miss you something
awful, Katie."
     "I'm going to miss you, too." The two women embraced again.
"You've got me for a few hours more, though."
     "Oh? Why's that?"
     "We need to ask a favor," Mulder said. "Will you watch over
Scully for a couple hours? I'm going to pack up her apartment and
then we'll be on our way."
     "Of course we will," Luana said. "You're safe here, honey."
     "Thanks." She let Luana go and Mulder slipped his hand into
her hair and kissed her forehead. "You be careful."
     "I will. Love you." He kissed her again.
     "Love you too."
     He squeezed her hand and left the diner, and Scully stood at
the door and watched him through the glass as he got into the car
and drove away. Luana hugged her again across her shoulders.
     "You've got a good man there."
     "The best." She smiled at Luana briefly and said, "Which
table is free?"
    *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Warm, buttery scrambled eggs, orange juice and toast made up
her second breakfast of the day, a much more satisfying one than
the doughnuts and milk Mulder had bought for them at a convenience
store earlier. She ate slowly, trying to pass the time.
     Luana had seated her near the back of the diner by a window,
and Scully looked up whenever she heard a car pass. None of them
were a large silver Cadillac--only the usual hatchbacks and pickup
trucks she saw every day in Leslie.
    She asked Luana for a pen and some blank paper, and Luana
brought her an misprinted order pad and a ballpoint pen. Scully
uncapped the pen and hesitated for a few moments, circling the
point above the paper, and then started to write.
     "Daisy,
    I don't know if this name will be yours once you're born but
right now it seems to suit. I'll have to paste this letter into the
diary later. Of course I don't know if you'll ever read this diary
anyway.
I think it's more for me than you.
     Everything has changed since I wrote last. Your father is
here in Alabama, which I think I knew would happen eventually. I
think I wanted it to. He's convinced me to go home, back to
Washington, and the truth is I'm relieved and glad to go. I've
missed my friends and family terribly. I've missed your father.
Someday when you're in love I'm sure you'll understand   though I
pray with all my heart you won't have to face what we have faced.
     Oh, my baby, my child, I can't stop being afraid."
    She paused and wiped her eyes with a paper napkin, and then
wrote resolutely, "But I will do whatever I must to protect you.
Love, Mother."
     She tore the papers off the pad and laid them on the table.
Barely forty minutes had passed since Mulder had left. She didn't
think it would take him much longer to finish packing--and though
her mind wanted to fly to all the terrible possibilities that could
happen she refused to let it. She wrote on another sheet off the
pad, in large block letters, "I WILL NOT PANIC. I WILL BE POSITIVE.
I AM NOT AFRAID."
     My daily affirmation, she thought wryly, and tore the paper
into shreds. She hated to be idle, though, and here was an entire
pad of paper and a pen. She picked up the pen again and wrote
"Mulder," and then smiled a little and wrote it again, this time in
ornate letters.
She and Melissa had pretended to write in calligraphy this way as
children, and in junior high school in the throes of a crush she
would write the boy's name in the margins of her papers like this,
with the occasional "Mrs." added on. So she now wrote, "Mrs. Fox
William Mulder," giving it many ornamentations and swirls. It
didn't look right, though: it looked like someone else's name.
"Dana Mulder," she wrote, in her regular handwriting, and it didn't
look right either. "Dana Scully-Mulder," she wrote, and that was
worst of all.
    She scribbled out all the names and put down her pen. They
would have to talk about names. They would have to talk about a lot
of things. This would take some getting used to, this being married.
     Luana slipped into the booth seat opposite her, with a cup of
coffee for herself and a glass of orange juice for Scully. "So,"
Luana said, "tell me what happened."
     Scully sipped the juice. "Not much, really. We drove for a
while and talked a lot, and decided that home is the place we
belong." She twisted the ring absently.
     Luana grabbed her hand. "Katie, honey, this is news."
     "And we're getting married."
     "It's beautiful."
     "He had it custom made." She twisted the ring again. "He's
been waiting a long time."
     "And you only just now said yes?"
     "He only just now asked."
 Luana leaned closer and said, "And did you celebrate?"
     "Luana," Scully said, embarrassed.
     "Did you?"
     "Yes." She could feel herself blushing. "Yes, we did." They
leaned their heads together, giggling, and Scully said, "Lu, there
has never been anybody in the world like him. Ever. He should be
enshrined.
He's legendary. He's like a tall tale. Generations from now people
will refuse to believe he was real."
    "You've got it so bad for him," Luana said.
     "I know."
     "It's sweet. You look so happy. I don't think you've ever
really looked happy before."
     "Thanks," Scully said softly. "I think . . . I think I am."
     Luana smiled widely and patted her hand, and got up from the
booth.
"Come say goodbye to me before you go, okay?"
     "I will." She smiled at Luana as she walked away. They would
have to keep in touch. She didn't want to lose a friend like this.
    She doodled more on the pad, and soon found herself drawing a
head. A small head, with round cheeks and large eyes. Dark eyes,
she thought, crosshatching to make them darker. And plump lips, and
dimples. It wasn't a very good head--she was not any better at
sketching than she was at calligraphy--but it made her smile.
"Daisy," she wrote beneath it, and then tore that sheet off the pad
and laid it with her other doodles, fanned out on the table top.
     She sipped the orange juice Luana had brought for her and
wiped her mouth with her napkin. Bathroom time again, she thought
with a grimace, and slid out of the booth.
    *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    "But she is all right, isn't she?" Scully's landlord said as
Mulder closed the car's trunk. He eyed the suitcase and folded
blankets suspiciously, as if he expected to see severed limbs
rolling out. "I'd feel a lot better if she signed out the lease
herself."
    "She's fine." It was hard to not grow impatient with the man's
natterings, but Mulder didn't want him to think he'd see them on
the Most Wanted list anytime soon. "I'll have her call you from the
diner, if you want."
     "No," the man said absently, "I guess the girls will let me
know. Don't put that there!" he nearly shouted as Mulder stacked
Scully's pillows in the back seat.
     "What?"
     "Keep them in the front. Car trips are hard on pregnant
women, she'll need back support."
    "Oh. Thanks." He put the pillows in the front passenger seat
and shut the door. "That's everything."
     The landlord shook his head sadly. "Tell Katie I'll miss her.
She was a dream of a tenant."
     "I will." Mulder decided not to mention his opinion of the
man's property. "Thanks. Goodbye." He got into the car and started
it up, and pulled away from the curb as the landlord watched him
dejectedly from the sidewalk.
     It had taken too long to get the place cleared out. He'd
taken the food to a homeless shelter, just like Scully wanted, and
the head of the shelter had been profuse in her thanks--ten minutes
of profusion, when all Mulder wanted was to get back to Scully's
apartment. He had to dismantle the crib, which he'd thought
wouldn't take long--Scully had put it together without the benefit
of tools, right? Half an hour later he found Scully's toolbox under
the kitchen sink and finally got the crib apart. He had to fit
maternity clothes and her regular clothes into one small suitcase,
and then of course the things she'd bought for the baby, which had
the advantage of being tiny. Then there were things like her
portable stereo and the few toys she'd acquired and the Beatrix
Potter print. "Don't forget that," she had told him time and again
in the car.
     The physical labor gave him time to think, though, and
thought he had done, particularly as he held the fragile
christening gown. A baby, a real baby. His baby. Their baby. At
last he'd found love and was given this amazing miracle in addition.
     Of course he was scared shitless, but he figured that was a
given. Here he was at the ripe old age of forty, facing fatherhood.
It felt like a cruel gag, the setup to a joke where he would be the
punchline.
     Except it was real. There was a being, a real person, growing
inside Scully, someone who might have his eyes and Scully's nose
and her mother's hair. Someone who might like science or history or
music, who might be a doctor or an artist or a extreme mountain
biker. Someone who would call him Daddy.
     That felt like the biggest joke of all.
     He was tempted, for a brief moment as he packed the tiny
clothes, to leave the car in front of the Blue Moon and take off.
She would be better off without out him, he thought. She would find
someone who knew about being a father, someone who wasn't a
neurotic mess.
     Except he knew that he couldn't let either of them go. Not
Scully, never Scully, and not their child. When he first placed his
hands on Scully's belly he had felt something utterly foreign to
him--a strange, overwhelming tenderness that swept through him and
left him shaken and exhilerated. He wondered if that was what
paternal love felt like--this need to love and protect and feed and
comfort and hold this little alien, this creature called his child.
    Not alien, he thought. Very much a creation of this world.
Made the old-fashioned way by two people so in love they can hardly
see straight.
     Speaking of seeing straight--he eased his foot off the gas,
reminding himself that crashing the car at this point would not get
him to Scully any sooner.
     He finally reached the Blue Moon and slowed the car. There
were police cars and a fire truck in front of the restaurant, but
he couldn't see any smoke in the air. He pulled the car to the curb
and got out, and walked to the nearest officer.
     "What's happened?" he said, and the officer stepped away from
her partner for a moment.
     "There was a small fire in the kitchen. It's under control
but we're waiting for the all-clear to let the patrons back inside.
Do you work here, sir?"
     "No, my--um--my fiancee was waiting here for me."
     She gestured down the street. "They're waiting at the corner."
     "Thank you." He went towards the clump of people she'd
indicated. He could see Luana, and some of the others looked
familiar, but there was no sign of Scully. Maybe they'd sent her
into one of the stores to rest her feet.
     He tapped Luana on the shoulder and she turned, huddled into
her coat. "Steve--Mulder--um--"
    "Where's Dana?"
     "Oh--um--" She took Mulder's arm and pulled him away from the
others. She whispered, "I can't find her."
     Mulder felt like he had been kicked in the chest, and he
managed to gasp out, "What?"
     "I saw her go into the restroom and then the fire started and
then it got really confused and there were so many people and then--
and then--" Her lips trembled and she looked down at her shoes.
"And then I couldn't find her."
     "Luana," he gripped her shoulders, "did you see anybody in
the restaurant who looked really, really out of place? Someone who
stood out in a weird way? Someone dressed like a B-movie thug or
too aware of people watching him? Think, Luana, please."
     "I didn't notice anybody. I'm sorry, Steve--Mulder--I'm sorry."
     "It's okay, it's okay." He hugged her briefly. "Don't panic.
She's got to be around here somewhere, right? I'll find her."
     She nodded, her eyes full, and folded her hands together and
twisted them up between her breasts. "I'm going to pray," she
whispered.
    "Okay," he said and went to find someone in authority. He
thought, Whatever God listens to us has a very twisted sense of
humor.
     He approached the fire chief, who was talking to one of the
police officers. They both stopped talking when they saw him. He
took out his badge and showed it to them. "Fox Mulder, FBI. There's
someone unaccounted for."
     "You're Mulder?" the police officer said, and Mulder had to
swallow hard before he could speak.
     "Yes. What's happened?"
     The fire chief glanced at the officer, coughed and stepped
away. The officer looked annoyed and said, "My name's Payton. Some
items were found inside. Will you come with me, please?"
     "What kind of items?" Mulder said as he followed him to the
nearest police car.
     "A coat, what appears to be a letter, some drawings, and your
name written several times over." He handed Mulder an evidence bag
with the papers inside.
     "Can I open it?"
     "Go ahead."
     Mulder opened the bag and took out the pages. "This is my
fiancee's handwriting," he said quietly, and sank down onto the
edge of the car seat. He went on, turning the pages over, "She's,
uh, she's expecting. This is a diary to the baby. These--she
doodles when she's nervous. This--" He came to the paper with his
name written over and over, and his voice broke.
     The officer sighed and knelt down to be at Mulder's eye
level. "Why would your fiancee be nervous, sir?"
     Mulder glanced up at him sharply and said, "As you can see
from the diary it wasn't because of me."
     "Yes, sir, I read the diary. It wasn't about waiting for your
return."
     "No. It wasn't. There's--" He stopped, trying to find a way
to cast their story so it wouldn't sound insane. "There's someone
after her.
Someone she'd run away from before. And I strongly believe that
someone is the person who took her."
     "Do you have a name, a description?"
     "Yes."
     "And why is this person pursuing your fiancee?"
     Mulder whispered, "Because he wants her child," and closed
his eyes.
     Payton sighed again and tapped his knuckle against the side
of the car. "Mr. Mulder," he said gently, "is he the father of the
child?"
     "No. He might be mine."
     "Might be?"
     "It's complicated."
     "I understand. Well. If you'll come down to the station and
file a report we'll get the investigation started."
     "I'll help in any way I can."
     "Sir, if you're personally involved--"
    "I know, I know, but you've got to understand, she's not just--
she's--she's everything to me."
    Payton was about to answer when one of the other officers came
to the car. "We found another item," she said and placed a small
evidence bag in Payton's hand. Payton turned it over and then held
it up so Mulder could see.
     "Do you recognize this?"
     Mulder's throat closed. He said hoarsely, "That's her
engagement ring," and leaned his head onto his knees.

    ~End Part I~


    ~Truly Madly Deeply: Lights in the Sky 1~
    ~December 20, 2000~
    Mrs. Scully had a Christmas wreath on her front door:
evergreens and pine cones and poinsettias, artfully arranged.
Mulder wondered if she had made it herself. It seemed like
something she would do.
     He pressed the doorbell and looked out to the street while he
waited for someone to answer. The neighborhood looked so normal,
with its holiday lights and Christmas cheer. It was the kind of
place Scully should live. There was even enough room for a dog in
those picket- fenced yards.
     His hand fell away from the doorbell and he took a few
shallow breaths. How could he tell Mrs. Scully he'd lost her
daughter?
     The door opened behind him. He turned and Mrs. Scully said,
"Fox?
What's happened? Where's Dana?"
     "Mrs. Scully--I--can I come in?"
     "Of course." She stepped back and shut the door behind him.
The house smelled of pine and bayberry wax, and from another room
Nat King Cole sang about chestnuts roasting on an open fire. "My
sons are here with their families," Mrs. Scully said. "Would you
like to come into the kitchen? Say hello to everyone? You look like
you could use something hot."
     "Thanks, um, no."
 A dark-haired young man looked out from the kitchen. "Mom?"
    Maggie smiled at him briefly. "Charlie, this is Fox Mulder,
Dana's partner."
     "Oh. So you're Dana's partner." He gave the same quick smile
and said, "We've got hot cocoa and fresh cookies, if you don't mind
playing Monopoly with my kids."
     "Thanks," Mulder said again. "No. I just stopped by to tell
Mrs.
Scully the latest news."
     "Dana," Mrs. Scully whispered. "You found something, didn't
you?"
     He watched as Charlie moved closer to his mother and took her
hand. "I did. I--I found Dana in Alabama. She's all right--" Mrs.
Scully gasped and Charlie squeezed her hand. Mulder had to look
away. "She was all right."
     "Was!" Charlie exclaimed
    "Charles, let him tell it. Go on, Fox."
     He focused his eyes on his shoes, noticing absently that they
were scuffed and muddy. "She was kidnaped while I was there."
     Mrs. Scully closed her eyes and turned her head towards her
son for a moment. "No," she said.
     "The local police sent me home. They told me they'll let me
know when they find anything. I'll let you know as soon as I do."
He couldn't look at her. The pain in her face was too much.
     "Who would take her, Fox? Why would they take her? Why would
they take my baby girl?"
     Mulder grimaced at her choice of words. "She's--she's got
something they want." He was certain Mrs. Scully didn't know about
Scully's pregnancy, and if Scully hadn't deemed it wise to tell her
mother he was not going to tell her either.
    "Is it that thing in her neck? Is that what this is about? Do
they want it back?"
     "No," Mulder said. "I don't think it's about the chip."
     "Then what is it about? Tell me! Tell me what they want with
my daughter!"
     He looked up at her at last and said, "I can't. I can't just
yet.
Please trust that it's important, that it was worth running away
for, and I will do everything, absolutely everything that I can, to
bring her home."
     Mrs. Scully nodded, though he knew from her eyes he was not
forgiven. "Bring her home, then," she said quietly, "and thank you
for letting me know."
     "Goodbye, Mrs. Scully," Mulder said, and let himself out. He
went to his car, which was still packed with Scully's things. He
hadn't stopped at his apartment yet, and he wasn't sure what he
would do with her things when he got there. He sat in the car for a
few minutes, looking at the warm, brightly-lit house, and then
started up the engine.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Bereft of Scully's vibrant presence, his apartment seemed as
stark and stale as if no one had lived there for fifty years. There
were few of her actual possessions here--a spare toothbrush, a book
she'd lent him, a bag of her favorite coffee beans--but still he
thought every piece of furniture she had touched, every piece of
clothing she had borrowed, every utensil she had used, knew she was
gone.
     He stacked the boxes and suitcase from the Leslie apartment
in his bedroom, along with the pieces of the crib. Part of him
wanted to assemble it, give it a place of honor, but this struck
him as both morbid and hopelessly pathetic. If anyone saw it, what
could he tell them?
     Even after two weeks of searching, he and the police had to
admit defeat. There wasn't even a cigarette butt's worth of
evidence back in Leslie. Too many fingerprints in the restroom, no
witnesses, too much commotion from the fire for anyone to properly
remember what they had seen and heard. It was as if she had been
snatched from this plane of reality, to be found only in his dreams.
     Before he left Leslie he had sat with Luana in the diner,
turning the ring over and over in his fingers, and she said, "You
made her happy, you know. You *make* her happy. She'll stay alive
for that."
    "Love isn't stronger than death," he said quietly, and she
gripped his hand.
     "Don't think like that. Don't. It won't help her. If you
aren't strong for her what will she rely on?"
     "You don't understand what we're up against."
     "I understand plenty."
     "The man who has her could take her anywhere. It's a big
world, Luana, it's easy to get lost. And I have nothing." He stared
at the tiny ring. It barely fit past the first knuckle on his
smallest finger. "I've never had nothing before. There's always
been some clue, someone to give me information, something. Never
just this--emptiness."
     "You've got to have faith," Luana said earnestly, and he
jerked his hand away from hers.
     "I had faith! I had faith that we were finally going to be at
peace and looked what happened. If there is a God, He laughs mighty
hard at my life."
     "You know that's not true. You know Katie--Dana--doesn't
believe that."
     "I don't know what I believe." He closed his hand around the
ring, more precious than ever for the brief time it had adorned her
finger.
He stood up from their table and said, "You pray if that gives you
comfort. I've got to get going."
     "I will pray," Luana said. "You let me know when you find her."
     "Yeah," Mulder mumbled and left the diner.
     For three days he had traveled every highway and side road
out of Leslie with a picture of Scully, this time with a better
description than his first journey through the area. "She was with
an older man," he said to merchants and gas station attendants and
hotel clerks. "He smells like cigarettes. She's about four months
pregnant. Please, think hard."
     Every person shook their head and handed back the picture.
Sorry, mister. Haven't seen her, mister.
    Now, alone in his dark apartment, the reality of it hit like a
fist to the gut. Gone. Taken. Happiness, love, family, all were
within his reach and now--
    Mulder leaned against the wall and slid down to his knees,
almost retching from the physical pain of missing her. They would
take the baby, he was certain of that. They had the technology to
bring a child through full gestation without the mother, if they
desired. He had a moment of horrible imagination: her child stolen,
Scully driven to madness, eternally asking why her love had not
come to save her this most important time.
    Her child, he thought, our child, my child. Ours. He had
placed his hands on her body and felt the warmth and life within
her. He had seen the wonder and joy in her eyes when she felt the
baby move. He had allowed himself to daydream that this child would
somehow be exempt from the curse of the Mulder family, that she
would be happy and safe and loved all her life.
     It appeared instead that this child would disappear as
mysteriously as she came.
     He crawled across the floor to where he'd put her suitcase
and opened it up. Tucked away were the stuffed animals, the Eeyore
Scully liked best on top. He took out the sad-eyed donkey and got
onto his bed, lying down with the toy wrapped up in his arms.
    I can't just lie here, he thought, but neither could he move.
Helpless to the onslaught of memories, he did not fight them when
they came.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    They kissed the first time in a hospital waiting room. It was
sweet.
Simple. A kiss between friends, a good way to ring in New Year's
Eve.
 They kissed the second time just a few days later. He sat in his
desk chair as she stood between his legs with her hands on his
shoulders. With no preamble or even warning she bent and kissed
him. As soon as she lifted her mouth she went on speaking as calmly
as she had been before she kissed him, but stood for a few moments
more with her hands on his shoulders before she moved away.
     They kissed the third time outside her apartment building
after he took her suitcase out of the car trunk. She stood on the
curb and grasped the back of his head in her hand, captured his
lips with her mouth. At first it appeared she meant it to be brief
and sudden like the previous kiss, but they ended up standing
there, kissing, looking at each other, kissing more, pausing for
breath, kissing still more. It wasn't until she took the suitcase
from his hand that he realized he hadn't put it down. "Good night,
Mulder," she whispered and darted into her building like a will o'
the wisp.
     They kissed the fourth time in the Hoover Building parking
garage, her body pressed between his and the car, both of them
praying no one would come for another minute or two or five. When
they parted he stood there panting, trembling, his hands on either
side of her head on the car, waiting for her to say what she wanted
to happen next.
    She wiped her mouth with both hands and slid them down her
neck, and said in a low voice, "See you tomorrow, Mulder," and he
said simply, "Yeah," and still neither of them moved until she
regained her breath and found her keys.
     He found she was in his thoughts even more than usual. He
found himself window shopping for trinkets she might like, things
that would make her lips part in wonder and her eyes sparkle. He
found himself obsessing on little things like her shoe size. He
found himself showing off in front of her, anything to amuse or
entertain her. He found himself carrying around the ring again.
     "You know," he said one night in her hotel room, apropos of
nothing, "they don't know why whales breech."
     "Why they what?" she said absently.
     "You know, when they jump out of the water and fall in
backwards."
He demonstrated the motion with his hand, making the appropriate
splashing noise with his mouth. "Scientists don't know why they do
that."
     "I bet you have a theory."
     "I do. I think it's because it's so cool being a whale, and
they know it. I'm a whale! Pssht!" He demonstrated again with
accompanying hand gestures. "I love being a whale! Pssht!"
     She stole some of his sunflower seeds and said, "They're
animals, Mulder. They don't have the cognizance to recognize things
like coolness."
     "But if you were a whale, wouldn't you jump for joy
sometimes, just for the sheer wonder of being a whale?"
     "If I were a whale, Mulder?" She cracked a seed and slipped
the meat out with her tongue. "If I were a whale . . . maybe I
would jump for joy sometimes." She grinned at him, holding the meat
of the seed between her teeth, and he grinned back.
    He loved it when she played along. He loved it when she slid
her fingers between his. He loved it when she answered her phone
and her voice warmed because she knew it was him. He loved it when
she fell asleep against his shoulder.
     They kissed the fifth time on his couch. Kissed and groped
and paused to look at each other in amazement before diving back in
to kiss some more. Her slender body was lithe and warm above him,
her breasts felt soft beneath her sweater, her hands combed through
his hair. "I love you," he whispered at one point and she answered
him with her eyes squeezed shut, her lips against his cheek, "I
love you too."
     They were on the road to something grand, something uncommon,
something beautiful. They both knew this kind of love did not
happen to everyone, every day. They took it step by careful step,
making a relationship that was apart from their regular lives. It
was a secret nestled between them, new and precious. It was the
beginning of something wonderful.
     It was taking forever.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    With no one else to talk to about his romantic troubles,
Mulder had taken to confiding in Frohike--discreetly, of course. It
had amazed him, actually, how simply his friends accepted the fact
of his and Scully's togetherness, as if they'd expected it all
along or thought it had been going on a while.
     "Women," Frohike told him over a bottle of Jack Daniels one
evening in June, "are strange and mysterious creatures. That is the
extent of my understanding about them."
     "And how many times have you been married?"
     Frohike held up four fingers and said, "Having come to that
realization, that is why I have graced no one else with the name of
Mrs. Frohike. I don't get women. Acceptance is half the battle,
right?"
     "No man gets women." Mulder stared at his drink morosely.
     "Women are the true different species. They think differently
than we do, they feel differently than we do, their bodies work
differently . . . the true aliens aren't Reticulans. They're women."
     "Don't tell me you buy that men are from Mars and women are
from Venus bullshit."
     "It has its valid points. Scully operates on a different
frequency than you do. Than I do. Than any of us do. I pity her
sometimes, spending all her time with us geeks who find her so
confusing and exotic."
     "She's not one of the boys," Mulder said. "Yet she is. More
than I am, sometimes."
     Frohike cocked an eyebrow at him and drank a long gulp of
whiskey.
He said, "She's adaptable, up to a point. Women have to be, to get
by in a man's world. But still she's very much a woman."
     "Very much." Mulder sighed. "So why can't we adapt to them?
It's a mistake to throw up our hands and admit defeat. It's lazy."
     "There's the rub, my friend. To have a successful
relationship you have to learn to think the way that they do, and
that is very difficult, if not to say impossible." He refilled his
glass and waved the neck of the bottle at Mulder. "Your problem is
doubled in that Scully is not the most open person. She's . . .
painfully private, even. Maybe what you need to do is listen to
what she's *not* saying."
     "What she doesn't say would fill volumes," Mulder said.
     "Body language. Silences. Unanswered questions. Avoidance
methods."
     "I know, I know. All my training and all my education and I
still can't get into the most important person in my life . . .
sometimes I wish I could crawl inside her brain." They both drank,
and Mulder said softly, "She's so unhappy."
     "You're not going to fix her, dude."
     "I know. It doesn't make me want to stop trying, though."
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    ~Truly Madly Deeply: Lights in the Sky 2~
    ~memory: June 2000~
    Scully showed up at his apartment one night in June. She'd
begun to do this more and more frequently, always with something to
show or feed him: tea, a movie, a book. Tonight she bore a grocery
bag, complete with a loaf of French bread sticking out of the top.
"Don't argue," she said, "I'm making you dinner tonight."
     "I'd never argue with that," Mulder said, standing back from
the door to watch her as she set down her grocery bag and took off
her shoes. She had changed her clothes since she left the office:
she wore linen trousers and a pale blue blouse with a bit of ribbon
at the low scooped neck. He liked it--she looked pretty and fresh--
but he couldn't remember seeing her in this before, or in anything
like it for that matter. "What's the occasion?"
     "No occasion." She smiled at him as she tied a dishtowel
around her waist.
     "Oh," Mulder said. He leaned against the doorway with his
arms folded over his chest. "It's not Christmas. It's not my
birthday.
It's not even summer solstice. What gives, Scully?"
     "Nothing. I felt like making you dinner."
     "Spur of the moment, you felt like making me dinner?"
     "Spur of about two hours ago, yes." She stopped taking fruit
out of the grocery bag. "Unless you'd rather I didn't."
     "Oh, no, stay. Please. I--uh--this is great. I really
appreciate it." Scully nodded and went on preparing to cook, and
Mulder said, "So is there anything you'd like me to do?"
     "Do you have anything to drink with chicken?"
     "I have beer, milk and Yoo-Hoo."
     She smiled at him again and said, "Will you get a bottle of
white wine, please, or the equivelant? Something that will go with
chicken."
     "You are the real Scully, right?" he teased gently.
     "How would you like me to prove it?" She walked to him, a
pear in her hand, and stood up on her toes to kiss him briefly.
"Does the real Scully do things like that?" she said in a low voice.
     "Lately she has been. Somewhat infrequently, though."
     "Well," Scully said as she went back to the counter--and it
seemed to Mulder that her hips were swaying more than usual--
"she'll just have to do it more often, won't she."
    Mulder sighed happily. Fortune, in its mysterious way, had
chosen to smile on him this day and he was not going to quibble
with it any further. He picked up his carkeys from the desk and
said, "I won't be long."
     "This will be ready in forty-five minutes."
     "I'll be back before then." He started to go, then went back
to her and hugged her quickly around her waist. She gasped but he
put that to surprise, since she reached back and stroked his face.
"You're perfect," he whispered into her ear, squeezed her again and
left.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Scully was nervous. She didn't say so, of course, but Mulder
could see it. She ate slowly and wiped her mouth frequently with
her napkin, and whenever she caught herself touching him absently
she would stiffen and pull away.
     Something, Mulder thought, is up. And he thought he knew what
it was, too.
     When they had finished eating and were cleaning up, Scully
slowly the wiped the counter with a paper towel and Mulder watched
her face as he put the dishes away. He said, "That was really good
chicken.
What was on it?"
     "Lemon pepper."
     "I liked it. Usually I bake chicken with garlic."
     She nodded, balled up the paper towel and tossed it into the
garbage.
     "But I think you didn't want garlic tonight."
     "No, I didn't." She surveyed the kitchen and said, "Well,
you're decently fed. I think I'll be on my way."
     "Don't go yet," Mulder said. "Stay a while. Let's  play."
     She rubbed her neck and said, "You want me to kick your ass
again at Super Mario Brothers?"
     "That wasn't exactly the kind of playing I had in mind, but
if that's what you want . . ."
     She shook her head, rubbing the back of her neck absently.
"I'm really not in the mood for a video game. How about a movie?"
     "What do you want to see?"
     "You choose."
     "Mmkay," he said, leading her towards his video collection.
"There's my two Disney movies, my testosterone classics--" She
chuckled: she'd given those movies that nickname--"my great films,
and then the videos that aren't mine. What do you think?"
     "I wouldn't mind a testosterone classic. Something with lots
of explosions," she said.
     "And many love scenes filmed in soft focus," Mulder said, and
Scully paused to smile at him a moment before plucking a box off
the shelf.
     "The first 'Highlander' it is, then."
     He grinned at her and put the tape into the machine, and they
settled themselves on the couch. Scully leaned her head against his
shoulder and Mulder held her loosely around her waist. Before
Connor MacLeod won his first duel, however, Mulder noticed Scully
was restless, rearranging her legs and squirming her shoulders.
     "Aren't you comfortable?"
     "You're bony."
     Mulder chuckled. "Bony?"
     "Right here." She poked his hip.
     "You could lie your head down."
     "Then I'll fall asleep."
     "I have no problem with that."
     "I wouldn't be comfortable."
     "Scully," he said seriously, "what's wrong?"
     "Nothing."
     "You're never this fidgety. Tell me what's up."
     "Nothing's up, I'm just not comfortable."
     "You need a back rub," he decided. "Turn around."
     "I'm watching the movie."
     "Then sit on the floor."
     She sighed but moved to the floor between his feet. He placed
his hands on her shoulders and whistled. "You are tense! Did
something happen today you didn't tell me about?"
     "No." She leaned her head forward. "Will you rub right here?"
she said, indicating the base of her neck, and so Mulder circled
his thumbs above, below and over the protruding vertebrae. He moved
his hands up and massaged the base of her skull as well, and down
to rub her shoulder blades.
     Soon she was so relaxed she swayed slightly with the rhythm
of his hands. Mulder swept her hair back from her face so he could
see her expression, and she murmured, "Mm, don't stop yet, Mulder."
     "You look sleepy."
     "I'm not," she said softly. "I'm wide awake."
     "Oh," Mulder said. He went on rubbing her shoulders for a
moment, and then let his hands drop as Scully turned and rose onto
her knees.
She supported herself on his thighs and leaned forward, and
studied him a moment before softly touching her lips to his.
     It was a solemn kiss, and Mulder didn't smile when she moved
away.
"You sure you're okay?"
     "I'm better now."
     "Well, that's good."
     She cupped his face in her hands. "Is it all right if I kiss
you?"
     "Always," he said, so she kissed him again.
     "Do you realize," he said when they parted again for breath,
"that this is only the sixth time we've kissed?"
     "Is that all? Surely it's been more."
     "Well, only six separate occasions. I've lost track of actual
kisses. It's not much, though." He stroked her cheek with the backs
of her fingers. "All things considered, it's not much."
     "Oh, Mulder," she said, teasing her lips against his mouth,
"you want to get laid, don't you."
     "Scully!" he said, not sure if he was only pretending to be
shocked.
     "It's okay. It's very flattering . . ." She flicked her
tongue on his cheek. "Tell me something."
     "What?" He closed his eyes, but the kiss he expected didn't
come. He opened his eyes again.
     Scully said softly, her hands lightly kneading his thighs,
"If I need you to go slow, you would, wouldn't you? And if I asked
you to stop--if I needed you to stop--would you?"
     "Of course." He touched her cheek and she closed her eyes.
"Of course I would, Scully."
     "Good. That's good to know," she said, lowering her head for
a moment. She kissed him abruptly, wrapping her arms around his
neck.
She let him go just as abruptly, got to her feet and held out her
hand to him. Her face was nervous and excited.
     "Scully," he said cautiously.
     "Well, are we or aren't we?"
     "I hope we are."
     "Come on, then." She opened and closed her hand. "I would
like to be comfortable."
     "Okay," Mulder whispered. He put his hand in hers and stood,
and they walked quietly to his bedroom. He wasn't sure who was
trembling harder, Scully or himself.
     She sat on the edge of the bed and Mulder sat down beside
her. It struck him as she kissed his face, exactly what she said
and what it meant. He said softly, "Slow like you borrow my pajamas
and sleep over tonight, or slow like we take our own sweet time,
kiss a lot, talk some, and make love around dawn?"
     "Either," she said, "both. Oh, Mulder, you taste so good
right here." She licked him below his ear and kissed his mouth. She
was going to make him delirious, he thought, with these sweetly
passionate kisses and her warm roving hands.
     Mulder pulled himself farther onto the bed and lay back, and
Scully smiled and lay down with him, her head on his chest. She
stroked his chest and started kissing him through his shirt, and
moved back up to his mouth again.
     Kissing was easy. Kissing they had done before. Kissing they
were pros at. It was the moving farther part that made him nervous,
that he had tried before with minimal success.
     In high school he had dated a girl named Linda Kessler, a
pretty, brunette, pure-minded girl with perfect breasts that
taunted him beneath her angora sweaters. Touching her breast as
they made out had been tantamount to pitching for the Yankees, and
he held no hope his entire junior year of getting any further: not
to her skin, which he imagined was palely pink and warm, and not
between her knees, which were dimpled and smooth between the top of
her socks and the hem of her skirts.
    Twenty years later, he thought with a dry chuckle, and he
still couldn't get past second base.
     "Do your knees have dimples, Scully?" he whispered and she
laughed from her throat.
     "No, they're just kind of round."
     "Sweet little Scully knees," he said, squeezing one
affectionately through her trousers. "Sweet little Scully elbows .
. ." He kissed the inside of one elbow below the short sleeve of
her blouse. "Sweet, sweet Scully . . ." He kissed her mouth again
and she cupped his face in her hands. Her legs fell open easily and
wrapped around him, and as he kissed her she made soft hungry
sounds in her throat.
     Ground control to Major Tom, Mulder thought, countdown's
started, engines on. Her shirt had ridden up from her waistband and
there was a tantalizing patch of skin exposed: her belly button, a
little indentation in her smooth stomach. He circled it with his
fingertips and then moved down her body to kiss the soft skin.
     "You're so sweet, Scully," he murmured as he kissed her
belly, which quivered beneath his mouth. "Sweet as strawberry pie .
. ." She laughed again and he smiled, glad she was enjoying
herself. He began kissing her again, slowly, everywhere. "Sweet
tummy . . . sweet thighs . . . sweet little feet . . . sweet lips .
. ." They parted beneath his and Scully thrust her hands into his
hair to pull him down and kiss him deeply.
     "Sweet," she whispered. Her body arched up towards him. "So
sweet."
    He caught the hand that caressed his face and kissed it,
"Sweet hands, Scully . . . your sweet pretty fingers . . ." He
kissed these with particular tenderness. He had never told her his
thoughts that night in February when he drove to her apartment, the
chords to that strange song echoing in his head, hoping beyond hope
that all he would find was sleepy Scully. He had thought he might
find her fingers--her slender, strong fingers with their perfect
oval nails--in Pfaster's box of frozen peas. He had thought Pfaster
might mail him her head in a box. He had thought if he found
Pfaster and Scully's violated body that nothing would stop him from
pounding Pfaster into a pulp.
     She stroked his face. "What is it?"
     "Nothing." He shook his head. "Thinking too much."
     "Stop thinking and kiss me."
     "Yes, love." He kissed her. She kissed him back, so of course
he had to return it. And she was so generous that she had to give
him the kiss again.
     This is going well, Mulder thought, this is going very well.
She didn't stop kissing him as he unbuttoned her blouse and slid
his hand over her smooth soft skin. She didn't stop kissing him as
he cupped her breast in his hand and  played with her nipple. She
didn't stop kissing him even as he turned her beneath him and his
hips thrust against hers. She moaned into his mouth as he humped
her through their clothes, her own hips bumping up to meet him.
     He broke off the kiss first. "I'm sorry--this isn't--you have
no idea how much I want to be inside you--"
    Scully's fingers scraped the back of his neck. "Yes, I do."
     "I'll try to slow down, honey, but--but oh, God--" He barely
stopped kissing her long enough to speak. "You know how much I love
you, you know how much I want to please you, you know me, you know
how well I know you--you're all I think about--"
    He felt her stiffen and she shoved at his shoulders. "Get off!"
     "Scully--"
    "Get off me!"
     Mulder rolled away and Scully sat up, gasping and fumbling
with the buttons on her shirt. "Scully? Honey? What is it?"
     Her hands dropped from her shirt and she said softly, "It's
nothing. I need to catch my breath, that's all."
     "Scully, it's not nothing. Not if you push me away."
     "I'm sorry. I--really, it's nothing. I'm sorry. Kiss me." She
twisted towards him and kissed him sloppily, grabbing his neck.
     He hated to do it, but he pulled away, just enough to
separate their mouths. "Scully," he whispered. "Talk to me."
     She breathed against his lips and then moved away from him,
sighing, to lean against his pillows. She did up another button on
her blouse and said quietly, "He had me down on the floor and tied
my hands behind my back. He said, 'You're the one who got away.
You're all I think about.'"
    He didn't need to ask who "he" was. "So when I said it . . .
oh, honey." He rubbed the sole of her foot gently. "I'm sorry."
     "You didn't know."
     "Is there more you haven't told me?"
     "Most of it's a blur, Mulder." She had finished buttoning her
shirt, and she played with the tails of her shirt before sighing
and letting them drop. "It's stupid that I still get like this. I
shouldn't get like this. I know it's you."
     "It's not stupid. It's understandable."
     "You know I still can't take a bath?" She didn't look at him,
focusing instead on some distant point beyond his shoulder. Her
fist dug into her thigh. "I've tried. I double-check all the locks.
Triple- check them. I run the water and I put in my favorite bath
oil . . .
and I still can't do it. It looks like the Black Lagoon. It looks
like the undertow will suck me away. And it's just a bathtub."
     "Give yourself time, honey."
     "I've given myself time!" Her lower lip trembled and she bit
down on it. "And now here we are and I--" She got onto her knees
and wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder.
"I do want you.
I want you so much but I can't stop panicking, Mulder."
     "Oh, Scully," he whispered, his hands on her back, "Scully,
love.
Psychological healing does not take place on a set schedule."
     "I used to love sex, Mulder. I used to enjoy it. I'd do
anything to feel that way again."
     "You just need more time," Mulder murmured, but it was mostly
by reflex because his mind was whirling with the picture of a
Scully who loved sex. In his arms, beneath him, over him, her
friendly thighs open to receive him.
     "I should go." She got off the bed.
     "You don't have to go, Scully, stay. I'd feel better if I
knew you were sleeping here."
     "I really should go, Mulder," she said again, already tucking
in her shirt, her back to him. "I'll see you tomorrow."
     "Scully--"
    "Will you walk to me my car?" She paused long enough to look
at him, and he nodded and slid off the bed. "Or maybe you
shouldn't," she added, glancing briefly below his waist.
     He ran his hand through his hair and smiled at her sheepishly.
"Think I'll get arrested for public lewdness?"
     "You might." She smiled at him, somewhat regretfully, he
thought.
"I'll be fine. I'll call you later."
     "Yes, please, do." He walked her to the door instead and she
allowed a hug. "I love you," he whispered into her ear, and she
squeezed him extra hard.
     "I know you do. Good night, Mulder." She gave him a sad smile
and walked slowly down the hall to his elevator. Mulder stood in
his doorway until the elevator doors slid shut.
     He sighed heavily and shut his door, and leaned his head
against it for a moment. The leaning turned into a soft banging,
which kept up until his head began to ache.
     The pain, however, did nothing to cause his erection to
subside.
"Fuck," he muttered, rubbing his forehead where he was sure there
would be a bruise tomorrow. Try explaining that to Scully. I was so
frustrated with our situation I had to bang my head against the
wall for a while . . .
     "Fuck," he said again with a defeated sigh, and went back
into his bedroom. He threw himself onto his bed and stared at the
ceiling.
 Is it that fine a line, he thought, between love and obsession?
If you nudge me just enough into the shadows, do I become Pfaster?
     He felt tears in his eyes and wiped them up with the back of
his hand. No, he thought. It was her living body that appealed to
him, her responses that excited him. Her hands touching him, her
mouth open to him, her throaty moans sounding in his ears . . .
    Mulder groaned. This train of thought was not going to get him
to sleep any faster.
     He opened the fly on his jeans and lay still for a few
moments more, his hand on his stomach. Just do it, he thought, get
it over with, get some sleep.
     He stripped off his clothes and lay down again, glad he'd
taken down that bizarre mirror. He didn't want to see himself as he
did this. He kept his eyes open as he grasped his cock roughly,
instead visualizing Scully: her bright head bent over his lap, her
neck as fragile as a flower stem, her tongue and then her lips
caressing his cock with eagerness and hunger . . .
     No, he thought again, on top of me. Her head back, her body
flushed and sweaty as she raised and lowered herself on his cock,
her nails digging into his chest, her hips bucking, and Scully
groaning his name, groaning Fuck me, Mulder--
    "Fuck!" he shouted as hot semen covered his hand, stomach and
thighs. He fumbled for a tissue, wiping the tears from his face
before wiping up the mess. He balled up the tissue and threw it
towards the garbage can, turning onto his stomach without bothering
to check if the tissue had fallen into the can.
     Mulder pulled up all his blankets and cocooned himself into
them, even though it had to be eighty in the bedroom already. I
just want to sleep, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. Just a
peaceful night's sleep . . .
     The dreams were heartbreaking. This time, he and Scully were
going slow. Her touch was tender and giving. Her breasts were warm
under his palms. His tongue was able to go all the places she was
hiding from him. And this time when he cried, he cried for them
both.

    ~Truly Madly Deeply: Lights in the Sky 3~
    ~memory~
    Mulder was on the phone when Scully came into the office the
next morning. She looked at him questioningly and he nodded and
signaled her to the desk. He scribbled, "Case, New Mexico, we leave
today," and handed her the notebook. Again she looked at him, a bit
more skeptically than before, and he communicated through a few
vague gestures that he would tell her as soon as he had finished on
the phone. She waited, looking over his shoulder at his other notes
as he took down their flight number and time. "Thank you," he told
the booking clerk and hung up the phone.
     Scully leaned against the edge of the desk. "Why is there a
bruise on your forehead?"
     "Oh--I tripped over my shoes this morning. Kiss make better?"
Mulder said hopefully, leaning forward in his chair.
     She rolled her eyes and said, "We are at work."
     "I know. Kiss me anyway?"
 Dutifully she slipped a kiss onto the bruised area, and said
briskly, "Does my memory deceive me or did you say something about
a case?"
     Mulder sighed and said, "A girl named Cristina Reyes and her
cousin Reynaldo disappeared yesterday and their family is desperate
to have them  back. The details of the disappearance are right up
our alley."
     "Lights in the sky?"
     "Lights in the sky," he confirmed, and she nodded.
     "Why is the family desperate?" she said, already taking a
requisition form out of the top desk drawer.
     "Because Cristina was recently diagnosed with juvenile
leukemia," Mulder said quietly, "and she was supposed to start
chemo today."
     "Oh, my," Scully said, visibly stunned by this news. "Does
her family think she ran away?"
     "No. Yesterday she, a cousin, and family friend went to an
Anasazi site near their home, but last night only one of the boys
came back."
     "Do you think he killed the girl?" Scully said softly.
     "I'm not ruling it out."
     She nodded again, slowly this time. "All right. When do we
leave?"
     "I was hoping you'd say that. Eleven-oh-five, and pack hiking
boots."
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    The Albuquerque precinct lieutenant's name was Carl Reyes, and
he had a prominently displayed picture of several children on his
desk.
    "This is Cristina," he said, turning the picture around to
face them and pointing to one of the girls in the photograph, "and
this is Rey," pointing to one of the boys.
     "May I?" Mulder said, and at Lt. Reyes's nod he looked at the
picture more closely. She was a pretty girl, with long black hair
and braces on her teeth. "How old is this picture?"
     "We took it last year. It's all the grandchildren in the
family. The braces are off now. Agents, I know I didn't mention it
over the phone but it's an important detail. Rey--Reynaldo--he's my
son. We're most concerned about Cristina because she needs to be in
a hospital, but I hope," he paused a moment, looking at another
photograph on his desk, "I hope wherever Cristina is we'll find Rey
there too."
     "What do you think happened?" Scully said softly.
     "I don't know what to think. Our suspect's name is Justin
Black and he's been friends with Cristina since they were children.
He'd be the last person you'd think would hurt anybody. He's always
been a good kid, but even good kids have secrets."
     "We'd like to talk to him," said Mulder.
     The lieutenant nodded. "I'll have him in a examining room in
a few minutes. He's going to tell you lights from the sky took her.
Ever heard anything like that?"
     "We have," Mulder said.
     "Does it ever turn out to be true?"
     "Sometimes."
     "Right." He ran his finger over the top of the picture frame.
"If he killed her I'm not going to go soft on him, no matter how
much I hate it. He's always been a good kid but if he's killed my
boy . . . if he's killed Cristina . . . I'm sure you understand how
important this is. Not just to the family, to the community too."
     "We know," Mulder assured him, and Reyes sighed and pushed
his chair back from the desk to stand.
     "I'll go make sure Justin's ready for you. Excuse me,
Agents." He left the office and shut the door behind him.
     Scully said after a moment, "Before you say abduction--"
    "I wasn't going to say abduction."
     "I find it hard to believe with this entire scenario you're
not thinking abduction. Lights in the sky, the Anasazi connection--"
    "A terminally ill child," he said, looking at her intently,
and she bit her lip.
     "Do you think it was because of her cancer?"
     "One way or another."
     The door opened and an officer leaned in her head. "Agents?
Will you come with me, please?"
     Mulder and Scully looked at each other and got up to follow.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    The suspect--or the survivor--sat nervously in the orange
county jail jumpsuit, his hands folded together. He rocked slightly
as he waited, and looked up sharply when the officer let Mulder and
Scully into the tiny examining room. He was just a kid, seventeen,
good-looking with short black hair, and his voice cracked a little
when he said, "Should I have a lawyer?"
     "Do you want one present?" Scully said.
    His eyes darted from her face to Mulder's, and he said, "Nah.
Tio Carl's already decided I'm guilty. Nothing I say is going to
make a difference anyway."
     "Are you guilty, Justin?" said Mulder, and the boy flinched.
     "Are you here to entrap me or to hear my story? I know how
you Feds treat us."
     "Us?" said Mulder. "You mean kids?"
     "I mean Native Americans and you know it." He crossed his
arms over his chest, glaring at them.
     Scully said, "We're here to find Cristina. Right now you're
the only one who can help us."
     "I don't know where she is. I can tell you what happened but
I don't know what it means."
     "Tell us what happened, then."
     Justin blew out a puff of air. "Crissy's sick. We've known it
a long time but she wouldn't go to a hospital. She said the cure
would kill her before the cancer did. But all the prayers and the
blessings and stuff, they weren't doing anything for her. Finally
her family said, You've got to go to a hospital. But I guess you've
heard all this from Tio Carl."
     "Tell us your version, Justin," Scully said gently.
     "Yeah. So yesterday she called me and she said, I want to go
out to Pueblo Bonito, I want to ask for a blessing from the
ancestors for when I go into the hospital. Rey, he's Tio Carl's
son, he'd come out too to help her walk."
     "Is Cristina Native American too?"
     "No, their family came up from Guatemala. But we have this
thing-- Rey, Crissy, and I--we've always felt really at home at
Pueblo Bonito, so we kind of figure it's, you know, home, in a way.
That they're, like, family. I mean, nobody knows what happened to
the Anasazi, right? So maybe some of them stayed out here and
married Navajos and some of them went down to Guatemala and married
Mayans. It could happen. So we'd go out there and we'd commune." He
dropped his eyes. "That's what we called it. Communing with the
ancestors. Looking to them for guidance. Her parents, my parents,
Rey's parents--they all thought it's a phase. It helped Crissy,
that's all that mattered."
     Even as he listened to the story, cataloguing it for truth
and lies, Mulder had to watch Scully. They'd fallen into the good
cop-bad cop routine without even thinking about it, and she
listened to the boy intently, nodding to encourage him. It was hard
to lie to her face.
He didn't think Justin was doing it.
     "So we went. We drove up. We made the hike. We went to our
favorite kiva. Crissy cried a little and told us how scared she
was, and we talked and prayed. And then the sky got really dark, so
we thought we should go. I don't know if you guys have ever been in
the desert during a thunderstorm but they can be fierce, and we
didn't want Crissy to get sicker." Tears were in his eyes now and
he wiped them impatiently with his forearm.
    "We were starting to hike out, and it began to rain and there
was thunder and lightening, and then--and then . . ." He stopped,
visibly struggling for control, and said, "And then a bolt of
lightening came from the sky and took Crissy."
    "You mean it struck her?" Scully said quietly.
     "No. I mean it took her. It struck where she was and then she
wasn't there. It took her. The lightening took her."
     "Go on," said Scully.
     "Rey screamed 'Crissy!' and started running, and lightening
took him too. And I started running and I kept thinking that
lightening would hit me too, but it didn't. So I drove home and
told everybody what happened and now they think I killed her." He
was frowning with the effort to hold back his tears. "Can you
believe that? Crissy's been my best friend since I was five and now
they think I killed her."
     "Did you?" Mulder said bluntly, and Justin glared at him.
     "No," he said just as bluntly. "I'd never hurt her. Never.
I'd do anything for her to get better but I'd never hurt her."
     "Then tell us how to find her," Mulder said.
     "I don't know!" Justin said between clenched teeth. "I wish I
could tell you, I wish I could say exactly where she is, but I
don't, I don't know anything."
     "If we find out you've lied to us, Justin--"
    "You'll what? Put me in jail?" he scoffed. "Can I go now? I
want to go back to my cell."
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Scully was quiet as they drove to their downtown motel. She
had turned the air conditioning as high as the little rental car
could go and aimed the vents straight onto her, but Mulder didn't
think it was only the heat that perturbed her.
 He said, "I don't think he was lying to us about what he saw."
     "The shock of seeing his friend struck might have convinced
him the lightening actually took her instead of killed her," Scully
said, her eyes on the passing streets.
     "Then the park rangers would have found the bodies."
     "True."
    They stopped at a light and he took the opportunity to study
her.
"Are you okay?"
     "Of course."
     "Scully--"
    "I'm fine, Mulder."
     Traffic started up again and he said when a few blocks had
passed, "Because if it's too much for you right now-"
    "It's not too much for me. We've faced this a hundred times
before."
She said after a moment, "We should talk to her family, and
Justin's, too. Maybe they'd had an argument, maybe he was scared
about her cancer and thought a mercy killing was in order. Maybe
Cristina did.
I want to examine her room, maybe she kept a diary."
     "We should talk to her parents," Mulder said. "But I don't
think euthanasia is the issue here."
     "If she killed herself Justin might not tell us."
     "But I don't--" He stopped at her look. "I think this is the
place."
He pointed to one of the signs on the road ahead. "Scully?"
     "Yes?"
     "Were you ever--did you ever think about--when you were sick--"
    "Suicide?" she said quietly.
     "Yeah."
     She didn't answer until they pulled into the hotel parking
lot, and she said, "I never thought about suicide itself but
sometimes I thought--sometimes I wouldn't dread death so much
because at least then the pain would stop."
    "Oh, Scully," he said softly.
     "Oh, don't. It's ancient history."
     "You're so brave," Mulder said genuinely. "I don't know if I
could handle it."
     "It's not about bravery, Mulder," she said, embarrassed, and
she unbuckled her seatbelt. "You just endure, that's all. Come on,
let's check in, we have work to do."
     He got out of the car too and said, as she started to walk
towards the front office, "Hey, Scully."
     "Hm?" She paused, looking at him over her shoulder.
     "I'm glad you could bear it. I'd--I'd really miss you."
     "I'd miss you too," she said softly. "Come on."

    ~Truly Madly Deeply: Lights in the Sky 4~
    ~memory~
    Jim and Salma Reyes lived in a long, low adobe house in the
suburbs of Albuquerque. Carl Reyes had picked up Mulder and Scully
from their motel and driven them out to the house. He stayed in the
background while they talked to Cristina's parents, hovering in the
doorway of the girl's room with his arms crossed.
     "This Anasazi fascination didn't worry us," Jim said. He, his
wife and Scully sat on Cristina's bed, which was white oak with a
pink coverlet and a pink canopy overhead. Cristina has a bookcase
of the same wood, filled with CDs, books and worn stuffed animals.
There was an old Underwood typewriter on her desk as well as a
small CD player.
    She had hung  postcards and pasted stickers of saints over her
bed, along with a small wood and silver crucifix. "We thought, It's
good to be interested in history. We thought it was healthy." Jim
paused, and Salma quietly took his hand.
     "Mr. Reyes," Scully said, "how close are Cristina and Justin?"
     "They've been inseparable since they were children. They've
been playmates and best friends and-\endash " He had to stop again.
     Salma said, "They've been talking about getting married after
college. Or sooner, if Cristina didn't\endash -if she doesn't get
better."
     "And you had no objections to that?" Scully said.
     "They're very young but Justin has never given us a cause to
worry."
     "My brother thinks Justin hurt Cristina but I don't believe
him," Jim interjected. "Justin has never raised his hand or his
voice to her, or to anyone. He's always been a good boy."
     "Did you talk to him?" Salma said anxiously. "He told you
what happened?"
     "We spoke with him earlier today."
     Salma nodded slowly. "If you talk to the Navajo people around
here they will tell you stories about Pueblo Bonito, about any of
the Anasazi sites. They will tell you there is something there that
isn't quite right, that is very frightening. Many people in
Albuquerque are afraid of the pueblo. They say strange things
happen there. But Justin was never afraid. He loved the Pueblo, so
Cristina loved it too."
     "How does Reynaldo fit into their relationship?" Scully said
in her soft voice.
     "Carl and Rey had lived with us since my sister-in-law died,"
Jim said. "Cristina has always been a little mama to him, even
though they're only a year apart."
     "She has a very big heart," said Salma. "She's always been
the defender. Justin liked him. The three of them are very strong
together."
     "Has he been ill recently?" Mulder said, and all three of
them looked at him with surprise because he hadn't said much,
choosing instead to look around Cristina's room.
     "Reynaldo has asthma," Salma said. "He has since he was small."
     Mulder nodded and picked up a medallion that hung from
Cristina's necklace tree. "Which saint is this?"
     Salma took the medallion and smiled tenderly. "This is St.
Peregrine, the patron of cancer patients. This necklace was a gift
from Cristina's classmates."
     "And who are the others?" He indicated the pictures and
stickers Cristina had placed over her bed.
     "Most are of the Blessed Virgin, of course," Salma said,
pointing.
"This is St. Agnes, she carries a lamb, and St. Catherine, she
carries a wheel."
     "Protectors of young girls," Mulder said.
     "Yes, that's right. What do you think it means, Agent Mulder?"
     "I don't know," he said honestly. "What do you think, Scully?"
    Scully paused, then said, "I liked St. Agnes when I was a
girl, too.
She made me feel safe." Salma smiled at her kindly, and after a
moment Scully smiled back. She said, "Does Cristina keep a diary or
a journal?"
     "Yes, but surely you don't need to read it. We have always
respected her privacy."
    "It may give us some clues, Mrs. Reyes," Mulder said
apologetically.
     Salma looked at Jim, who nodded his consent. Salma rose and
opened the top drawer of Cristina's desk. She took out a small
leather-bound notebook, which was held closed by a strap of leather
that wrapped around a large button on the front cover. She gave the
notebook to Scully. "I don't want to know my daughter's secrets,"
she said, then added, "unless you think I should."
     "We're just looking for clues to find her," Scully assured her.
     "My brother doesn't think you'll find her alive," Jim said
softly, and Carl shifted uncomfortably in his position in the
doorway. "Please prove him wrong, Agents."
     "Please," Salma said.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    As he drove them back to their motel, Carl glanced repeatedly
at the diary in Scully's hands. "I don't know what you're going to
find in there," he said finally. "I don't think anything was going
on with Cristina that her family didn't know about. She's perfectly
normal. Always has been. Just a good, sweet, giving girl."
     "I'm sure that's what we'll find," Scully said.
     "But even the best kids have their secrets," Mulder murmured,
and Carl glanced back at him in the rearview mirror.
     "They do. That's what worries me."
     "Lt. Reyes," Mulder said, "were you aware that Justin calls
you Uncle?"
    Carl glanced at him again. "Yeah. I know. He calls Cristina's
parents Tio Jim and Tia Salma too. Do you think that's significant?"
     "I think it's interesting, considering."
    "Considering? You mean considering that I arrested him for
murder, that he still calls me Tio Carl like he has since he was a
boy. Yes, that's very interesting. I might call it manipulation."
     "Or you might call it hope," Mulder said.
     Carl snorted as he pulled off the street into the motel
parking lot.
"Agent Mulder, you were recommended to me as an expert in the
unexplained but I'm beginning to think the explanation is very
simple. Justin killed Cristina. Maybe to end her suffering, maybe
they had a quarrel. And because he was there and might betray him,
Justin killed my boy too. That is what I believe-\endash not this
'lights from the sky' bullshit. We should treat this case as a
homicide, nothing more."
     "Lt. Reyes," Scully said, "were there thunderstorms in the
vicinity of Pueblo Bonito yesterday?"
     Carl said reluctantly, "Yes. But that still doesn't mean what
Justin says is true."
     "No, it doesn't," said Scully, "but there might be a
correlation between what he says happened and what actually did. I
know you're worried and grieving-\endash but Justin is, too."
     Carl stared out the windshield, his nostrils flaring, and he
said gruffly, "Well, you folks can judge for yourselves tomorrow.
Dress for hiking-\endash and heat." He got out to help Scully down
from the high SUV, and once both she and Mulder were out of the car
he took off quickly.
     "I hope I haven't upset him," Scully said.
     "Justin's right. He's already made up his mind. Hey," Mulder
gestured to the diary, "do you want me to read that?"
     "I thought I would. After Samantha's-\endash " She paused,
biting her lip.
     "I'm okay with it, Scully. I'm more worried about you." She'd
been the picture of professionalism all day, but he wanted to spare
her any pain that he could, especially after the debacle of the
night before.
     "Let's go inside," Scully said. "I'd rather not discuss this
in the parking lot." She took out her keys and unlocked her door.
     "Do you trust me in your room, Scully?" Mulder said in a low
voice.
     She looked at him with her eyebrows raised as if she expected
a joke, then said, "You're not serious."
     "I-\endash "
    "You are." She sighed and opened the door. "Come in, Mulder.
We need to talk about more than the diary."
     He followed her into the room but stayed by the door as she
put down the diary and took of her blazer and holster. She sat on
the edge of the bed and patted the coverlet beside her. "Sit," she
said. "Please."
     Hesitantly Mulder took his place beside her. "Last night was
my fault. I pushed you too fast."
     "Mulder, I wanted to be there."
     "But you also couldn't leave fast enough."
     "Well, you didn't want to see me have a complete meltdown,
did you?"
     Mulder leaned his face in his hands and groaned softly, "Oh,
Scully."
    She moved closer to him and put her arm over his back. She
leaned her cheek against his shoulder. "I didn't mean it like that."
     "Then how did you mean it?" He dropped his hands and looked
at her.
"Do I frighten you, Scully?"
     "No," she said earnestly.
     "But the thought of having sex with me does."
     She started to answer, then shut her mouth and sighed. "I'm
no good at relationships, Mulder. I always do something to muck
them up. I want to be with you but I don't know how to make it
happen. And now this whole fear thing," she said with some disgust,
"I don't know how to move past this."
     "You could go back into therapy," Mulder suggested gently,
and she rolled her eyes.
     "I hate being in therapy."
     "But if you need it, Scully-\endash "
    "I don't know what I need! No, that's not true. What I need,
Mulder, what I need is to be able to go to bed with you and sleep
with you and feel you with me all night long and to feel *safe*.
That's what I need." She added softly when Mulder didn't answer,
"And you need to tell me how you really got that bruise."
     "I was a little frustrated after you left last night."
     "And?"
     "And I hit my head a few times against the wall."
    "A few times?"
     "Several times."
     "Oh, Mulder," Scully said, and lifted his head to kiss the
bruise again. Her lips gently touched his temples and his nose, and
even as he waited, breathless, touched his lips as well.
     When she ended the kiss she smiled at him shyly. "Kiss number
seven," Mulder whispered.
     "Lucky number seven."
     "Can I sleep with you tonight?" Mulder asked abruptly-\endash
too abruptly, if her expression was any indication. "I'll be good.
I promise."
     "I don't think that would be appropriate."
     "Inappropriate is for salad forks and white after Labor Day.
I need you. You need me. You can even handcuff me to the bed if
that will make you feel better."
     "I'm not going to do that, Mulder, but I appreciate the offer."
     "So . . . does that mean I can stay with you tonight?"
     He thought she wanted to say yes, but she said softly, "No.
It's not the right time."
     "Okay," Mulder said, resigned. It was what he expected,
really. "You hungry?"
     "No. I'm fine."
     "Guess I'll go, then. You'll call me if you need anything,
right?
Anything at all. I'll be here in a second."
     "I don't think-\endash thank you. If I need anything I'll
call you."
     "Anything at all," Mulder said again on his way out the door.
     "I know. Good night, Mulder."
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Mulder knew he was dreaming. He recognized Scully's front room
as he passed through it, his feet floating smoothly over the
ground. Her things were strewn everywhere: broken glass all over
the floor, books pulled off the shelves, blood on the carpet.
Scully, he called to her in a soundless voice. Scully, where are
you?
     He heard water dripping and changed course for her bathroom.
The door was partially open and he pushed it the rest of the way.
He could see her in the bathtub, facing away from him.
     Scully, he said again. Scully, are you all right?
     There was something wrong with the water. It was too dark. He
went to the tub, calling her name: Scully, Scully.
     He touched her shoulder and her head fell back. Her eyes were
open, staring, red with broken capillaries. Rictus had pulled her
lips back from her teeth in an obscene parody of her smile. A nylon
stocking was knotted around one bruised wrist. Her neck was bruised
and her throat was sliced open, crimson with blood that had dripped
down her chest and stained the water red.
     Mulder stumbled backwards away from the body and caught sight
of himself in the mirror. The face was not his own: it was
forgettable and evil at once, with blank eyes and a mouth that
never smiled. Pfaster's face. Mulder looked down: Pfaster's button-
down shirt and jeans were stained with blood. His hands were gory
with it.
     He scrubbed his hands furiously on his shirt front. I want to
wake up, he chanted, I want to wake up, and the ringing in his ears
grew shrill and insistent.
    "I want to wake up now!"
     He jerked awake, panting, knowing he'd said the words out
loud. He sat up, dry-scrubbed his hands over his face and turned on
the bedside lamp. His hands were clean.
     "Of course they are, stupid," he muttered and picked up the
ringing phone. "Scully?"
     There was a slight pause, then Carl Reyes said, "I'm sorry, I
think I have the wrong room."
     "It's all right, Lt. Reyes, you've got me. I was expecting
Agent Scully. Has something happened?" He rubbed his eyes. Just a
dream.
     "I hardly believe it, Agent Mulder. Rey-\endash my boy-
\endash he's come home."
     Mulder pushed aside the sheets and swung his legs over the
side of the bed. "Is he all right?"
     "He's unhurt. He's shaken up. The park rangers found him
earlier tonight and brought him home." It sounded to Mulder like
Carl was crying. "He's home. He's home, Agent Mulder."
     "Agent Scully and I will be there as soon as we can." He
clicked off the line and dialed Scully's room.
     She picked up at the first ring. "Scully."
     He felt more than his usual relief at the sound of her voice.
"It's me. Did I wake you?"
     "No. What's going on?"
    "Carl Reyes just called me. Reynaldo has come home."
     "Is he alive?"
     "Yes. Alive and unhurt. I want to question him right away."
     "I'll be ready in a minute."
     "Scully-\endash you haven't slept at all?"
     "It's only one-thirty. I've been reading the diary. I'll tell
you about it in the car."
     "All right." He hung up the phone and got up to dress.

    ~Truly Madly Deeply: Lights in the Sky 5~
    ~memory: June 2000~
    Barely five minutes later, Scully knocked briskly on Mulder's
hotel room door. He opened it and gestured her inside, saying,
"I'll be ready in a second." He sat down on the edge of the bed to
finish tying his boots. Scully had changed her suit for jeans, T-
shirt and a casual-looking blazer. She had the diary tucked
carefully in the crook of her arm.
     "Are you okay?" she said as she shut the door. "Your face is
pale."
     "Yeah." He smoothed down his jeans and stood.
     "You know, I can hear you through the wall."
     "Oh?"
     She watched him as he shrugged into his holster and put on
his leather jacket. "Just before the phone rang I thought I heard
you say something." She went on when he didn't answer, "It sounded
like 'I want to wake up now.'"
    He couldn't remember where he'd put the car keys, and hunted
through the pile of papers and change on the table. Finally he
found them in his pants, which were draped over the back of the
chair. "I had a nightmare," he admitted at last, tucking the keys
into his jacket pocket.
     "Oh, Mulder," Scully said quietly, and crossed the room to
put her arms around his waist. She pressed her cheek to his back.
"Tell me what you dreamed, Mulder."
    He closed his eyes for a moment and put his hand on top of
hers. She was warm. Not feverishly hot, not clammy and cold. Just
warm. He said, "I don't want to, Scully. I just want to forget it."
    "I promise it will make you feel better." She squeezed his
waist.
"Isn't that what you always tell me?"
    "Scully, it was a really freaky dream."
     There was amusement in her voice. "You think I can't take it?"
     "I dreamed that I killed you." He expected her to let him go
and step away, but she didn't. She squeezed his waist again and
nuzzled her cheek against his back. He said, lowering his head, "I
dreamed that I killed you like Pfaster killed those women. I had
his face, I wore his clothes, but it was me. It was me inside."
     "You're nothing like Pfaster, Mulder," she whispered. "He was
evil.
There's nothing evil in you."
    "Sometimes I wonder."
     "Shh..." She stroked his chest and turned him around. She
held his chin in her fingers and smiled at him gently. "You're a
hero, Mulder.
Not a devil."
     Mulder felt tears in his eyes and blinked, hard. "Thanks," he
whispered and bent to hug her. She wrapped her arms around his neck
and he felt the brush of her breath against his ear as she exhaled.
He kissed her forehead and she smiled up at him.
     "It's time to go to work," she said seriously, and he nodded.
     "I'm ready now." He kept his arm around her shoulders as they
walked out to the car.

    "I've been reading the diary," Scully said again when they
were in the car and on their way. "She's very articulate for a girl
her age."
     "And what have you learned about the inner life of Cristina
Reyes?"
     "She intermixes English and Spanish a lot. Her favorite
subject is chemistry. She wants to go to college but is worried
about the cost so she's applying for scholarships. She wants Justin
to go to college but doesn't think he wants to. She and Justin have
been having sex for almost a year--"
    "Oh, there it is. "
    "\endash -but they haven't since she was diagnosed."
     "So, reeling with guilt, she joins him in his Anasazi
fascination even though she doesn't agree with it?"
     "No--reeling with guilt, she thinks her leukemia is
punishment for premarital sex."
     "Oh, no," Mulder said softly. "Poor kid."
     "She's also afraid that Justin will stop loving her if she
gets really sick. That's one reason why she didn't want to do
chemotherapy: she was afraid she would lose her hair." Scully
glanced at Mulder, her fingers twisting the leather band that held
the diary closed. "Justin really likes her hair."
     "Okay. So . . . no clues about what they were planning for
the other day?"
     "None. She just wanted to pray."
     "Does she believe it, that there are Anasazi spirits hanging
around Pueblo Bonito?"
     "Well . . ." Scully opened the diary and turned a few pages.
"She says a few times that Pueblo Bonito feels like a church to
her. She's got something I like here . . ." She scanned the page
and read, "'It doesn't matter who is listening to me there. I only
know that I am heard.'"
    "That's really nice."
     "I thought so. I like her, Mulder. We have to find her."
     "If she's there to be found."
     Scully glanced at him again. "All right. What theory do you
have now?"
     "I don't. I have a lot of questions. I hope Rey can answer at
least some of them."
     Scully watched the street lights go by, then said pensively,
"What if his story contradicts Justin's?"
     "Then we tell Carl to keep Justin in jail, I suppose."
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Reynaldo still had baby fat and round cheeks, and he wore
jeans and a bright Santana T-shirt. The rest of the family were in
pajamas and bathrobes, sleepy-eyed, but Rey paced around the living
room like he'd been slurping espressos all day. He watched with
interest as Scully laid Cristina's diary in Salma's hands.
     "Did it help you at all?" Salma asked.
     "Well . . ." She glanced at Mulder. "We know what she
*wasn't* planning."
     Salma nodded, looking disappointed, and stroked the leather
cover lightly.
     "We're sorry to keep you up, Rey," Scully said to him. "We're
sure you're tired."
     "Nah, I'm fine, I'm great, I feel great. But where's Crissy?
I don't get it. She should be here too."
     "The park rangers who found you," Mulder said, "they didn't
see any sign of her?"
     "I thought maybe she'd come home already."
     "So you think she's all right."
     "Yeah, of course! I mean, I'm here. I'm great. That's weird,
though, I thought maybe since we were taken at the same time they'd
return us at the same time. Is Justin still gone too?"
     "Justin wasn't taken," Scully said gently, and that stopped
Rey's pacing.
     "He wasn't? Wow." He sat down on the arm of the couch beside
his father. "Tio Jim, I don't know where Crissy is if she's not
here."
     "It's all right, Rey," Jim said quietly. "That's why the FBI
people are here."
     "We need you to tell us what happened at Pueblo Bonito, Rey,"
Scully said in a gentle but firm tone.
     "What did Justin tell you? Did you talk to Justin?"
     "We've talked to Justin."
     "Well, whatever he said, that's what happened. We went up
there because Crissy wanted to pray and left when it got stormy--or
tried to leave. Then the lightning came down . . ." He frowned and
scratched his head. "I wasn't afraid. I remember that, but not much
else. I'm sorry. There was the lightning . . . and then it was
night time." He shook his head. "There's only whiteness in between."
     "Not a place, not people?"
     "No, ma'am."
     "Rey," Mulder interjected, "the park rangers found you at the
Pueblo itself?"
     "No, I hiked down to the visitor's center."
     "How's your asthma?"
     Rey blinked, startled by the question, and took a deep
breath. He let it out and said, "It's not bothering me at all."
     Mulder nodded, and saw that Scully was looking at him with
expectation. "Later," he said to her. "Lt. Reyes, I think it's time
to release Justin Black."
     "Papi?" Rey said. "Justin's in jail?"
     "We thought he'd killed you and Cristina," Carl said.
     Rey made a scoffing sound and got up from the couch. "Papi,
this is Justin. Justin! Justin beat up bullies for me. How could
you think that?"
     "Because we couldn't find you," Carl said quietly. "Because
we thought you were dead."
     "Does he know I'm home?"
     "No. He's probably asleep."
     "Not if I know Justin. We need to tell him that I'm home.
I'll come with you, Papi, and you can let him go. He didn't hurt
Cristina."
     "Rey, you need to rest-\endash "
    "Now, Papi, tonight. Justin needs to know we're okay."
     "But Cristina's not home yet," Mulder said softly.
     "She will be. And soon, too. I'm sure of it," he said in the
same absent way he'd told them about the lightning. He gave his
head a little shake and said more firmly, "So are we going, Papi?
Or should I ask the FBI people to take me?"
    Carl closed his eyes. "We'll go. Let me get dressed." He
opened his eyes and stood, then added, "Let me see the agents out
first." He went with Mulder and Scully to the tiny atrium of the
house, and stopped with them before the door. "Thank you for coming
so late," he said. "It was less helpful than I hoped."
     "It was very helpful, I thought," Mulder said.
     "I think in light of all this, I won't go with you to Chaco
Canyon.
Releasing Justin is going to take most of the night, and then the
paperwork-\endash I can have a ranger meet you--"
    "It's all right," Scully said. "We have a good map. We'll find
the way."
     "It's a strange place, the Pueblo," Carl said absently. "I've
only been there a few times. It makes me feel . . . it's so
ancient. Not a sense of history, I know what that feels like.
That's entirely different. Pueblo Bonito just feels . . . ancient."
He smiled at them, embarrassed. "Well, you'll see when you go
there. Good night. Thank you for coming." He went back into the
main part of the house.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    "Are you up for a really early breakfast?" Mulder asked as
they drove back to their motel.
     "We need to get some sleep if we're going to get to the
Pueblo at a decent hour."
    "I'm jonesin' for coffee and a Denver omelet."
     "Coffee and greasy food are the last things you need at this
hour, Mulder." She shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. "If
you, um, if you'd like me to, uh, rub your shoulders so you can
sleep . . ."
She glanced at him and just as quickly looked away.
     He smiled at her. "Thank you. I'd like that."
     She cleared her throat again. "Your room, though."
     "Okay."
    Scully nodded and stared fixedly out the window, her hands
folded together in her lap.
     Her little hands looked so tight and tense. Mulder reached
over and put his hand on top of both of hers, and rubbed them until
they loosened and wrapped around his.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    In Mulder's room, Scully waited while he put on his pajamas.
He got into bed, sitting up, and she knelt behind him. She put her
hands on his shoulders and began to rub them, deep--penetrating
him, he thought, to his muscles and bones. He closed his eyes and
sighed, content.
     "You know," Scully said after a while, "none of this makes
sense to me. It was easier to believe we were looking at a
homicide."
     "I don't think they were abducted," Mulder murmured, almost
too relaxed to speak.
     "Oh?"
     "It bears none of the earmarks of abduction . . ." He let his
head fall to the side and exhaled. She had incredible hands. "I
think it's more like spirit possession. . ."
     "Possession."
     "Something like that. I'm still working out all the kinks in
the theory. When Albert Hosteen performed the Healing Way ceremony
on me I saw several entities in the . . . spirit plane, I guess you
could call it. I only spoke to my father and Deep Throat but there
were several shadowy figures there as well."
     "Who do you think they were?"
     "I don't know. The spirits of my dead, maybe. Maybe they were
guardians or guides. Anyway, Pueblo Bonito is a sacred place to a
lot of groups around here, and it wouldn't surprise me if the kids
tapped into the same kind of spiritual plane."
     "But what you saw may have been an hallucination brought on
by the ceremony. Weren't medicinal herbs of some kind involved?"
     "I don't think it was entirely a creation of my own mind. I
think the kids were brought to a healing place, and definitely not
one of this world."
     "That's why you asked about Rey's asthma."
     "Yeah. Most asthmatics that I've known tend to wheeze even
when they're not exerting themselves, and Rey was bouncing off the
walls without so much as a whistle." He twisted his head to look
back at her. "What do you think?"
     "He didn't show any symptoms of asthma that I could see. What
puzzles me is what you expect to accomplish when we got out there
tomorrow. Just seeing the place?"
     "That, of course, but also to feel the energies and figure
out the attraction."
     "Feel the energies," she repeated. "I see."
     "You know, whenever you use that tone of voice I always want
to check my teeth for spinach."
     Scully chuckled, patted his shoulders and got off the bed.
"Good night, Mulder."
     "Tuck me in?"
     "Mulder . . ."
     "Bedtime story? Glass of water? I bet you do a great
'Goodnight Moon.'" He pulled up the sheet and lay his head on the
pillow
She smoothed the sheet over his chest and kissed him gently. "Good
night. I'll be ready to go by six."
     "Hey, Scully," he said as she was on her way out, and she
paused and looked at him patiently. "Love you."
     That brought a deep and quiet smile, and she said, "Love you.
Good night." She shut the door behind her.
     In a few minutes he heard her through the wall, getting into
bed and settling herself on the mattress. He brushed his fingers
over the wall that separated them.
     "Sleep sweet, Scully," he whispered, and closed his eyes.

    ~Truly Madly Deeply: Lights in the Sky 6~
    ~memory~
    Pueblo Bonito in the morning sun struck Mulder and Scully
silent.
The pueblo itself was on a shelf about halfway up the side of the
canyon. The colors of its crumbling walls were subtle, baked by the
sun of a thousand years, sienna and sepia and burnt umber. The
canyon behind the pueblo was the colors of the sunrise, red and
pink and gold. Even from the bottom of the trail Mulder could feel
how much history this place had witnessed: births, deaths, wars,
ceremonies, droughts, harvests. It exuded a strong feeling of great
age and greater dignity. Despite its state of ruin and neglect, it
was a grand sight.
     They had bought a guidebook at the visitors center at the
mouth of the canyon, which Scully consulted with a serious
expression as they drove to the pueblo. There were only forestry
service trucks in the visitors center parking lot, and no other
cars were parked at the Pueblo Bonito trail. It appeared they had
the canyon to themselves.
    The reason was easy to see: even if the murder investigation
would not keep tourists away, the thunderheads piling up at the
horizon would.
     They both had light knapsacks for extra water, sunblock and
so on, and when she had looked her fill, Scully slung her knapsack
on her back and put on her sunglasses. "Come on." She started up
the trail that would take them up to the plateau, her footsteps
sure on the hard-packed ground.
     Mulder was slow to follow. He took another long look at the
whole of the pueblo, and then at Scully, who had paused a few yards
ahead and stood waiting for him. He slipped the straps of the
knapsack over his shoulders and hurried to catch up.
     It was hot and dusty, and the wind blew continuously. They
both wore hiking boots, but Mulder still scanned the sides of the
trail for rattlesnakes and scorpions. He saw only lizards sunning
themselves on rocks and a jackrabbit dart into the brush.
     He stumbled a little and Scully caught his elbow. "Careful,"
she murmured, and he smiled at her sheepishly.
     "I wasn't looking where I was going."
     "Just a little further," she said soothingly, and Mulder
chuckled.
     "Did I ever tell you I went to Greece?"
     "No, when?"
     "A break at university when I was nineteen. The water of the
Mediterranean is *amazing,* Scully, it's so blue.  But this," he
gestured towards the approaching cliffside houses, "this reminds me
of this village we stayed in, only in different colors and with
less water."
     "What was the village's name?" Strands of hair blew into her
mouth as soon as she pushed them back, and she shoved her hand
through her hair with annoyance.
     "I don't remember. But it was like a postcard, you know, or a
travel poster. All these houses, sometimes a blue one, sometimes a
pink one, but mostly these gorgeous whitewashed stone houses all
nestled together on the mountainside. These families who'd lived
together for hundreds of years--thousands of years, probably. And
they knew everybody's business for generations back, whose
grandmother slept with whose great-uncle and\endash -and all that
kind of thing. Anyway that's what I imagine this place was like
when people lived here. Only without all the fishing boats." She
didn't answer and Mulder glanced at her: her face was serious but
the corner of her mouth was threatening to become a smile. He said,
"You know, I'd really love to take you to Europe someday. You'd
love England."
     "Give me a better reason than crop circles and we'll go." She
wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her arm.
     "Do you ever wonder how all these people came to just pick up
and leave?"
     "I thought the accepted explanation was they left because of
drought."
     "That's one theory." He glanced up at the ever-more
threatening sky. Their visit might be shorter than they planned if
those clouds caught up to them.
     "And . . . you think it's because the mother ship came to
bring them home."
     "I've seen things, Scully," he said in an exaggerated
mysterious tone, and Scully rolled her eyes.
     "We've all seen *things*, Mulder."
     He couldn't tell if she was joking, but she was ahead of him
again and it was hard to tell her humor from her retreating back.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    The trail took them around the outer walls of the pueblo, past
the rectangular outlines of houses--some complete walls, some no
more than a few bricks high--to the circular openings of the kivas.
The marked trail in the guidebook directed them past the Great
Kiva, the largest and deepest of them all, but Mulder climbed over
the ruined foundations to its edge and knelt down to look into the
stone pit.
     "See anything?" Scully said from the trail.
     "There are steps down into it."
     "We're supposed to stay on the trail."
     Mulder took his flashlight out of his knapsack and shone it
into the opening. "Justin said they went into their favorite kiva,
I'm betting this is it. Come on, Scully."
     She sighed, but followed him down the steps into the kiva.
     There were stone seats built against the walls, and Mulder
shone his flashlight all around to check for snakes. Scully took
out her flashlight as well and looked at the walls, which were made
of irregularly-shaped, tightly-packed bricks of the same reddish
stone as the rest of the pueblo.
     "What are we doing here, Mulder?" she said quietly.
     "Looking for clues, of course."
     "Oh, yes, of course," Scully murmured. "What kind of clues
are you expecting to find, though? She's not here. We're certain of
that."
     "I know she's not here. My question is, where was she taken
and by whom?"
     Scully turned to him, shining the beam of the flashlight onto
his chest so she could see his face. "You're not asking why?"
     "I think I know why. Reynaldo's asthma was cured\endash -"
    "It's premature to say it was cured."
     "--and I'm confident that when we find Cristina her leukemia
will be cured as well."
     "Mulder, you're not serious."
     "I am serious. They got what they came here for: a cure for
Cristina. Just not the way they expected it."
     "Then why have we never heard of this before? Don't you think
that if people thought they would be cured here it would be overrun
like the fountain at Lourdes?"
     "Maybe it's never happened before."
     "Okay," Scully said, "okay. But, if the children were cured,
how?
And by whom?"
     "Archaeologists think the Anasazi worshiped thunder." Mulder
shrugged. "You never know."
     "Thunder gods. Right," Scully murmured, turning away from him
to shine her flashlight on the walls again.
     "'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than
are dreamt of in your philosophy, '" Mulder quoted lightly, and
Scully smiled at him for a moment.
     "I want to look around some more, melancholy Dane," she said,
tucking her flashlight away in her knapsack, and she climbed up the
stairs to the top of the kiva. Mulder cast the beam of his
flashlight in one more wide arc, then put it away to follow her.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    The designated trail took them past more, smaller kivas and
into the denser ruins of houses of the Anasazi. Scully read aloud
from the guidebook at each marked stop like a good tourist, peering
at the highlighted areas as if she would be tested on them later.
     Mulder found himself growing more frustrated as the morning
progressed. Sure, it was beautiful, it was ancient and moving, but
in the end it was just a pile of rocks where no one had lived for
eight hundred years. Nothing about it, despite what Carl Reyes had
said, felt especially magical.
    So how did it happen? he thought. Why now? Why these kids?
Maybe it was just the kids themselves: Cristina and her St.
Peregrine medallion, Justin and his search for meaning through
history.
Something about them, maybe their prayers, maybe their beliefs,
maybe just their needs, had spoken to some mysterious Powers That
Be. He frowned, unsatisfied with his thoughts, and Scully stopped
reading.
     "What is it?"
     "Do you think that faith alone can bring about a miracle?"
     Scully closed the guidebook, keeping her place with her
finger, and said, "I think that faith is necessary for a miracle."
     "Do you remember the boy with the stigmata?"
    "I'm not going to forget him anytime soon, Mulder."
     "Do you think he had stigmata because he believed, or he
believed because he had stigmata?"
     She sighed, considering it. "He'd been raised to believe he
was special. I don't think there was moment--or many moments-
\endash when he *didn't* believe he is what he is."
     "Which is?" Mulder prompted, but Scully shook her head.
     "A special boy, Mulder, and let's leave it at that."
     Mulder couldn't let that pass, though. "Why does your faith
make you uncomfortable?"
     "Only around you."
     "That's not fair."
     "Fair, Mulder?" She raised her eyebrows at him. "Does \lquote
fair' enter into this? It's a simple fact. It's hard for me to
express my faith in the face of your disbelief and disrespect."
     "I don't disrespect your faith. You believe in God, I accept
that."
     "Patronizingly."
     "Any less patronizingly than you accepted my belief in
extraterrestrials for seven years?"
     "The difference being that you're looking for proof. You
can't find proof about God and therefore you refuse to believe a
thing. That's the antithesis of faith, Mulder. Faith is just faith.
No proof required."
     "But you don't blindly accept religion."
     "I'm a scientist," she said with a shrug. "It's my nature to
question things."
     "I don't see how it's different. You're looking for proof too."
     "I believe that God exists. I've even come to believe in the
Devil.
It's the other things that are hard. Miracles. Heaven. Hell.
Redemption," she added softly, rubbing her fingers along the stone
wall. There was a petroglyph carved into the stone: two simple
figures, one with a narrow waist and stick legs, one with a wide
body. She touched that one lightly and let her hand drop.
     At the sadness in her voice and face, Mulder wanted to pick
her up and cuddle her close. As it was, he put his hand on her back
and said, "If there is a God, I don't think he would punish you for
killing Pfaster half as much as you've punished yourself." She
didn't say anything but her shoulders quivered, and Mulder said,
"You've seen an angel, Scully. That's got to mean something."
     "Do you believe that I did? Do you believe that's what I saw?"
     "Yeah."
     "Then believe that I've seen demons, too, Mulder. And knowing
that they both exist does not help me sleep at night." She stepped
away from his hand and opened the guidebook again, and began to
read in her official voice, "At stop eleven you can see an example
of the Type III masonry . . ."
     Mulder didn't follow her at first. He thought he was seeing
her clearly for the first time in months. She was not the same
round-cheeked girl who'd come into his life nearly eight years ago.
She was not even the moonlit creature who, one not-so-distant night
in April, had stripped down to her underwear, borrowed one of his t-
shirts, climbed into bed beside him, spooned herself to his back,
and fell asleep with her arm around him and her hand on his chest.
She had been brave that night--renewed, he thought, by her
realization that her past was a guide, not a curse. She's been
trying ever since to overcome the biggest and latest block to
happiness, Mulder thought sadly, but she feels like she's failing.
     "Scully?"
     She stopped reading and looked at him. "Aren't you coming?"
     "Have I ever made you happy?"
     "Mulder . . ."
     "Have I?"
     "Mulder, some of the happiest moments of my life have been
with you."
    "And some of the worst have been because of me," he said
gloomily, and Scully sighed.
     "If you're going to start flagellating yourself I'd rather
not hear it. Your guilt wears me out. You have done nothing to me,
Mulder, nothing but love me, and I--" She stopped, gnawing her lip,
and Mulder wished she would take off her sunglasses so he could see
her eyes. "You tell me something: do I make you happy?"
     "Every day."
     "When you're not beating yourself up for dragging me into
this crazy life." She cupped her forehead in her hand. "I didn't
want to get into this now. We have work to do."
     "I'm sorry," Mulder whispered, "I'm sorry. I just want you to
talk to me and I-\endash "
    "Mulder," she said, and he shut his mouth. "Hush. When we
figure out what's happened to Cristina, when we go home again, you
can psychoanalyze me to your heart's content. But not now."
     "Right." He joined her up the trail, thinking that even when
they did get home it would be more of the same: he would have to
batter at her defenses to get even the smallest insight.
     It's worth it, though, he thought. It's worth it.
     "Tell me a happy moment, Scully," he said after they had
walked a while.
     She said without hesitation, "Baseball practice."
     "Oh, you liked that."
     "I liked it. You and me and a sky full of stars. It was nice.
It was very nice. Tell me one of yours."
     "Waking up to find you holding me."
     "That was a good night," she said after a pause.
     "One I hope to experience again."
     "You never know. Come on," she said briskly, "I want to see
more."
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    They had been warned at the ranger station that the weather
could change abruptly, and as they neared the end of the trail the
clouds had spread out over the sky. Mulder and Scully stopped in a
rest area and Scully leaned back her head, her sunglasses pushed to
the top of her head and her eyes closed, her face tipped up to
absorb the fading sunshine.
     Mulder said after watching her a few minutes, "We should head
back to Albuquerque. I'm not sure why we came."
     "You wanted to feel the energies."
     "Well, I didn't feel anything special."
     "I did," Scully said softly. "I feel . . . something here.
Haven't you ever been to a place that just spoke to you? Just . . .
felt welcoming?"
     "Yeah," Mulder said. He kicked his heel against the dirt.
"Oxford felt like home."
     She opened her eyes and looked at him. "You really loved it
there, didn't you." It was less a question than a statement.
     "I'd go back in a heartbeat if I had a good reason. You know,
you'd love Ireland. Talk about your green and pleasant land. Your
homeland." He winked at her.
     "Ancestral homeland. It's a big difference."
    "Anyway," Mulder said, "let's go. It looks like rain."
     "Just a little longer? I'm not ready to go yet." She shivered
as the wind picked up, and Mulder thought the clouds wouldn't wait
much longer to let loose. Nonetheless, he leaned back against the
stone seat with his legs stretched out, folded his hands behind his
head and closed his eyes.
 He had just about dozed off when a thunderclap boomed, loud
enough to rattle his teeth. His eyes flew open and he jumped to his
feet.
    "Scully, we should go," he said firmly, though Scully was
already pulling on her knapsack.
     "We might make the car before the rain hits," she said, when
the heavens opened and rain poured down. It was a swift, harsh
storm of the high desert, with rain so thick it was hard to see and
thunderclaps loud enough to feel. Lightning streaked in forks and
branches across the sky.
     With no trees and only the crumbling stone walls around them,
they were the highest points on this open shelf. Mulder grabbed
Scully's hand. "We need to get under cover somewhere-\endash "
    She nodded. "Or into one of the pits."
    "We'll get rained on."
     "We're going to get rained on anyway. We need to get to a
lower place." She tugged on his hand and led him up the trail, back
towards the settlement area of the pueblo. They ran at a swift
trot, trying not to slip on the suddenly muddy trail.
     At the first kiva they came to Mulder went down the stairs
first, cringing as thunder crashed overhead. The lightning flash
that accompanied it was close enough to blind him momentarily and
cause colored spots to dance before his eyes. It must have startled
Scully, too, because he felt Scully's hand fly out of his. He
rubbed his eyes with his fists then, still blinking and trying to
focus his vision, reached out to help Scully down the rough stairs.
 Scully wasn't there.

    ~Truly Madly Deeply: Lights in the Sky 7~
    ~memory: June 2000~
    For a moment Mulder just stood there, his hand hanging in the
air.
She'd been right behind him just a second ago, her hand in his,
letting him lead her down the steps.
 He stood on the top step and scanned the ruins. She hadn't
slipped and fallen. There was no reason for her to go into one of
the other buildings--roofless, they were no safer than the open
chasm of the kiva.
     Mulder wiped the rain from his face and rubbed his eyes
again. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, "Scully!
Scully!" drawing out the 'Y' until he ran out of breath.
     He climbed out of the kiva and looked around desperately.
Where could she have gone? He opened and closed his hand, focusing
on the details--had it only been a few seconds ago? Their hands had
been wet but held tight, and then the thunder--the lightning--and
her hand was yanked from his as if someone had physically torn her
away. That flash of lightning had been close enough for him to
still feel the electricity in the air.
     "No," he whispered. It was too fucking unbelievable. He
cupped his hands to his mouth again and shouted, "Scully! Where are
you? Scully!"
     There was another boom of thunder, and another bolt of
lightning struck the ground just in front of him.  He scrambled
away, gasping.
    For several seconds lightning flashed and thunder boomed. Each
streak of lightning came dangerously close to wherever Mulder had
been a second before as he rolled and struggled back towards the
kiva stairs.
     As abruptly as the barrage had begun it ended, and Mulder lay
in the mud, panting. Red, muddy water ran over the undernourished
earth in rivulets. Mulder could hardly dare to raise his head, not
sure what he was waiting for. His fingers dug into the mud.
     Nothing happened but falling rain.
     Anger surged through Mulder and he jumped to his feet. "Is
that all you've got!" he shouted, waving his fists at the sky, his
feet slipping in the mud. "Is that the best you can do,
motherfuckers! You missed me! You missed me! Now give me back
Scully, goddammit! Give Scully back! Give Scully ba--"
    White heat enveloped him. Jumbled images surrounded him. He
was a baby, and his parents played with him on a beach blanket
while ocean breezes ruffled their hair. His father lifted him up to
see the newborn Samantha, pink and wide-eyed, in her bassinet.
Samantha fell off her trike and scraped her knee, and he gave her
gum and she hugged him and stopped crying. He was lost on the
Oxford campus, and a pretty girl named Abby helped him find his
first class and later kissed him as they watched the rowers on the
river. Patterson clapped him on the back in congratulations for
bringing another criminal to justice. A serious-faced rookie held
out her hand and said she looked forward to working with him. He
opened his eyes in an Arctic hospital and saw her smile. She held
him on a dark night in a strange forest, and sang to him so he
wouldn't be afraid. She fell asleep in his arms, spooned up like
baby cats, exhausted from their 'moving day.' He stood in his
doorway and she kissed his forehead, traced his lips with her
thumbs, and whispered he was her touchstone. She held his hand
while he read the record of Samantha's final days. He woke up to
find her gathering him to her, and he breathed easier knowing she
would hold him all night. She sat companionably beside him, and he
paid the movie no attention because he was happy to just bask in
her presence. She lay on top of him on his couch and whispered
between kisses that she loved him.
     Hands touched him: his face, his chest, his head, his legs
and arms.
He thought he heard a voice: "Rest now. Just rest."
     He exhaled. He rested.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    When Mulder opened his eyes he was lying face down in the mud.
Warm rain pelted him through his already-soaked clothes. He spat,
got up onto his knees, and scrubbed his face with the front of his
shirt. He felt exhausted, light-headed, like he'd been holding his
breath. He thought dizzily that he'd been struck. He could remember-
-something-- like an hallucination. Scully had been there. Hadn't
she?
     He wiped his face and looked around the plateau. Scully sat
cross- legged, a few yards away from him, her arms around a dark-
haired girl who was crying and kicking against the ground. The girl
started screaming: "I want to go back! Let me go back! I want to go
back!"
     Mulder crawled across the mud and put his hand on Scully's
foot. She looked at him and shook her head, the rest of her
attention focused on the girl in her arms. "Sh, sh," she soothed
her, stroking her hair. "It's all right. We'll take you home. It's
all right."
     "Cristina Reyes?" Mulder croaked.
     "Tell them to take me back!"
     Mulder let his head fall into the mud. His hand stayed on
Scully's foot, and the rain poured down on them all.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    It was a dirty, wet and quiet trio that finally hiked down the
trail to the rented Taurus. Cristina's sobs had subsided into
sniffles, and she accepted Mulder's flannel shirt with a barely
audible, "Thank you." She crawled into the back seat and curled
herself up into the corner.
     He started to get into the driver's side when Scully said,
"I'd like to drive, Mulder."
     "Are you sure you're up to it?"
     "I feel fine. I feel better than you look."
     He had to admit she looked better than he felt, and went
around the car, passing her the keys. When he was in the car, he
leaned back his head, closed his eyes, and heard her start the
engine and the windshield wipers. They hadn't driven far when he
heard humming.
     He opened his eyes and looked at Scully in amazement. The
humming came from her.
     Scully never hummed. He couldn't even get her to sing for him
again, even though he'd told her time and again he'd heard it and
he liked it anyway. But here she was, humming like they were coming
back from a picnic. She smiled at him briefly and went on humming.
     "Scully?" he said. "What do you remember?"
     The humming stopped abruptly. "I remember . . ." She paused,
frowning. "I'm not sure now. Memories--of course I remember
memories-- but I don't remember what happened, precisely. I was
aware I was someplace else . . . but all I saw, all I heard, were
memories. Happy times, mostly, with my family, with my friends."
She glanced at Mulder. "With you."
     "That's all I remember too," Mulder said. "Good times. Things
I didn't even know I remember."
     "Exactly," Scully said, her voice soft with wonder. "Things
that happened when I was just a baby. Things I'd forgotten about."
     Cristina said from the back seat, "Wouldn't you rather stay
there than go anywhere else? Don't you see why I want to go back?"
     "But, Cristina," Scully said gently, "what about the rest of
you life? What about your family, your studies, your ambitions?
What about Justin?"
    "What do you know about my ambitions?" Cristina said, not
disguising her hostility.
    "I--" Scully glanced at Mulder. "I read your diary. We were
looking for clues about what happened to you, Cristina. We wanted
to be sure you weren't planning to kill yourself."
    Cristina sniffled. "Suicide is a mortal sin, Agent Scully."
She added after a moment, "Snooping should be."
     Scully chose to ignore that. "Your family was afraid you'd
been murdered."
     "Is that why you guys were called in?"
     "Your uncle called us. Yes."
     "Tio Carl . . ." Cristina sighed. "It's bad enough having one
father. It's like I've got three."
     "What do you mean?" Scully tilted the mirror to look at
Cristina's face.
     "Well, Papi, of course, Tio Carl, not only is he my uncle but
he's also police. Two authority figures in one. Justin's the worst
of all. He's *so* protective."
     "Men can be like that." She glanced at Mulder and he raised
his eyebrows to protest his innocence.
     "Latin men are worse. Men who didn't have fathers are worst
of all."
She snuffled quietly for a few minutes, then burst out, "I love
Justin. But why wasn't he taken too? What am I supposed to think
about that? Is that a message? Is there something about him that I
didn't know? I love him but I'm not sure anymore that he's the
right person for me."
     "Just because he didn't share this experience with you?"
     "Yeah . . . I mean . . . Rey was taken, I was taken, you were
taken, even Agent Mulder . . . but Justin wasn't."
     "Sometimes," Scully said slowly, "the people who want proof
the most have to wait the longest."
     "Sometimes," Mulder said, "it's really about faith."
     Cristina wiped her face again. "I don't know what I believe
right now, Agent Mulder."
     "I don't think any of us really know, day to day."
     "Some help you are," she mumbled.
     Scully said, "If you think that was heaven or something like
it, the best way to live your life is to live it like you know
you're going back."
     "Now you sound like my grandmother."
     "Does that make me wrong?" She glanced back at Cristina in
the rear view mirror.
     Cristina sniffled again and said, "Do you have a tissue,
Agent Scully?"
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    At the visitors center, they asked the park rangers to contact
Cristina's parents and tell them she was on her way home. The
rangers were astounded: "We looked everywhere for you! We've
searched up and down the canyon!" But Cristina only shrugged and
asked if there was a place she could wash her face.
     They'd lost a few hours up at the pueblo. It had been early
afternoon when the storm hit, and now the clouds were clearing away
to reveal a dark and star-filled night, complete with a full moon.
Scully continued humming softly as she drove.
     When they reached Cristina's neighborhood her house was
ablaze with lights: paper bags with candles set in sand lined the
front walk, and small white Christmas lights hung from the front
porch. Her parents, Carl, Rey, Justin and many others waited on the
front lawn, and there was even a large yellow ribbon tied to the
palm tree by the garage.
     "Look at all the people," Cristina whispered. She and Mulder
had changed seats during the drive, and now she leaned forward to
watch their approach through the windshield.
     "They've missed you," Scully said gently. "They've been
afraid for you."
     Cristina blinked her eyes rapidly, still watching the
approaching house. "Justin," she breathed and threw open the door
as soon as Scully brought the car to a stop.
     The boy was the first to reach the car, and he wrapped
Cristina up his arms. He lifted her up and spun her around.
"Crissy." He held her face in his hands. "Crissy." She smiled up at
him and didn't say anything, burying her head in his chest.
    Mulder and Scully were slower to get out of the car, stiff
from their strange day. They watched as Jim and Salma satisfied
themselves that Cristina was really there, and then the girl's
mother came around the car and hugged them both, despite Scully's
protests of their muddy state.
     "Won't you come inside? We have dinner--the rest of the
family is here, Jim's mother and our other children and their
families--"
    "Thank you," Scully said sincerely, "but we need baths and
sleep."
     "Then do come by before you leave Albuquerque. We want to
thank you somehow."
     "It's just our job," Mulder said, smiling.
     Salma said hesitantly, "Agents--where was she? The ranger who
called us said she was all right, but do we need to take her to a
hospital?"
     "A doctor's examination couldn't hurt," Scully said, "but it
can wait until tomorrow. As you can see--" They all looked to where
Cristina was being hugged by brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews.
"She's strong."
    "She looks like she did before she was diagnosed," Salma said,
clasping her hands together. "But where was she? What happened? The
ranger couldn't tell us."
     Scully eyes met Mulder's. She started to speak then stopped.
Mulder said, "She was safe."
     Salma considered that, then smiled. "All right," she said,
hugged them both again, and went back to her daughter.
     Mulder and Scully were quiet as they got back into the car
and started to drive away. Mulder said eventually, "We can probably
get a flight back tonight if we call as soon as we get back to the
motel."
     "They'll charge us for the rooms tonight anyway, Mulder. We
may as well stay one more night."
     "All right."
     She stopped at a red light. The car rumbled reassuringly.
Scully said, "Where were we?"
     "Pueblo Bonito, Scully."
     "Don't be a smartass. I'm serious. We were elsewhere. Weren't
we?"
     "Maybe. There are those who believe that the spirit world
surrounds the material world, that is just exists on a different
plane."
     "A spirit plane."
     "Maybe."
     "With Anasazi thunder gods."
     "Would you have an easier time believing this if it were the
fountain at Lourdes or some other place purported to perform
miracles?"
    "No, I would not," Scully said, as the light finally changed
and she stepped on the gas. "If we were investigating Lourdes, I'd
still want to check the facts. Someone throwing aside their
crutches and saying 'I can walk' does not a miracle make."
     "But a girl so weakened by cancer that she had to walk with
help, now being able to walk on her own, doesn't that tell you
something?"
     "You're arguing *for* miracles now?" There was a faint smile
around her eyes.
     "I'm just trying to figure out what happened, same as you.
The facts are simple, really. She was sick. Now she's not."
     "I'd wait until she gets a checkup before I'd make that
assumption."
     "Okay," Mulder said patiently, "she was sick, now she feels
better."
     "I can live with that." They drove in silence for several
blocks, then Scully said, "I feel better too."
     "How so?"
     She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the road. "Just better.
Better in general. Better than I've felt for weeks. Months."
     "Oh," Mulder said softly. "That's . . . that's really good."
     "Don't you feel that way? Just peaceful?"
     "Serene could accurately describe my state of mind, but I put
that more to finding the girl than anything else."
     "There is that, of course, but I . . ." She sighed. "I don't
know how to describe it. I want to do things. I want to climb on
furniture. I want to sing." She glanced at him, still smiling
faintly. "I won't, of course."
     "You know I love to hear you sing."
     "Right." She watched the road, and said in a soft voice that
Mulder imagined she used in confession, "I want to take a bubble
bath and drink champagne. I want to eat apples until the juice
drips down my chin. I want to run until I lose my breath. I want to
turn cartwheels until I'm dizzy. I want to dance until my feet
leave the ground. I want to jump for joy." She paused and glanced
at him, then said in the same soft tone , "I want to fuck. Yes.
Most definitely. I want to fuck."
     Mulder opened his mouth and found that he had lost his voice.
Scully smiled at him, a tiny half-smile, and returned her attention
to the road. Mulder licked his lips, gulped and cleared his throat.
He said, "Okay. What do you want to do first?"

    ~Truly Madly Deeply: Lights in the Sky 8~
    ~memory: June 2003~
    They chose a restaurant nearer to the suburbs than downtown.
It was bright and busy, with a noisy, crowded bar. It advertised
itself as South American, with items on its menu grouped by
country: Chile, Mexico, Ecuador, Guatemala, and so on. The decor
was simple, utilitarian even: the cement floor was bare as were
most of the walls, except one that was stacked with boxes of Corona
beer. More of these boxes also divided the dining area from the
bar, four or five boxes high. Pi\'f1atas of various shapes and
sizes hung from the exposed beams in the roof. The chairs were well-
padded and comfortable, the staff was friendly and the food was
perfect: fresh salsa, zucchini and avocado salad, tomato, lime and
tortilla soup.
     Mulder wondered if any of the other patrons in the restaurant
thought he was a hustler taking advantage of a runaway. With no
makeup and her hair tucked demurely behind her ears, Scully looked
even younger than usual and she ate as if she'd been starving for a
week. His own dinner finished, Mulder leaned back in the booth and
watched in bemusement as Scully ordered another helping of stuffed
tomatoes and a refill of her lime soda.
     "You know, there's always breakfast," he said eventually.
     Scully shrugged. "I'm hungry."
     "I can tell."
     On the surface it was just another dinner with Scully, one of
thousands they'd eaten together. But beneath that surface ran an
implicit promise that had never been there before. After countless
half-and-half pizzas, boxes of take-out Thai, barbecued ribs,
yogurt cups with bee pollen and bagels with light cream cheese--
after eight years together--after cancer and Antarctica and too
many brushes with death, it was finally going to happen.
     Mulder smiled to himself. It, like he was a kid again who
didn't even dare think the word. Sex, he thought with precision.
Better than just sex. Sex with Scully. He pressed his glass of iced
tea to the side of his face and closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.
There were some questions he wanted answered before the evening led
to that particular conclusion.
     "Do you want to share some dessert?" Scully said.
     Mulder opened his eyes. "No, thanks."
     "These look good: empanadas de peras."
     "Which means?"
     "Pear pastries."
     "No, thanks, though," Mulder said. "Go ahead and get one if
you want one."
     "I guess it can wait. I don't want to overdo."
     Mulder refrained from smiling. No, honey, he thought, three
helpings of stuffed tomatoes was not overdoing, not at all.
     "Hey, Mulder."
     "Hmm?"
     "I just realized what's different about you tonight."
     "Oh?"
    "The bruise on your forehead." She traced a circle on her own
forehead. "It's gone."
     "Huh. Must've healed."
     "It was there this morning. It looked to me you had another
day or two to go before it faded completely. But now it's gone."
     "Whaddya know," Mulder said and sipped his tea.
     The restaurant's piped-in music centered on pop music with a
Latin flavor, but when a new song began Scully's eyes grew wide and
she scooted out of the booth. "Patsy Cline! Dance with me, Mulder."
     "I thought you didn't like country."
     "Patsy Cline transcends country. Dance with me," she
commanded, holding out her hand. Mulder took it and slid out of his
seat. Scully wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek to
his chest. He held her loosely and bent his head over hers. They
swayed beside their table, not quite in time to the music, and
Patsy sang mournfully that she was crazy for tryin', crazy for
cryin', crazy for loving you.
     Mulder put his hands on her waist. She was wearing a white
cotton t- shirt and jeans, and she smelled of a light soap. She was
beautiful tonight, in a way he rarely got to see: the unadorned,
unguarded Scully, sweet as an empanada de peras, lovely as a
summer's day, his for the asking.
     If only he could get up the nerve to ask.
     Scully gave a happy sigh and rubbed her cheek against his
chest. "Why have we never danced together before?"
     "It never came up, I guess. We're getting looked at."
     "So?" She slid her hands down his sides to cup his ass, and
smiled at the patrons at the next table who were openly gawking at
them.
"You'd think they've never seen young love before."
     "Or relatively young love." He bent her back into a dip,
which made her laugh.
     "New love," she said when he brought her up straight again.
     "Reclaimed love," he said softly, and she smiled as wide as
he had ever seen her smile.
     "Let's go." Her fingers slid into one of his belt loops and
tugged.
"I'm ready to go."
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    As they passed through the quiet suburban streets on the way
back to the motel, Scully nearly jumped out of the car in
excitement. The cause was an elementary school, lit by street lamps
that illuminated the playground and surrounding combination soccer-
baseball field.
"Let's go on the swings, Mulder!"
     He parked the car in the school's lot, next to the
playground. Scully threw open her door and pulled off her shoes,
abandoning them in the back seat before she ran, laughing like a
sprite, across the grass. As Mulder watched she smoothly turned a
few cartwheels. "Mulder," she called to him softly when she was
upright again. "Mulder, come on."
     He locked up the car and joined her at a much slower pace.
The toys on the playground were made primarily of tough molded
plastic, in a form meant to stand in for a fort or a ship or a
treehouse. There was a net to climb on made of nylon rope, a pole
to slide down, and a ladder that led to the highest level of the
fort, where one slid down on a spiral slide. There was a swingset,
a tall straight slide, and a roundabout in the center of the
playground.
    By the time he joined her Scully was already on one of the
swings, leaning back as her toes pointed to the sky, swinging high
above the ground. "Take your shoes off, Mulder! Feel the grass
beneath your feet."
     "What is it about going barefoot that is automatically a
symbol of liberation?" Mulder wondered out loud.
     "Going barefoot harkens back to the carefree days of
childhood," Scully said as if it was something he should know.
     "I always had to wear shoes." He leaned against the pole that
supported the swingset.
     "All the more reason for you to go barefoot." She slowed her
swing, then stopped and stood holding onto the swing's chains. "Why
are you so glum, Mulder? You're practically pouting."
     "I feel a little ridiculous. But you go ahead and enjoy
yourself, don't mind me."
     "Oh, don't be like that. I can't enjoy myself if you're not.
Don't you feel like celebrating?"
     "What are we celebrating?"
     "Everything, Mulder," Scully said with wide, astonished eyes.
"Successful closure to a case with no loss of life or limb. The
two of us being here, alone and unscathed, with plenty to look
forward to as the evening progresses. The sheer joy of being a
whale. Ahoooo," she finished, in what he guessed was supposed to be
an imitation of whale song.
     "You're going to attract coyotes, caterwauling like that."
     Scully started giggling and clapped her hands over her mouth.
"Mulder," she gasped after a few minutes, "Mulder, what are we
arguing about? Take your shoes off, play with me. I bet I can swing
higher than you can."
     "I really don't feel like playing around."
     "Why not? It's fun. You can be playful, I've seen it. I love
it, too, you know." She sighed and took his hands. "All right, if
you don't want to play, let's talk."
     "I don't especially want to talk, either."
     "Now you're just being stubborn. Come on." She led him to the
roundabout in the center of the playground. "I've always loved
these.
Lie down, let's look at the stars."
     He sighed but followed her, and they lay down on the
roundabout, their heads pointed towards the center. Mulder's feet
turned them slowly, and eventually Scully took his hand again.
     "What did they show you, up on the pueblo? Do you remember?"
     "I told you already. Memories."
     "Tell me in detail."
     "Scully . . ." He sighed. "There were a few things from my
childhood. Before Samantha disappeared, mainly. There was a
striking absence of memories of Phoebe or Diana.  It wasn't too
bad, as hallucinations go. We've had worse." Beside him Scully
sighed, and he lightly squeezed her hand.  "Most of my happy
moments were--are with you."
     "Me too." She turned her head to smile at him. "That's the
kinds of things they showed me, too."
     "It's interesting, though, isn't it, that the four of us had
different reactions to the same experience. You're ecstatic, Rey
was empowered, Cristina didn't want to return--"
    "And you're melancholy. I think it's simple, for us at least.
I don't know enough about the children to make a guess."
     "Rey saw what other people had been doing for him all his
life and learned that he has strength of his own now."
     "And Cristina?"
     Mulder foot dragged slowly through the blue-gray pebbles and
pushed them into another lazy spin. "She didn't want to leave the
safety of-- of wherever we were. Maybe she was afraid of going back
to the pain she'd been living with. Maybe her memories of Justin
weren't as happy as she thought they ought to be and she's worried
about their future together. Or maybe they were more so. Knowing
you've found your one true love . . . that's not something to take
lightly."
     "Especially at that age," Scully murmured.
     "At any age," Mulder said. "What's your theory about us?"
     "Well, like I said, it's simple. Happy memories fill me with
joy and you with regret. That's why I feel rejuvenated and
blissful, and you're feeling quiet and introspective. I can
understand it, really. You've lost almost everything that's ever
made you happy."
     "Yes," Mulder whispered. "Almost."
     Scully turned onto her side and propped her head on her
elbow, studying him. "I think I know what this is about."
     "Oh, you do."
     "You're upset about the whole sex thing."
     "No," Mulder protested, and she gave him an impatient look.
"Okay.
Yes. I was thinking all during dinner that afterwards we'd go back
to the hotel and we'd--um--"
    "Fuck like bunnies?"
     "Basically." He licked his lips and plunged onward, "And I
keep asking myself if it's a good idea, you see. I'm not sure that
it is."
     "You're not?" she said, visibly startled. "Why?"
     "Because you're--it's like you're on something. You're bouncy
and giddy and you're just not the Scully I'm used to."
     "That's because you're used to depressed and in-turmoil
Scully and I don't feel depressed or in turmoil. I feel peaceful
and joyful and quite filled with love, especially towards you, my
favorite person in the whole wide world. I'd really like to show
you that without you getting hung up on it." She lay back down and
folded her hands just beneath her breasts. "I know what you're
afraid of, Mulder."
     "Is that so."
     "Yes. You're afraid that tomorrow I'm going to tell you our
making love is a mistake. Am I right?"
     He sighed and pushed them into another slow spin.
     "Mulder . . ." She turned onto her stomach and kissed his
forehead.
"I know you've been hurt by people you loved dearly. I know you
don't want to be hurt again. I don't ever want to be the one to
hurt you."
     "It's not just that."
     "What else is it, then?"
     "What if you're right, Scully, that this is the real you?
What if this is the Scully you always should have been, instead of
depressed and in-turmoil Scully?" She started to answer and he laid
his fingers over her lips. "What if we make love and then we go
home and it all comes back to you: the worry and the pain and the
never-ending battles. How will I live with myself, knowing you're
unhappy and it's because you stayed with me?" His throat felt
tight, and he whispered, "How can I love you the way you deserve,
knowing all it brings you is pain?"
     Her eyes searched his. "Do you want me to leave you?"
     "No." He wrapped his arm around her and buried his face in
her neck. "No, never."
     "Do you want to leave?"
     "No."
     She inhaled and released it slowly. "I've made my choice,
Mulder: I want you and I want the work. I refuse to be afraid." She
stood up from the roundabout and faced him. "Do you want a life
filled with longing and regret, or do you want a safe haven?" She
opened up her arms and whispered, "I will be safe, Mulder, I will
always be safe."
     There was nothing inherently dangerous about this choice, he
knew: loving Scully would be sweet and tender and safe, as she
said. It was the outside factors that he feared: manipulation,
threats, separation, their relationship used against them for
control or worse.
     But, he thought, how can I live without her any longer?
     He took her hands and pulled her to him. She came willingly
and he pressed his cheek to her belly. She kissed his hair. "Don't
be sad, Mulder," she cajoled him gently. "I want you to be happy
too."
     "I am happy," he said, and it was mostly true.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    In the corner of the playground, farthest from both the school
and the street, grew a grouping of oak trees. Scully took Mulder
there, leading him by the hand and then kneeling on the grass. She
seemed like a creature not of this world, made of cotton candy and
stardust.
She was magic, she was sweet, she was sparkling and delicate, and
so beautiful that the purity of her face blinded him like staring
into the sun. He couldn't stop touching her for fear she would
disappear like a faerie woman in a tale.
     She kissed him under the moonlight and tree branches. Her
mouth tasted like limes. She touched him like she was afraid to
bruise him: the backs of her fingers against his cheekbones, her
palm down his chest, her fingertips teasing his stomach. Her hair
spread like a silky banner against the grass.
     Her fingers combed through the hair at the back of his neck
as they kissed. She gently pushed him away with a hand to his
cheek. He watched, his eyes wide, as she stood and removed her t-
shirt and jeans, her plain white bra and her tiny cotton panties.
She smiled at him. "Say something, Mulder."
     "You're beautiful." He crawled to her on his knees and held
her by the waist. She had a true hourglass figure, he thought, lush
breasts and hips with a tiny waist he could nearly span with his
hands. She smiled at him still and stroked his hair as he kissed
her from her knees to the undercurves of her breasts. He sucked on
the curves of her hips and tickled her navel with his tongue.
Scully's skin, he thought, trailing his fingertips over her,
Scully's muscles, Scully's bones.
     She got down onto her knees and kissed him again, holding his
face in her hands. She pulled his t-shirt from his jeans and slid
her hands up his body, taking the shirt with them. She kissed his
shoulders and chest, his neck, his lips. She lay back, silvery in
the moonlight, and pulled him to her. "I want to feel you on top of
me."
     "I'll crush you."
     "Then crush me." Her clever fingers worked open the top
button of his jeans and his hips gave a sharp shallow thrust
against her belly.
Her smile deepened around her eyes and she unbuttoned him quickly.
She pushed his clothes down to his knees and he kicked them off
the rest of the way.
     Her fingers were cool on the hot skin of his cock. She arched
up towards him, guiding him to her warm moist vulva, and Mulder
held himself over her with his arms straight. "Don't you want to
wait?"
     "For what?" Her fingers slid downward and caressed his balls.
"I'm ready. I'd say you are."
     "But--but--" He had some vague notion of extended foreplay,
of making her come again and again, of making love to her until the
sun came up.
     "Babe, in case you haven't noticed, we are somewhat pressed
for time." As if to illustrate her point she arched again, driving
her hips against his thighs. "I don't want my memories of
Albuquerque to include arrest for public nudity."
     "Then maybe we should go." He thought, though, that he'd
sooner die than leave the warm soft cradle of her thighs.
    "I want to stay."
     "You little exhibitionist, you."
     She laughed softly and then sighed as he slid into her. She
was slick and tight, as welcoming as a good morning kiss. Her
fingertips swirled over his back.
     He kissed her mouth and touched her face. She opened her lips
and took his finger into her mouth, and began to suck on it in time
to his thrusts. Mulder groaned. He pulled his finger from her mouth
and traced the damp tip over her mouth, her eyes and her chin. He
kissed her again and again.
     Her eyes locked onto his. Even in the dark he could see the
flush blooming in her cheeks, how her pupils had all but swallowed
the irises. A smile danced over her lips. She closed her eyes and
leaned back her head. "Ah," she breathed, and again, "ah. Ah."
     One hand left his back and her fingers dug into the grass.
The fingers of the other gripped his neck. The slap of their
bellies became faster, louder. He grunted into her ear.
     Scully pulled his mouth to hers. "Kiss me." Her tongue darted
over his face.
    He had a thousand questions: are you going to come? Do you
want me to do something else, something more? Are you comfortable?
Are you cold? Do you love me? He only kissed her.
     He touched her more firmly, letting his fingertips linger
where she seemed to like it most. He tasted her breasts, licked
them into firm peaks. She quivered beneath his hands. Her entire
body hummed like a plucked guitar string. He thought if he stroked
her enough she just might sing.
    He chased that elusive moan, tried to catch up to it. He
wanted it.
He wanted to hold it in his hand.
     He whispered, "Tell me," stroking deeply within her, and that
seemed to unleash something in her mind or in her womb or somewhere
between. She grabbed his face. The flesh surrounding his cock
clenched and pulsed. Her lips moved, then opened and her voice
poured out.
     "Ahh. Yesss. Ahhh."
     Mulder closed his eyes in gratitude and felt his orgasm move
through him like a hand down his spine. He shuddered through every
second of it as he poured himself into her.
     "Yes," he agreed, and let his head fall against her neck. She
stroked his hair and kissed his forehead. The wind blew softly
through the tree branches above them, where the moon was round and
full.

     ~Truly Madly Deeply: Lights in the Sky 9~
    December 21, 2000
    When Mulder woke up, it was dark outside. His face was sticky
with tear trails, and he scrubbed his face with his sleeve. The
Eeyore doll was still tucked in the crook of his arm, and he felt
his expression mirror the toy's dejection. "You and me both,
buddy," he said, and set the toy on his pillows to guard the room
with all its floppy-eared dignity.
     Okay, he thought. Time to stop pitying yourself and get back
to work. Time to find Scully.
    He took a shower first, letting the water pound him while he
considered the avenues still open. First, the obvious: a pregnant
woman would need a doctor. Assuming she was unharmed--and he had to
believe that she was, he had to cling to that hope--some doctor
somewhere would attend to her, perform tests on her: ultrasounds,
maybe an amniocentesis, he didn't know what else. There would be
regular doctor's visits, prescriptions, eventually a birth
certificate. It was just a question of finding the records.
     Scully had told him of the Smoking Man's offer of a private
hospital and a personal doctor. Their records might be harder to
find, but surely they could be hacked into as well.
    He sighed heavily, soaping up his washcloth. This method of
searching would take months, even with the Lone Gunmen's hacking
genius. They didn't have months.
     First order of business, he decided: call Frohike, to start
searching medical records for any traces of Scully. Any pregnant
woman fitting Scully's description could be her. He wished that he
knew more about her condition; if there had been anything unusual
going on with the pregnancy that they could also look for--but if
there had been, she would not have been working as hard as she did.
There could be any number of small, red-headed women with normal
pregnancies in the country right now.
     He didn't think an official missing persons report would be
any use, but he would file one anyway. She was still a federal
officer: it couldn't hurt to have the field offices aware of her
description.
     And, he thought, I've got to find Krycek. That bastard's
mixed up in this. He's got to know something. He grimaced,
scrubbing shampoo into his scalp almost violently. He hated the
thought of Krycek spying on them, observing their lives, listening
to them talk, maybe even watching them make love.
     The mere thought made him gag, and he rinsed his mouth with
water from the shower head and spat it out. Please, he thought,
don't let it have gone that far. Allow us some privacy.
     He was certain, however, that Krycek had at least some of the
answers he sought. If not where Scully was, he might know what the
Smoking Man planned. Maybe Krycek knew at least that Scully was
safe.
     Mulder got out of the shower and dried off. He wrapped the
towel around his waist and padded back to his bedroom. He did not
want to turn to his enemy for help. He didn't want to know what
Krycek would ask for in return.
     Boxer shorts and t-shirt in hand, Mulder sat down
despondently on his bed. What kind of a world is this, to bring a
child into? he thought. This dark life, full of deception and
danger. No place for an innocent and helpless child.
     Nonetheless, a child was coming and somehow he had to find a
place where she would be safe and loved, and bring her there. Our
child, he thought, and then, fiercely, my child. *My* child.
     Again that strange overwhelming feeling arose in his chest,
bringing tears to his eyes and strengthening his resolve. He
dressed quickly. He would grab some fast food while he drove to the
Lone Gunmen's lair. He would sleep when the wheels were in motion.
He would rest, truly rest, only when Scully was safe in his arms,
when he could feel the heat of their child beneath his hand.
     My child, he thought again, and felt ten feet tall and
stronger than John Henry and Paul Bunyan combined. This must be
what fatherhood feels like, he thought. He liked the feeling.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    "How could you lose her?" Frohike said in disbelief. "She's
not an umbrella you leave in a taxi."
     "Don't start with me, Melvin," Mulder said, and Frohike
scowled at the 'Melvin.' "Every second we spend bickering is one
second more we don't find her."
     "You should have called us when she first went missing,"
Byers said gently.
     "Well, I'm here now, heart in my hand. I need your help." He
exhaled. "There's more. There's . . . a new development."
     All three of his friends looked askance at each other, then
back at him. At moments like this they reminded him of Macbeth's
witches stewing around their cauldron, even in their pajamas. He
almost expected them to tell him no man born of woman could help
him.
     He said, "She's pregnant," and all three of them visibly
started.
     "Is she all right?" said Byers.
     "How?" Langly said.
     "You?" said Frohike.
     "Yes, the usual way, yes," Mulder said. "It's why she went
into hiding in the first place. The threat is to all three of us,
but especially to the baby. I'll tell you the whole story, I
promise, but can we start work first? I was thinking medical
records. The Cancerman said something about a private doctor."
     "When did you talk to him?" said Byers, dismayed.
     "He talked to Scully. He made threats. The usual vague
threats.  He told her he wanted to take her away to where he could
take care of her."
     "Do you believe him?" Frohike growled.
     "I don't know. He's made gestures like this before, you know.
He's told me he likes her. I don't trust him at all but I have to
believe he doesn't intend to harm her."
     "That's assuming," Byers said, hesitating, "that's assuming
that it was the Smoking Man who took her."
     Mulder closed his eyes. "Don't. Oh, God. Please don't."
     "We'll focus on him," Byers said. He patted Mulder's shoulder
awkwardly, then the three of them moved away, talking in low
voices. Mulder heard things like "fetal tissue" and "genetic
therapy" and wanted to plug his ears.
     He knew Byers was right, though. Anyone could have her. It
might already be too late.

     By dawn the search for Scully through the Lone Gunmen's
underground connections had begun. Mulder had faith in them: if
there was anything to find, they would find it. He, too, had spent
the early morning hours making phone calls and describing her over
and over, until the words started to run together and lose their
shape. Small.
Red-haired. Blue-green eyes. A beauty spot over her mouth. A
tattoo on her back. Pregnant.
     It seemed strange to him that he knew every scar on her body,
that he could list off their exact locations. Like the gunshot
wound to her belly that had made him weep, the first time he got a
good look at it. And she had quietly soothed his tears, placed his
hand over her heart. I'm here, she'd said.
     Byers brought him a cup of coffee, which Mulder gratefully
took. Byers said, clutching his own cup, "How far along is she? Do
you know?"
     "Four months. The baby's due in May." Mulder sipped his
coffee. It was black, bitter, and it burned his tongue. He welcomed
the pain, minor as it was.
     Byers said, "If anyone was interested in harvesting the
embryo, it's too late."
     "That's very comforting," Mulder said dryly.
     "Was the ovum provided by a donor?"
     "No." Mulder sighed. "We weren't doing any fertility
treatments. She wasn't on any medication. We weren't trying to get
pregnant, we both just thought she couldn't. We didn't take any
precautions."
     "I see." They both sipped their coffee. "So, you don't know
where the ovum came from."
     "I assume from Scully. Which I know we all thought was
impossible.
When we were last in New Mexico, in June, something happened to us .
. ."
     Byers nodded. "You lost a few hours in Chaco Canyon. Scully
told us."
     "She did?"
     "Yes . . ." He suddenly looked like he wished he's stayed
silent, and drank more of his coffee in a gulp. "Remember when she
was in that fenderbender in August? She came to us afterwards and
said there was something she only trusted us with. She--the chip's
gone, Mulder."
     Mulder's hands clenched around the cup and coffee sloshed
over his fingers. "No."
     "She wasn't worried," Byers protested, ignoring the splash of
coffee on his slippers. "She wasn't surprised. She said she was
glad. She said she never felt really safe with it there, especially
with what happened with Cassandra Spender--"
    "This just gets worse and worse," Mulder said. "So did she ask
you to monitor her for cancer symptoms?"
     Byers gave a tiny nod. "But she said she had a feeling it was
just a precaution, that nothing would come of it. She just didn't
want to worry you."
     "Goddammit."
     "She said she'd felt free of it since New Mexico and the x-
ray to her neck after the accident confirmed it. Maybe even at that
point she'd begun to suspect her body was returning to normal. Did
she say anything, do anything, that struck you as strange? You
know, about--" He broke off, blushing.
     "Menstruation? It seemed normal to me. She didn't tell me
that it wasn't. Of course, with Scully, it's the things she doesn't
say that you have to worry about. I should have known anyway. Even
when nothing's going on with her you should suspect something is."
     "Anyway," Byers said, looking like the last thing he wanted
to discuss was his friend's menstrual cycle with the man currently
having sex with her, "she told us your theory about the spirit
plane and the healing place. She told us she thought we should
watch you both for anything unusual. So we took some blood. We ran
some screens. She was perfectly healthy. She wasn't pregnant yet,"
he added. "We didn't know until you told us."
     "And what did you watch me for?" Mulder said quietly.
     "Headaches. Hypersensitivity to sound. All your symptoms from
last year. We couldn't see anything wrong with either of you."
     "There hasn't been anything," Mulder said, though it hadn't
truly occurred to him before that moment. He hadn't had so much as
a runny nose for months. He'd been sleeping soundly, which he'd put
to Scully's company. He hadn't had a nightmare until the day Scully
disappeared.
     Body and soul, he thought. Both of us. We've still got the
scars but the wounds are healed.
     He said, "The smoking man knows about the baby. He has almost
from the first. I assumed he found Scully because the chip led him
there, but obviously he found out some other way. What I need to
find out is how he knew in the first place and how he found her
again."
     "I don't know if we can do that."
     "Try. Please. It may give us a clue about what he intends.
Try Scully's gynecologist, see if he has some connection to any
front organization we know about, Rousch, Prangen, any of them.
I'll get you the name of her doctor in Leslie, too."
     "Scully wouldn't choose a doctor with shady connections."
     "She may not have known about any shady connections. The
doctors themselves may not have been involved, but any of their
staff, even their bookkeepers, could have been. Somewhere, there's
a paper trail."
     "Right. Okay," Byers said. He drained his coffee cup. "I'll
get right on it."
     "I've got to go. I'll get in touch with you boys later." He
got up from the couch and started to leave, then paused at the
door. "Thanks for the coffee."
     "Anytime," Byers said, and let Mulder out.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Mulder didn't know what shamed him more: his not knowing they
were being watched or his not noticing that she was pregnant. I
should have seen it, he thought over and over again. But they'd let
their usual caution drop and he had been willing to believe her
when she said her fatigue and vomiting was due to flu.
    He saw it now for what it was, though. He saw as well that
Scully-- his Scully who feared nothing, who had a spine of steel,
who had kept her head in the face of a madman enough to speak to
him in the only language he would listen to, who had delivered a
child in a hurricane --had been afraid to tell him she was going to
have a baby.
     That bothered him more than any of the rest. Maybe in some
earlier relationships she and her lover had planned their future
together to the point of naming their children, but he and Scully
had never had a conversation like that. In fact, they had never
really talked about the future at all. Their relationship had been
one endless 'now.'
    No wonder she'd been so hesitant to accept his ring in
Alabama. She wasn't a mind reader: there was no way she could have
known he fantasized about their future together as often as he did
about the taste of her skin.
     All that would change, he vowed. As soon as he found her he
would tell her everything: all his hopes and dreams about their
family-to- be. And he would find a safe place for her, where they
could live those dreams out in peace. At that moment, he could
imagine nothing more beautiful than himself and Scully as
grandparents, still arguing between kisses.
     At that moment, really, he could imagine nothing more
beautiful than one kiss from Scully and her gentle hand in his hair.
     Meantime, he had driven home. He dreaded returning to his
apartment: right now it was so gray and desolate, teeming with
memories. The elevator where she had once jumped into his arms and
kissed him until they reached his floor; the hall where once she
had almost kissed him and instead collapsed, stung by that bee; the
door he had once leaned her against and kissed her until her knees
went weak; the entryway where more than once they had fallen and
had quick, fierce sex because it was too far to the couch--and on
and on.
     His apartment had once been filled with love and though
nothing physical had changed, now it was empty.
     Jittery with coffee and lack of sleep, he wondered if it was
wise to go into work. He could make the same calls from home, and
he didn't want to face Skinner yet. Telling Skinner he had found
Scully and lost her again would be second only to telling her
mother.
     Mulder opened the door to his bedroom, and whipping his gun
from its holster, pointed it at Alex Krycek, who stood looking at
the CDs stacked next to the TV.
     "Oh," Krycek said. "You're finally back."
     "What the fuck do you want? Don't touch that," he barked as
Krycek moved towards the bed.
     Krycek picked up the Eeyore anyway. "When did you start
collecting stuffed animals? No, don't tell me: this is Scully's."
     "It's for the baby. I hope you're here to tell me what I need
to know."
     "What do you need to know?" Krycek said, smirking at him.
     "Don't fuck with me, Alex." He advanced on Krycek, his gun
following the other man's every move.
     "Relax, *Fox.*" He grinned at Mulder, sitting down on the bed
and leaning back on his elbows. "This is a lot nicer than that
other piece of shit you used to have. I bet Scully likes this bed a
lot."
     Mulder stepped closer, pressing the point of the gun against
Krycek's forehead. "Quit fucking around and tell me where Scully
is."
     "Ever notice that you mix sex and violence a lot? It's a
wonder Scully isn't a mass of bruises when you're finished with
her."
     "Stop it," Mulder whispered. "Stop it or I swear to God I
will pull this trigger and I don't care what you know."
     "She's safe," Krycek said calmly. "She knows that I know, and
she knows I've come to tell you. We have a plan. Want to hear it?
And put that thing away before you hurt somebody."
     Mulder hesitated, then holstered his gun. "Talk," he said.
     End Part II


    ~TMD: If the Fates Allow 1~
    December 8, 2000
    After nightfall the car stopped at the end of a gravel road.
The car had rattled and pinged the entire journey, while country
music faded in and out between bursts of static from the radio.
Scully was cold, but grateful she had been put in the back seat and
not the trunk. Her captor, on seeing her shiver, had draped his
fleece-lined denim jacket over her before they went many miles.
      Scully's captor had little to say. He smelled like cigarette
smoke and motor oil. Once in a while he asked her, gruffly, if she
needed a drink or a rest stop, but she could only shake her head in
answer.
      He had come up behind her in the ladies' room of the Blue
Moon, clamped his hand over her mouth and pressed the point of his
gun into her belly. She was certain she would find a bruise there
later. Despite his small kindness of the jacket, she could not stop
thinking about his first threat: *Don't scream or I'll shoot your
kid.*     The restaurant had been full of confusion and she had
smelled smoke in the air. No one had noticed them as he dragged her
out the service entrance to his rust-spotted car. He had tied her
hands together with thick rope and blindfolded her eyes, but did
not gag her. She resigned herself  to having her wrists rubbed raw
before this was over.
      The heavy car door swung open and hands grabbed Scully's
arms. Hauling her out of the car, he dragged her by the elbow up
the path. He took her through a door that squeaked in both
directions and slammed shut behind them. Inside was slightly warmer
than outside, and gloomy through her blindfold. Their feet tapped
on the linoleum floor.
     "Paul!" he bellowed. "Dammit. Paul!" He shoved Scully onto a
couch, where a spring dug into her backside. "Paul!"
      The squeaky door slammed. "What are you hollering about?"
said a new voice, and two pairs of feet skidded to a stop.  "Shit,"
the new man said, and a second man echoed him softly. One of them
approached Scully and she felt his hand touch her shoulder. She
tried not to cringe.
      "I told you!" her captor said gleefully. "We let the right
people know we've got her and she's going to make us rich! For
life!"
      "Us?" said the soft-voiced man at Scully's side.
      "Well, yeah, sure," her captor said. "Y'all take care of her
while I field the offers and I'll split whatever I make. Three
ways. Even. Paulie--" He turned away a bit, appealing, Scully
supposed, to the third man, "Paulie, you said you'd help. I can't
keep her with me. You know how nosy my landlady is. I have to stay
at my place to take the phone calls. Your place is bigger anyway,
and way out here, nobody'll see her." Neither of the other men said
anything for a moment, and her captor said, "Paulie, tell Sam it's
okay."
      The soft voice said, "Are you hungry, Ma'am?"
      "No, thank you," Scully whispered. She thought she'd vomit
if she tried to eat at this point. Maybe later, when she had a
better idea of what was going on and how to escape.
      Because she would escape. No doubts about that. Even if it
meant trekking through the Ozarks or wherever the hell they were,
she would find her way back to Mulder.
      The third man sighed and said, "Put her in the bedroom, will
you, Sam?" He coughed thickly, opened the squeaky door, hawked and
spat.
      The one he'd called Sam helped Scully to her feet. "This
way, Ma'am." He led her down a short hall and into another room.
The air in the room was stale. "You can rest here." She felt a
mattress against the backs of her knees and sank down.
      "Could you untie me, please?" she said. "Or take off the
blindfold? Preferably both."
      "Oh--yeah--of course. Sorry, Ma'am." He untied the knot at
the back of her head and the blindfold fell from her eyes. It was a
blue bandana, frayed at the edges but clean.
      Sam went about untying her hands. He was stocky, in his
middle twenties, blond with a short mustache and beard. He had dark
eyes, and whenever he glanced up at her and saw her watching him,
he quickly looked away.
      The knots were too tight for him to untie with his fingers,
and finally he sighed, took out a Swiss Army knife from his jeans
pocket to cut through the ropes. "There. You'll be okay, Ma'am.
We're not here to hurt you or nothin'."
      Scully rubbed her wrists, which were pink and tender but not
cut. Her fingers were stiff and cold, and she blew on her hands to
warm them.
      He said, "I'm Sam, by the way. My brother's Paul and the
idiot who brung you here, he's Dobson. I'm really sorry, Ma'am.
Every time he swears he's going straight he pulls another stunt
like this. Well--I mean--he's never kidnapped somebody before. I
don't think he has. Anyway," he looked terribly embarrassed, "you
just rest, Ma'am. You'll be fine."
      "My name is Dana," Scully said quietly, still keeping her
eyes on his. She put her hand on her stomach, not surprised to see
his eyes follow the movement, and said, "This is Daisy." It
wouldn't hurt, she thought, to let him know there were two lives at
stake here.
      "Daisy," Sam repeated. "That's real pretty. We had a dog
named Daisy when I was a kid--beautiful hunting hound--" He stopped
himself. "Sorry. You don't want to connect our old dog to your
little girl." He paused again, then said, "Dobson--he said drug
companies are after you. He said you've got a genuine alien baby.
That's not true, is it?"
  "No," Scully said. "It's not true." Good God, she thought, is
*that* what this is about?
      "I didn't think so." Now he looked disgusted. "Dobson's such
a--he'll believe anything if he thinks he can make some money at
it. We'll straighten this out."
      The door rattled as Paul banged on it. "Sam!"
      "Gotta go," Sam said, standing up. "I promise you're safe
with us, Ma'am."
      Paul opened the door and leaned it. He was blond like his
brother, with a lean, clean-shaven, ruddy face. "You coming?" He
paused, glaring at Scully, who returned his look coolly. "You
untied her, you fucking moron."
      "She was uncomfortable."
      "You're a fucking moron," Paul said again but made no move
to rectify the situation. "It's your turn to make dinner." He
stepped aside to let Sam out of the room, and then stood in the
doorway with his hand on the doorknob. He appraised Scully for a
long minute, and grinned at her with yellow teeth. "I've seen you
before. You on the T.V.?"
      "No," Scully said, huddling beneath the denim jacket.
      "There's some girl clothes in the dresser, there. You'll be
here for a couple days, at least, so make yourself to home." He
started to leave again, and then looked at Scully once more and
said, pointing at her excitedly, "I know how I know you! I saw you
on 'Cops'! You were on 'Cops'!" His face paled and he muttered,
"Shit." He pulled the door shut.
      Scully's legs trembled as she rose, but still she walked to
the door. There was a keyhole in the doorknob but no key. Stiffly,
she lowered herself to the floor with her back against the rough
wood. Her body wasn't much of a doorstop but it was all she had.
     Even wrapped in the denim jacket she was cold and shaking.
Pulling her knees up as best she could, she spread the jacket over
herself like a blanket.
     Don't scream, she thought. Screaming won't help anything.
Crying won't either. Still, she clamped her hands over her mouth to
cover the faint whine that escaped, and a few tears dropped from
her eyes.
      Mulder, Mulder, I need you, she thought, biting her fingers
to keep herself quiet. I'm so frightened. Find me, Mulder. Bring me
home.
      There was a gentle flutter in her abdomen. Scully felt her
heartbeat calm down and her breathing deepen, and she lowered her
hands from her mouth. "Okay," she said. She cupped her belly in her
hands. "Okay, Daisy. Mommy's better now." She hugged her belly as
best she could and said quietly, "I can't wait to hold you." She
closed her eyes and leaned her head against the door.
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    ~Memory--June 2000~
    When they reached the motel Mulder was so exhausted he fell
into the bed without even taking off his shoes. Scully regarded
him, amused, for a moment, then climbed onto the bed to kneel over
him. He lay on his stomach so she began to rub his back, using her
fingertips and the heels of her hands to dig into his muscles.
      Mulder made a low moaning sound. "That's nice," he muttered.
      "You've had a long day," Scully said.
      "So've you."
      "I think I could still go dancing tonight and not be tired."
      He chuckled. "Don't quite have your energy."
      "I know." She bent low towards him, putting more of her
weight into the massage, and Mulder rumbled deep in his chest.
"It's okay. You get some sleep, babe."
      He inhaled and exhaled, slow and deep, his eyes closed. She
slowed her hands and stopped, and then placed her hands on either
side of his head and kissed his hair. His eyelids fluttered but he
didn't even smile, and Scully decided he must be asleep.
      Good, she thought, and got off the bed. He had been subdued
and thoughtful ever since they left the park; overwhelmed, she
thought, by their strange and long day--and by its conclusion, she
was certain.
      Scully felt no less confused--if someone had told her the
day before that she would be ready, eager, even, to make love with
Mulder today she would have asked them what kind of mickey they
planned to slip her--but she had no regrets.
      Not a one, she realized as she got ready for bed. Over the
past few months she'd been unable to articulate to Mulder exactly
why she was so endlessly unhappy, but she could see it now. Regret
had been eating her up alive, for every misstep and questionable
choice she had made in the past ten years. Every loss had weighed
upon her heavily: the normal life, the sister, the child, the
friendships, the career, the certainty of her place in the world.
      The vision at the pueblo had shown her things she had not
considered. Her friends still tried to keep in contact, even though
she could rarely get back to them. Her family still loved her even
though they didn't always understand her work or her life. Melissa,
her caring, funny, smart sister, was still alive in her memory.
She still accomplished good in the world, even if she would never
earn accolades and promotions from it. She was still Dana
Katherine, beloved daughter, cherished friend. She was still
Scully, loyal partner, adored lover.
      And she still had Mulder. Oh, yes. Mulder loved her without
condition. Mulder never questioned her integrity or motives because
he knew them better than he knew his own. Mulder, for all his
differences, was her other half--the part of herself she had never
known she was missing until he showed her how to be complete.
      She had been shown that at the pueblo. She knew she would
not soon forget it.
      There had been something else in the vision, too, that she
didn't know what to do with. It was not a memory, not exactly,
though it felt familiar like a dream she'd had many times but
forgotten each time. It was just an image, really: herself in a
garden, a laughing child in her arms. In the context of the vision,
though, it felt like a reminder not to discount even the most
extreme of possibilities.
      Scully rinsed her face and smiled to herself. Children could
mean any number of things in dream symbolism. The child, she
thought, could be nothing more than a symbol of her--their--new
beginning. This new life, where she could love Mulder and allow
herself to be loved in return. They could make a happy life in the
face of whatever was to come.
      "I've earned this," she whispered to her reflection. "I've
earned him."
      As if on command Mulder stood in the doorway, blinking
sleepily and rubbing his eyes. "Sorry, dropped off," he said.
      "I'll be there in a minute," Scully said, but put down her
toothbrush and went to him. She put her arms around him and hugged
him tight. Mulder hugged her back just as tightly.
      "Stay with me," she said, pressing her cheek to his chest.
      "Yes." He kissed her hair.
      They stood for a few moments more, then Scully reluctantly
let Mulder go and moved back to the sink. "I'm almost finished."
She squeezed some toothpaste onto her brush and started to clean
her teeth.
      Mulder stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.
Their eyes met in the mirror and he smiled at her. "You're
beautiful even with a mouthful of toothpaste," he whispered, and
bent to kiss the back of her neck.
      Scully laughed, hastily spat out the toothpaste and rinsed
her mouth. She turned and put her arms around his neck. "Kiss me,"
she said, and he needed no urging to obey.
      She was learning to read his moods through the way that he
kissed her. This kiss was passionate--he was almost always
passionate--but he was too tired to do much more. She caressed his
neck and touched his lips as they kissed until he raised his head.
He whispered, "What?"
      "Come on." She took him by the hand and led him to the bed.
She had him sit, and then knelt at his feet to remove his boots. He
lay down when she gently pushed on his shoulder, and watched her
with sleepy eyes as she undressed him.
      "I hate to say it, Scully," he said in a low voice, "but I'm
not up to foolin' around any more tonight."
      "That's fine, babe." She kissed his forehead and pulled the
sheet over him. She felt his gaze on her as she turned out all the
lights and got into bed beside him. "Turn over," she said, and he
chuckled and rolled into his side, his back to her.
    She held him, his broad back to her chest, trying to enfold
him into her. It was a hopeless task--he was just too long--but she
didn't mind the effort. The scent of sex lingered about them, the
way she smelled like the ocean after a day at the beach. She wanted
to bottle up this smell and keep it on a chain at her neck, to
sniff whenever she wanted to remember.
      They lay in silence for a while as she stroked and kissed
his shoulders and hair. She wondered if she should say it out loud:
Do you feel this, Mulder? It's love. It's real. It's all yours.
This means I love you and I want to make you happy. Instead, she
stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers. She combed her
hands through his hair. She lightly scratched her nails through the
hair on his chest. She kissed his neck. She wove her fingers
through his and clasped their hands to his chest.
      "Hey, Scully," he murmured.
      "Yes?"
      There was a long pause, then he said, "Everything is going
to be different now."
      She kissed the back of his neck and said, "Yes. It is. Go to
sleep, Mulder."
      He kissed her hand and pressed it to his chest again. She
leaned her head against his back and smiled at the sound of his
heartbeat, and held him tightly as she had been longing for months
to do.

    ~Truly Madly Deeply: If the Fates Allow 2~
    ~Memory: June 2000~
    Scully was folding her laundry. She always found this activity
soothing--the warmth of the clothes, the scent of dryer sheets and
detergent, the simple monotony of it. Match socks, fold. Panties,
fold. Sheets and pillowcases, fold.
      They had been back from New Mexico exactly one day--not even
an entire day--and it irked her that she was alone in her
apartment, folding t-shirts, when she would much rather be with
Mulder. But they had said their goodbyes in the Hoover Building
parking garage that afternoon, agreeing that sleep and a few hours
apart would be worthwhile pursuits. They had not kissed goodbye but
they had hugged, briefly.
      Scully had stopped by her dry-cleaners, gotten some fresh
food at the corner store, eaten a solitary dinner and done her
wash. It was now nearly midnight. She thought she would go to bed
soon, though she didn't think she would sleep. She had not slept
well the night before, instead waking up at Mulder's every movement
as if her subconscious couldn't believe he was still there.
      Tonight, she thought, her subconscious wouldn't believe that
he was gone--wasn't asleep beside her, snuggled in her arms and
stealing the sheets.
      Scully sat cross-legged on her bed and sighed. She was
lonely for him, and--she could admit this readily--she was horny.
For so many years no other body appealed to her, and it was even
worse now that she knew for certain everything from the taste of
Mulder's sweat to the timbre of his groans.
      She wanted him. It was laughably simple. She wanted him and
he wasn't there.
      Scully lay back on her bed and stretched out her arms. She
flexed her feet and let her legs fall open. She rubbed her palms
down her thighs, over the cotton of her pajamas and then underneath
her shirt as she slid her hands up her stomach. She cupped her
breasts in her hands. Her skin felt warm and incredibly soft. She
shifted her hips, remembering the texture of Mulder's hands as he
touched her this way.
      It wasn't enough, though. Again she sighed, and removed her
hands from her body. She eyed her phone. If she called him, would
he come?
      She lifted her head when someone knocked on her door, and
then she bounded off the bed. People she didn't want to see never
knocked, they just let themselves in. Even though he'd had a key to
her apartment for years, Mulder never used it.
      She looked through the peephole in her front door, grinned
and unlocked the door. Mulder smiled at her uncomfortably and said,
"Would you believe me if I said I can't sleep?"
      "Would you believe me if I said you don't need an excuse?"
She took his hands to draw him inside. "You don't even need a
reason."
      "So it's okay?"
      "Of course it is." He wore sweats and a t-shirt under his
light jacket, and in some places his hair was flat and in others
stood up like an exaggerated cowlick. He hadn't been lying about
trying to sleep. "Of course it's okay. I was thinking about calling
you. I was just wondering if you'd come, if I did."
      "Yes." He put his hands on her waist, and then stooped to
press his forehead against her neck. He kissed her collarbone. "Of
course I would."
      His hands slid down her back and they looked at each other.
She smiled and reached behind him to lock her front door, then,
holding his hand, led him back to her bedroom.
      "It smells good in here," he murmured.
      "Fresh laundry. I just changed the sheets."
      He ran an open hand over the bedspread. "Looks comfortable."
      "It's very comfortable." She sat down on the edge and tugged
his hand for him to join her. He did, smiling more with his eyes
than with his mouth, and leaned in to kiss her.
      "Mm, Scully," he murmured against her mouth. "You're so soft
and sweet."
      Scully laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. They
kissed each other slowly as Mulder's hands slid up and down her
sides. He scooted further back onto the bed, pulling her with him,
and lay down. He smoothed her hair back from her face and tucked a
lock behind her ear. She smiled at him, stroking his face with her
palms.
      "What do you see when you look at me?" she whispered. She'd
been wondering this for years.
      Mulder smiled like she should know this, and he said,
"Somebody who made my life better by being in it."
     Scully leaned on her elbows and folded her arms around his
head, and kissed him, kissed him for quite some time. His hands
continued moving up and down her sides, almost but not quite
touching her ass, barely skimming the undersides of her breasts. It
felt like a slow delicious tease, and she began to grind her hips
against him, following his relaxed rhythm.
      He groaned into her mouth, his fingers clenching on her
hips. He leaned his head back so that their lips parted, and he
smiled at her faintly.
      "What does it say about us," he said, "that we couldn't keep
our hands off each other for even just twenty-four hours?"
      "It says we're passionate about each other." Scully smiled
down at him, stroking his lips with her thumbs.
      "I've been passionate about you for years but I've managed
to behave."
      "Yes, but now you know you don't have to behave. You know
you're welcome here." She kissed his neck and whispered, "You can
come here anytime. And if you're not here, I'll come to you. I want
to be with you, Mulder. Even if we don't have the energy for sex, I
want to be with you."
      He cupped her face in his hands. "Scully," he said
seriously, "you know as well as I do that we can't be careless."
      "I know. But being careful doesn't equal being lonely." She
placed her hands on his chest. His heart was racing beneath her
palms, and she bent to kiss his heartbeat. "I want to sleep with
you in your bed. I want to watch TV wrapped up in your arms. I want
to go grocery shopping with you. I want to make love to you
whenever we want to."
      Mulder had begun to smile at her words, his hands restless
on her hips. "You sure you won't get sick of me, with all this
hanging out together?"
      "I haven't yet, have I?" She grinned at him and kissed him,
catching his lower lip between her teeth. He chuckled and pulled
her hard against him.
      "Here's what I want," he murmured. "I want to take you to
Graceland."
      "I knew you'd drag Elvis into this somehow," Scully
whispered, kissing him more deeply.
      "I want to slow dance with you. I want to take you on a
date. I want this to be a simple and normal as we can make it." He
paused their kisses. "Though I do want to make love to you as often
as humanly possible, too."
      "That's pretty simple and normal," Scully teased, "perfectly
normal, it sounds like to me."
      "Yes," Mulder murmured, kissing her again, "that would be
normal to you."
      "What do you mean?"
      "Oh . . . just that . . . anybody in love with you would
want to make love to you as often as they could. I'm sure you're
used to it."
      She smiled at him, feeling a fierce and protective
tenderness towards him, and she kissed him hard. "I love you," she
said, then again with emphasis, "I love *you.*"
    "I'm not being jealous."
      "I never said you were. I'm just reminding you. You're my
dear. Remember that, okay?"
      The smile that he gave her was quiet and satisfied. "Okay,"
he said, and pulled her to him again with a soft sigh. "Okay."
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    It had been a long time--painfully long, Scully thought--since
she had touched the skin of another.  She couldn't stop marveling
at Mulder's textures: his rough stubble, the crisp hair on his
legs, his soft lips. At his temperatures: his slightly cold toes,
his flushed cock. At his tastes: salt and caramel.
      There had been no time to linger the night before so now she
did, touching him everywhere while he watched her through half-
closed eyes. His movement was minimal, just caressing her in
passing. Mostly he watched.
      She did not begrudge him this. She wanted it--she wanted to
take care of him. I'm making love to you, she thought, I'm showing
you love. She supposed he would want a rougher touch at some point,
for her to bite instead of kiss, but she couldn't bear to mark him.
He was so scarred and bruised already.
      When he began to touch her in return it was light and
hesitant, to places like the pit of her knee, the inside of her
elbow, the base of her neck. His kisses were deep and wet. He
cupped his hand around her breast and the curves of her hips,
squeezing her for a moment before moving on. He kissed the muscles
in her arms and the flat of her belly. He rubbed his nose against
the tips of her hair and wrapped her hair into ringlets around his
fingers.
      It was so sweet, to hold each other, to whisper, to sigh, to
kiss each other slow and deep. Scully thought, for all the times
she'd had sex, this was one of the few times she'd really made love.
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    They lay sprawled over the unmade bed, tangled up in limbs and
sheets and pillows. She moved her hips slowly, wanting to draw out
every moment. She watched his face, her hands planted on his chest.
      "Tell me," she whispered. "Tell me how it feels."
      He murmured, "It feels like--mm--you want me there."
      Scully moaned and kissed his adam's apple. "Yes. Yes." She
drew herself up over him, her body straight as a column, and Mulder
ran his hands up her torso to cup her breasts. Her flesh squeezed
out between his fingers. She gripped his wrists. "Can you feel it?
Can you feel how deep you're fucking me?"
      "Oh, yes." His head tossed on the pillow. "Yes. Yes." His
hips arched towards her, driving deeper still, and Scully shuddered
from head to toe.
      "Mulder, Mulder," she said.
      "Come for me, Scully," he whispered, rotating his hips as he
thrust into her again and again. "I want you to come for me, my
beauty. You can do it." His thumbs flicked her nipples.
      "I want to. Oh, I want to." Her throat felt rough from her
cries and moans.
      "Scully," he said. "Scully." He gripped her hips, pulling
her onto him even harder, and she could feel his muscles tensing
and straining as she ran her hands over him. She closed her eyes,
rocking her entire body. He was so beautiful, so good to her, so
loving, so sexy--so deep inside her she thought she could feel him
everywhere, even her fingertips and her toes.
      "Oh, Mulder," she said, her eyes wide with wonder. "Mulder,
I'm--you -Mulder!" She couldn't stop--she couldn't stop--if she
stopped she would die--"Mulder!" she shouted and abruptly started
to cry.
      She could feel the effort it cost Mulder to stop thrusting,
and he placed shaking hands on her face. "Scully? Honey? Are you
okay?"
      "Yes--I don't know--" She nuzzled her cheeks into his hands.
"I'm sorry--" Mulder sat up and kissed her mouth. "It's okay,
honey. I promise. You're okay."
      "I love you so much," Scully choked out and buried her face
in his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his chest. He stroked her
hair. His entire body shook and his chest heaved with his rapid,
shallow breaths.
      "I know, shh, shh. I know. I love you too. You're okay.
You're safe with me. I love you." He kissed her again and again,
stroking her hair and her face. "My sweet tulip, my little rose. My
beauty. You're okay."
      "Everything is too much," she sobbed, not sure what she meant.
      Mulder sighed heavily and lifted her off his lap. This
stopped her tears, and she watched him with confusion as he got off
the bed. "Mulder? You're not leaving?"
      "I'll be right back," he said in a tone meant to reassure
and soothe. It did neither.
      "Is something wrong?"
      "I won't be long." He ran his hand over her hair and kissed
her, and then left the bedroom for the bathroom.
      Scully wiped her face with her palms and got out of bed too.
She didn't care if he was having a piss or taking a cold shower--he
couldn't just walk away. She opened the bathroom door.
      It was as she'd thought. Mulder knelt on the floor by the
bathtub, his arm braced against it. His eyes were squeezed shut and
he grasped his cock, jerking himself off roughly.
      "Mulder!" she said.
      He turned his face away from her. "Dammit, Scully," he
muttered, his teeth clenched. "You should have said I was hurting
you."
      "You weren't." She knelt down in front of him and wrapped
her hand around his cock, just above his hand. "You weren't hurting
me, baby. It felt good. It felt so good." She followed his
movements, grasping more tightly at the head and then easing her
hand down the shaft. His hand dropped away and he leaned his head
against her neck. He rocked against her as she spoke. "It felt good
to have you inside me, Mulder. Better than good. Strong . . .
powerful . . . fulfilling . . ."
      He groaned into her ear. His cock throbbed in her hand and
she gripped him harder. "Yes, yes, that's it," she whispered,
wrapping her other arm around his shoulders to balance him. "That's
it, my love. Don't hold back from me." He groaned again and his
teeth scraped the pulse in her throat, causing her to moan as well.
Her knees hurt from the tile and her wrist was beginning to ache
and it was going to make mess when he finally came but she didn't
care. He was her lover and she couldn't leave him unsatisfied.
      "Scully," he groaned, "Scully," drawing it out in that
strange way he had. "Scullaaaaaaay . . ."
      It did make a mess, semen over the both of them and the cold
tile floor. Mulder held onto her, panting, and she stroked his back
and his hair.
      "Would you like to take a bath?" she whispered, and he
nodded without opening his eyes.
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
Scully put on her bathrobe, cleaned the floor and pinned up her
hair while Mulder ran the bath water. He held his long fingers
under the stream, his expression thoughtful, and he frequently
looked up at her as if he wanted to say something. He remained
silent.
      When the tub was full Mulder got in with a long sigh. "This
was a good idea," he whispered. "This feels really good."
      Scully ran an affectionate hand through his hair. "Scoot
forward."
      "Hm?"
      "Move up. I want to sit behind you."
      He looked up at her again, his lips parted, then moved
forward so she could get into the tub behind him. Scully dropped
her robe and eased herself into the water, sighing too at the
soothing heat. Mulder hesitated, then leaned carefully against her,
his back to her chest. He pulled himself down a little, so that his
head rested on her shoulder.
      Scully picked up her shower gel and a loofah, squeezed out
some gel and worked up a lather. Mulder chuckled when she started
moving the loofah over his shoulders. His thumbs plucked at her
knees.
      "Scully?"
      "Hm?"
      "You're taking a bath."
      "So I am."
      He shrugged slightly, as if to say, all right, it's no big
deal to me if it's no big deal to you.
      She said softly, teasing his nipple with the loofah, "Why
did you walk away?"
      "I was hurting you."
     "You weren't hurting me." She kissed his ear.
      "You were crying, Scully. What was I supposed to think?"
      She stroked his hair back from his forehead and said slowly,
"Sometimes, when my orgasm is very intense, I cry. It doesn't mean
anything beyond that. Not that I'm in pain or that I'm scared . . .
just that--" She tried to think of a delicate way to put this, and
decided to hell with delicacy. "Just that I've come and it was
good. Really good."
      Mulder sighed heavily. He nuzzled his cheek against her
hand. "The last thing that I want is for you to--" He stopped and
pressed his face against her arm. "I don't want you to ever be
afraid of me," he muttered, his words muffled.
      "I won't be." She kissed his hair. "Ever. I promise."
      He took another slow breath. "The past couple days I've been
thinking a lot about us and you and your . . . troubles . . . "
     "You've been thinking about Pfaster," Scully said calmly.
      "Yeah."
      "So have I."
      "Yeah?"
      "Yeah. And you know what I've realized?"
      "What?" He sounded like he dreaded the idea.
      "He's dead. He's not going to hurt anyone anymore. He's not
going to hurt me. I can't let him control me from the grave. As
much as I regret being the one to pull the trigger I don't regret
his being dead. Maybe in death he's finally found some peace."
      Mulder exhaled and stroked her arm. "Do you really want
peace for him, Scully?"
      "Yes. I think I do. All I can do now is pity him. How
terrible it must have been, to find no joy in life except in the
taking of it. Yes." She ran her fingers through Mulder's hair. "I
hope he's found peace."
      Mulder closed his eyes. "Do you want to know what I've been
thinking?" he murmured.
      "Yes."
      "What if he and I aren't that different. When it comes to
you, I mean. You are all I think about. You are everything to me.
What if my obsession and his obsession--what if they're the same
thing under different names? That dream I had the other night--"
      "Mulder." She stroked his chest. He was getting overexcited
in all the wrong ways. "Shh, Mulder. You love me. You don't want to
own me or destroy me. That's the difference."
      "But the dream--"
     "Was just a dream. It was on your mind, so you dreamed about
it. It wasn't predicting the future or reshaping the past. It was
just a dream."
      "There's darkness in me, Scully."
      "There's darkness in all of us, Mulder." She kissed his hair
again. "And you know what? I still love you."
      He relaxed in her arms, allowing his full weight to rest
against her. "Am I too heavy?"
      "No." She smiled. "I can handle you."
     ~Truly Madly Deeply: If the Fates Allow 3~

    ~Memory--August 2000~
    Mulder was solicitous as he guided Scully into her bedroom.
"Lean on me, Scully--that's my girl--careful of the rug--" Scully
had kept her eyes closed ever since they left the hospital. The
bright daylight hurt her eyes, and she wanted more than anything to
lie down in her darkened bedroom and let the world drift by for a
while.
      It had been a minor car accident but still Scully came out
of it with a concussion, whiplash and cuts on her face and hands.
Mulder had been frantic, positive that someone--one of Them--had
caused the accident as a message. Since Scully had actually talked
to the other driver, she didn't think so. Mulder had wanted her to
stay in the hospital longer than overnight, but Scully only wanted
to be home.
     Mulder kept his arm around her shoulder as he folded back the
blankets on her bed. He eased her onto the mattress. "Do you want
anything?"
      "Stay with me?" She peered at him. He smiled at her. "Please?"
      "Sure, honey. But you don't want some tea or something?"
      "Nuh-uh." She held out her arms. He took her hands and
kissed them.
      "Let's get you comfortable."
      "I'm very comfortable."
      "Let's make you more comfortable, then." He kissed her hands
again and let them go, and moved down to take off her shoes and
socks. He kissed the bottoms of her feet.
      "Mulder, love, I'm not up for sex."
      "I know, honey. I just like your little feet."
      Scully laughed but regretted it as it sent the throbbing in
her head to new heights. "Oh," she moaned quietly, pressing her
hands to her temples.
      "Would ice help?"
      "Yes." Or morphine, she thought.
      Mulder leaned close to her and whispered, "Is it okay to
kiss you?"
      "Gently," she said, so that was exactly how he kissed her.
      "I'll be right back with your ice." She heard him walk away
and close the door behind him.
      Scully folded her hands on her stomach. She had been given
medication at the hospital but its effect was mild, changing the
pain from a sharp pounding to a dull ache. Rest, she knew, was the
only cure, and she thought she might welcome the opportunity to lie
quietly, as long as Mulder was nearby.
      The rest of the summer had been sweet, more fun than she had
thought it could be, more tender and more passionate. They fell
into a routine like a married couple, spending nights at each
other's apartments, sharing their bathrooms, cooking, showering and
sleeping together.
     She had never been in love like this: so completely, so
simply and so happily. There had always been something in the way
before, ambitions or other relationships or doubt. With Mulder
there was no doubt. He had no desires but her happiness. They were
each other's world, and sometimes when she stepped out of it she
blinked in surprise at the other people around.
      She had talked to her mother a few days before the accident.
Her mother had commented, "You seem happy, dear," and Scully had
said, "Yes. I am."
     There was only one more thing that she could ask for, but
since that was impossible she tried not to dwell on it. If Mulder
wanted anything more he gave no sign, so Scully tried to be
content, too.
      Still . . . one night they were spooning in bed and Mulder
had been stroking her stomach, and she'd been tempted, terribly
tempted, to ask him, "Do you want to have a baby?" But even if his
answer was yes--and she wasn't sure it would be--her body's answer
was no, forever and always.
      Charlie had stopped teasing her with "tick tick tick" in his
letters. Bill had stopped asking her if she was seeing anyone.
Melissa, she thought, would be plying her with homeopathic teas and
swinging crystals over her belly, telling Scully she had to relax
if she wanted to conceive.
     It seemed strange to her, this line of thinking, but she
couldn't argue against it, either. I am in love, ergo, I want to
have a baby with him. It felt as obvious as, I am in love, ergo, I
want him in my bed; I am in love, ergo, the rest of my weekends are
booked; I am in love, ergo, I am spending far too much money at
Victoria's Secret.
      Scully sighed, flexed her arms and settled back into a
comfortable position. She had Mulder. He was enough.
     In a few minutes Mulder came back with a towel filled with
ice. He perched on the edge of the bed and laid the towel carefully
over her forehead. "Thank you, love," she whispered, cracking her
eyes open again to look at him.
      He stroked her chin. "Get some sleep."
      "Stay with me."
      "I'd be afraid I'd hit you in my sleep or something. Jog
that precious, lovely head."
      Scully managed not to laugh this time. "You know I sleep
better when you're here."
      "Me too, baby." He continued stroking her chin, and said,
"I'll stay but we'll have to settle you in really carefully with
pillows and stuff. You need to relax and keep still."
      "Yes, dear."
      "'Yes, dear,'" he mimicked with a chuckle. "You must be
feeling awful."
      "That pretty much sums it up."
      "Okay. Let me get you some dinner together. Do you think you
could eat something?"
      "Something simple like soup."
      "Soup it is." He kissed her carefully. "I love you."
      "Mm, I love you," Scully answered, touching his face without
opening her eyes, and he caught her hand and kissed it.
      "Sleep. I'll wake you when dinner's ready."
      "Yes, dear," she murmured again. Mulder chuckled and kissed
her once more before getting up from the bed.
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
     Mulder was a cuddler. He loved to hold her close and stroke
his hands over her, even when they agreed they were too tired for
sex and it was time for sleep. He would circle her navel with a
fingertip or play with her fingers or rub the bottom of her foot
with his big toe.
      Lying flat on her back, her head nestled in pillows, Scully
thought the aching was only secondary to the frustration of wanting
him closer. She could feel his warmth and hear him breathe, but it
wasn't the same as being wrapped around him or in him.
      "Mulder?" she whispered. They had been lying in bed twenty
minutes, maybe less. Her medication had not kicked in yet. He was
lying on his side, his hand under his face like the reformed thumb-
sucker he was. "Mulder, are you asleep?"
     He grunted in response. She decided not to bother him after
all: it heartened her, really, that this former insomniac now fell
asleep in seconds, as soon as he was comfortable. Normally she fell
asleep quickly too, her head on his chest, her hand over his heart.
Their legs would be intertwined and he would hold her so, so tight
. . .
      She sighed. She moved her hand slowly under the sheets and
touched the smooth skin of his wrist. A vein beat beneath her
fingers, slowed by sleep.
      There were nights she awoke and searched for his pulse,
needing visceral proof that he was here, alive with her, not dead
and not a dream. There were nights that she counted the seconds
between breaths. There were times, even in the office, when she
couldn't stop herself from embracing him--often from behind as he
was sitting, wrapping her arms around his neck and rubbing her face
against his hair. He would chuckle, reach behind and touch her hip,
rub her arm, turn back his head for a kiss.
    She was becoming a cuddler, too, it seemed. She hadn't quite
acquired his taste for nicknames but he didn't seem to mind that.
She couldn't keep track of all the things he called her--it usually
centered around flowers but when he called her Squirrel she had no
trouble calling him Moose. "As in, big as a . . ." she would tease,
which would make him laugh and kiss her.
      She loved that she could make him laugh.
      Again Scully sighed, and shifted her legs. Lying still on
her back was not as easy as it would seem. Her pelvis ached and
there were cramps in her lower belly and calves. She wanted to turn
onto her side and curl up her legs. She wanted Mulder to hold her.
      But no. She had to lie still. She had to let her brain get
settled into place again--not the technical term, she thought with
a wry grin, but good enough for her mood now.
      The cramp in her side intensified and she clenched her
teeth, exhaling. It was a low pain, tight and sharp. It felt . . .
familiar.
      Scully sat up, grimacing, her hand pressed against her side.
It had been years since she'd felt this but there was no mistaking
a menstrual cramp. She tried to move her legs off the side of the
bed, to put her feet on the floor, but the room spun like a Tilt-A-
Whirl and she had to fight down a bout of nausea.
      "Scully?" Mulder muttered sleepily, sitting up behind her.
"Do you need something, honey?"
      "The bathroom. I need the bathroom."
      He was on his feet in a second, around the bed to pick her
up. "Are you going to vomit?"
      "No, I don't think so--Mulder, put me down, please. I don't
need to be carried."
      He was halfway to the bathroom with her already, however. He
lowered the lid on the toilet and set her down, and brushed her
hair back from her face. "Do you just need some water?"
      "I need a tampon," Scully said.
      He blushed and chuckled. "Oh. Girl stuff."
      "Girl stuff," she confirmed. "There's a box under the sink.
And then if you'll leave me for a few minutes, please, I'd rather
do this alone."
      Mulder got the box from beneath the sink and handed it to
her, then paused in the doorway. "If you're going to be resting a
while, shouldn't you be wearing a pad?"
      She stared at him a moment, then said, "It freaks me out
sometimes, remembering that you were married."
      "It wasn't so bad." He smiled at her. "Most of the time it
was pretty okay." He left the bathroom and shut the door.
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Conception, Scully later thought, was mostly a matter of timing.
      Exactly twenty-eight days after their experience at Pueblo
Bonito, Scully menstruated. She'd been having short, erratic
periods since her abduction, so this did not strike her as strange.
Mulder, still learning the rhythms of her body, did not think it
strange either. She later thought perhaps she didn't ovulate in
July, that her body was in the process of returning to normal, and
that was why she didn't conceive that month.
      August was easy: the week she ovulated was the week of her
car accident and Mulder was considerate enough to not ask for
anything while she had a concussion. He was actually quite
attentive while she rested and healed, solicitous in a way she
never would have imagined before she became his lover. So, no baby
in August.
      But she felt better in September.
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    ~December 8, 2000~
    The little room had warmed up a bit as forced hot air blew
from the vent by the window. Scully laboriously stood and went to
the window, parted the curtains and looked out. There was nothing
to see but trees: oaks, pines, birches, more trees than she knew
the names of. From this angle she couldn't see the road.
      She folded the denim jacket and went the dresser Paul had
indicated earlier. Girl clothes, she thought. I wonder who the girl
is?
      The clothes she found were clean though a few sizes too big
for her: two pairs of Levis, several t-shirts, a few sweaters.
Scully chose a pink cableknit cardigan and a pair of slippers
lined with lamb's wool that she found beneath a flannel nightgown.
Her feet had gotten entirely too cold from wearing sandals in this
weather.
      Somewhat warmer, Scully eased open the bedroom door. Her
next mission was to find a bathroom, and after that, to see if she
could get Sam to tell her more about where they were and what was
going on. Their friend Dobson seemed like a petty criminal at best,
and she couldn't see how he could have heard about her or any
possible rewards offered for herself or the baby. Either the
Smoking Man had grown very careless in his old age or there was yet
another person, or group of persons, interested in her physiology.
      The bathroom was just across the hall, small and recently
cleaned, judging by the strong smell of Lysol in the air. Scully
used the toilet and washed her hands, and then splashed some cold
water on her face. Her reflection in the mirror seemed like another
woman: some tiny frightened creature with too-big eyes, wearing an
oversized sweater, her freckles popping out in her pale face.
      Scully ran her damp hands through her hair and straightened
her shoulders. Her gun and her badge were long gone, but she still
had her attitude.
      "Knock 'em dead," she whispered to her reflection, and
touched her belly for luck. Daisy gave an answering bump and Scully
opened the bathroom door.
      The hallway smelled of frying ham and hot cheese. Scully's
stomach growled--she'd been too frightened to eat since her eggs in
the diner that morning. Still, she approached the kitchen with
caution. Paul would not be happy to see her, and she doubted Sam
would be, even if he were willing to talk to her.
      She thought, I am Dana Scully, and lifted her chin a little
higher as she pushed open the kitchen door.
      The TV was blaring a rerun of 'The Simpsons', and Paul lay
on the couch watching it while Sam cooked. Scully walked to the
stove as if she had every right to be there, and looked into the
pots.
      "Mac and cheese," Sam said, sounding almost shy. "And ham .
. . and broccoli. We don't got any more milk."
      "I'll be fine with water." She folded her arms. "Unless one
of you wanted to run to the store for some."
    "It's not exactly a run, Ma'am--it's a forty minute drive--"
     "Sam!" Paul sat up on the couch. "Shut your mouth! And who
told you you could be wanderin' around, woman? Go back in the
bedroom!"
      Sam ducked his head, abashed, but Scully said, "No," quietly
and clearly.
      "What did you say?"
      "I said no. Tie me up if you want me to stay put--if you've
got the balls."
      Paul started to rise from the couch when Sam said, "There'll
be none of that. Nobody's tying up anybody. Ma'am, why don't you
have a seat. This is almost done."
      Never taking her eyes off Paul, Scully murmured, "Thanks,"
and sat slowly down in one of the kitchen chairs. Her ankles were
aching, she had to admit that.
      Paul watched her, then snorted and lay down again. "Gonna
kill that Dobson," he muttered.
      "It would be better for you if you did," Scully said.
"Kidnapping is a federal offense, and the penalties are worse when
state lines are crossed."
      "But we didn't do it!" Paul exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
"We didn't do nothin'!"
      "He brought me here, making you accessories after the fact,
which is still a felony."
      Paul stared at her and said, "She's making this up. She's
bluffing, Sam."
      "Do you really want to get your brother into that much
trouble?" Scully said in a soft, firm voice.
      "Sam, she's lying--"
     "You remember what I was on 'Cops'. I wasn't one of the
criminals."
      Sam said, "What was she on 'Cops'?"
      Paul looked from Scully to Sam, and said, turning away to
sit on the couch again, "She's with the fuckin' FBI."
      "The FBI," Sam repeated, disbelieving. "This little thing?
No offense, ma'am."
      "None taken," Scully murmured. "I was a federal agent until
two months ago. I left to protect my child--who is not, despite
what Dobson may have told you, anything supernatural. If you help
me, or even just let me go--"
     "That's enough," growled Paul. "You're not going nowhere, not
at least until I talk to Dobson. Can we eat yet, Sam? I'm hungry."
      "Yeah, it's ready," Sam said quietly, and turned back to the
stove to start dishing up the food.
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    It was a tense meal. It was difficult, Scully found, to eat
while retaining an aura of cool detachment. Sam ate with his head
down, barely looking up to pass the salt when asked. Paul ate
loudly, glaring at them both.
     "So, Federal Agent Lady," Paul said finally. "I always
thought aliens was bullshit, but Dobson says he knows somebody who
swears they're for reals. Is it true?"
      Scully sighed. "You may call me Agent Scully."
     "Okay, *Agent.* So? What about it?"
      "I honestly don't know. I've seen a lot of unexplainable
things."
      "That's it? 'Unexplainable things'? Sheesh, lady." He
smirked. "*Agent* Scully. Can't expect the government to tell us
the truth, anyhow."
      Scully almost laughed, but remembered herself and stopped.
      Sam stood and started to clear the dishes. Paul said, "Don't
suppose you could help with a speeding ticket I got last week,
could you?"
      "Maybe, if you let me go."
      Paul laughed and shook his finger at her.  "If Dobson's
right we're gonna be millionaires, so you can stop trying."
      Scully glanced at Sam, who stood with his back to them at
the sink, quietly scraping the dishes. "Do you know what they'll do
to me, if they get their hands on me?"
      "Study you, of course. Take your blood and stuff."
      "They'll take more than my blood. They'll kill me so they
can study me. They'll kill my child so they can study her fetal
tissue. And whatever they're looking for, they won't find, because
it's not there. They think this child is part alien but she's not--
she's as human as you or I. You've got to help me. Please. Help me.
I don't even know where I am."
      Sam turned around, agony in his eyes. "Ma'am-"
     "Dammit!" Paul slammed his hand on the table and got to his
feet. "Shut your mouth. Shut it. Sam, she's lying. And of course
she'd be lying. I'd be lying too." He thrust his finger in Scully's
face. "But you are not to upset him."
      Scully lowered her eyes and said nothing. She clenched her
hands together under the table.
      "I'm calling Dobson," Paul said, starting to leave the
kitchen, and then he stopped himself and came back. He grabbed
Scully's arm and yanked her to her feet. Sam made a small sound but
didn't follow as Paul pushed her down the hall and back into the
bedroom. He shoved her onto the bed and picked up the handkerchief
that had been tied over her eyes when they arrived. "Not another
word to Sam or I am tying you up, got me?"
      "I get you," Scully said quietly. "Is this who you are,
Paul? A kidnapper and a murderer?"
      He glared at her. "I didn't do nothin'." He left the bedroom
and after a moment she heard a key turning in the lock.
      Scully took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She hadn't
learned enough to help her--forty minutes to the nearest store,
that was all.
      She leaned her head on her hands and rubbed her temples,
trying to think. She hadn't seen a phone. There was nothing but the
dirt road. No neighbors, only trees.
      And no way to reach Mulder.
      Daisy nudged her, so she wrapped her arms around her belly
and lay down on her side. I only wanted to keep you safe, little
baby, she thought, pressing her face against her pillow.

    ~Truly Madly Deeply: If the Fates Allow 4~
    ~December 8, 2000~
    Scully's eyes snapped open at the sound of a key in the lock.
She sat up and then stood, her hand protective over her belly, and
turned on the small lamp on the bedside table. She was shivering,
but she knew it was more in anticipation of another confrontation
with Paul than the cooling room.
      When the door opened, instead Sam stood there, looking
sheepish and shy. He said, "Paul says to let you use the lavoratory
and then I have to  . . ." He held up a coil of rope, embaressed.
"He says I have to."
      Scully swallowed and nodded, not really surprised. "Sam,
where are we?" she said quietly.
      "I can't," he whispered. "Paul said--"
    "Paul is fooling himself," Scully said. "Paul thinks he's not
to blame--but helping a crime is also a crime, Sam. Please. Help
me. I'm just trying to protect my child."
     "Paul said nobody's gonna hurt you. Now, please, ma'am, let's
get you ready for bed. Paul's awful mad at you--I don't want him to
get madder."
      Scully sighed, feeling the weariness of this day down to her
bones. She was too tired to fight anymore. "I need a few minutes,"
she murmured, and he stepped aside so she could go into the
bathroom.
      She used the toilet and washed her hands and face. There was
an unused toothbrush on the counter, so she opened the package and
cleaned her teeth. She still looked frightened and tired, but she
gave herself a grim smile anyway. Sleep could only help. Tomorrow
she'd be able to think clearly. Paul would be no help at all, but
Sam--she might be able to get Sam on her side.
      He knocked timidly on the bathroom door. Scully opened it,
to see Sam holding the flannel nightgown she'd found earlier in the
dresser. "It's too big for you," he apologized.
      "It's better than nothing," she said, taking the nightgown
from his hand. "Thank you. Whose is it?"
      He hesitated. "Our sister Karen. She moved out last summer."
      "Why?" she said, genuinely curious.
     Sam glanced down the hall, fidgiting. "I'm not supposed to
talk to you so much."
      "I'm sure it's okay for you to tell me about your sister.
Why did she move out?"
      "She got a better job and didn't want to drive two hours
each way. So she moved."
      "Do you miss her?"
      "Yeah. She's fun. She'll come see us sometimes on Sundays
but she's got a boyfriend now, and Paul doesn't like him. Paul's
not bad," Sam added hastily. "He loves us. He works hard. When I--
he's always taken care of his family."
      "When you what?" Scully whispered, even more curious at the
sudden fear in his eyes.
      He shook his head. "I don't wanna tell you, ma'am. I did a
lot of stupid shit when I was a kid. Please. Let's get you to bed."
He stepped back and closed the bathroom door.
  Scully sighed. She put the nightgown on the counter and took off
the sweater, shirt, jeans and bra. The nightgown was soft and clean-
smelling, though too big for her. She pushed her hair behind her
ears, picked up her folded clothes and opened the door.
      Sam followed her into the bedroom and waited while Scully
got beneath the covers. When she was comfortable he tied her hands
together and bound them to the headboard. "If you need anything in
the night, just give me a holler. I'm right next to you."
      "Thanks," Scully murmured. This wasn't so bad--she'd been in
far worse situations. At least she wasn't bound and gagged in a
closet or stuffed in a trunk.
      "Good night, ma'am. Don't be scared."
      "Right," Scully murmured and closed her eyes.
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    ~December 2000~
    Three tense days passed. She saw little of Paul, who worked
long hours as a machinist in town. Sam, she discovered on the first
day, had a workshop behind the house where he made chainsaw lawn
ornaments from pine logs. A cousin who lived closer to the
interstate sold these to passing motorists, but only came once a
month for new pieces so Scully had no hope for help from him.
      The first day, too, Scully tried to find a phone number for
the sister,  but she couldn't even find a phone much less an
address book. They had no computer or fax machine, nothing to
communicate with the outside world. It was difficult to hear above
the noise of Sam's chainsaw, but she watched and listened all day
and no cars passed by.
      There wasn't much else for her to do. They had few books, a
video collection of martial arts movies, and intermittent reception
on the radio. Sam wouldn't lock her in the bedroom but at Paul's
insistence her hands were tied most of the day. She couldn't even
go for a walk.
      She missed Mulder with every breath.
      Scully excercised as best she could, sit-ups and crunches,
mostly. She meditated to keep herself as calm as possible. She
offered to cook but Paul snorted and said, "What, and let you
poison us?"
      On the evening of the third day, she heard Sam and Paul
arguing about her. "He's gotten two calls a day, at least. It's not
a scam. For once he's on to something real. She'll be gone in a few
days."
      "But it's not *right*, Paulie."
      "I don't care from right! I just want her out of the house.
She freaks me out. Always *watching*."
      "I think she's nice," Sam muttered. "And I think she's right
about what they'll do to her and the baby. I don't want anyone to
hurt her."
      "Think of the money, Sam. Wouldn't it be great to never have
money worries again? Dobson says they're offering millions for her--
millions, Sam!"
      "They're going to kill her, Paul."
      Scully heard no answer from Paul for several moments, then
he said quickly, "Dobson heard from Arntzen and he swears nobody is
going to hurt her. And Arntzen is coming tomorrow to check things
out."
      She hadn't heard Sam's voice so cold before. "Arntzen's in
this?"
      "Yeah, I didn't think he was, either. But he's never stiffed
us, Sam. If he's in it, it's legit--it's not just some daydream of
Dobson's. So will you relax already? Nobody's gonna hurt her. Okay?"
      There was another long pause, then Sam said, "Okay. Okay."
      Their conversation explained nothing to Scully--it only
raised more questions. And she didn't want to reveal that she'd
been eavesdropping by asking Sam what was going on. She'd find out
soon enough.
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Scully was singing quietly to the baby the next morning and
trying to decide if a Tom Clancy novel would be worth reading when
she heard Sam's chainsaw stop. She started up from the bed,
trembling all over. A few moments later she heard the back door
slam, footsteps and men's voices.
      Familiar men's voices.
      "You bastard," she muttered, but managed to keep her face
neutral when Sam unlocked the door--he'd been very apologetic that
morning when he informed her Paul wanted her to stay locked up all
day--to reveal himself, Dobson, and Alex Krycek.
      "Dana," Sam said, "This is--uh--Arntzen."
      Alex bowed his head to her, smirking. "Stanislav Arntzen,"
he said in a softly accented voice.
      "Dana Scully," she said, not taking her eyes off his face.
      "See, I told you, comrade," Dobson said, laughing nervously.
"Didn't I? She's real and there's actually a kid and--and it's just
like I told you. And--and--and those other folks I was talkin' to,
I wasn't gonna accept anything without talking to you, of course. I
mean, it's your job. I wouldn't--you know. I wouldn't."
      "Have you been harmed?" Krycek said to Scully, ignoring the
other men and still affecting the Russian accent. "Are you well?"
      She glanced from him to the miserable Sam and the fidgeting
Dobson, and Krycek said sharply, "Both of you, leave us. I wish to
speak to Miss Scully alone."
      "I don't think--" Sam began.
      "It's all right, Sam," Scully said, so reluctantly the other
men left the room.
      Krycek shut the door and listened for several moments, then
shook his head and came to her, to start untying the knots that
bound her wrists. He said, the accent gone, "I'm so sorry about
this, Dana."
      "Was this part of your plan? Scare me off and then have
Dobson kidnap me?"
      "No," he said emphatically. "No. All I asked him to do was
find you. Dobson's a two-bit hood. He dabbles in counterfeiting
documents and petty theivery. He's nothing. This is way over his
head."
      "He's had offers," Scully said, rubbing her wrists. "I heard
Paul and Sam talking about it yesterday."
      "Really? Huh." He sat down on the bed. "They must really
want you to be so open about it. Well, I've put the fear of God
into Dobson so he's not going to make a move without my approval."
      "You mean you're not going to get me out of here? Then why
did you come?"
      "I came to make sure it was actually you. You wouldn't
believe how many reports of small, pregnant redheads I've gotten in
the last three days."
      She asked quietly, "And Mulder? How many reports of small,
pregnant redheads is he getting?"
      Krycek made an uncomfortable gesture and said, "We move in
slightly different circles, Scully. I'm hearing more than he is."
      "How is he? Is he okay?"
      "I haven't talked to him. You know how he gets."
      "I know why, too."
      "Scully, don't hold grudges. You trusted me once."
      "Yes, and look where it got me! I want to go home, Krycek. I
want Mulder. You told me I'd be safer if I left but both Mulder and
the smoking man found me. And now this--I just want to go home. The
stress isn't good for the baby." She sat down on the bed too,
despondent and so lonely for Mulder she ached.
      "Hey," Krycek said after a moment. "I know it's not much
comfort, but if you can hold on for just a few more days I swear I
will bring Mulder to you and we'll figure something better out.
You'll be safe with the redneck twins. Paul rubs me the wrong way
but he's not a bad guy. I think Sam's done really well with you,
too--Dobson's says he's really protective of you."
      "Done really well? What do you mean?"
      Krycek grimaced like he'd said the wrong thing. "Sam . . .
okay. He killed a girl when he was seventeen. The finding was
manslaughter and they were lenient with him because he tests at
slightly lower-than-normal intelligence, and I really think it was
an honest accident, but that's one of the reasons why they live so
far out here. To keep him away from people."
      "And that's why Dobson brought me here," Scully murmured.
"Blackmail. Notifying the police would just get Sam into more
trouble."
      "That's probably what he thought." He said after a brief
pause, "I'll convince Mulder to come with me. I'll tell them that
he's a buyer and we'll get you out of here. After that, Scully,
honestly, you've got to get out of the country. You've got to find
a place you can hide and stay hidden."
      "And where would that place be? I'm not going to live in the
middle of nowhere." She realized her hand was cupping her belly
again, and that Krycek's eyes had followed the movement.
      "Are you willing to go underground?" he said, meeting her
gaze again.
      "I don't know. I can't make that decision without Mulder."
      "Right," Krycek said. "Of course. Just a few more days,
Scully. Dobson knows what I'll do if he tries anything behind my
back, so I swear you'll be safe. Okay?"
      She had no choice, as far as she could see. "Bring me
Mulder," she said quietly.
      "Right," he said again, and stood. "Okay. I'll be back soon.
Oh, and Paul was making some noise about the cost of feeding you so
I gave Sam some money, so you can get whatever you're craving. What
is it, pickles and ice cream?"
      "Potatoes," Scully murmured. "They've been very good about
that, actually."
      "Okay. Well, if the ice cream comes up before I get back Sam
will get it for you. See you soon, Scully." He opened the door and
left the bedroom.
      Scully waited until she heard them talking down the hall,
then exhaled and lay down again. She could do a few more days. She
could hang on.
      She rubbed her belly with the heel of her hand and
whispered, "Would you like to hear a story about your daddy, little
baby? Once upon a time, your mommy and daddy had to go to a
beautiful place called Pueblo Bonito . . ."
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    ~Memory--September 2000~
     Scully was on the phone with her mother when Mulder leaned
over and said, "You're busy Saturday night."
      "Hold on," Scully said to her mother. "What?" she said to
Mulder.
      "You're busy Saturday night. Don't make other plans. Please."
      "Apparently I'm busy Saturday night," Scully said into the
phone. "I'm not sure what with. Well, that's because he hasn't told
me. Chasing mysterious lights in the sky, most likely." Mulder
poked her with his toe and she stuck her tongue out at him. "So
I'll see you Sunday? Okay. Bye." She hung up the phone and looked
with exasperation at Mulder. "What are we doing on Saturday? Please
tell me we're not going far away--I still have dry-cleaning to do."
     "We're not going away. We're staying here." He resumed typing.
      Scully watched him for a moment, then said, "But apparently
you're not going to tell me anything more. Like the important
detail of what we're doing."
      He smiled. He said, still typing and smiling, "You are being
swept away by a dark and mysterious stranger for a night of
satisfying your desires. How does that sound?"
      Scully swung her foot idly. "Are you paying this guy by the
hour?"
      Mulder chuckled. "Per diem."
      "Well, I hope he's cute, anyway."
      Mulder took his hands off the keyboard and folded them on
his chest. "Scully, tell me one thing. Why is it in the past three
months you have yet to let me take you on a simple date?"
      "Let you? I don't recall you ever asking. This isn't even
asking. This is ordering."
      "Scully, I order you to go on a date with me." He grinned at
her.
      Still, she curled her mouth and said, "Thanks, but I have to
wash my hair that night."
      "Scully . . ." The annoyed look was replaced with concern,
and he leaned forward to put his hand on her knee. "I thought you
were feeling better. Is your head still bothering you?"
      "No." It was hard to say what was wrong. She felt antsy and
ornery, ready to pick a fight, ready to throw Mulder on his back
and ride him hard. The Gunmen had said nothing was wrong with her,
but that was a month ago . . .
      He was still rubbing her knee, watching her, waiting for her
to tell him more. She said, "Come over tonight."
      "Talk about ordering somebody around . . ."
      "Yes. I order you to come over tonight and fuck me. Up
against the wall, I would hope."
      His fingers slid underneath her knee and tickled her
lightly. "Yes, ma'am. And on Saturday night I order you to put on
your favorite date outfit and come with me for dinner and a movie.
Perhaps sex afterwards, if you're so inclined."
      "Dinner and a movie?"
      "I thought a normal date like normal people would be a nice
change."
      "Mulder, I don't think we could be like normal people even
if we tried."
      "So, let's try. If we aren't, does it matter? There will
still be sex afterwards."
      "Ah, yes . . ." Scully said vaguely, drifting a bit from the
touch of his fingers on the inside of her knee.
      Mulder started to smile. His fingers were warm, the tips
smooth. "Or," he began, and his voice was a good octave lower than
normal, ". . . or . . ." He plucked futilely at the mesh of her
nylons, "Or, we could just lock the door--"
    "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you," Scully said, but it had
none of the intended effect since her voice had suddenly gone
breathless and girlish.
      "Cure for what ails ya," Mulder said, rising to his feet,
his hand still inside her skirt. "A little good lovin' always puts
you in a better mood."
      Scully meant to say something that would remove his hand
from her skirt, that would remind him they were at work and had to
behave like professionals--but instead something like a whimper
escaped her throat. He'd been tender and considerate while she
recovered from her accident--too tender, it seemed to her now, too
considerate. She wanted to pull him down onto her. She wanted to do
something quick and dirty, right here on his desk.
      He kissed her and she melted into him as his hand slid
further up her thigh. She felt him gasp when he found the top of
her stocking. "Oh, Scully," he whispered, kissing her neck. "You've
got the garters on today . . ."
      His phone began to ring, and he moved away from her to
answer it. "Mulder," he said, wrapping his hand around hers. He
stroked her palm with his thumb as he listened. "All right, sir,
we'll be right up." He hung up the phone. "Duty calls."
      "Come over tonight," she said again.
      "Promise you'll wear the stockings?" He picked up his suit
coat and put it on.
     "And nothing else," and she laughed as Mulder's eyes grew wide.
      "Oh, boy . . . you know what I like."

    ~Truly Madly Deeply: If the Fates Allow 5~

     Two days she could wait, and three--but when fourth day
passed and there was no sign of Krycek, Scully told herself she'd
been a fool to trust him again. She'd allowed herself to relax a
bit, believing she would see Mulder soon, but it became clear to
her she would, in fact, have to find her way to him instead of
waiting to be rescued.
      Well. She'd never been comfortable as a damsel in distress.
      Paul was easier on her--no longer insisting that her hands
be tied most of the day--but still no happier to have her with
them. Sam would talk to her sometimes, but only if Paul wasn't
around. She had only herself for company, and the baby of course.
      It occured to her one night, when she caught herself talking
to Daisy aloud again, how real to her the baby was now--more than a
blurry sonogram and a heartbeat, she now had a name, or at least a
nickname, and made her presence known with her delicate movements.
It was comforting, or would have been if Scully weren't so afraid.
      When she had been with the brothers ten days Dobson visited
them again. Sam's chainsaw went silent, and she saw the two of them
talking by the workshop with a third man--a squat, bulky man with a
shaved head and a black goatee. Baldy started towards the house
several times but Sam stopped him each time, until finally Scully
could hear their raised voices if not what they said to each other.
      She tried to keep out of sight--but all three men turned
their heads at one point, catching sight of her through the kitchen
window. Both Sam and Dobson frowned, but what chilled her was
Baldy's smile, as predatory as a crocodile eying a wounded bird.
      Scully raised her chin and opened the back door to join
them. Sam shook his head in dismay, but said, "Hey, ma'am."
      "Hello," Scully said, crossing her arms  to hold her
cardigan more tightly closed.
      "So this is the little girl," Baldy said, stepping closer to
her. He reeked of cigarette smoke. His front teeth were chipped.
"Prettier than I thought."
      "This is Agent Scully," Sam said, stepping closer still.
      "And who are you?" Scully said coolly.
      "John Silver, like the pirate. Different kind a' long,
though," he added with a smirk. Scully refrained from rolling her
eyes. "You're awful pretty," he said again. "Most nutty chicks are
kinda homely. But I wouldn't mind a taste of you myself." He
waggled his tongue at her.
      Sam's chainsaw roared into life. "Try it!" Sam yelled,
wielding the chainsaw to ward Silver off. "I want you to try it!"
There was rage in his face and murder in his eyes.
      "The fuck!" Silver cried, jumping back. "What the fuck is
wrong with you!"
      Dobson's face had turned a dangerous shade of green, and he
muttered, "Jesus, Sam, you are fuckin' nuts."
      "Get in the house, ma'am," Sam said above the roar of the
fucking, which shook him head-to-toe with its force. When Scully
didn't move, he screamed at her, "Get inside!" and she didn't wait
for him to tell her again. She fled to the house, into the spare
bedroom, slammed the door and wrapped her hands around the knob to
hold it shut. She didn't relax when she heard the chainsaw shut off
again--only breathed deeply when she heard Dobson's car screech and
rattle away.
      A few minutes later she heard footsteps, and a soft knock on
the door. "Ma'am? They're gone."
      Slowly Scully opened the door. Sam looked like he was about
to cry, and he was still shaking. "I don't care what Paul says," he
said and sniffed hard. "This isn't right. When Paul gets home, I'm
havin' him drive you to our sister's. You can call your folks from
her place. This isn't right. It's not right at all."
      He started to cry, brokenly like a little boy, and after a
moment of hesitation Scully put her arms around him and lowered his
head to her shoulder. She whispered as she patted and rubbed his
back, "I'll tell them I got lost."
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
     The three of them sat around the kitchen table late that
night, half-eaten meals on their plates. Sam couldn't meet Scully's
eyes, and she wondered what had embarrassed him: his outburst with
the chainsaw or his tears afterwards. "So," Paul said at last.
"Silver's involved in this."
      "Who is he?" Scully asked.
      "Dobson's cell mate for a while . . . was it at Talladega,
Sammy?" Sam nodded without looking up. "Sick fuck," Paul continued.
"He done stuff I've never even heard of. He's like a bounty hunter,
only he don't hunt escaped criminals. He hunts . . . other folks."
      "Not a nice guy," Scully murmured.
      "No, ma'am." Paul sighed, drank a pull of his beer, and
said, "Sammy's right. We've got to get you out of here. Whatever
Dobson planned, that ain't what this is, and we've gotta get you
out."
      "Thanks," Scully murmured again.
      "If Arntzen ever shows up we'll have to tell him we got rid
of you already--what?" he said when she sighed.
      "Arntzen--I forgot about Arntzen."
      "Don't you worry about him. We won't let him find you."
      She smiled at him gratefully, but said, "Arntzen isn't quite
the person you think he is. I'm not saying he's a good man--but
he's not like Mr. Silver." I don't think, she added mentally.
      "Well, even if that's so," Paul said, "you're going to
Karen's tonight. I don't trust Silver and I don't trust Dobson much
now, either. Sammy, will you come too so I stay awake on the drive
home?"
      Again Sam nodded, and wiped his eyes with the back of his
hand. "You're not mad about the money, Paulie?"
      Paul picked at the label on his beer bottle, then said
roughly, "You know if Silver's involved we'd never see a penny--if
there was any money at all. I'm not mad."
      Daisy started kicking abruptly and Scully put her hand on
her belly, grimacing. "You okay?" Sam said.
      "The baby's kicking. I'm okay."
      Paul watched her for a moment, then said, "It's a real kid."
      "It's a real kid. A girl. I think it's a girl."
      "I bet she's gonna be right pretty," Paul said softly, and
Scully smiled despite herself.
      After they'd eaten and cleaned up the kitchen, Scully went
to the spare bedroom to change back into her own clothes. As kind
as Sam had been and as much as Paul was relenting, she was glad to
leave this place. She wanted home. She wanted Mulder.
      Sam knocked on her door again. "Did you bring a coat, ma'am?
It's awful cold out."
     "I didn't, no. Dobson lent me his when we drove here."
      "Okay. I'm gonna find you a spare coat. We can't have you
driving for hours without one." He shut the door again.
      Scully, sitting on the edge of the bed, rested her head on
her hands and just laughed for a moment or two, quietly. Soon all
these absurdities would be over and she'd be back with Mulder. It
would be difficult to find someplace to raise their baby in peace,
if such a place existed. But if it did exist, Mulder would find it
for them and they would rest there, safe.
      Her head snapped up when she heard glass breaking and a
popping sound from the front of the house. "No," she whispered,
getting to her feet.
      Footsteps pounded down the hall and Paul slammed open the
door. "We have to go, we have to go now, back door," he said,
throwing a denim jacket at her. "Come on!"
      Scully struggled into the jacket and followed him through
the house to the back door. Paul had turned off all the lights
already and she let him lead, her fingers wrapped around his jacket
and their footsteps close. "Where's Sam?" she whispered when he
paused.
      He didn't answer for a moment, only easing the door open,
then muttered, "Down."
      "Oh, God, Paul--"
     "Shush. Looks clear. Let's go."
      Keeping close to the wall of the house, they made their way
through the backyard to Sam's shed. Paul held Scully's hand, or
rather her wrist, to keep her close as they moved past the shed and
into the trees. There were no street lights or neighboring houses
to light their way, but the moon was out and the night was clear.
      "It's Silver, isn't it?" Scully whispered.
      "Prob'ly."
      "I'm so sorry about Sam."
      Paul frowned and said, "Yeah. Me too."
      They walked in near-silence for a while, feet sliding on
dead, wet leaves. Ideally, Scully thought, Paul would open up about
his family, his protectiveness, and Sam's past--but his face was
wary and he was listening to anyone who might be following them.
     Which was fine, really. She wasn't in the mood to chitchat
either.
      "Where are we going?" she whispered finally.
      "There's an old church about four miles north of here. It
should be a good place to hide until morning."
      "And then, in the morning?"
      "And then I'll have to think of something else."
      She nodded. If it was a forty-minute drive to the nearest
town it would take all night and most of the next day to walk, and
her toes were already stinging with cold. Even if there were
neighbors closer, Paul either was unwilling to endanger them or
didn't trust them enough to turn to them for help.
      And, she thought with a grimace, if by some miracle Krycek
showed up, any clue she gave for him to find them would also give
their location away to Silver.
      Damn you, Dobson, she thought. And damn me for getting
complacent.
      She would have enjoyed the walk if it weren't so cold and
under such circumstances. The forest smelled loamy and cool.
Moonlight shown silver-blue on the leaves. As her eyes adjusted to
the dark she could make out trees, stones, and the faint path they
were following deeper into the woods.
      There was a twinge deep in her middle, and Scully stopped
with a gasp. "What is it?" Paul whispered, his hand shaking around
hers a little bit.
      "I--give me a moment." She pulled her hand from his and bent
over her knees, her hands on her thighs, breathing through her
teeth until the pain had passed. "It's the walking," she said when
she could speak again. "It's making me have contractions."
      "We've got a ways to go still. We have an old deer-sighting
platform near here but you'd have to climb a tree to get to it.
I've done night huntin'. This is nothin' like it. I don't know what
to do."
      She took a deep breath through her nose and let it out
through her mouth. "We keep walking--we'll just have to stop
periodically."
     "'Kay." His hand was still shaking when he took hers again,
and his pace was much slower as they walked on.
      The straps of her sandals were beginning to painfully rub
her toes, her fingers felt numb and her nose had begun to drip from
the cold when Paul stopped, listening. "I hear him."
      Scully listened too, but it was hard to hear anything above
her pounding heart.
      A branch snapped behind them. Paul pushed her behind him,
shielding her against a tree. His body was tense as he watched the
path. Abruptly he whispered, "If you follow this trail you'll get
to the church. I'll get you--if I don't, follow the--" He stopped,
listening again. "Go!"
      She didn't stay to ask--she turned and ran, following the
trail north. She kept one hand under belly, praying that the
exercise wouldn't hurt the baby. She heard shots fired as she ran,
but didn't dare to turn or stop.
      Abruptly she found herself in a clearing, with a small,
white clapboard church in the center beyond a small creek. She
crossed a stone footbridge over the creek and climbed the front
steps. The door was not boarded or nailed shut, and creaked when
she opened it. Her footsteps echoed on the floorboards, but the
floor felt solid.
      Scully closed the door behind her, scanning the empty pews.
The air smelled comforting, of pine trees and cool water. However,
in the dark she couldn't find even an abandoned umbrella to use as
a weapon--but she did find, behind the pulpit, a staircase leading
up the bell tower. There was no bell, but there was a platform,
empty and just a bit dusty, and if she stood or crouched she had a
clear view of the surrounding meadow and trees.
      Scully took off her jacket and eased herself down in the
corner, leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. Hunters,
she knew, looked from side to side but never looked up. She had to
hope Silver wasn't smart enough to look up. She had nothing to
fight him off if he was.
      She waited. She watched.
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    ~Memory--October 2000~
    Mulder's hands were sliding up Scully's ribs as he kissed her,
and he made happy "mm, mm" noises in his throat. Scully ran her
fingers through his hair, marvelling again at its softness and
thickness. She loved every bump on his skull.
      Mulder stopped kissing her and whispered, his lips hovering
above hers, "How's your head today?"
  "Fine," she muttered, raising her mouth for more kisses. "It's
fine."
      His fingertips rubbed circles into her temples. "It's just,
you've been so poorly lately. I've wondered if your concussion has
come back or something."
      She caressed his cheek. "Oh, sweetie . . . concussions don't
come back. I've just had a bug the last few days."
      "A tummy bug or a head bug?" His hands slid down her body
and he rubbed her stomach, looking at her through his eyelashes.
      "A tummy bug." She smiled at him, and he bent and kissed her
belly, which was pale and slighty round between her bra and the
waistband of her trousers. Scully raked her hand through his hair.
     He whispered, "No more tummy bug," and laid his cheek on her
stomach.
      "I love you," Scully said. He looked up at her with a shyly
pleased smile. "You're silly and sweet."
      "You make me happy," he said simply, and moved up to kiss
her mouth.
      This is a perfect moment to tell him, Scully thought, but
only held his face and returned his kiss. She imagined herself
whispering, "I'm pregnant" into his ear--and then he would fumble
back into his clothes and make excuses to leave as quickly as he
could.
      No, that's not fair, she thought, ashamed. Mulder was a
better man than that. Still, she couldn't imagine he would be
pleased with her news--he'd never said a word about wanting
children, not anything she could take seriously.
      Mulder raised his head again and rubbed his nose against
hers. "Hey," he whispered, "come back  to me."
      "I'm here. Just thinking."
      "Are you sure you wanna do it tonight? You're a million
miles away."
      "I'm fine," she insisted. "Maybe a little tired. But I want
you, Mulder, I need you. We've hardly had time to make love lately,
what with--everything." There was no need to reiterate what they
both knew: her car accident and the resulting concussion, and only
a brief respite before her fatigue and nausea set in. Mulder
assumed flu--and so had she until a pregnancy test and her doctor
told her otherwise.
      I should tell him right now, she thought as he kissed her.
The longer I put it off the worse it will be.
      "I'm going to the doctor again tomorrow," she began.
      He looked up at her at once, worry creasing his forehead.
"Again? What's going on, Scully?"
      Her mouth worked for a moment, but her nerve failed her.
"They just want to make sure everything is okay." She pulled
Mulder's mouth down to hers and kissed him hard. I'll wait, she
thought. If the baby's fine I'll tell him--if the baby's not--if
it's not--
     Scully wrapped her arms around Mulder's neck. She wanted to
share her worries with him--she wanted to share everything with him-
-but she didn't know where to begin.
      "You'll tell me if everything's okay?" Mulder said
seriously. "Even if it's not? You'll tell me whatever they say?"
      "I will." She cupped his face in her hands and traced his
lips with her thumbs. "I'll tell you everything." More than you
ever expected to hear, she thought--but he was kissing her again,
and she was tired of worrying.
      "Love you," he whispered. "Love you, always . . ."
      "Always," she whispered back, and hoped it would always be
true.
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
     In the belltower, Scully crossed her arms over her belly and
slept.

    ~Truly Madly Deeply: If the Fates Allow 6~

    ~Memory~
    Her hand sliding up the wall.
      He'd noticed it from the very first, the way her hands got
restless as they made love. He liked it. He liked to capture her
wandering hands and kiss them and then release them again. He liked
to watch her hands move over the furniture, his chest, the floor,
the tiles, the sheets, whatever was close enough to touch. But it
wasn't until just before she disappeared to the wilds of Alabama
that he learned why she touched things so much.
      They'd been making love a long time, most of the evening,
she had come more than once and he was close, so close. Her moans
were soft and low, her eyes were closed, a faint smile played
around her mouth as she arched and writhed against him. Her hand
slid up the wall and her fingers scraped against the paint. "Mm,"
she moaned, "everything feels new . . ."
      He loved that. When they made love, everything was new.
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
     ~December 2000~
     Mulder awoke with a jerk and stared blankly out the car
window. The sun had started to rise while he slept, and they'd left
the interstate for a wooded, winding mountain highway. He yawned to
make his ears pop.
      "Where are we?" he asked Krycek.
      "Mountain Ridge, Alabama."
      Mulder watched the trees pass for a while. "How much further?"
      "Not much. Twenty minutes."
      The needle on the spedometer crept closer to ninety, but
Mulder didn't remark on it. Considering how wrong his assumptions
had been compared to Krycek's information, he didn't feel he had
the right to criticize.
      *Scully.* His hands clenched together and he willed them to
relax. He'd assumed she was in the hands of the black-lunged
bastard--she wasn't. He'd assumed she was out of the country--she
wasn't. He hoped Krycek was still right about the most important
thing: that she was safe and waiting for them. If she wasn't . . .
      His hands clenched again.
      *Not much longer, baby. I'm coming for you. I'm bringing you
home.*
    Krycek said conversationally, "You two should leave the
country as soon as possible."
      "Yeah."
      "You want me to get in touch with some people? Work on fake
passports and funds?"
      Mulder said after a moment, "We've got it covered. We've
been preparing for this possibility for a while."
      "Do you have a place to go?"
      "We have a starting point. Beyond that--"
    "Don't tell me. It's better if I don't know."
      "True," Mulder said, looking out the window again. He
worried his lower lip with his thumb. "The guys she's with--are you
sure they'll treat her okay?"
      "Yes, already. Of the two of them the only one with a record
has served his time and wouldn't hurt her now."
      "One of them has a record?"
      Krycek glanced into the rearview mirror. "Manslaughter.  He
served twelve years and he's harmless. Don't worry, Mulder. You'll
have her back in no time and you can get back to raising your mini-
Mulder."
      "Daisy," Mulder murmured, but didn't press it. Krycek was
driving fast and the road was narrow--Mulder didn't want to
distract him.
      Krycek didn't speak until they had pulled up in front of a
small frame house deep in the woods, tires crunching on the loose
gravel drive. "Do you remember the script? What we're going to tell
them?"
      "I am a researcher for a major corporation, the top amount I
am allowed to bid is three million, I am to call you Mr. Arntzen
and I am not to call her by name."
      "She'll play along. Don't worry. Let's go." He got out of
the car.
      Mulder got out as well, and took a briefcase from him when
Krycek pulled it from the trunk. He kept his pace deliberate--he
had to pass for a man in no hurry, a man who could buy and sell
human life without a qualm.
      *Act like the smoking man,* he thought grimly.
      Krycek paused before they'd gone far. "Something's not
right." He picked up the pace, jogging up the front steps, but he
stopped abruptly again at the door. The glass in the front window
was broken. Krycek took his gun from the waistband of his pants and
eased open the door, Mulder close behind.
      At once they saw the body on the floor. Krycek holstered his
gun, knelt down and turned up the young man's face. "Sam," he said
quietly.
      "You said she'd be safe." Mulder clutched the handle of the
briefcase until it dug into his fingers. Krycek gave him a flinty
glance.
      "It explains why Dobson didn't answer his phone last night.
Poor Sam." He closed Sam's eyes and stood.
      "So now what? Where is she? Who did this?"
      "I don't know much more than you do, *Fox*." He stepped over
the body and continued cautiously through the house, opening doors
before entering rooms, his footfalls silent as a cat's. Mulder put
down the useless briefcase--there was nothing in it but paper, cut
and bound to imitate stacks of bills--and followed the other man
though the empty house.
      "Paul's not here," Krycek said when they're gone through
every room. "He must have taken Scully somewhere."
      "So much for her being safe."
      "If she's with Paul, she's a lot safer than she'd be
otherwise."
      "Would Paul have killed--?"
      "No," Krycek said in a soft but firm voice, going to the
back door. It had been closed when the passed it, and Krycek
quietly turned the knob to peer outside.
      "They wouldn't have had time to close it," Mulder said,
understanding, he hoped. "So whoever killed Sam--"
    "Followed them," Krycek murmured. "But where? The truck's
here, and Dobson's car."
      "Do they just have the one car?"
      "Yeah."
      Mulder looked around the small, plain house. There was
nothing to suggest that Christmas was coming: no gifts, no lights,
no tree. There were shabby, overstuffed chairs; a clean but simple
kitchen, treadworn carpet, wood paneling on the walls. There was no
denying it was someone's home, but Mulder couldn't imagine Scully
being comfortable here.
      But he knew she'd been here. He could smell her in the air.
      There were several pictures on the paneled walls, of two
sunburnt young boys playing in trees, a girl with wildflowers in
her hair, their smiling parents in front a white clapboard church--
and who were not, Mulder noticed, in the pictures of high school
graduation for the boys and college graduation for the girl. Mulder
asked, turning away from the pictures, "Do you know what's in the
woods?"
      "Deer, rabbit and squirrel, but nothing dangerous, I don't
think."
      "But they don't have an old treehouse out there, maybe?
Someplace where they played when they were kids?"
      Krycek stared at him for a moment, then said, "I don't know,
but we should find out." He yanked open the back door completely
and took off into the woods. Mulder had one last look around and
ran after him.
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
     Scully awoke with a gasp, certain Silver would be standing
over her--but she was alone in the bell tower. Birds cautiously
chirped in the surrounding woods. The winter sunrise was pale and
watery but warm on her face. Her legs and back were achy and stiff,
and her entire body felt chilled through. She longed to stand and
stretch, but didn't dare expose herself so much while she still
didn't know if she was alone.
      Slipping the jacket back on, she crawled to the trapdoor and
carefully opened it. She listened for several mintues before slowly
climbing down into the church. The pews were empty, but she gave
them a quick explore anyway to see if she could find anything that
would help her: a lost phone, a pocketknife, a flagpole. She found
only a heavy Bible beneath the pulpit, and another staircase
leading into the church basement which held a small office, a
lavoratory, and the children's Sunday School room.
      Scully tried the dusty phone on the desk, but set it down
with a sigh when she heard no dailtone. She used the toilet and
washed her hands and face, and drank several handfuls of water. She
stretched her arms and legs, twisting her back and rotating her
ankles. She wanted a shower--or better, a long, indulgent bath. Or
better still, a long, indulgent bath with Mulder sitting behind her
to rub her shoulders.
      Daisy was doing her morning ablutions too, bumping and
turning. Scully smiled and murmured, giving her belly an answering
rub, "Are you as tired of this as I am, baby girl? I'm seriously
thinking of walking to the highway and taking my chances there. Do
you think that's a good idea?" But she shivered, remembering the
pains she'd had the night before from their walk in the wooods.
Finding the highway meant walking--and more worrisome, going
towards Silver, and she was in no position to do that.
      That left waiting--for Paul to come or Silver to find her or
the world to end, whichever came first.
      Scully climbed back up to the main body of the church and
sat in one of the pews. She stared at the simple pulpit, which was
undecorated: no crosses, no doves, no saints or angels. Just a
country church, abandonded.
      God is where you seek Him, she thought, and got awkwardly
onto her knees, leaning against the pew. She folded her hands
together like she had as a girl and closed her eyes. She whispered,
"I'm scared. I want to go home. I'm tired of being scared and I
just want to be safe with my love. Tell me what to do. Tell me."
      The door banged open at the back of the church and Scully
dropped herself flat against the floor. Brown thick workbooks
walked slowly down the aisle, and Scully was about to lift her head
and say, "Paul," when their wearer called out, "Are you hiding
here, little girl?"
      Scully crawled under the pews, her mouth dry and her heart
racing. Silver. Of course.
      "I thought I saw a pretty thing in here . . . I've been
looking all night for you . . ." He reached the front of the church
and she saw his feet turn to face the entire church again. "No
one's coming to help you, little girl. The dummy's dead and so is
his brother." He chuckled, pacing slowly up the aisle again.
"Everybody knows about you. Everybody's sayin' you're worth your
weight in gold. There are more bounties out on you than I've ever
seen. Who knows where that commie Arntzen is--fucking some piece of
tail in New Orleans, last I heard. He don't scare me. No one-armed
fag is gonna beat me, girlie, so quit playing fucking games!" He
overturned the pew in front of Scully and she scooted herself
further away, trying to keep her body hidden underneath the pew.
She was certain he could hear her panicked breathing.
      But he only muttered, "Fuck," and turned away. In a moment
he spotted the doorway to the stairs and hurried to inspect the
rest of the church.
      Scully didn't wait--she crawled beneath the pews to the door
Silver had left open and ran down the steps, across the bridge and
into the trees.
      Cramps seized her and she stopped, panting and clutching her
side. "Hold on, baby," she whispered as she leaned against a tree
for support. "Just a little longer for Mommy, okay? Please, baby."
Deliberately she slowed her breathing and waited for the
contraction to pass.
     All too soon she heard footsteps again, pounding down the
path. She ducked behind the tree and crouched low to the ground,
prepared to run if she had the chance. If she kept path in sight
and followed it back to the house--
    Two men--one more dear than life itself--came running towards
her, so intent on their journey that she knew neither of them
noticed her, hiding here in the leaves. She got to her feet and
gasped, "Mulder!"
      They stopped with comic abruptness a few yards ahead and
turned. Mulder's eyes grew wide and he smiled like he didn't
realize he was smiling. "Scully," he whispered and then her face
was in his hands and his lips were rough and relieved on hers.
"Scully, Scully," he said, and she was too overjoyed to answer him.
      Krycek allowed a few minutes for their reunion then said,
"Come on, we have to get going. Paul's dead, Scully."
      "I know." She leaned her head against Mulder's chest, her
arms around his waist. He ran his hands wonderingly over her hair
and back. "Silver--the one who killed them--he's in the church up
ahead, and he said he killed them both. Krycek, he'll follow--"
     "Don't worry about him," Krycek said, his face going hard and
blank. "I'll take care of him. Mulder, take her back to the car.
I'll be along."
      "But, Alex--" Mulder said, but Krycek was already stalking
away.
      "Go!" he said. "Just go already."
     Mulder shook his head but didn't try to stop him again. He
kissed Scully once more and they began to walk, holding onto each
other. "Are you okay? Did he--did anyone hurt you?"
      "I'm catching a cold," she said, squeezing him. "I had to
sleep in the open last night. I'm not hurt."
      "I have been so scared," he confessed quietly. "I thought
the black-lunged bastard had you."
      "It could have been worse," Scully said. "It could have been
a lot worse." She had to stop, biting her lips against the
cramping, and Mulder bent over her in concern.
     "What is it? Are you hurting? Are you okay? Is it the baby?"
      "It's the walking." Breath in, breath out. "It makes me have
contractions. I need to go slowly."
      "Should I carry you?"
      "Mulder, it's four miles. We have to stop sometimes, that's
all."
     He embraced her, pressing his lips to her hair. "Hey--I've
got something for you. You dropped it." He took something from his
pocket and slipped it onto her finger.
       "My ring! I thought I'd lost it forever." She smiled to see
it sparkling on her finger, and she kissed him. They began walking
again, Mulder's arms tight around her. It was easier somehow, with
him to lean on, and even though their pace was slow she felt she
could finally relax again.
      When they reached Paul's body she had to stop. His eyes were
closed. He almost looked peaceful. Scully knelt at his side and put
her hand on his, which someone had folded on his chest, covering
most of the bleeding. "They were kind to me, in their way," she
told Mulder, and he squeezed her shoulder. "We can't just leave him
here."
      "We'll call the police when we reach the car--tell them
where to find them. Scully . . ." He hesitated. "Krycek tells me--
and I feel like I should believe him about this--that there are a
lot of people looking for you and the baby. We need to get you
someplace safe. Someplace far away from here."
      "Not without you," she said, and he smiled again.
      "No, not without me. Not for long."
      "Mulder," she began.
      "But if we report this and the police take you in for
questioning, that may put you in more danger. I can stay, answer
their questions, and Krycek can take you--"
     "No."
      "Scully, will you not fight me on this, please? Your safety
and the baby's safety is the most important thing."
      "And we are not safe without you!" She got to her feet again
and grapsed Mulder's hands. "I will tell the police anything they
want to know. They won't arrest me. They would have no cause."
      "Anything official will let the people looking for you know
where you are. I can't risk it."
     She rubbed his hands and said quietly, "They have a sister.
I'm not sure where she lives, somewhere two hours away. Her name is
Karen. I don't want her to spend the rest of her life wondering
what happened to her brothers--God knows I couldn't bear it, if it
were me."
      Mulder bowed his head. "Okay," he said thickly. "Okay. But I
am not letting them take you away from me, not for a second. Anyone
who shows up could be working against us."
      "Okay," she said. She gave one last sorrowful look to Paul
and then she and Mulder continued their journey up the path.

      ~Truly Madly Deeply If the Fates Allow 7~
    Mulder said good night to the officers and softly shut the
hotel room door. He sat down on the edge of the bed where Scully
lay, asleep. She was nude beneath the blankets, her hair still damp
from her long shower. Her cheeks and lips looked healthily pink,
and her face had a sweet roundness that made him want to rain
kisses all over her.
    He had her back. He could hardly believe it. Back--but for how
long, this time?
    Forever, he thought, and moved his fingers through her hair.
I'm never letting go again.
    Scully stirred and her eyes blinked open. She smiled when she
saw him. "Hey, you."
    "Hey." He went on stroking her hair."What a day."
    "Yeah." Too much of a day, to his mind--too many questions and
too many people who knew their names. Krycek had disappeared into
the woods as soon as he heard the police were coming, leaving the
car keys in Mulder's hand. "I'll catch up," was all he said, and
Mulder didn't know if that meant they should wait for him here in
Alabama or he'd show up at their next destination . . . wherever
that might be.
    She sat up and put her arms around his neck, to kiss him
gently and rub her nose against his. "Now what, love?"
    He stroked her arm. "Scully . . . we have to leave."
    She nodded and laid her head against his chest, sighing. "I
know."
    "I have some friends overseas who'll help us out."
    "All right."
    "Scully." He raised her face so he could look into her eyes.
"It might mean being over there for a long time. Years, Scully."
    "All right," she said again, nodding. "Will there be enough
time for me to say goodbye to my mother?"
    "We can make time. And I want to make time, too, for us to get
married before we leave the country. It won't be a big wedding--"
    "I don't need a big wedding."
    "Just us and some family and friends. Will you be okay with a
justice of the peace?"
    "Of course."
    He kissed her forehead. Of course. Scully was nothing if not
resilient. "But in the morning," he whispered. "You need some rest."
    "Can we trust them?" She nodded towards the window.
    "We'll be all right." There was a squad car parked outside
their hotel room. Mulder thought the local police were making sure
they didn't leave, not protecting them, but he saw no need for her
to know that.
    Scully lay down again, trustingly, pulling Mulder with her.
She pillowed her head on his arm and he watched her eyes close, her
breasts slowly rise and fall as her breathing deepened. With his
free hand he traced her cheekbone."Did they hurt you?"
    She smiled without opening her eyes. "No."
    "You look good."
    "So do you, baby."
    "You look bigger." She snorted lightly and opened her eyes,
and Mulder amended, "I mean, your tummy. The baby. You're, um,
bigger."
    "I know." She took his hand and pressed it to her belly. "I
need a doctor as soon as we're settled somewhere. She moves all the
time but I just need to be sure she's okay."
    "Okay." He circled his palm on her bulge, which felt as tight
and firm as a drum. She put her hand on the back of his neck.
    "Mulder," she whispered in a tone that was hardly more than a
sigh. "Are you all right with this?"
    "It's a pretty comfortable bed."
    "No, I mean, leaving. Leaving the X-Files." She gazed at him
seriously. "Leaving it all. I don't want you to hate the baby
because of all you've had to give up."
    "What am I giving up, Scully?" He brought his face closer to
hers. "A job where I'm a joke? Lonliness and fear, for comfort and
family? The world is open to us, Scully. We can go anywhere and do
anything. We can start over, if that's what we want."
    "It's not 'can', it's 'must.' How are we going to make a
living? That's what really worries me."
    "I have a few tricks up my sleeve."
    "Mulder . . ."
    "You will never be without a roof over your head." He
hesitated, feeling her petal-like breath against his lips, and
said, "There's some . . . some blood money. It needs to be used for
something pure. It needs to be used on you."
    "But, Mulder, if it's something we shouldn't touch--"
    "My father set is aside for Samantha if she ever came back,"
Mulder said quietly. "We both know she won't. On top of that there
are three houses to sell and some money they both left me and
things I've been setting aside for the last ten years . . . I've
always known this day would come, Scully. What I didn't know is
that you'd come with me."
    Her smile deepened. "Are you sure you want me? A cranky,
pregnant trouble-magnet?"
    "Sweet, beautiful and beloved," he answered, kissing her. She
sighed against his mouth, and her hand cupped the back of his head
to pull him closer."I've missed you," she whispered. "I missed you
so much."
    He'd missed her too--his body was aching for her--but still,
he said, "I don't want to start anything you're too tired to
finish."
    Scully gave a little "hmph" of disappointment but moved away,
to curl up against the pillows and fluff the blankets. "You're
right . . . it's late." A mischeivious look came into her eyes. "Do
you think you can wait a few days, for our wedding night?"
    "Maybe," he said. "Maybe not." He smiled as he kissed her good
night.
    He got up to take a shower and brush his teeth. Money, really,
was not a worry--even if neither of them ever had an income again,
they'd be comfortable. What did concern him--what made him lean his
forehead against the shower tile and wonder what madness he was
leading her into--was if there truly was a place they would be
safe. The steppes of Siberia, a farm in Africa, an island in the
Aegean? A city full of fellow expatriats, where Americans were as
common as loaves of bread?
    The pretty ring on her finger stood for a multitude of
promises, and the greatest was that she would never be afraid again.
    Mulder shoved his hands through his wet hair and turned off
the shower. He toweled off quickly and got into bed, making Scully
squirm. "You're wet."
    "Sorry." He kissed her and she chuckled, looping her arms
around his neck.
    "You're forgiven." She kissed him back.
    "Hey, you know how you're making conversation with strangers
and you ask a desert island question, like what book would you take
or which five CDs can't you live without?"
    "Is this going somewhere?" She smiled, running her fingernails
lightly over his chest.
    "We're faced with what's a rhetorical question for most
people, but for us, it's not. If you could go anywhere in the
world, possibly for the rest of your life, where would you go?"
    Her brows wrinkled for a moment, and she shook her head. "It's
too big of a question, Mulder."
    "We can go anywhere."
    "I know, and that's why it's too big. I want to stay near my
family . . . but that family is you and Daisy now. Where would
*you* go?"
    "I don't know either. I want us to start with some friends in
England but after that . . ."
    "Why not stay? You said you were happy there. Except for the
incident of She Who Will Not Be Named," Scully added with a teasing
grin.
    "I was happy there." Thoughtful, he rested his chin on her
shoulder. "Do you think you'd like it?"
    "Yes. You did."
    "But it was college. This will be different--I'll be coming
back as a grown man with a family to take of, looking for a job and
a quiet place to live."
    "Then what better place than among friends," she said gently.
    "England," he said. "Oxfordshire. It won't be anything like
Miss Marple."
    "Will it be like Inspector Morse?" she teased and laughed
softly when he snorted. "I don't care, baby. I really don't.
Anywhere we go, as long as we're together, it's home."
    Mulder smiled again and exhaled deeply, closing his eyes. "I
started the process for us to go before Krycek and I left
Washington," he murmured, fighting to keep his eyes open.
    "Shh. Tomorrow."
    "Scully . . ."
    "Shh. It's all right now. Just rest, my love."
    He was going to say he wasn't tired, but he was sleeping too
deeply to speak.
    *~~~~*~~~~~*
    "Make it stop," Mulder groaned, pulling a pillow over his
head. Scully grumbled and burrowed deeper into the blankets, but
the pounding on the door continued nonetheless. Finally Mulder
pushed himself to his feet and pulled on his jeans, and said
through the closed door, "What is it?"
    "Open up, Agent Mulder." There was no mistaking Skinner's
stern voice.
    "Scully, put some clothes on," Mulder said, and when she'd
scrambled into the pajamas and bathrobe he'd brought for her,
Mulder undid the deadbolt and the lock.
    Skinner looked grim, his gun drawn. Four other agents were
with him, weapons also at the ready, and before Mulder could say
hello he was grabbed and shoved against the wall with his hands
yanked behind his back. In a haze of shock he felt handcuffs click
around his wrists and heard Scully crying out, "What are you doing?
What's going on? Walter, stop them!"
    "Has he hurt you?" Skinner barked. "Are you all right, Agent
Scully?"
    "Yes, of course I am, let him go!"
    One of the agents grabbed her when she went towards Mulder,
and he shouted at the other man, "Don't touch her!"
    "He hasn't hurt you?" Skinner said to her. "He didn't kidnap
you?"
    "No, of course not!"
    The room was tense and silent a moment. Skinner nodded to the
agent holding Scully so he released her, and a moment later the
handcuffs came off Mulder's wrists. Scully rushed to him and at
once began inspecting his head for bruises.     "What the hell is
going on?" she growled at Skinner, stroking Mulder's back as he
held her and bent his head over hers.
    "Wait for me outside," Skinner told the agents, so they filed
out of the room. One of them, the one who had restrained Scully,
paused for one more look--but when Scully narrowed her eyes at him
he quickly looked away.
    "Explain this," Scully said.
    Skinner sighed, holstering his gun. "There is some question
among my superiors of Agent Mulder's involvement in your
disappearance. We were given photographs that indicated he was
holding you against your will."
    "That's ridiculous," Scully said.
    "You know I was searching for her."
    "You all but disappeared too," Skinner said. "I don't like my
agents just running off into the blue, Agent Mulder--particularly
when I get word one of my agents has threatened the other."
    "Who says he threatened me?" Scully said. "Who would think
that Mulder is a danger to me?"
    Mulder sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned his face in
his hands. Scully sat beside him, still worriedly stroking his
hair. After a moment he lifted his head. "Someone wanted to lay the
groundwork with you for framing me for Scully's murder."
    "Mulder," Skinner said, incredulous.
    "It would get rid of both of us," Mulder said. "Scully dead,
me imprisoned--it would discredit our work and make taking our--"
He stopped himself and took Scully's hand.
    "Then we have to get you back to Washington right away and
prove that she's unharmed. We can put her in a safe house while we
investigate who you think wants Scully dead."
    "Scully won't be safe in any federal program. She's probably
not safe in this hemisphere. I have to get her someplace where we
won't be bothered--by anyone. Even you, sir."
    Skinner said, "You have my word."
    "It's not enough."
    Scully whispered, "Does he know?" He shook his head. She told
Skinner, "I'm going to have a baby, sir. Someone thinks my baby is
of extraterrestrial origin and is willing to pay a lot of money to
find out if it's true."
    Skinner sagged, suddenly looking like he'd been awake for a
week. "Nothing with you two can ever be simple."
    "We're coming home long enough to say goodbye and get
married," Mulder said. "And then we have to leave. If Scully gives
birth in the states we'll never see our child. I'm convinced of it."
    "Where will you go?"
    Scully touched Mulder's cheek and he smiled up at her briefly.
"I don't know, sir."
    Skinner rubbed his jaw a moment. "I could take Scully to meet
you somewhere--anywhere."
    "No more separations," Scully said. "Anywhere we go, we go
together."
    "Are you certain it's safe for you to travel together?"
    "Safer than it would be apart."
    Slowly Skinner nodded. "When do you want to leave?"
    "We should leave right away," Mulder said, glancing at Scully,
who nodded with resignation. She kissed his cheek, gathered up her
clothes and went into the bathroom to change. Mulder picked up his
shirt and pulled it over his head.
    "Who would want her dead?" Skinner asked him, his voice low.
"Who would think she's a threat to them?"
    "It's not really having her dead--it's getting their hands on
the baby," Mulder said as he put on his shoes. "So few people know
about the baby that they could arrange to take it and no one would
know until Scully's body was found. I wouldn't tell anyone that you
know about it, either."
    "But why? It's just a baby."
    "I don't know," Mulder said as the bathroom door opened again
and Scully came out. He smiled and stood, held her face in his
hands and kissed her. "Ready? Do you have everything?"
    "Yes. What were you talking about?"
    "Theorizing. About the baby."
    "Oh. The impression I got was that they think the baby is a
naturally-conceived alien-human hybrid."
    "Oh," Skinner said faintly.
    "Let's go," Scully said, her arm around Mulder's waist. "I
want to go home."

    ~Truly Madly Deeply: If the Fates Allow 8~
     Scully finished patting her face dry and hung the towel on
the rack. The Pullman car bathroom was tiny and brightly lit, and
no bathtub, of course. There was something soothing about the
rumble of the train, though, as it sped down the tracks. She
thought she would have no trouble sleeping tonight.
        Mulder was certain the airports would be watched, and
Scully felt flying was too risky at this stage of her pregnancy now
anyway. Driving would have been far too uncomfortable--she couldn't
bear the thought of twelve hours in a car at this point--so they
settled on the train. They'd driven to Birmingham, where they
dropped off three of Skinner's agents at the airport before
catching the train. Skinner asked the fourth to stay with them for
the journey. Additional protection, he said, was never a bad idea,
but thy didn't want to attract attention to themselves, either.
        Scully thought they could be wearing t-shirts that said
"Fugitives" in blinking red lights and they still wouldn't attract
attention--the train was nearly empty of other passengers, and the
staff didn't see anything amiss with three men and a woman
travelling together. They'd been able to talk without fear of being
listened to in the dining car, and dinner had been much more
relaxed and friendly than Scully had anticipated. Still, after a
day spent with strangers, she was happy to have Mulder to herself.
         When she opened the bathroom door she saw that Mulder had
pulled out the bed and set up the pillows, and he lay across it,
reading a magazine. He was too tall for the bed--his feet were
hanging off the edge even though he was mostly sitting up.
        "Hey, stranger." She sat on the bed and hauled herself
back against the pillows.
        "Hey." He tossed the magazine aside. "Are you ready to
sleep?"
        "Not quite." She leaned her head against his shoulder and
tilted back her head so she could inhale the scent of his neck.
She'd been too exhausted the night before to really enjoy being
back with Mulder, but she felt much better now.
        Mulder shifted so he could hold her with one arm. He
kissed the top of her head. "How's Daisy?"
        "Just fine. She moves a lot." She took his hand and laid
it on her belly, moving it a few times before saying, "There--do
you feel that?"
        He waited a moment, then shook his head. "No--just you."
He slowly rubbed her tummy. "Hey--tomorrow's Christmas Eve."
        "I know."
        "Anything special Santa should bring you?"
        "If Santa is handing out sanctuaries, I'll take one."
Scully put her hand on his cheek and gently kissed his neck a few
times. Mulder made a surprised sound and his hand stopped moving.
She glanced up at his face--his eyes were closed, his lips parted.
"Are you tired?"
        Mulder grunted. "Um . . . I could sleep . . . I guess . . ."
        "Baby . . ." Tenderly she slipped her fingers into his
hair and brought his mouth down to hers.
       It was a good, long kiss--he pulled her close and kissed
her deeply, his arm under her back and his other hand on her waist.
She sucked and stroked his eager tongue, combing her fingers
through his hair.
        He pulled back from her much too soon. "Scully . . ." He
kissed her lips. "Scully, if you need to rest--"
    "I need to make love to you." She ran her hands over his
shirt, feeling out the muscles of his chest. "I've missed you so
much, Mulder. I need you." She kissed his chest and teased his
nipples with her fingertips.
        "Scully," he whispered but didn't go on, only stroking the
back of her neck and breathing deeply as she continued kissing him.
She pulled his shirt from his jeans and kissed his stomach, kissed
his chest and his neck while she pulled off his shirt. He caught
her shoulders and kissed her mouth, then slid his hands down her
body to gently squeeze her breasts and start unbuttoning her pajama
top. Scully got onto her knees and closed her eyes, biting her lip,
as Mulder started kissing her breasts. She moaned out loud when he
sucked her nipple. Her fingers clutched into his hair.
        "Lie down," he said gently, moving her from her knees to
her back. "You'll be more comfortable."
        Scully smiled, rubbing her palm against his cheek as he
resumed kissing her body, but still she said, "You're not going to
start treating me like I'm breakable, are you? Because you know how
that annoys me."
        "You are breakable," he whispered. "My delicate, fragile
girl and I have to take care of you."
        "Mulder." She took his face in both her hands, lifting his
head so she could look into his eyes. "Stop thinking that way right
now. I'm not fragile. I'm healthy. We have to be careful about a
few things but I'm not breakable. Okay? Stop thinking you're going
to hurt me."
       Mulder sighed and laid his head against her breasts. "I've
never been with a pregnant woman before," he said quietly.
       "I know."
        "I don't want to do anything that'll endanger the baby or
hurt you, you know, inadvertently--"
       "You won't, Mulder."
        Again he sighed, and then slowly started kissing her, just
beneath her breasts. "I'm just fumbling my way through this,
Scully."
        She chuckled. "Sweetheart, you're doing fine."
        "I love you so much--I don't want anything more to go
wrong."
        Scully didn't know how to answer that one. She hoped
nothing more would go wrong too, but she couldn't promise him
nothing would.
        Mulder lifted his head and she stroked his cheek with her
fingertips. "Scully?"
        "Kiss me," she whispered.
        He kissed her, holding the back of her head in his hand,
pausing now and again to whisper that he loved her, he'd always
take care of her, he'd never let anything or anyone hurt her again.
         *~~~~~*~~~~~*
     Ice cream. Any kind of ice cream, but preferably mint-
chocolate chip. And--oh--hot fudge sauce, and almonds--
     Scully sighed and lifted Mulder's arm from her side. She sat
up slowly, trying not to jostle him. Mulder slept on, dead to the
world--which was, she thought, a good thing right now. He needed
some peace. She went into the bathroom where she'd left her clothes
and got dressed again. Just a quick exploration to see if the
dining car was still open, and if it was, if they had any ice
cream. Twenty mintues, she thought. Maybe I could even bring it
back here.
        She took the keycard from the dresser where Mulder had
left it, and slipped out of the berth. There were small lights up
and down the corrider, but still she had to pause a moment and
regain her bearings. Was the dining car to the left or to the
right? She shrugged--she'd know for certain if she came to the end
of the train, either direction she chose--and started walking, to
her right.
        She passed a porter or two on the way, and hardly paid
attention to another figure by one of the doors until he spoke in a
soft, deep voice. "You shouldn't be walking around alone, Agent
Scully."
        "Agent--" What was his name again? "Doggett? What are you
doing out here?"
       He stepped out of the alcove and leaned against the
corridor wall. "Couldn't sleep. Are you all right? Is Agent Mulder
okay?"
        "He's asleep. I had a--a craving. I'm looking for the
dining car."
        "It's the other direction. I'll come with you."
        "It's not necessary."
        "Anything could happen to you and we wouldn't know until
the train stopped in the morning."
        She wanted to argue that if anyone was following them it
stood to reason they would have made their move already, but
Doggett's face had a determined look and she decided it wasn't
worth arguing about. So, she had company.
        The dining car turned out to be closed but the bar was
still open, and the bartender, with a wink, said he'd try to find
some ice cream for her--"I can't promise hot fudge, though."
Doggett's order of black coffee was much easier to fill, and they
sat in a booth while the bartender went into the train's food
stores.
        Doggett looked out the window while they waited, sipping
his coffee, and Scully studied him. Skinner, she thought, wouldn't
trust just anyone to picking up Mulder, and if he'd felt there was
truly a danger he would have brought a larger number of agents with
him. No, he wanted this to be a quiet operation--they might not
even have official clearance. And he'd only bring men he trusted to
keep it quiet.
        She said, "How do you know A.D. Skinner?"
        Doggett looked surprised that she'd want to talk. "We've
run into each other a time or two."
        "So why did he bring you along?"
        "I don't know. Wanted the muscle, I guess." He looked out
the window again.
        "And you didn't mind being away from your family at
Christmas?"
        He didn't answer for a moment. "My wife is Bureau too.
She's very understanding."
       "Oh--another marriage come from partners," Scully said,
unable to keep the pleased tone out of her voice. "I'm always glad
to hear Mulder and I aren't the only ones."
        "We were never partners. We met through an investigation."
        "Oh," Scully said again. "What did Skinner tell you about
why you were here?"
        "Agent Scully. It's the middle of the night and I have
insomnia. I really don't want to be interrogated."
        "I'm just trying to figure out your story, Agent Doggett."
        "No story," he said, sipping his coffee again. "Just a guy
doing a job."
        "I'm guessing you were told you'd be rescuing one of your
own and arresting the other. And you don't have any opinion on how
circumstances have changed?"
        He shrugged. "I don't enough of the facts to have an
opinion. You're having a baby, right?"
        "Yes."
        "And you didn't run away to keep it from Agent Mulder--or
whoever the father is?"
        "Not from Mulder, no."
        He swirled his coffee cup and said, "I'm sure you know
there are rumors--about the two of you, about Mulder. That he's not
. . . stable. After you disappeared last fall, people said all
kinds of things that he was capable of doing. Skinner said none of
it was true, but then he got these pictures, and . . . he stopped
defending Mulder."
        "What kinds of pictures?"
        "You, restrained. All . . ." He shifted uncomfortably.
"Bound up."
        "Bound up? How?" He looked pained at the prospect of
having to explain it further, and suddenly she understood. "Oh."
        "Whoever sent 'em must have downloaded 'em from some
fetish site and Photoshopped your face over the girl. Some sick sh--
stuff. Skinner was saying he wanted a team to look into where the
pictures came from, because somebody had to have posed for 'em and
if they were real . . . sick shit." He grimaced. "Sorry."
        "It's okay," she murmured. "These pictures were sent to
Skinner to make it appear Mulder had kidnapped me and was torturing
me, right? Mulder thinks someone wanted to frame him for my murder.
But I was taken before whoever sent the pictures could get ahold of
me . . . were the pictures part of their plan, or in reaction to it
being mucked up?"
        "Who do you think is trying to kill you?"
        "I'm not sure. I have an idea but nothing to prove it."
She leaned her elbows on the table and rubbed her temples.
        "Excuse me?" The bartender cleared his throat. "Ma'am? I
found some ice cream for you--no hot fudge, but it is mint-
chocolate chip."
        "Thank you," Scully said, lifting her head. "I really
appreciate this."
       He smiled at her, put down the bowl and spoon, and went
back to the bar. Scully picked up her spoon. The baby, quiet since
she'd woken up, gave her a tentative prod, and Scully put her hand
on her belly in response.
       "Are you okay?"
       "The baby's kicking me."
       He watched her for a moment, then said, "I'm sorry about
the hotel earlier. Skinner said you'd try to protect him, no matter
what he'd done to you. My job was to keep you from endangering
yourself further."
       "It's okay," Scully said quietly. "You were doing your best
with the information you had."
       "I think I get it. It's about the kid, isn't it?" Doggett
said, keeping his voice low. "That's why you went into hiding,
that's why they're looking for you. They want the kid. But they
didn't use a pregnant woman in the pictures, so they must not have
wanted it to be common knowledge that you're pregnant. But if they
had, it would have reinforced to Skinner the danger you were
supposedly in. Why would they keep it from him? Why wouldn't they
want him to know about the baby?"
        "They knew I was keeping my pregnancy a secret. My own
mother doesn't know. Mulder didn't know until two weeks ago. Mulder
thinks, and I'm inclined to agree with him, that if no one knew
about the baby they wouldn't look for it when I was found."
       "They'd know as soon as you were autopsied." He noticed the
bartender watching them, and said, pitching his voice even lower,
"We should drop it."
        Scully nodded and went on eating. She hadn't figured out
the theory to her satisfaction yet, but she liked bouncing her
ideas off him. Mulder had just looked pained, grabbed her and
kissed her a few times when she'd tried to discuss it with him
earlier. It was too raw for him right now.
        Agent Doggett said, after a moment more, "My wife and I
haven't been married for very long, just a little over a year. I
was married before, and we had a son. He was murdered."
        "Oh my God. I'm sorry."
        Doggett nodded in acceptance, and said, "My wife--my wife
now--she's starting to drop hints about having a baby of our own.
We'd talked about it before we got married, of course, and I
thought I was okay with it. But now that it's starting to get real,
I'm not so sure. It's a big ugly world, and they're so little." His
eyes brimmed suddenly and he looked out the window again. Scully
reached across the table and laid her hand gently on his. His hand
twitched, and then he said, "If I had another child I'd move heaven
and earth to keep him safe," with a ferocity that made Scully
realize what his wife saw in him. "So I get all of this. The
running away and everything. I get it."
        "Yes," Scully said, because she didn't know what else to
say.
        He was silent a moment more, then took back his hand and
wiped his eyes. "When you're done I'll walk you back to your berth."
        "I'm almost done," she said, and in a few bites she was.
They paid the bartender and walked back to their car in silence.
Scully slid the keycard through the lock and opened the door.
"Thank you, Agent Doggett."
        "Sure. No more walking around alone."
        "I won't. Good night."
        "Good night." He walked away, his hands in his pockets and
his head high.
        Scully closed the door behind her and turned on the light
in the bathroom. Mulder made a sleepy sound and turned over,
muttering. Scully undressed and slipped back beneath the covers,
fitting herself against his body. As she knew he would, Mulder
turned again to spoon her in his sleep, throwing his arm over her
side. "Heaven and earth," she whispered to him, and fell asleep
holding his hand.

~Truly Madly Deeply If the Fates Allow 9~
    "I'm back," Mulder said, lightly rapping his knuckles on the
bathroom door.
      "Come in," Scully said, so he opened the door and entered
the small room, which was heavy with steam and the scent of soap.
Her hair was still wrapped up in a towel, and she leaned awkwardly
over the counter to brush mascara into her eyelashes. A knit dress
in winter-white hung from a hanger on a hook on the door. It was
borrowed from her sister-in-law, who was also expecting though
further along, because Scully had nothing appropriate and there was
no time to shop.
     "I found the shoes you wanted." He set them on the counter.
"And I brought a suit."
         "Thanks." She blinked her eyes at herself and moved onto
a small bottle of foundation, shaking the liquid onto a sponge and
dabbing it onto her skin.
         Mulder knew he should leave her to these feminine
preparations, but he made no move to go--instead folding his arms
and leaning against the counter to watch. He loved the way she
looked without makeup, but this ritual fascinated him too. "Don't
cover the freckles," he murmured, and she glanced at him and smiled.
     "Do you want to take a shower or shave?"
         He rubbed his jaw. He *had* shaved that morning, but
maybe he should be smooth anyway. "Do you want me to shave?"
    "I don't mind the five o'clock shadow. It's up to you."
         "I'd have to borrow a razor from one of your brothers."
         "Maybe not, then." She sighed. "Mulder, where are we
going to sleep tonight? There's no room here and if neither of our
apartments are safe--"
        "Skinner offered his place. I wanted to talk to you before
accepting. I'm not sure it would be any safer than your apartment
or mine."
        Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you think he's being
watched too?"
         "I think everyplace we've ever been is being watched. But
I think we should accept. It's better than a hotel, and I don't
know how much luck we'd have finding a hotel room on Christmas Eve."
         Scully nodded, put down the bottle of base and picked up
an eyeliner pencil. Mulder tilted his head, watching her try to
lean closer to the mirror over her tummy, and said quietly, "You
deserve better than this."
         "Better than what?" she said absently.
         "Better than a ramshackle wedding in a borrowed dress.
It's not exactly the wedding of your girlhood dreams."
         She smiled and looked at him straight on, reached for his
hand and squeezed it tightly when he gave it. "I have the thing
that matters most."
         He couldn't help himself: "Watered-down punch?"
         "No, that would be the thing you need most for a cheap
high school prom." She let go of his hand but stepped close to him,
her round belly peeping between the edges of the towel wrapped
around her body, and gave him a quick kiss. "Do you want the
shower?"
        "I don't think so."
         "Then let me prepare in peace, please. I'd like to give
you one surprise today."
         "You mean aside from agreeing to this madness?" Mulder
said, but left the bathroom anyway and closed the door behind him.
He ran his hand through his hair, wondering how to pass the next
hour until the justice of the peace arrived. He was no one's
favorite person right now. Mrs. Scully was furious at him for
keeping the pregnancy from her, and taking away her daughter and
grandchild in one fell swoop, Charlie was following his mother's
lead, and Bill--well, Bill had never liked him and Mulder had no
hope of him starting now. If he knew someone had gotten Samantha
pregnant and kidnapped, he'd be looking to crack some heads too.
         Her sisters-in-law were slightly more sympathetic, at
least. Maybe he'd go talk to one of them for a while.
         He started down the hall and heard Matthew's piping voice
through an open door: "Why pretty dress, Mommy?"
         "Because Auntie Dana is getting married, honey."
         "Marr-weed," Matthew said.
         "Married," Tara said gently. "That's right."
         "Why?"
         "That's what I'd like to know," Bill rumbled. "He's
taking her off to who-knows-where for who-knows-how-long to have
this kid, and for what? Why all the secrecy and the hiding?
Something's not right about this."
         "Why?" said Matthew again. "Why?"
         "Because she loves him," Tara said. "She finds him
worthwhile."
         "Dana has never dated a guy who deserved her."
         "All brothers think that."
         "Why?" Matthew insisted. "Why why why?"
         "Because because because because!" Bill said, and Mulder
heard the boy screech with laughter. When Matthew had calmed down a
bit Bill said, "What do you mean, all brothers think that?"
         "I mean, my brothers didn't like you, either. They didn't
want you dragging me off to who-knows-where for who-knows-how-long,
even if it is part of being a military wife."
         "That's different. Besides, how can we be sure he's
marrying her for the right reasons, not just because he knocked--
you know."
       Tara sighed and said, "Just look at them, Billy. Look at
the way his eyes follow her. You have nothing to worry about."
       "I don't like all this secrecy."
       "They say they have a reason."
       "Uh-huh."
       "Zip me?" Tara said, and their conversation moved on to
other things.
       Mulder exhaled and closed his eyes, and continued
downstairs. He needed a drink--and maybe a jog around the block.
    In the kitchen, Mrs. Scully was frosting the wedding cake.
When he'd left to get extra clothes from their apartments, Scully
had been telling her mother they didn't need a cake, but obviously
she'd lost that argument. It was just a round chocolate cake made
from a boxed mix, but Mrs. Scully had made cream cheese frosting
from scratch and had a bottle of red, green and white jimmies out
to finish decorating.
       "You can use my bedroom to change, if you like," she said.
"And I've sent Charlie for some champagne."
       "Thanks, Mrs. Scully." He got a glass from the cupboard and
poured some water from a pitcher in the refrigerator. He drank a
few gulps, leaning against the sink. "Thank you for everything.
Putting all of this together so quickly--"
     Mrs. Scully put down her spatula and said, not looking at
him, "I am doing this for my daughter. Not because it's right or
even necessary. You've done enough to her. But she wants this and
I'm tired of arguing with her." She resumed frosting the cake, her
hand trembling.
       Mulder inhaled and put down the glass. "Mrs. Scully," he
said hoarsely, and cleared his throat. "Mrs. Scully--"
    "Someday you're going to come to me to tell me that she's
dead. I know it in my heart."
       "I'd die first," Mulder whispered. "I'd die before I let
anything--anyone--hurt her again."
       "You keep saying that, and she keeps getting hurt! How much
is a mother supposed to take! And now my grandchild--" She stopped
speaking, getting control of herself with visible effort. After a
moment she said calmly, "Mr. Mulder. She'll always be my baby girl.
Someday you'll understand."
       "I already understand," Mulder said quietly and left the
kitchen.
      He stopped himself at the front hall closet, pressing his
palms against the door. He took deep breaths, trying to calm
himself down. He wanted to run--run fast and run far, as far away
from Scully as he could get. He loved her--with all his heart he
loved her--but he'd told Mrs. Scully the truth. He did understand.
He'd move heaven and earth to keep his child safe, even if that
meant leaving.
       After a moment he realized Skinner, Doggett and Charlie
were talking in the next room--or had been talking until he
interupted them. "Mulder," Skinner said, standing. "Shouldn't you
be getting ready for the wedding? The justice should be here soon."
       "I need a minute," he muttered. If he left, even if she
understood, Scully would never forgive him. Promising to protect
her meant protecing her from all pain, even pain he could cause
himself. He wanted this--he wanted to give a name to the bond
between them. He wanted to hold the child, to feel her little
beating heart and squirming limbs. He wanted the dream. He wanted
the promise. He wanted to wake up next to Scully every day for the
rest of his life.
       He couldn't leave.
       He couldn't stay.
       "I have to talk to Scully," he said to Skinner, who was
standing beside him, looking worried. He bounded up the stairs to
the bathroom where Scully was still primping. He banged on the door
with his palm, and Scully opened it. She was still wearing just a
towel, and her hair was dry and curling around her face.
       "Mulder? Love, what is it? Is something wrong?"
       "Do you love me?"
       "Of course I do." She stroked his face with her hands,
pushing back his hair and smoothing the worry lines. "I love you so
much, sweetheart. What's happened?"
       "What if they're all right--even Krycek--what if we're
really safer apart? What if they can find you too easily because of
me?"
       Her face grew serious. "They're not," she said simply.
"They don't understand, Mulder. They don't understand *us.* They
don't understand who we are when we're together--and how empty we
are when we're apart." She slipped her arms around his neck and
whispered to him as he bent over her, "You're more than my love.
You're my soul."
       Mulder was crying and he knew it, but he only pressed his
face against her neck and held her tight. She kissed him and wiped
his face. "Don't doubt me," she whispered. "Don't doubt yourself."
       "Okay," he whispered. "Maybe this is just cold feet."
       She chuckled, kissed him again and stepped back. "Go get
ready," she said gently. "I want to marry you today."
       "I want to marry you today too," he said with another kiss,
and then went to change his clothes.
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
     There was no processional, no organ playing Bach, no parade
of old roommates and cousins in formalwear, no tiny child carefully
dropping rose petals to guide the way. No white satin and lace, no
tuxedos, no veil, no orange blossoms, no pearls. There would be no
reception afterwards, no elaborate meal, no Dollar Dance or Funky
Chicken.
       A few minutes before the ceremony was to begin, Scully
tugged off her engagement ring and gave it to Mulder to use for her
wedding band. She had no ring for him, but they had already decided
they would buy formal bands later. Just as they were taking their
places before the judge, Skinner pressed something into Scully's
hand. "My old ring," he whispered. "Use it with my blessing."
       So they were married, quietly and simply, in a ceremony
that took less than ten minutes but still brought tears to Scully's
eyes and made Mulder's voice break as he repeated the vows. You, he
thought as she stroked his hand. Only you.
       Cake was eaten and champagne drunk, the justice paid and
kisses given to friends and family alike as they said goodbye. "You
won't be here for Christmas?" Mrs. Scully said, faint disapproval
returning to her eyes.
       "I think we need to be alone tomorrow," Scully said, and
her mother sighed in acceptance.
       Skinner was their rescuer yet again: he took them to his
apartment, told them to help themselves to anything, and he would
be home from his sister's on the twenty-sixth.
       When the door had closed behind Skinner, Mulder put down
the suitcase that had all their earthly possessions and loosened
his tie. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Do you, uh, need a
few minutes?"
       Scully eased herself onto the sofa and toed off her shoes.
"No." She smiled at him mischieviously. "Do you?"
       "Maybe a minute or two," he muttered, slowly drawing his
tie from the collar.
       "Do you want to tell me what happened earlier?" She leaned
back into the soft sofa and held out her hands to him.
       He sighed and came over to kneel in front of her. Scully
cupped his face in her hands. "I . . . I just get so scared." He
laid his head on her knees, exhaling slowly as she stroked his hair
and face. "I love you so much. I love this baby. I have to do the
right thing--I just don't know what it is. I thought I did . . ."
       "We've done the right thing, baby. We're doing what's right."
       He raised his head and smiled at her. "Yeah. I hope so."
      "Mulder . . . let's go to bed. Okay?"
      Mulder got ot his feet and helped her stand. "Okay."
       She walked a few paces ahead of him, removing her earrings,
quiet in her stocking feet. She led him to Skinner's bedroom and
drew down the shades to block out the lowering midwinter sun.
       It was silly to be awed, Mulder thought--they had made love
dozens of times, he was as familiar with her body as he was with
his own. But when he unzipped her dress, the skin on her back felt
like velvet--her hair smelled peachy and sweet--she made tiny
sounds in her throat as he stroked her that caused the blood to
pound in his ears.
       When she turned to him, her skin pearly in the semigloom,
he had to close her eyes and lean his forehead against her a
moment. She was too much--too beautiful, too trusting, so delicious
he wanted to swoop his finger through her and lick off the cream.
       He chuckled at the mental image and she whispered, "What?"
       "Oh--just, me being me. Nothin'. Do you need anything, some
water, anything?"
       She kissed him, rubbing her hands up and down his face.
"Just you," she whispered and stepped back, drawing her hand
tantalizingly down his arm until they lost touch, and shrugged her
shoulders to let the straps of her slip fall. A twitch of her hips
and a flick of her hand and she stood before him in bra and
panties, round and tempting. Her eyes looked huge and deep. "Take
off your clothes, Mulder."
       Mulder hastily began unbuttoning his shirt. Okay, he
thought. Okay. Self-doubt had its place, but when a beautiful woman
who is your brand-spankin'-new wife tells you to take off your
clothes with *that* look in her eyes? You do it. There's plenty of
time for doubting later.
       Meantime she had pulled back the sheets and peeled off her
underwear. She crawled onto the bed and made herself comfortable
against the pillows, smiling as she watched him fumble out of his
clothes. "I know," Mulder muttered. "More physical comedy than 'A
Night At the Opera.'"
     "I love you because you make me laugh," she said sweetly, and
Mulder did laugh as he slid, naked at last, across the sheets to
join her. They kissed as if their last kiss was much more than a
few minutes ago, a kiss that left them both breathless and
trembling.
       "You've lost weight," Scully reproved, gently scratching
her fingernails over his stomach.
       "Too busy to eat." He traced the lines of her ear with his
tongue and suckled her earlobe.
       "Put some weight on you, love . . . mm . . . keep my
company when I'm nine months along and big as a house."
       "I will get roly-poly if that's what you want." He put his
hand between her legs. "Daily helpings of this will help."
       Scully laughed and pushed her hips against his hand. "Yes,
please," she said simply, raising her knees and opening her legs,
but she grabbed him by the neck and brought him in for one more
good, long kiss before letting him move down her body.
       She'd been right, Mulder thought, to wait a few days before
having sex again--a little denial went a long way. She was already
wet for him, her thigh muscles tensing beneath his hands. Her
breath slowed in anticipation as Mulder softly blew aside her heavy
curls, and her hand thrust into his hair.
       Gods above and below, he loved the taste of her. She was
tang and sweetness and smoke, dark as a secret, hot and slick. He
played with her, avoiding her clitoris in favor of the creases of
her thighs, her damp labia--circling her little opening and then
plunging in to fuck her with his tongue. The response from Scully
was exactly what he wanted: a startled shout and then a soft,
happy, "Oh, oh, that's . . . oh . . ." Mulder looked up at her: her
eyes were closed, her neck was arched, a pulse was beating in her
throat as she waited for him to continue. Her hands clutched at the
sheets. Her feet rubbed against his sides.
       He pushed her legs further apart, opening her to him
entirely. Her clitoris was plump and wet, just begging to be
tongued and sucked. Mulder lowered his head and blew a long breath
of hot air, getting a low moan in return. He breathed in her scents
of arousal and perspiration and hot, wet skin, burying his nose in
her, and then opened his mouth to give her clit a deep, long stroke
with his tongue. Scully groaned, her fingernails digging into his
scalp. He answered with more long licks, coating his tongue with
her juices. The rhythm of her hips increased from languid to
insistent, nails of both hands now scraping over his head. Her head
tossed back and forth on the pillows. She was enjoying it entirely,
and he loved it--he loved pleasing her, loved to make her moan and
writhe and gasp his name.
       When her happy sighs had eased into deep breaths again,
Mulder lay his side, propping his head on his hand. She smiled at
him, her eyes half-closed. "Pretty nice, mister," she murmured.
       "Think so? It's my first time." He grinned at her. She
laughed, laid her hand on his cheek, and rolled onto her side to
look him in the eyes. She kissed him, cleaning his mouth thoroughly
with her tongue. Her hand glided down his body, touching the pulse
in his neck, above his pounding heart, his trembling stomach and
finally wrapping around his cock.
       "I seem to recall this . . . seems like a lifetime ago,"
she murmured. She stroked his length and he groaned. "Instead of
just two weeks, give or take . . ."
       Mulder wrapped his hand around hers, stilling it. "What's
the best way to do this? How will you be most comfortable?"
       "Like this--this will work." She hooked a leg over his hip
and wrapped her arms around his chest. "Gently."
       "Gently," he repeated in a whisper, "gently, gently . . ."
He guided his cock into her, where she was wet and tight and
welcoming. She always felt so *good*, just *good*--not just
pleasurable but like something right.
       He cupped her face in his hand. "Look at me." Her eyes
fluttered open and she smiled. "Oh, God, Scully, you're so
beautiful . . ." Her smile deepened and she rubbed her cheek
against his hand. "I love you--do you believe me? Do you know?"
       "I know. I believe you. I know." She kissed his hand. "I
love you, I love you too."
       He brought her mouth to his and kissed her deeply. He
thought, I'm going to miss you.
      *~~~~~*~~~~~*
     Mulder left her sleeping, curled like a kitten in the center
of the big bed. He picked up his pants and shoes, and brought them
out to the living room to get dressed there. He took a piece of
paper and a pen from Skinner's desk, and sat down. Dear Scully, he
thought. No, Beloved Scully. Darling Scully? Dearest Dana? He
grimaced and just wrote, "Scully," but couldn't find any words to
follow it. He thought, Scully, I'm leaving you because this is the
best thing for you and the baby. No. Scully, please don't hate me.
No, no. Scully, try to understand. No.
       His gaze wandered over the desk: books, a framed
reproduction of an old map, a photograph of a young Skinner in his
Marine dress uniform, a photograph of Skinner and his wife on their
wedding day. Mulder stood so he could take the picture from its
shelf. He knew that by the time this was taken Skinner had seen not
only action but death in Vietnam--that he had already been deeply
scarred by the horrors of that war.
       But still, he had taken this woman and promised her his
love, his heart and his future. It had not ended well--Mulder knew
little of the details except that she had died--but Skinner had
kept the picture. And Skinner had kept the ring.
       Mulder set the picture down and twisted the ring on his
finger. No. No. He could not do this. He could *not* do this. He
had sought the truth all of his life--he could not leave her with a
lie. He could not make a lie of everything he'd told her since he
first admitted his love.
       He crumpled the paper and dropped it in the trash, and
rubbed his shaking hand over his face. He went into the kitchen and
poured two glasses of water, and brought them both back to the
bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed. "Hey, Scully."
       "Hm?" She stretched her arms and smiled at him sleepily.
"Can't sleep?"
       "I wanted some water. Are you thirsty?" He handed her a
glass and she drank gratefully. He drank too, settling back on the
mattress beside her. He touched her free hand with his finger.
"Hey."
       "Hey." She studied his face a moment, then said, "This is
the right thing, Mulder. It is."
       He kissed her. Her mouth was cool the water but warmed up
from his tongue. She gasped and moaned softly, wrapping his arms
around her neck. He ended the kiss and laid his head on her
shoulder. As she stroked his face and hair and kissed his forehead,
he closed his eyes and whispered, "I know."
      ~End Part III~

~
    ~Truly Madly Deeply Heaven & Earth 1~
    Scully couldn't sleep--she was too excited. Mulder, about
three cities ago, had adopted the attitude of a jaded world-
traveller, but Scully couldn't stop drinking in the sights and
sounds and smells and faces and voices of each new country. This
was their first night in London, so while Mulder slept Scully
wrapped herself in his bathrobe, knelt in the windowseat and opened
the latch, to watch the lights of the city and listen to the
movement in the streets below.
     London smelled like history. Mulder said it was just the
dampness and cigarette smoke, but to Scully the air was heady with
all the despairs and joys of the many millions of lives that had
passed here.
     She had never travelled much outside of the States: aside
from a few years in Japan when she was a baby, her father's
assignments had been stateside. There had been the odd journey to
Norway or Antartica with Mulder, but that had been strictly
business.
     This was different. This was a honeymoon. Mulder called it
their Grand Tour, as if they were nineteenth-century gentlemen of
leisure.
     Their getaway had been simple. The day after Christmas
Frohike picked them up at Skinner's apartment and drove them to a
train station. From there they took a train to New York City, where
they boarded a cruise ship bound for Norway. They kept to
themselves on the voyage, eating in their stateroom and avoiding
the shipboard activies, emerging only for the occasional walk on
the top deck. So no one noticed for a few days that when Mr. and
Mrs. Mulder got off the ship in Calais, they did not get back on.
     For the last six weeks they had wandered over Europe. They
rang in the New Year with champagne and caviar in Paris, ate
gourmet sorbet in Nice, saw Michelanglo's David in Florence and
Mozart's Don Giovanni in Vienna.
     "This city is ours now," Mulder had whispered to her in Rome,
her breasts cupped in his hands and his cock buried deep inside
her. In front of her, the lights of the Eternal City had twinkled
through their hotel room window. "All of these cities--they belong
to us now."
     The only thing they had not done, it seemed, was to indulge
Mulder's wish to stay in a hotel in Finland he'd read about, that
was built entirely out of ice and operated only in the winter. The
waiting list was too long for them to go this year, but Mulder had
put down their names anyway. "We'll bring Daisy," he said.
     That, Scully thought, was the issue. In every new city they
had found a doctor to examine her, and the results were always the
same: she was having a perfectly normal pregnancy. Daisy was
thriving and often made her presence known with little bumps and
nudges. But Scully tired easily, she couldn't walk for long
distances, she had trouble keeping down  unfamiliar food, and there
is only so long a body could sanely live out of a suitcase.
     It was time to stop wandering. It was time to find a place to
call home.
     In the bed Mulder shifted restlessly, then lifted his head,
looking for her. He propped himself up on his elbows. "Scully, what
are you doing? It's twenty degrees out. Come back to bed."
     She took one more look at the city and shut the window and
curtains. She got up from the window seat and came to the bed,
slowly stripping off her robe and draping it over a chair. She
climbed into bed and gave Mulder a sound kiss.
     "Your hands are cold," he reproached gently, and took her
hands in his to rub them warm. "What were you doing?"
     "Looking at the city. It's beautiful, don't you think?"
     "Uh-huh." He blew on her fingers, and she caressed his cheek.
     "What's your plan for us while we're here?"
     "Whatever you like." Mulder wrapped her in his arms, holding
her as close as he could, and kissed the top of her head. Their
legs entangled comfortably and Scully rested her head on his chest.
     "Can we tour the Tower of London and Buckingham Palace?"
     "Sure."
     "Can we watch the debates in the House of Commons?"
     "I'm not sure if they're in session right now, but if they
are, sure." He yawned, his sleepy hand stroking her bare back.
     Scully gave his chest a kiss and said quietly, "Can we find a
place to settle down?"
     Mulder smiled without opening his eyes. "I've had an estate
agent compiling a list of places since we got to Europe. We can
start looking them over as soon as you're ready."
     She smiled too. "You've been planning ahead."
     "Fatherhood is giving me a new inner balance and maturity,"
he said in perfect seriousness, and smiled again when she laughed.
He added, "I told her to focus on but not limit to the Oxford area.
I'm not sure how set you still are on your small-town theory.
Oxford isn't a small town. If you want remote we can try further
north, in the Orkney islands, maybe."
     "I'm willing to look at other places. Remote may not be the
best idea, really."
     "What do you think of staying here?"
     "In the hotel? It's so expensive."
     "Not the hotel, just in London. Would you like to live in
Notting Hill or Chelsea? Still in London but with its own vibe?"
     Scully traced his chest with her fingertips. "Would we be
safe here?"
     "As safe as we'll be anywhere."
     "That is not reassuring." She sighed and arranged her pillows
so she could lie down. Mulder rolled onto his side and spread his
hand over her tummy.
     "Hey. Don't think like that." He rubbed her tummy in a
comforting circle.
     "I can't help it." She caressed his hair and said, "I know
you're doing everything you can think of--don't think I haven't
noticed all of our hotels have been close to police stations."
     "We could still go underground," Mulder said seriously.
"Change our names and our looks and start over entirely. It might
be easier to do over here--no one knows us anyway."
     Slowly Scully shook her head. "That's a last resort, Mulder."
     "You've done it before."
     "And it worked so well that time."
     Mulder ran his hand over her hip and said, "Okay, no name
changes. But what do you think about staying in London?"
     "If we find a good place to live . . . a nice neighborhood, a
good school . . ." She sighed and turned over, fitting her back
against his body, and pulled his arm over her like a blanket. He
kissed the back of her neck and pulled the covers over them. "Good
night, love."
     "Good night, Scully."
     After a moment or two, she felt his hand creep lower on her
belly to give the baby a good-night rub. "Good night, baby girl,"
he whispered.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Mulder disdained tourist-oriented restaurants, and would
prefer to find someplace small and tucked away--the more loved by
locals it was, the more Mulder wanted to eat there.
     Normally this worked well for them, but something--maybe a
bad bit of chicken or a too-strong pepper--disagreed with Scully on
their fourth day in London. She spent a miserable morning in their
hotel bathroom, then when her stomach seemed settled enough she
crawled back into bed.
     Mulder, when he was sure she wasn't dying of food poisoning,
went out for half an hour or so and came back with a small paper
bag. "I popped 'round to the chemist's." He  put the bag on the
nightstand and knelt down to look into her eyes.
     "That's the worst British accent I've ever heard," Scully
mumbled.
     "I know. I've got your vitamins and a bottle of water. Yogurt
and ginger ale for when you think you can handle it. They didn't
have any Saltines, though."
     "Thank you." She sat up and took the water and bottle of
vitamins from the bag. Mulder watched her, frowning a little.
     "Are you sure this is okay? It won't hurt the baby?"
    "It's what's recommended." She broke the small pill in half
and unscrewed the bottle of water, taking a drink first before
trying to wash down the pill. "This is the not-so fun part," she
said with a sigh.
     "I guess your morning sickness isn't quite over yet."
     "It can last until the end of the pregnancy." She scooted
back down against the pillows and pulled the blanket up to her
chin. Mulder joined her and gestured for her to turn over so he
could rub her back.
     "Poor honey," he cooed gently. "But why the Saltines?"
     "They help with the nausea. No other cracker will do. I don't
know why . . ."
     "I'll keep looking for them for you."
     "Thank you," she murmured, resting her head back against his
shoulder.
     He rubbed her back for a few moments longer, then said, "I
was going to meet with the estate agent today, but if you're too
sick it can wait. We were planning to just narrow down the list,
look at the pictures and decide what's not worth seeing."
     "Go ahead and go." She took his hand, weaving her fingers
through his. "I'll just eat my yogurt and sleep."
     "Good girl." He said after another pause, "We need to get
cell phones soon. I miss being able to talk to you anytime I want
to."
     "I've been right with you."
     "And now you're not going to be. And what if you need me?"
     "To get me crackers?" She smiled and kissed the back of his
hand.
     "Oh, the joys of being the sperm donor." He turned her face
up for a kiss and got up from the bed. "All right. I shouldn't be
more than a couple hours. I'll take a cab, I'll call you when I get
there, I'll call you when I leave, and . . . I don't know what
else. You know where the cash is?"
     "You're only going for a few hours, Mulder. I'll be fine."
     "Anything could happen, Scully."
     "Do you think something is going to happen?" She sat up,
suddenly feeling cold and tight in her chest. She hadn't noticed
anyone following them, and they had examined every hotel room for
listening devices. But, she thought, it was entirely possible that
she'd been so absorbed in honeymoon happiness that she could have
missed the detonation of a nuclear bomb. "Is there something you're
not telling me?"
     He kissed her tenderly, holding her face in his hands. "No,
honey, no. I don't want you to be penniless in a foreign country in
case something does. I'm still Mr. Paranoia, 1961."
     "All right, Mr. Paranoia." She pulled him back for another
kiss and let him go. "Find our home. Hurry back."
    "I love you," he said.
     "Love you," she replied, and locked the door behind him.
     She'd just lain down and closed her eyes when there was
knocking at the door. She shook her head, but still got up, smiling
despite her exasperation. "Did you forget your keys?" she said,
standing up on her toes to look through the peephole--but Mulder
wasn't there. She shrugged and decided she must have heard someone
knocking on a neighbor's door. She got back into bed, and ignored
the knocking when she heard it again for all of thirty seconds.
     Scully got out of bed, quietly cursed the room for having
nothing she could use as a weapon, and said, standing by the door,
"Who is it?"
     There was no answer, not even a "Housekeeping." Scully took a
deep breath, quietly drew back the bolt, and opened the door.
     There was no one in the hall. All the other doors were
closed. On the floor was a blue crystal bud vase, holding a dark
red rose.
     Scully scanned the hall again, confused. This was not
Mulder's style, as much as he loved surprises. Still, she picked up
the vase--there was no card or tag. Someone could have left it here
by mistake, but given that determined knocking she didn't think
that was so.
     Well, maybe Mulder was changing style now that they were a
stodgy married couple. She sniffed the rose and smiled at its
fragrance, and went back into the room to lie down.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Mulder called when he arrived at the estate agent's office, as
he'd promised. "Hey, sweetheart. I'm here. Nothing happened on the
way over."
     "Good." She rolled over in bed, onto her more comfortable
left side. "It's quiet here, too."
     "Good. I was thinking on the way over, why the insistence
that we get out of the country? Krycek didn't say anything about us
needing to go deep underground or change our names--maybe he knew
just getting out of the States was enough. I wonder if the
Consortium's infrastructure has been destroyed over here. Maybe
they didn't rebuild after the burn--after the fires."
     "Maybe." She yawned.
     "I woke you up, didn't I?" he said with a smile in his voice.
     "Mm-mm. Thank you for the rose, by the way."
     "What rose?"
     That got Scully to open her eyes. "The rose you left in front
of the door."
     "I didn't leave a rose in front of the door--and besides, you
don't like roses, you like those big bright daises, what are they
called. Gerbana daisies."
     "I like roses," Scully murmured, then said, "If it wasn't
you, who gave it to me?" She got out of bed to pick up the vase,
but unless someone had invented a bug to resemble a thorn or be
invisible under water, it looked harmless.
     "Maybe one of the hotel staff is sweet on you," Mulder said,
but the warmth was gone from his voice.
     "Or maybe we're not as safe as we thought."
     He sighed heavily and was silent a moment. "Do you want me to
come back?"
     "No. The door's bolted and locked, no one's getting in here
unless they can crash through a window." Their hotel was U-shaped,
and Scully doubted anyone could get across the courtyard from the
other side without the ability to fly. "I'll be all right until you
get here."
     Again he sighed. "Scully. If there's a fire alarm or anything
unusual, I want you to go across the street to Scotland Yard and
ask for Phoebe Green."
     "I am not going to ask for help from that woman."
     "She's law enforcement, Scully, she's on our side even if she
doesn't want to be."
     "I am not going to ask her for help. Period."
     "Scully. Scully. Are you crying?"
     "No," she said and wiped her face with the back of her hand.
     "Listen to me. We're not entirely without friends, okay,
sweetheart? Trust me. Please. Hang up the phone and get dressed.
I'm going to call somebody to come get you, and we'll leave London
tonight."
     "No," she said. "I'm not going anywhere without you. And
nothing has actually happened, Mulder--someone left me a flower.
It's no reason to panic."
     "Will you at least go down into the restaurant where people
can see you? Or into the coffeeshop where we had breakfast
yesterday?"
     "I'll wait for you in the restaurant," Scully said quietly.
     "Okay. Okay. I'll be back as quick as I can. I love you."
     "I love you," she answered and hung up the phone. She took
the innocent rose from its vase and crushed its head in her fist.

    ~Truly Madly Deeply Heaven & Earth 2~
    Mulder paid the cabby and hurried through the courtyard
towards the entrance. Preoccupied, he automatically stopped and
turned when a woman's voice called from across the street, "Mulder?
Mulder!"
     She hadn't changed much in the seven years since he'd last
seen her--same short, light brown hair; same wide green eyes, same
angular face and chic clothing. Phoebe Green looked the same at
forty that she had at thirty-three--a look, Mulder thought wearily,
maintained by a personal trainer, Botox and her hair stylist.
     That's not nice, his inner Scully said, but he thought on
this occaision she'd let not-niceness pass.
     "Phoebe," he said, buttoning his overcoat. "Long time."
     "God, *ages*, Mulder." She had crossed the street briskly,
confident the cars would stop for her, and with the same assurance
she caught his arm and kissed his cheek. "What are you doing here?
I haven't heard of any UFO sightings lately--is it crop circles?
The wrong time of the year, darling."
     Mulder winced at her casual "darling"--Scully rarely used
endearments and that made them all the more precious. "We're
looking for a house."
     Her smile faltered for a moment. "We?"
     "My wife and I. You met her when you came to the States.
Scully."
     "Oh. Yes. Your little partner."
     "It's our honeymoon--and we're having a baby," he added.
     Phoebe's smile got a malicious edge to it at his words. "I
see--what's the term? A shotgun marriage?"
     "You could call it that," Mulder said. "She wouldn't marry me
until I knocked her up. Good to see you, Phoebe." He turned to go.
     "Mulder, wait." Her smile was gone but she didn't look angry.
"It can't just be coincidence that I saw you today."
     Acceptable risk, he thought. "I've always wanted to stay in
this hotel--the Yard being right there is a bonus."
     "It's our good fortune, then. I've been wanting to get in
touch with you again--I have a proposition for you."
     "I bet you do."
     She inhaled and said, "Since you're eager to rejoin your
bride, I'll be brief. My superiors have been following your career
since you helped us in Boston . If you ever want to leave the FBI,
we'll be pleased to have you here."
     Mulder glanced at the gray, square building and sighed.
"Scully and I weren't planning to back into law enforcement."
     "Do think about it. Talent like yours shouldn't be wasted on
being a country gentleman--or whatever you're planning to do here."
     "I'm planning to take care of my family. Thanks but no
thanks. Good to see you, Phoebe."
     "I'm not giving up, Mulder!" she called after him as he
walked away. He waved his hand back towards her and entered the
hotel.
     In the hotel lobbey, Mulder paused at the restaurant doors,
and went back to the concierge desk. He gave the young clerk his
warmest smile and a quick glance at her nametag. "Hello, Katrina."
     "Good afternoon, sir, how can I help you?"
     "I would like to buy some flowers for my wife. Is there a
place close by that delivers?"
     Her pretty face scrunched up for a moment as she thought
about it, then she said brightly, "I don't know if they deliver,
but there is a flower shop up the street, past the green-grocer's.
Would you like me to call them for you?"
     "No, thank you, I'll just stop by. Thanks." He smiled again,
and went to the hotel restaurant to find Scully.  "I'll just be
joining my wife," he told the maitre d'.
     He could see her at the opposite end of the room, sitting at
a small round table by one of the tall, heavily-curtained windows.
There was an open book and a half-eaten bowl of soup in front of
her--he would have teased her about bringing books on her honeymoon
if he hadn't brought a few himself--but she was neither eating nor
reading. She was instead staring out the window, her hand absently
playing in her hair and a thoughtful expression on her face. She
looked pensive and calm and very beautiful.
     Mulder wished someone would ask him, "Who's that gorgeous
woman?" so he could say, "That's my wife." He wished he could hole
up in the room with her until their worries had passed. He wished
he could put a protective barrier around her--a forcefield that
would throw anyone who tried to harm her fifty feet into the air.
He wished she felt well enough to make love--not just out of lust
but because he wanted her to feel good, safe, loved.
     Scully only noticed him when he slid into the chair opposite,
but her happiness to see him plain was in her eyes. "Hi."
     "Hey. How are you feeling?"
     She smiled and took his hand, holding it loosely on top of
the table. "Better now," she said softly.
     "Nothing else strange has happened?" He stroked her knuckles
with his thumb.
     "It's been quiet. Maybe we panicked over nothing--maybe it
was delivered to us by mistake. And it was only a flower."
     He nodded, but still said, "Do you want to change hotels?"
     "No," Scully said softly. "I don't want to leave until we
find a place to live--or unless we absolutely must."
     Again Mulder nodded, and said to the waitress who had
silently approached their table, "I'll have what she's having." She
poured him a glass of lemon-flavored water and just as silently
slipped away. He said to Scully, "I didn't take the time to look at
any houses, but we can go back tomorrow if you're feeling up to it."
     "All right," she said softly. "Who were you going to call?"
     "Hm?" He sipped his water.
     "You said on the phone you were going to call somebody to get
me, and I was just wondering who. You did say there were people
over here you wanted me to meet, but we haven't really sought
anyone out. And Phoebe Green doesn't count."
     "An old classmate. He teaches law at City University. We
haven't really kept in touch, but I think he'd be happy to hear
from me. I haven't really kept in touch with anybody," he added
after a moment. "I mean, there's no one here who'd want to tar and
feather me, but I'm not really close with anyone."
     "Particularly anyone you'd want to call on to pick up your
pregnant wife because you're afraid she's begin stalked."
     Mulder waited until the waitress had placed the bowl of
tomato soup in front of him and grated on some fresh parmesan
cheese, and then said quietly, "There are some people here that I
would trust with you. But I don't want to just spring it on them,
if I can help it. You should meet them first. At the very least I
should say hello. I can't ask anyone into this insanity without
them knowing what's in store. Speaking of Phoebe Green, guess who I
ran into just now."
     Scully made a noncommital sound. "How is she?"
     "Fine. Just fine. She asked if we'd be interested in joining
Scotland Yard."
     "What did you tell her?"
     "I told her no."
     "Good." Scully ate a spoonful of soup, and said, "I love this
city. It's beautiful and exciting and I want to explore it more,
but I don't want to live here. I want someplace less . . . urban.
Someplace with more trees than people."
     "But if you are being stalked, Scully--"
    "I don't think I am. I think it was an honest mistake. We're
both on edge--we've both been looking over our shoulders and
starting at every noise. But that's over. I can," she smiled wryly,
"feel it."
     Mulder smiled too. "I am not going to argue with your
instincts, honey. More trees than people. Okay. So meantime, for
tonight, what would you like to do? Something undemanding like a
movie?"
     "I'd like to go back to the room for a while."
     "Ah," Mulder said in understanding. "Time for an afternoon
nap."
     "Well, an afternoon *something*."
     He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you weren't feeling well."
     "Maybe I feel better." She smiled at him innocently, and
Mulder was suddenly very glad he'd only ordered soup.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    The bathtub was narrow but deep--room enough for two if they
didn't get too vigorous. Scully rested against Mulder's chest, her
head tucked under his chin, and Mulder drew up scoops of raspberry-
scented bubbles to watch them slide off her belly.
     "I'm glad you found a new plaything," Scully murmured.
     "It's fascinating. Our little Daisy . . . Hey, do you think
she notices when we're having sex?"
     "Yes, but she doesn't know what it means and she won't
remember it anyway. She doesn't have cognitive thought yet--she's
all instinct right now."
     He cupped her belly in his hands beneath the water. "Should
we stop? Is it really okay to do--especially so much?"
     "Mulder," Scully said gently, "exposure to the father's semen
helps the mother's body accept the baby instead of rejecting it as
as unfamiliar organism, and sex works the muscles that will be used
in labor. It's okay."
     "Oh." He kissed her hair and leaned his cheek against her
head. "Okay, then." He rubbed her tummy and kissed her a few more
times, then said, "Should we think about boys' names?"
     "We could get it confirmed by an ultrasound. Unless you want
to be surprised. Do you?" She turned back her head to look at him.
     "I think I do. It would be fun to find out the old-fashioned
way. I mean, do you want to know everything beforehand?"
     "We don't know everything," Scully murmured sleepily. "We
don't know the color of her eyes . . . or how tall she'll be . . .
I hope she looks like you."
     Mulder snorted, shifting his legs. "I don't. I hope she looks
like you--especially in the nasal region."
     "I love your nose," Scully said, more sleepily still. "I love
your pretty eyes and your big hands . . ." She picked up his hands
and held them under her own, pressed beneath her breasts. She gave
a long, satisfied sigh.
     Mulder sighed too, closed his eyes and leaned his head back
against the tiled wall. Maybe it's selfish, he thought, to put
happiness over safety, but hell. I'll be selfish. I'll be
gloriously and completely selfish. I want her. I want her here,
wherever 'here' is. Anywhere that 'here' is.
     He moved his hand so that it rested over her heartbeat, and
the other on the uppermost curve of her tummy. "Move for Daddy," he
whispered, and Scully chuckled. "I want to feel her move."
     "You will. I promise." She cracked open her eye a moment.
"Boys' names. Adam."
     "Bart."
     She laughed. "Christopher."
     "Dudley."
     She nudged him with her shoulder. "Mulder, be serious."
     "So Dudley's a no go?"
     "No Dudley. And for that matter, nothing ugly or bizarre or
jokey. It's a child, not a walking testament to your sense of
humor."
     "So . . .  Elvis is out, too, then."
     "Yes. Family names are fine--and I know you don't have an
uncle Elvis--and I like classic or Biblical names, too."
     He said, just to hear her reaction, really, "Jehosephat, then."
     "Mulder . . ." she said in her be-glad-you're-cute voice,
then said, "Noah. David. James. Benjamin. Joseph. Names like that."
     "James is my grandfather's name. My paternal grandfather."
     "So, is that a yes or a definately not?"
     Mulder rubbed his chin on her hair. "It's a maybe," he said
softly. "He died when I was about six. He used to hold me on his
lap and let me play with the things in his pockets, his pens and
his money clip and his watch . . . I never saw him in anything but
a suit, and he wore a hat whenever he went outside. He wasn't a
stuffy, strict Granpda, though. He would sing to Samantha when she
was tiny, and dance with her standing on his feet when she could
walk. We'd play Railroad with his books."
     "Railroad?"
     "We'd lay his books on the floor to make the track, and use .
. . well, various things to be the train. Toy cars or Samantha's
dolls or things made out of blocks . . ."
     "It sounds like you miss him." She stroked the back of his
hand with her fingertips.
     "I do." He pressed his lips to her hair again.
     "We could call him Jimmy."
     "I don't like Jimmy . . . I do like Jamie."
     "For a boy? Jamie," she repeated, and smiled. "I like it too.
Okay. If it's a girl she's Margaret Bettina, probably Daisy; and if
it's a boy he's James William, probably Jamie."
     "James William?"
     "It covers so many male relatives--my father, your father, my
grandfather, you."
     "Okay. James William." Mulder squeezed her tummy gently. "We
should get out--we're pruning."
     "Just a few mintues more," Scully said. She ran her toes up
his leg. "Just a few minutes . . ."
     "A few more minutes," Mulder agreed, and closed his eyes again.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    In the movie theater Scully fed Mulder some popcorn and said,
"We have so much we need to do for the baby still. A crib and
clothes and bottles and I need to decide on a doctor or a midwife--
and I miss that little Beatrix Potter print I bought. I liked it."
     "Toss me some, I'll catch it."
     "I'm not going to toss you popcorn. All right, maybe one."
She tossed a piece of popcorn towards his mouth and he missed it
completely. She said, picking the piece off his shoulder, "Do you
think my mother could send us the crib I bought? It's still in your
apartment, isn't it?"
     "It would probably be cheaper just to buy a new one. Toss me
another." She tossed, he missed, and he said, brushing the popcorn
from his chest, "I couldn't leave the Eeyore behind but we can
replace everything else. But if you really, really want it, we can
figure out a way to get it here. Though there is Harrod's and it
has everything. Seriously everything, Scully." She fed him another
handful of popcorn and he licked her salty palm as the house lights
went down. "Do you want to go shopping, baby?" he whispered.
     "Soon. As soon as we have a house." She laid her head on his
shoulder and slipped her hand into his.

    ~Truly Madly Deeply Heaven & Earth 3~
    January became February. Scully received no more mysterious
gifts--or if she did, Mulder's gleeful reactions gave him away. It
made Scully wonder how he'd ever managed to keep anything from her,
particularly as long as he'd held onto some of his secrets. He hid
nothing now.
     They passed the weeks by looking at houses for lease and
meeting up with friends of Mulder's from Oxford. None of the houses
were right: they were too cramped or too plain or too unloved. None
of them, for reasons she couldn't quite articulate, felt like home.
     "Am I being too choosey?" she asked Mulder. "Am I nitpicking
the wrong things? Do I expect too much?"
     "I don't think so," Mulder said. It was Sunday afternoon,
cool and windy, and they walked slowly through Hyde Park--not
holding hands, but close enough so that their elbows touched. "It's
a big decision--and God knows we've got reasons to be cautious.
There's no rush."
     "I don't want to be moving in at my ninth month. There is a
rush--or at least a deadline."
     "Scully, you make decisions slowly. That's okay. After all,"
he nudged her gently, "it only took you seven years to decide to
spend the rest of your life with me."
     Scully continued walking, then said, "Five."
     "Hm?"
     She gave him her most enigmatic smile. "It only took me five."
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    As for Mulder's friends, Scully liked them better than the
houses. She loved hearing stories about Mulder's college years--the
professors, the trips, the parties, the pranks--and to see picture
of him at twenty, with bleached hair and an earring.  It didn't
surprise her at all to learn that Mulder had been awkward as a
student, a little shy, that he hadn't made friends easily but that
the friends he'd made had been a close and tight-knit bunch.
     "Until Phoebe came along," Liam said, making Ned and Mulder
both groan.
     "Phoebe?" said Liam's girlfriend Maxine, who was quite a bit
younger than the rest of the group. "Who was Phoebe?"
     "Oh, God, not the Phoebe story," said Fiona, hauling herself
from the floor to go into the kitchen for another round of lagers.
"I saw her at the market the other day and practically ran the
other direction. I don't want even to pretend we ever knew each
other. She was terrible to Mulder, terrible to her friends and
terrible to us. And I'm glad she's out of your life, Mulder. Good
riddance to bad rubbish."
     Mulder sighed and shifted uncomfortably. "I appreciate your
support," he said dryly and Scully, lounging on the sofa behind
him, reached down to ruffle his hair. "Now, why you didn't tell me
this twenty years ago--"
    The rest of his words were lost in the shouted protests of his
friends, and he turned back his head to grin at Scully. She smiled
too, still stroking his hair.
     "Oh, tell me what happened," said Maxine. "Obviously it
turned out all right in the end."
     "Okay," Mulder said. "Here's the quick version. Phoebe and I
dated while I was getting my post-grad. I, being young and
stubborn, didn't listen to the advice of my friends that she was
bad news--until the proof was staring me in the face. I thought my
life was over, heart was broken, all the cliches--but I got a happy
ending." He took Scully's hand and kissed her palm.
     "Oh," Maxine said in understanding. "Have you met her, Dana?"
     "Years ago, when she came to the U.S. She didn't like me
much." She left her hand cupping his face so she could stroke his
cheek.
     "Phoebe doesn't like other women in general," Fiona said
decidedly.
     "Poor girl," muttered Ned as he shuffled the cards. "I feel
sorry for her." He ducked the popcorn Fiona and Liam threw at him,
and said, "No, really! You can be sure that wherever she is
tonight, she's not laughing it up and drinking with friends. I
realize it's her own damn fault, but one can't help feeling sorry
for her. Well, let's play. Are you sure you don't want to be dealt
in, Dana?"
     "I'm sure, thank you. I'm no good at poker."
     "All the more reason to play," Liam said with a grin, and
Maxine giggled.
     "You'll be my good-luck charm," Mulder said, and Scully
tickled his ear in response.
     "How is the house-hunting going, by the way?" Fiona asked as
Ned dealt the cards. "Any luck yet?"
     "No," Scully said.  "We can't find anything that's right."
     "I thought you liked the place in Chelsea."
     "It didn't please m'lady and I have to go with what she
says," Mulder said. "She decides how to spend the money--I just
write the checks."
     That got a laugh from the other men, but Scully couldn't
bring herself to smile. She just said, "We'll know when we find the
right one. Fiona, is there a place where I can lie down for a
while?"
     "Of course, Dana, are you tired? It *is* getting late."
     "I just want to rest my head a little."
    "Come on--you can have Simon's room. He won't be home until
the weekend." Fiona got to her feet to lead Scully to her son's
room. Muler got up too and stopped Scully at the foot of the stairs.
     "Are you okay?" he whispered, slipping his hand into her
hair. "Do we need to go back to the hotel?"
     "I'm fine," she said, and his eyes narrowed a little bit. She
sighed. "I'm six months pregnant. I'm hungry all the time, I'm
tired all the time, I just want to lie down for a little bit. Go
back to your game. Don't lose the house."
     Mulder's eyes searched hers for a moment then he leaned down
to kiss her forehead. "Love you," he whispered, his breath warm
against her cheek.
     "Love you," she replied, then followed Fiona upstairs.
     "The sheets are clean," Fiona said when she opened the door
to the bedroom, "and the room's not bad. Going to University has
made Simon neat, which is a wonderful side effect."
     "Thank you," Scully said. It was a boy's room much like her
brothers' room when they were older teens: posters and banners for
Manchester United on the wall, comic books on the shelves, worn-out
sneakers in the clost. Scully sat down in the desk chair to take
off her shoes, thinking with a sigh that it was time to give up
high heels.
     "Dana," Fiona said, sitting on the bed. "Do you and Mulder
want to stay in London, or are you willing to go outside the city?"
     "I'm willing to go wherever we find the right place," Scully
said.
     "I think I might have something for you. It's a good distance
from London, though. Ned's parents live near a little village named
Carterhaugh, in Northumbria. They have a manor house there on a bit
of land, and they've been looking for someone to rent the
gatehouse. They haven't had much luck because it's so remote, but
it might be just what you're looking for."
     "Remote?" Scully said. "I am actually interested in remote.
Will you mention it to Mulder?"
     "Of course. Have a good rest." She smiled at Scully and left
the bedroom.
     Scully took off her sweater, folded it an placed it on the
chair. She pulled down the sheets and turned off the light, lay
down in the bed and closed her eyes. Daisy shifted around too,
making herself comfortable.
     Daisy-or-Jamie, Scully thought with a smile. She rubbed her
belly with her palm. "There, there, Baby," she whispered. "We'll
find a place to rest soon." The baby settled under her touch, and
soon Scully was dozing, her face nestled against the thick pillow.
     Some time later--she wasn't sure how long--she heard voices
in the hall. "Of course I worry," Mulder was saying. "But whenever
we go to the obstetrician we're told the same thing: she's fine,
the baby's fine, take your vitamins and we'll see you in a few
weeks. So maybe there's really nothing to worry about. She seems to
be having a normal pregnancy."
     "Well, a little melanchology probably is normal," said Ned
soothingly. "When Fee was expecting Simon there were times when she
would just cry for hours. There was nothing to do but feed her
chocolate and say I loved her."
     "Did that help?"
     "It didn't hurt. Good night, Mulder."
     "G'night." Mulder opened the door and came into the bedroom.
Without turning on the light he took off his shoes and stripped
down to his boxers and t-shirt. Scully watched him through half-
open eyes, her vision adjusted to the darkness enough to see his
shape as he undressed.
     It was good, she supposed, that it still gave her  physical
thrill to look at him; that she still appreciated his body after
all these years of denial and the last few weeks of  indulgence.
His body was long and lean, gaining back some of the musculature
he'd lost under the stress of losing her. Walking and good food
emphasized his broad shoulders, deep chest and heavy, endless legs.
     She was proud of him, she could admit that. He was beauty and
brilliance in one complex, infuriatingly desirable package. Even
moments like now, when she didn't feel as fond of him as she
normally did, she felt the deep pull to him that had only grown
stronger over the last seven years.
    It was just a joke, she thought, but still had to press her
lips together and turn her face away.
     He slid into bed beside her, laid his arm over her body and
kissed the back of her neck.
     "They're nice to let us stay," she murmured.
     "Oh, you are awake," Mulder said with amusement in his voice.
"Should we go back to the hotel after all?"
     "No, this is fine."
     "Mm," he agreed. "Very friendly." They lay in silence a
moment, then he said, "We're invited to Ned's parents' next
weekend. Simon will be there too."
     "Okay. Did Fiona tell you about the house?"
     "She did. It sounds great. I'm hopeful." His hand moved from
her hip to her belly. "Are you sure you're okay, though? "
    "Yes," she said, then, "No. Mulder." She sat up and turned
over to face him. "Am I a kept woman?"
     "A what?" He looked like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or
be offended.
     "Do I just spend your money in exchange for sex?"
     "I--I don't even understand what you're asking. You're my
wife. You're my--my Scully. We don't have an arrangment,  we have a
marriage. We have a partnership. Don't we?" He sat up too, kissed
her gently and pushed her hair back from her face. "What's
bothering you?"
     "You don't think you just write the checks, do you?"
     "Scully . . . That was a joke. Not even one of my better ones."
     Scully leaned her head against his shoulder with a frustrated
sigh--directed more at herself than at him. Of course they were
partners--their relationship was on equal footing, their love was
rooted in friendship and trust. She knew all this. She'd known this
for years.
     And he meant nothing but love in all his worry. She knew
that, too.
 He was still kissing her and stroking her hair, calm, gentle, her
beloved, her love. She kissed his neck. "Don't mind me," she
whispered. "Hormones."
     "Would chocolate help?"
     Scully smiled at him helplessly.  He really was sweet. He
really was trying. And as soon as she felt like herself again,
she'd reward him for his patience and his tenderness and for being
her Mulder.
     She kissed him and said, "No. But tell me you love me. It
couldn't hurt."
     He chuckled and helped her lie down again, spooned together.
After a few minutes he began to rub her back, pressing his
fingertips into the knobs of her spine. Scully exhaled and let her
eyes close. This was Mulder's way of love: he protected, he
cherished, he took care. He gave and gave--and if you gave back,
joy radiated from him like warmth from the sun.
     She remembered her words to him on their wedding day: Don't
doubt yourself. Don't doubt us.
     No doubts, she thought. None.
     She was almost asleep again, lulled by his massaging fingers,
when she heard his voice in a near-whisper by her ear. It took a
moment to realize he was singing--but when she recognized the
words, she smiled and relaxed against him even further.
     "'But of all these friends and lovers, there is no one
compares with you," he sang. "'And these memories lose their
meaning when I think of love as something new. I know I'll never
lose affection for people and things that went before. I know I'll
often stop and think about them. In my life, I love you more.'"

    ~"In My Life" is by the Beatles.~

    ~Truly Madly Deeply Heaven & Earth 4~
     A few days before they were to leave for Northumbria, Fiona
decided it was silly for them to stay in a hotel any longer and
installed Mulder and Scully in their guest bedroom. This pleased
Scully enormously: as nice as a hotel could be, there comes a point
when a body needs to be in a house, even as a guest. She loved the
Lynns, liked their quiet neighborhood and cozy house, and
particularly loved the slow pace of life they adopted now that the
novelty of touring had worn off.
      And if Scully was happy, Mulder was happy, and she seemed
very happy. He'd never thought about it while they were partners,
but it became clear to him that she'd missed having people to
interact with every day. He knew she loved talking to him, but she
loved talking to other people too, who were as intelligent,
informed and original as she was. Not that she'd say that about
herself, he thought with a smile: she just said, "I like Fiona and
Ned a lot," and he said, "I knew you would."
      The night before they were to leave, Simon Lynn arrived home
from school. He was seventeen; tall like Ned, with big brown eyes
like Fiona; and like neither of them, his hair was blue and both
ears were ringed with silver hoops.
      When he arrived he had little to say to the visitors, but
when Mulder came downstairs to make breakfast in the morning, Simon
was hanging around Fiona's shoulders like an overgrown feather boa
while she started some toast and tea.
      "Little Mummy," he said, "sweet little Mum, please don't
make me spend the whole week at Gram's. Please please please
please. I will love you forever and ever. Don't make me go."
      "You already love me forever, and you're going," Fiona said
comfortably, despite six feet of teenage boy hanging onto her.
"Your grandparents see you four times a year at most, less as you
get older, and they love you. It's a week. I said you could invite
a friend or two of you wanted, didn't you ask anyone?"
      "I couldn't convince anyone to join me for a week in
glamorous Northumbria. I even offed to pay." He let go of his
mother, grabbed all the toast off the plate and ambled upstairs,
mumbling, "Rotten Northumbria."
      Fiona looked at Mulder and said, "You're in for that.
Excited?"
      "It'll be different. We're having a girl."
      "Oh--then it'll be worse." She smiled at him and poured him
a cup of tea. "I'll make some more toast."
      "Sit, I'll do it."
      "Gladly." She sat at the table and put her feet up on a
chair, while he put four slices of bread into the toaster. "How is
Dana this morning? She's not ill, is she?"
      "She's sleeping. She's not a morning person." He took a pan
from the rack and started one of the gas burners. "Thank you for
finding the house for us. Scully needs a place of her own--she
hates wandering."
      "I hope she likes it."
      He hesitated. "Fiona . . . I have a--a difficult question
for you."
      "That sounds serious."
      "It is serious. I wanted to talk to you about this with Ned
here but also when Scully's not around--"
     Fiona smiled at him indulgently. "Just tell me."
      "If anything ever happens to me, I want to arrange it so
Scully disappears. And the baby, of course. I have some friends in
the States who can help with the papers but--"
     "Mulder!" Fiona took her feet off the chair, holding up her
hands to block his words. "What could happen to you that she would
need to disappear? And how would that help? I don't understand."
      He sighed, and started when the toast popped up from the
toaster. "We--I, really, I have't been entirely honest with you
about why we left the States. " He took out the toast and stacked
them on the plate.
      "What did you do, Mulder?" she whispered.
      "Nothing illegal," he said seriously. "I asked the wrong
questions. I noticed things people would rather have stayed hidden.
And I fell in love with Scully."
      "Oh, God, don't tell me she's not what she appears to be. "
     "No--no--asolutely not. She's the best thing that's ever
happened to me."  He drank a swallow of tea, put some butter in the
now-hot pan , and while he cooked some eggs and cheese began to
talk. Everything important from the past seven years, a few not-so
important things, skimming over a moonlit night in a New Mexico
schoolyard, everything that led to Scully asleep upstairs.
      When he was done, Fiona didn't say anything for a long time.
She ate a few bites of the scrambled eggs he put before her, washed
it down with some tea, and said, "I always knew you believed some
strange things."
      "Not just believe, Fee. Know."
      "They want the baby because they think it's alien?"
      "An alien-human hybrid, naturally conceived due to the
experiments that were performed on Scully during her abduction--and
on me, at various points in my life. Yeah."
      "But it's just a baby."
      "Well, *we* know that."
      Fiona shook her head slowly, but said, "All right. You were
saying about her needing to disappear?"
     He could have kissed her, but only said, "If you don't want
to I'll understand, but here's what I'm planning."
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
     Before the morning got much older, they all boarded a
northbound train. It would be three hours to Newcastle, and another
half hour to Carterhaugh village itself. "It's not far to Linford
Hall," Ned said. "You can walk it in twenty minutes. The gatehouse
is about ten minutes from the house in the other direction, but it
seems a lot further than it is because of all the trees. The family
has always been very proud of the grounds--there's a maze and
gardens, and the trees that line the drive are over three hundred
years old."
     "It sounds wonderful," Scully said, squeezing Mulder's hand.
She was trembling a little, and Mulder hoped it was only nerves. He
put his arms around her shouldes and she leaned her head against
his chest.
     "We don't have to say yes," Mulder whispered to her. "If you
don't like it, we don't have to take it."
     "I'm not going to hate it."
     He smiled down at her. "You know that already?"
     "I have a feeling . .  . And even if I don't love it, it'll
be great to not be in a hotel."
     "That is true."
     Scully stroked his hand lightly, watching the city pass by
through the window. She said, "I hope it has ivy. And leaded
windows." She settled herself more comfortably against his side,
and Mulder closed his eyes, happy just to listen to her voice. "And
wood floors . . . and exposed beams in the ceiling . . ."
     I hope it's your dream house, Scully, Mulder thought. I hope
you're happy there.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Ned's parents met them at the Carterhaugh train station, where
even Simon couldn't help smiling at their kisses and hugs. "You
remember we mentioned bringing some friends?" Ned said before
introducing Mulder and Scully to them. Mulder had expected Mrs.
Lynn to be like his mother, patrician, beautiful and cold; but she
had kind brown eyes and a pixie-like face, and shook his hand with
both of hers.
     "Welcome, welcome," she said. "Welcome to Carterhaugh.
Welcome to Linford Hall."
     His father was quiet--often asking people to repeat
themselves after speaking, but mostly letting  Mrs. Lynn handle
everything from telling about the house to driving.
     After Scully had rested a bit and they all had lunch, the
Lynns took them on a walk through the grounds. Mr. Lynn offered
Scully his arm since they walked at the same pace. He was a laconic
tour guide: "That tree will bear peaches in summer. That tree house
was built in 1897. Don't go into the maze without a guide, you'll
get lost."
     "There's so much history here," Scully said. "There must be a
ghost or two."
     Mr. and Mrs. Lynn exchanged glances, but Ned said, "The woods
are haunted."
     "Oh, Ned, that's not true at all," said Mrs. Lynn.
     "Oh, no? I remember the lights in the woods at night, and the
hoofbeats we'd hear with no prints in the morning, and the tales
the old men tell at the pub. The woods are haunted and have been
for hundreds of years."
     "You never told me that, Dad," Simon said.
     "I didn't want to scare you when you were a child."
     Mulder couldn't help himself: his pulse quickened at the
thought of mysterious lights and noises. "So who's supposed to be
haunting the woods?" he said eagerly.
     Fiona said with an indulgent laugh, "The little people--the
fairy folk. The pub in town is named the May Queen for them. But
it's nonsense, Mulder, like will o' the wisps and leprechauns.
Folktales, nothing more."
     "Oh." He couldn't hide his disappointment, either.
     "But if you want the house, there's the blue lady," said Ned.
     "Who no one's seen for thirty years," said Simon. "She's
supposed to have died for love of an unfaithful knight, but *I*
think she's just one of Gram's tales for the American tourists who
want quaint, haunted Britain. No offense."
     "None taken," Scully murmured.
     "The Blue Lady's true," Ned said, "I've seen her. And I have
seen lights in the woods. Call it tales all you like, but I know
what I saw."
     "You were very young," said Mrs. Lynn. "Mr. Lynn's father
loved the old tales, and the children used to listen to him every
night for hours while they were growing up. Mr. Lynn wrote them
down a few years ago, as best as we could remember. But they are
just tales, Ned dear. There's no such thing as fairies."
     Behind her, Ned caught Mulder's eye and shook his head,
mouthing, "Ghosts." Mulder grinned back.
     "''Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in
the wabe,'" Mr. Lynn quoted, then stopped with a puzzled
expression. "That's not the right poem. What's the poem I'm
thinking of, Janet?"
     "Mr. Lynn loves Lewis Carroll," Mrs. Lynn told Scully. "'"You
are old, Father William, the young man said, "and your hair has
become very white; and yet you incessantly stand on your head--do
you think at your age it is right?"'"
    Simon started laughing, and Mr. Lynn continued the poem with a
puckish grin, "'"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain--but now that I'm perfectly
sure I have none, why, I do it again and again!"'"
    They all laughed at the bit of nonsense verse, but Mr. Lynn
said, "That's not the right one either, Janet."
     "Well, I'm sure I don't know, Tom. You've got more poems in
your head than I can keep up with. The gatehouse is just a bit
further, shall we continue? Can you bear the walk, Mrs. Mulder?"
     "Yes, I'm fine," Sculy said, and reached for Mulder's hand.
     They had passed the gatehouse on the way in but Mulder had
only caught a glimpse of it through the trees. "The original manor
burned down in 1684," Mrs. Lynn said as she unlatched the garden
gate. "This house is actually older than the Hall. It was last
renovated in the fifties, but we've had a contractor look it over
since we wanted to lease it. It's got good plumbing and a solid
foundation, and the roof is in fine condition."
     "And it has ivy," Scully whispered. She squeezed Mulder's
hand and he squeezed back.
     "And leaded glass."
     "Yes, yes, it's from the Tudor era," Mrs. Lynn said. "Come
along, Mrs. Mulder. Let's get inside before it starts raining--
those clouds look ominous."
     "Mum, can I go back to the Hall?" Simon said, and Fiona
nodded to him.
     "Would you bring the car round in about an hour, so we don't
have to walk back in the rain?"
     "Sure," he said, and took off at a lope back to the main house.
     Scully was biting her lip, her hand tight and warm around
Mulder's. It was three floors with a wood shingled roof, and brick
and white plaster between dark wood beams. The narrow windows had
diamond-shaped panes set in lead, with empty window boxes in front
of every window. One door led to the bottom floor, and a staircase
led to the second.
     Mrs. Lynn led them up the stairs and opened the door with a
flourish. "This is the main room of the house," she said. The room
ran the entire length of the house, with a heavy fireplace at one
end and another narrow staircase to the first and third floors. The
floors were solid timber beneath their feet. A modern kitchen had
been put in by the fireplace: a gas range, a heavy granite sink,
counters and an island with a pot rack above it.
     They climbed the stairs to the third floor, where there were
three bedrooms, one opening into the next. The central room had
another inglenook fireplace and a narrow bathroom, with a deep claw-
foot tub that made Scully clutch at Mulder's hand again. One of the
bedrooms had been used as a nursery in the past: it had been
painted cream with narrow blue stripes, and a cartoonish cow jumped
over a jolly moon, while a dish and spoon ran away hand-in-hand on
a hill painted below.
     "What do you think?" she said, but Scully was too busy
looking to answer.
     "I think she loves it," Mulder said, and Scully nodded, still
looking around. "It's beautiful, Mrs. Lynn."
     "It is unfurnished," Mrs. Lynn said. "All it has is the stove
and counters. The last tenants used the downstairs for storage, but
they cleared it--and what they left we've taken out--so you can use
it for whatever you like. I'm sure you can find something. So. It
is small and there's no central heat or air, but as I said it's in
good condition. Would you like to see the garden?"
     "Yes, please," Scully said quietly, then hung back while the
Lynns led the way downstairs again. "Mulder," she whispered. "I
love this house."
     He grinned at her. "Then we'll take it."
     "Can we honestly afford this, though? They've got to be
expecting a huge rent--can we afford a thousand pounds a month? Or
more?"
     "Yes. We can afford it." He took her chin in his hand. "Hey.
Don't look so worried. If you want this place, we have get it. The
only thing that concerns me is the stairs."
     "They make gates to block off stairs when toddlers start
walking."
     "I mean for you, in about three months. They're very steep.
We'll be sleeping up here and doing most of our living downstairs,
do you think you can handle it when you're at your ninth month?"
     Scully nodded, her eyes wide. "I'm sure I can."
     "Okay, then."
     "Okay." She grabbed both his hands, laughing. "Mulder, we
found our house. We have a house!"
     He laughed too and spun her around. "Come on, let's look at
the garden before we say yes."

     ~"Jabberwocky" and "Father William" are by Lewis Carroll.~
    ~Truly Madly Deeply
Heaven&Earth 5~
    Mulder climbed up the stairs for what he hoped was the last
time that day, and paused at the top of the landing. They had spent
the day moving in, with help from Fiona, Ned and Simon--just the
basics of furniture, chairs around the island, dishes, a bookcase
Scully hoped to fill soon, a wardrobe and a bed.
     But they had said goodbye and thank-you to their friends, and
it was finally just the two of them in the little house.
     Scully was standing on her tiptoes at the island, hanging
pots on the rack. She had complained to Mulder before how she
loathed maternity clothes because of the cute factor, but he loved
how cute she looked in her overalls, with her hair pulled back and
her arms bare. He had to stop and watch.
     Finally she noticed him staring and said, blowing back a lock
of errant hair, "What?"
    "You're a pretty girl," he said in a low voice.
     Scully laughed. "Come here and help me."
     He crossed the room and took the pans from her to finish
hanging them up. She wrapped her arms around his waist.
     "Do you hear that?" she said.
     Mulder and listened to the quiet house. "Hear what?"
     "There's nobody here but us. No staff, no other guests, no
hosts. It's just us. Our house."
     "Yeah," Mulder said. "So we can be as noisy as we want to be."
     "Or as quiet." She added at his look, "Or as noisy. Bu
there's so much still to do, Mulder."
     "I know. Not tonight, though. " He pulled the band from her
hair and ran his fingers through it so it fell in curls around her
face.
     "I want to put a rug under the dining room table, when we
have one. And I want to plant bulbs in the fall. I think I'll be
too busy with the baby for any spring planting. And we need to
decide what to do with this room. It's a great room, I love it, but
I'm not sure how to get the best use out of it."
     Mulder sighed and rested his chin on he top of her head.
"Here's my vision. " He turned her towards the  fireplace. "Sofa in
front of that. Maybe an armchair or two. TV to the side. Computer
under the windows. "
    "I've missed my computer," Scully murmured. "Can we get the
internet out here?"
     "I think so, Tom and Janet have it." He turned her to the
other end of the room. "Dining room table and chairs, and a play
space for the baby."
     "I like your vision. " She wrapped her hands around his
fingers.
     "Tomorrow," he said. "We have plenty of time."
     "Our house," she said again, then turned back her head to
look at him.  "This is what you want, isn't it?"
     "Of course it is."
     She nodded and leaned her head back against his chest. "It's
just . . . Sometimes I think you're not sure about all this. Like
you're indulging me."
     "Scully." He turned her around  and held her face in his
hands. "Honestly, honey? I am a little scared."
     "Mulder," she began.
    "Listen. You could have anyone you wanted. Anyone. You could
have a guy who'd give you the moon."
     "What would I do with the moon?" she said gently.
     "You know what I mean. And you have to admit, not a lot of
people get us."
     "You were so upset on our wedding day. Did someone say
something to you?"
     He sighed and leaned her forehead against hers. "Your brother
said something I overheard--and your mother wasn't happy--and
Charlie probably would have objected if we'd talked long enough."
     She said, cupping his cheek in her hand, "The fact that I
love you has nothing to do with it, of course."
     "And that's the thing, isn't it? That's why we make sense.
Despite everything that says it shouldn't be, there's love."
     "Yes, there is," Scully murmured.  "Let's go to bed, Mulder."
     "Are you tired, honey?"
     She smiled. "No. Not at all."
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Life, Mulder thought, could be highly satisfying. It could be
unexpectedly delightful. It could be strangely beautiful, full of
wonder and sweetness.
     Scully had chosen a heavy sleigh bed with a wide, firm
mattress, and Mulder leaned back on his elbows while he watched
Scully undress, letting the comfort of the bed surround him. She
was a little shy to let him see her nude at this point of her
pregnancy, but he didn't know why. He loved her heavier breasts and
taut, creamy belly. He couldn't get enough of her. He hoped he
never would.
     "Look at you," he said softly, taking her hands. "Look at how
sweet you are. "
    "I just feel big," she said.
     "You're round," he said. "I want to just sink into you."
Scully chuckled, blushing a little, and he said, "Okay, that's not
quite what I meant."
     "I think I know what you mean, and the sentiment is greatly
appreciated, my love." She let go of his hand to hold his face and
kiss him. He tilted back his head, smiling as her lips moved
tenderly around his face.
     "It's going to be a while, isn't it, before we're fucking
frantically against the wall again," he murmured.
     "Do you miss it?"
     "Not really--it's probably better for my back."
     She laughed and kissed him, pushing her tongue into his
mouth. He liked her gentle just fine--but he loved when she was
fierce.
     "Hello, second-trimester libido," he said when they came up
for air.
     "Enjoy it while you can," she said, and kissed him again. "I
can't promise how good my mood will stay for the next three months."
     "I will bring you offerings of chocolate and Saltines." He
pulled her onto the bed and helped her lie beside him, stretched
out on the soft cotton sheets. "I will bow down and worship at the
altar of your tummy." He kissed the belly in question and Scully
touched his hair.
     "You will lay me good and proper," she said with a fallen
angel's smile.
     "That too." He loved the way her hands moved through his hair
as he kissed her body.  He loved every one of her freckles, loved
to trace a path from one to the next with his tongue.
     Scully scooted herself further onto the bed and grabbed a
pillow to put under her hips. "This really is the best way to break
in a bed," she said breathlessly, and Mulder hummed in agreement,
his lips closing around her tight pink nipple.
     He loved the little noises she made--and it occurred to him
that she'd always made *little* noises. They'd always made love in
places where they had to worry about people hearing them, from the
park to their own apartments to various hotels--but now, they
didn't.
     As they kissed and touched he waited to see if Scully would
notice this too, but even when he was deep inside her, her teeth
were clamped onto her lip, muffling her cries.
     "Hey," he whispered and ran his fingertips over her mouth.
"Our nearest neighbor is a mile away. Let me hear you. I want to
hear you. Let me hear you, Scully."
     Her teeth released her lip and she breathed deeply, tilting
back her head. She moaned, "Oh," and he whispered, "Yes, that's it,
give me more, baby," and she almost shouted, "Oh, yes," her body
arching.
     Mulder held himself high above her so he could watch her
face. He could never get enough of this, either, of her sweet body,
of the sheer pleasure of making love to someone he adored. He felt
her trembling and the clumsy counterthrusts of her hips, her nails
digging into his neck. She shouted his name as tremors coursed
through her body, and  he groaned as oblivion ran through his.
     At the last moment Mulder remembered to roll them onto their
sides so he wouldn't crush her. Scully put a sleepy hand on his
cheek and kissed him without opening her eyes. "Welcome home," she
whispered.
     Mulder chuckled. "It's nice to be home." He stroked his hand
down her side, stopping at her belly. "I missed so much," he
murmured.
     "You'll get it on the next one."
     Next one? "What do you mean, next one?"
     "I mean," she said innocently, "the next one, if there one,
which I hope there is. But we need to get through the first one. I
know."
     "Next one?" he said again.
     Scully said, "Possibly. In a year or two. Because I'm not
getting any younger. Do you realize the statistics of birth defects
that are possible just because a woman turns thirty-eight?"
     "Next one," Mulder said again, turning onto his back, pulling
up the blankets and putting his arm around her.
     For a few minutes they lay quietly, her hand on his chest,
and then she said, "Would you like another child, Mulder?
     He stroked her shoulder. "Yes. I think I would. But let's get
you through this one first, because I'm already scared about how
much labor is going  hurt--"
    "Don't say that. I know that already."
     "Does it scare you, honey?"
     "A little. I've been reading about alternative birth methods--
maybe we should try  something untraditional. I don't want to be
screaming and crying and ripping--"
    Mulder shuddered and held her closer. "Just one."
     She chuckled and kissed his chest. "Birth is pain, Mulder.
That's the way it always has been. At least we're not living a
thousand years ago, when most women were dead at twenty-five from
infections from childbirth."
     "God. How has the human race survived."
     "Biological imperitives." She smiled at him.
     He smiled back and kissed her. "You want me there?"
     "I do."
     "Then I will be there."
     She yawned, settling herself more comfortably against him,
and said, "I fully expect you to see this through, boyo."
     "I will," he promised, certain he could keep it.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    "I've done something," Fiona said a few days later over the
phone. "I hope you'll forgive me, Mulder, but I'm not sure you
will."
     "What'd you do?" He looked out the window at Scully, who was
outside with a notepad and a book on plants, planning to restore
the neglected garden. In her yellow sweater she looked like an
early-blooming flower among the hibernating plants. Tulip, he
thought and smiled.
     "--and so I gave her your phone number. I knew she'd find you
eventually. She's persistent like that when she wants something.
Forgive me?"
     "Wait a second--what do you do?"
     She said slowly, "I gave Phoebe Green your phone number. She
wants you to work for the Yard."
     "Oh, no."
     "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have."
     "It's okay, Fee--I told her no already, but I guess it's
going to take a few reiteration before she gets the hint." He
sighed and looked out the window again.  Scully had shut her book
and turned her face up to the mild sunshine, her eyes closed. What
am I doing in here? he thought. "Thanks for the warning. I'll talk
to you soon."
     "You're not mad?"
     "I'm not mad. See you, Fiona."
     He barely heard Fiona say goodbye as he hung up the phone. He
hurried down the stairs and out to the garden, and placed her coat
over her shoulders as he joined Scully on the wrought iron bench.
"Hey."
     "Hey. Who was that on the phone?"
     "Fiona."
     "You know, as soon as we have a guest bed I want her and Ned
to visit us."
     "I'm sure they'd love it. She had some news for us."
     "Is she all right?"
     "Yes, she's fine. She called to say we may be hearing from
Phoebe soon. I just want you  to be prepared."
     Scully pursed her lips and doodled a figure eight on the
notepad. "What does she want?"
     "She wants to convince us to work for Scotland Yard. I'm
going to tell her no, Scully."
     The eight became a pair of eyes, looking to the left through
thick, black lashes. Mulder pushed his hand through her hair,
watching her face.  "I hate feeling this way," Scully said abruptly.
     "Feeling what way?" He resisted the urge to take the pen from
her nervous fingers.
     "Threatened." She scowled at herself.
     "Dana Scully," he said. "Look at me." She raised her eyes,
her cheeks bright pink. "You know I love you."
     "Yes. I know."
     "So why feel threatened?"
     "I remember the way you looked at her. I was jealous--I don't
even know why, I hardly knew you then--but I could see it. You
wanted her back and she wanted you."
     "She wanted me because I was there to reclaim."
     "Exactly. She was your first  love--your *first.* Imagine how
you'd feel if you'd ever met Daniel. I loved him."
     "And you don't anymore."
     "Yes, but--"
    "And I don't love Phoebe anymore. She has nothing that I want--
and you have everything."
     Scully looked at him a moment, and then leaned over and
hugged him close, letting her books fall to the grass. "I love
you," she murmured into his neck.
     "Love you too, honey. I'm going to tell her no."
     "Maybe you shouldn't."
     "Excuse me?"
     "It wouldn't hurt to have a paycheck coming in."
     "Scully, we're fine."
     "I'd feel better if we had an income."
     "As soon as I get Quicken installed on the computer you can
see exactly how it all breaks down. You'd probably better handle
the money anyway, you're better at it. I bet you never forgot to
deposit a paycheck, ever."
     "No, I haven't," she admitted, leaning her head against his
shoulder.
     "Do you want to go inside? It's getting chilly."
     "Just a few minutes more. I love it here."
     "Okay. Are you warm enough?"
     "Yes, dear," she teased gently. She laid her head against his
shoulder to watch the sun go down behind the trees.

    ~Truly Madly Deeply  Heaven & Earth 6~
    ". . . And this was his *first* hit, a remake of an old blues
tune. A lot of early rock'n'roll is based on the blues, if not
outright stolen from it. But the reason that Elvis is important
isn't just cleaning up the blues for white teenagers to dance to at
the sock hop--"
    "Mulder," Scully said, lowering her book. "That's enough
history."
     "Okay, okay," Mulder said, mostly to the belly. "Plenty of
time for history later." He gave the belly a kiss and turned on the
stereo.
     His birthday gift to Scully had been a stereo and a decent
collection of classical and jazz CDs. Music more to his taste
started turning up at once, of course, but Scully thought it was
just as important to have the Rolling Stones and Tom Waits in a
home as to have Debussey and John Coltrane.
     And she loved to see Mulder imitating Elvis's hip swivel
while he sang along, though she kept that to herself. She'd hate
for him to feel self-conscious and stop.
     When the song was over Mulder choose other CD and flopped
down on the floor between Scully and the stereo again. "Elvis," he
told the baby. "Elvis is important, so remember that."
     "Bach next," Scully said.
     "Beatles next," Mulder replied. "'Sgt. Pepper.' More on how
music borrows and builds on itself."
     "I need some Bach," she said, batting her eyelashes at him,
and he grinned and got back up to choose another CD.
     "The lady wants Bach, the lady gets Bach." He started the new
CD and Scully smiled her thanks. He lay down again, rubbing her
tummy, and said, "This is Bach. Supposedly it'll make you smarter,
but honestly, Baby Girl, from a purely genetic standpoint, I think
you've got that covered."
     "If she turns out to be a he, do you think he'll be
traumatized by you calling him 'baby girl' all the time?" She
grinned at him.
     "I wouldn't call her that if you weren't so sure she is a
girl," Mulder said mildly, still rubbing her stomach. "If you said,
'Mulder, we're having a boy,' I woudl call him Baby Boy. Or if you
said you have no idea I'd call her something else, like--I don't
know--Guppy."
    "Guppy," Scully repeated and turned a page of her book. "And I
was starting to think Daisy was an indulgent nickname."
     Mulder laughed, laid his head on his arm and continued
stroking her belly.
     Two weeks more and the waiting was over. They had prepared
the house and themselves the best that they could: the nursery was
cleaned and furnished, they had clothes and diapers and toys and
burp rags, and what Mulder insisted on calling a pram even though
Scully could only think of it as a stroller. They had a midwife at
the local birthing center, and Scully had practiced breathing slow
and deep to the point that she was doing it every night to help
herself fall asleep.
     She'd known all along that she would get very large at the
end of her pregancy, but she still found herself awed and a little
troubled by the size of her belly. Mulder said she was beautiful
and she knew he meant it, but it was hard to believe sometimes--
particularly when Phoebe Green kept popping up.
     Phoebe. Scully scowled and turned another page of her book,
even though between Mulder's hand and her own thoughts she hadn't
absorbed a word. Mulder had accepted the job at Scotland Yard and
Scully didn't regret it, but somehow Phoebe interpreted Mulder's
position as a consultant to mean she had free access to their
lives. Phone calls and emails on a daily basis, and Scully thought
the only thing that was keeping Phoebe from popping in was the
three-hour drive from London. Scully couldn't imagine it would get
better once the paperwork had cleared and Mulder was an actual
member of Her Majesty's police force.
     Scully shut the book and started stroking Mulder's hair. He
hummed--no, it was more like a purr. She smiled, feeling a little
soothed.
     It wasn't just Phoebe, though. It was the smug smile on her
superior's face when he said, "Unfortunately, Mrs. Mulder, we have
very talented pathologists on staff already--and we can't hire a
foreign national when our own countrymen do thejob perfectly well.
Besides," smiling like he had to use smaller words for her to
understand, "you'll be occupied with your little one, you won't
want to work."
     Not want to work? She couldn't think of a time that she
hadn't wanted to work. Even when she and Mulder were pulled from
the X-Files and were doing manure checks in the heartland, she'd
wanted to do a job--her job, her contribution to the world.
     She'd give it a year, maybe two. By then the baby would be
old enough for a nanny, and maybe once they had their residency
established it would be easier to convince someone to hire her,
like the Carterhaugh morgue.
     "You want to get back to slicin' and dicin'?" Mulder had said
after they left the meeting with the Yard. "I thought you were
preoccupied with daffodils and didies right now."
     "I'm not," she had said, but he'd laughed and kissed her and
said, "That'll change."
     Assumptions irked her. They always had.
     On the other hand, maybe he was right, maybe once the baby
was here she would feel differently. Maybe once she as devoting her
energy to her child she wouldn't have anything left for an outside
job.
     Scully sighed. She would deal with this later--much later.
Next year later. "Have you ever considered the Goldberg Variations
to be makeout music?" she said, tugging on Mulder's hair.
     "No, but I'm willing to give it a whirl." He moved up to kiss
her, and she eagerly opened her mouth to his tongue. This made
everything better. Everything.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Scully picked up their mail--it usually came when she was out
for her morning walk. Lately most of their mail was official
documents for Mulder, but she got a few letters a month from
friends they'd made during their honeymoon.
     She also got, about once a month, a typed letter postmarked
from various cities around Europe and with no return address.
     She did not tell Mulder about these.
     One rainy morning in late April Mulder got the mail and the
paper, telling Scully to stay warm by the fire. He came back,
thumbing through the envelopes and putting hers aside from his.
"Something from the birthing center, probably about your
appointment next week . . . " His voice trailed off. He held up one
plain letter between his thumb and forefinger "Scully? Who is this
letter from?"
     "Who does it say?"
     "There's no return address. It's postmarked Prauge. Do we
know somebody in Prague?"
     "I think the Howards are in Prague."
     Mulder held up another envelope. "Callie Howard. Postmarked
Venice." He gave her the letters and sat down at the island,
looking at her expectantly. "Who is it from? Do you think it's your
stalker?"
     "I don't have a stalker, Mulder."
     "No, you just have guys who send you roses anonymously."
     "One rose, one time."
     "Please just tell me if we need to take that to the police,
to have it traced."
     She slipped her finger under the flap and tore the envelope
open. Inside there was just one sheet of paper, typed. "Dear Dana,"
it read, "I followed him here and took care of things. Don't be
afraid. You're never alone. A."
     "It's fine," she said to Mulder. "It's nothing."
     Mulder studied her for a moment, then opened the paper and
started to read. "Okay. Nothing."
     He was angry, she could see it in the twitching muscle in his
neck. But telling him the truth would only upset him more. She knew
what his reaction would be--they'd be out of their perfect house
and wandering again before the sun went down.
     And she couldn't wander anymore. It took most of her energy
to  walk the drive to Linford Hall. More than that, the thought of
leaving this little house, of running again, wrenched at her heart.
This was home. This was where they belonged. She was not going to
cower in fear.
     And it really was nothing. Krycek was looking out for them.
     Minutes passed. She read the letter from Callie Howard, which
was frothy and and silly like all of her letters. She looked up
when Mulder tossed the newspaper aside and stalked around the
island to stand in front of her. He took a deep breath. She waited
for him to speak, but she almost wished he'd yell--yelling had to
be better than all this repression.
     Mulder grabbed her face and kissed her, hard as if he wanted
to suck her teeth into his mouth. She inhaled, startled at his
ferocity, and thrust her hands into his hair. His tongue was hot in
her mouth. "Oh, God," she breathed against his lips, and he let up
a little. "Mulder . . ."
     With one sweep of the arm he cleared the breakfast dishes
from the island, and then lifted her from the chair and onto the
top of the butcherblock. He kissed her again, just as hard, the
muscles of his shoulders tight as rocks beneath her fingers. The
kiss went on and on, so hungry and demanding Scully whimpered.
     Mulder pulled away and leaned his head against her neck,
panting. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . ."
     "It's okay," she whispered, stroking his head with a shaking
hand. "It's okay. You're angry. Talk to me."
     "Don't keep secrets from me." He kissed her neck. "I can't
stand it."
     "You'll just get upset." He chuckled drily, and she said,
"Okay, more upset. And I can't take any more changes, Mulder." She
lifted his head and held his chin so she could look into his eyes.
"This is our home and I'm staying here."
     "Okay. Whatever you say, we'll stay here. Just tell me."
    "All right." She swallowed and said, "The letter is from
Krycek. He's been writing to me, to tell me about people who've
been looking for us--and what he's done to them. Not in detail, but
enough that I'm not worried."
     "Krycek," Mulder repeated. "Wonderful."
     "He's helped us before. He's helping us now, I believe that."
     "He killed your sister!"
     "And he killed your father, and he's probably killed a lot of
other people, and some of them have been for us. I'm not going to
tell him to stop--and I couldn't anyway. He's never given me an
address. I only know where he is from the postmarks."
     Emotions battled across Mulder's face, and he said, "So why
is he writing just to you?"
     "Maybe he knows I'll actually listen to him instead of throw
him around and call him names."
     "I don't call him names . . ." Scully smiled, stroking his
cheek, and he slowly nodded. "Okay. I'm not nice to him--but I
can't be, Scully. I just can't."
     "You don't have to be, but being grateful sometimes wouldn't
hurt. God only knows what would have happened to us if he hadn't
interferred, Mulder."
     "I know."
     "So am I forgiven?"
    "Of course you are. But no more secrets, Scully. We're beyond
that."
     "Agreed. No secrets." He looked rather miserably at the mess
on the floor. "And I guess I ought to clean this up."
     "Help me down and I'll help you."
     "Deal." He lifted her off the island and kissed her when her
feet were firmly on the floor. "This fighting thing, it's not so
bad."
     "We'll get better at it."
     He added in a hopeful tone, "Makeup sex later?"
     "Oh," Scully said. "Definately."
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    "All right," Mulder said into the phone. "I'll need to get
back to you on that. I understand, Jacob, I really do, but I have
to talk to my wife first. Talk to you soon." He hung up the phone,
frowning.
     This look worried Scully. "Sit," she said, putting down the
eggplant she was slicing for dinner. He sat in one of the kitchen
chairs with a sigh. She stared rubbing his shoulders. "Who was
that?"
     "The family lawyer back in Boston. It's good news and it's
bad news."
     "Tell me."
     "Someone's made an offer on the house in Quonacatogue."
     "That's wonderful."
     "Yeah--but I have to sign some papers, make some other
arrangements, before the sale can be final."
     Her hands stopped kneading his shoulders a moment. "So . . .
You're saying you have to go back to the States?"
     "The buyer isn't willing to wait long, so I'd have to leave
right away." He looked at her over his shoulder. "I can take care
of some other things while I'm there, pick up a few more of our
personal items, and make sure if the other houses get offers they
can sell without my presence. Three days, tops. Selling the house
will bring in a healthy chunk of change, Scully."
     "I know. I understand." She resumed rubbing his shoulders,
though she was starting to feel a little tense herself.
 "Three days?"
    "Two to travel, one to take care of business. And you're not
due for another week, and first babies are often late--and if you
don't want to be alone, maybe you could ask Fiona to stay with you
while I'm gone, or you could ask Mrs. Lynn for one of their guest
rooms for a while." He looked back at her again. "I won't miss it,
Scully. I won't miss a thing."
     Scully nodded again, biting her lip. She said, "I think I'll
be all right. The Lynns are so close, I can call them if I need any
help."
     "Okay." He tilted back his head and requested, "Kiss me."
     She kissed him, chuckling at the odd angle. "Do you want help
packing?"
     "I can do it. Is there anything you want me to bring you?
Saltines?" he added with a grin.
     She bopped his nose but said, "You'd better."

    ~Truly Madly Deeply Heaven & Earth 7~
    The first night without Mulder wasn't so bad. She saw him off
to the train station in Carterhaugh's lone taxi, ate a little
dinner, and read, both aloud and to herself, before going to bed.
Mulder called from the airport and they talked a little, saying I
love you and I'll miss you, and she held the phone to her belly so
Mulder could sing a lullaby. It was hard to say goodbye when his
flight was called.
     She slept cuddling his pillow. it smelled like him.
     In the morning Fiona called. "Mulder asked me to check up on
you. How are you doing?"
     "All right," Scully said with a sigh.      "Managing. I think
I've started having false labor. My midwife said to just wait them
out, but it's a little scary."
     "Do you want me to come up? I can be there by noon."
     It was tempting, but still Scully said, "Thank you, but I'll
be okay. It's just false alarms, and Mulder will be home soon."
     "All right," Fiona said, still sounding worried. "Call me you
need anything."
     "I will."
     Mulder called soon afterwards. "I'm here. I'm with the guys
right now. They miss you." There was murmuring in the background,
and Mulder added, "Frohike says if you ever need a bodyguard he's
up for the job."
     Scully smiled into the phone. "Tell him thanks, I'll keep
that in mind."
     "She says thanks," Mulder told Frohike. She heard rustling as
he moved away from the sound of voices, and he said in a more
intimate tone, "I really miss you."
     "I miss you too. How was the flight?"
     "Fine. Nothing happened. I slept most of the way. How are you
doing?"
     "Just fine. I think I'm having Braxton-Hicks contractions,
but that's nothing to worry about."
     "Are you sure, honey?"
     "Yes. Don't worry.  When do you see your lawyer?"
     "In the morning. I've got a commuter flight to Boston at
seven. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."
     "Oh, sweetheart."
     "I'll sleep a little more tonight. Don't worry, honey. I can
go for days, you know."
     "No, you can't, Mulder. You need to be rested to handle
important things properly."
     "Like real estate and wills," Mulder said. "I know."
     "Your will?"
     "I'm a father now. It's time."
     "You're becoming such a grownup."
     "I told you I was."
     "Fiona called, by the way. Thank you for asking her to look
in on me."
     "She's good people. That reminds me: will you have her call
Simon about ghost-hunting this weekend? I forgot about it when we
talked."
     "Ghost-hunting," Scully said with a chuckle. "You two."
    "Live long and propser, Scully. I love you."
     "I love you too. Get some sleep. Call me soon."
     "I will. Love you." He hung up.
     Scully stayed where she was on the couch for a few minutes,
holding the phone. She could feel Mulder's voice on her skin as if
she were immersed in it.
     The baby gave her a prod, and Scully rubbed her tummy in
response. "It's okay, baby," she said. "I miss Daddy too."
     She hauled herself to her feet and decided to work in the
garden for a while, to keep herself occupied.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Even though Scully relayed the message to Fiona to remind
Simon that Mulder was away, Simon still showed up that night, eager
to track down the Carterhaugh ghosts. It had been his and Mulder's
project all spring, and Fiona encouraged it because it meant his
grandparents saw him more.
     Simon pouted a moment when Scully told him Mulder was in the
States, then said, "D'you mind if I hang with you a while?"
     "I'm not doing anything interesting--I'm just going through
the list of things we need for the baby one more time."
     "I can help," he said. "I can--lift things, move things
around."
     "All right," Scully said, grinning despite herself. For a
blue-haired, multi-pierced boy in a "Sid Vicious is dead" t-shirt,
he could be very sweet.
     They talked for a while about  Simon's favorite subjects--
girls, ghosts, and England's chances in the World Cup--and Scully
told him a little about the X-Files. His eyes grew very wide when
she said she'd met an actual werewolf and real vampies.
     "There's a girl at school who says she's a vampire," he said.
"I think she just spends too much time inside. She is really
spooky, though. Hey! Have you down much with the bottom floor yet?"
     "No, not yet. We haven't decided what to do with it."
     "Have you noticed that tapestry against the back wall? Have
you seen what's beneath it?"
     "I haven't looked behind it." She was folding onsies, her
mind elsewhere than their bottom floor.
     "Come on, I want to show you. Can you do the stairs? It's my
favorite part of this house."
     "All right," she said, and he helped her to her feet so they
could go downstairs.
     They turned on the overhead light and Simon pushed his way
behind the empty boxes from the pram and crib. He moved the heavy
tapestry aside, grunting a little--it was a heavy piece of fabric,
woven several inches thick. "There," he said proudly.
    In the wall was a door. It was made of heavy oak beams with
sturdy iron hinges and an ornate handle. A horseshoe had been
nailed over the top, and more nails had been hammered in all around
the doorframe to seal it shut.
     "It's a door," Scully said.
     "It's a door that doesn't open. It's been plastered over on
the other side--there's ivy growing over it now. Spooky, isn't it?"
     "How do you mean?"
     "Why would somebody plaster over one door and cut another in
the same room? This room has always been one big room--look at the
beams, they've never been cut. And that door--" he pointed to the
functioning door across the room, "is a lot newer than this door."
     "You're right. That is spooky."
     "It's like there was something that could only get inside by
this door. It faces north--I don't know if that means anything."
     "I don't know either."
 "And then this horseshoe--good luck, right?"
     "And protection against evil," Scully murmured.
     "And then this stuff." He pulled down some dry leaves and
twigs from the top of the jamb, which crumbled in his fingers.
"Some kind of plant at the top."
     "Mistletoe," Scully said.
     "From Christmas?"
     "Mistletoe was thought to be a medicinal herb," Scully said,
stooping to examine the heavy lock. The keyhole had been filled in.
She scraped at the substance with her fingernail and sniffed it.
Beeswax.
     "This is why I believe Dad when he says there are ghosts
here. People don't do things like this unless they're afraid.  Are
you all right?" Simon said, looking worried. "Should I not have
shown you this?"
     "No--I'm glad to know it's here."
     He pulled the tapestry back in front of the door and smoothed
it out. "Of course, I'm probably wrong--probably someone decided
just to have the door on the second floor at some point, for
safety's sake."
     "Maybe."
     "I've upset you. I'm sorry. Mum is always telling me not to
upset you because of the baby."
     "I'm not upset," Scully said, though the door unsettled her.
She suspected Simon was right, at least in the motivation of the
people who had closed this door. They weren't trying to keep
something in--they were trying to keep something out.
     She shook her head and said, "What do you say we ask your
grandparents down here for dinner?"
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    The evening brought mild rain and company. Simon and Mr. Lynn
built up a fire for Scully before dinner, so after they'd left
Scully read on the sofa, listening to the raindrops hiss on the
flames. She'd never noticed how much this old house creaked before.
     Scully shut her book with an annoyed snap.  She was listening
for that door to open, which was patently absurd. "It's
ridiculous," she told the baby. "That door is locked, nailed and
plastered shut. No one is getting in here who's not invited."
 She felt another warning contraction, and leaned back he head,
cupping her belly and breathing deeply as her midwife had taught
her.  Considering all the madness that had surrounded her
pregnancy, her stress level and blood pressure had been normal, but
still her midwife had told her she must rest more on their last
visit. "Stress can bring on early labor," she'd warned.
     I don't feel stressed, she thought. Mulder will be home
tomorrow. I'm going  have a healthy, normal baby. I have a
beautiful house and good neighbors, and a husband who loves me--
loves me so much--
    The contraction passed and Scully opened her eyes, exhaling
slowly.  "I don't suppose you want to try an alternative method, do
you, Daisy?" she muttered as she pushed herself  her feet. She'd
always known intellectually how a baby leaves its mother's body--
she'd even helped a woman give birth once--but it was not academic
anymore.
     She poured herself a glass of water and drank. She closed her
eyes and rolled the cold glass over her face. She wished Mulder was
here, to rub her belly and tell her things would be fine, she was
strong enough to do this.
     Speak of the devil, she thought when the phone rang.
"Scully," she said when she picked up the receiver.
     "I never want to do this again," Mulder said. "Sleeping
without you sucks."
     "As soon as you come home you never have to," Scully said,
getting herself comfortable on the couch again. She pulled a knit
throw over her legs.
     "Never, ever, ever, Scully.  I keep expecting you to come out
of the bathroom and tell me I've squeezed the toothpaste wrong. But
the house is sold, and that's good news, at least." He named a
figure so high Scully thought he had to be joking, and then said,
"We're buying a car when I get back. There's no reason for you to
be walking around with the baby when you don't need to. We can look
into getting our licenses when I get home."
     "All right," Scully said, still a little dazed. "Mulder--how?
It's a tiny house--"
    "It's a beach house. That view is worth a lot. "
    "Are you all right with selling it, really?"
    "Really. I'm glad to be rid of it. Nothing but bad memories
there." They both were silent a moment, remembering. He sighed and
said, "And how are my girls? You haven't said."
     "We're fine. The Braxton-Hicks contractions are still coming,
but that's to be expected. She's kicking a lot. I can see one of
her feet under my ribs."
     "Oh, my baby girl," Mulder murmured.  "So you're okay?"
     "We're fine, love. We're just fine. Everyone has been
checking in on me all day. Simon kept me company for a while
tonight. What did you tell him about the door on the bottom floor?"
     "What would I tell him? Anybody can see the door, Scully,
it's right there in the garden."
     "I mean the door behind the tapestry--the one that's been
sealed shut."
     "We have a sealed door?"
     She smiled at the familiar note  his voice--the excitement of
a little boy who has found a treasure map. "We have a sealed door.
It's been nailed shut and beeswax was melted into the keyhole, and
it's been plastered over on the outside. There's even a horseshoe
over the top."
     "Down on the bottom floor? I'll have a look at it as soon as
I get home. Have you asked Ned or Tom about the history of the
house? They might know if there were some unexplained deaths or a
haunting. Will you ask, the next time you see them?"
     "We talked about it a little at dinner tonight, but Mr. Lynn
didn't know anything specific. Mrs. Lynn said she'd look through
the family annals for me."
     Mulder laughed suddenly and said, "I've missed this too,
Scully."
     "So have I."
     "Why haven't they called my flight already? I want to come
home. I miss you so damn much, Scully."
     "I miss you too, sweetheart."
     "Is it about your bedtime?"
     "Just about. It's getting late."
     "My body clock is thoroughly messed up.  I only know what
time it is by what's on TV." He heaved a sigh. "There they go,
finally. Time to go. Love you, baby."
     "Love you too. See you soon." Scully hung up the phone and
leaned her head against the sofa back with a sigh.
     She bit her lip, then got to her feet, determined to do--
something. She made her way downstairs , one hand under her belly
and the other tight around the banister. She flipped on the
overhead light and studied the tapestry from across the room.
     The house, she knew, had been built about five hundred years
ago--a time when common people were still ruled by superstiton and
folk magic. It had not been lost on her earlier that the nails,
hinges, and doorknob were made of iron.
     And Simon had mentioned it faced north. Towards the mountains-
-towards the dense Carterhaugh forest.
     In the months they'd lived here, Scully had already heard
plenty of stories about what went on in the forest--Ned Lynn was
not the only one who'd hear hoofbeats on quiet nights, or seen
lights flickering between the trees.
     At some point, Scully thought, after the house was built but
long enough ago that it had been forgotten, something had come from
the woods to this house.
     Or so its owners had perceived.
     A thunderclap sounded so loudly the glass in the windows
rattled, and and with a flash of lightning the overhead light went
out. Scully grabbed for the banister, and waited for her eyes to
adjust to the dark. Her breath sounded harsh and quick to her ears.
     Another contraction gripped her pelvis and Scully gasped,
whimpering aloud. This was terribly soon for warning labor. She
sank down onto the bottom step, holding her belly and breathing
through her teeth. Slow and low, she thought, slow and low--but it
was hard keep steady when the pain was so intense.
     Finally it passed, and Scully leaned her head against the
wall of the stairwell, trying to slow her breathing. She yelped
when someone pounded on the door--not the hidden one, thank God,
the functioning door in the garden.  Scully crossed the room
carefully, and wrapped her hand around the knob. "Who's there?" she
shouted though the thick wood.
     "It's Mrs. Lynn, Mrs. Mulder."
     Scully yanked open the door, to let in Mrs. Lynn, who was
wearing wellingtons, and a yellow rain slicker and hat against the
weather. "Mrs. Lynn, you startled me."
     "I'm sorry, Mrs. Mulder, I didn't mean to worry you." She
removed the hat and shook out her damp hair.
     "You didn't walk down, did you? In this weather?"
     "Oh, nonsense, Mrs. Mulder," she said briskly and started
digging around in her pockets. "There's nothing in those woods that
can hurt me. Besides, Tom and I have always been night people. The
lights have been flickering at the Hall, and I didn't think you had
candles. It appears my instinct was correct."
     "Thank you," Scully said, taking the tapers that Mrs. Lynn
gave her from the deep raincoat pockets.  She smiled a little at
the honey scent of beeswax.
     "And candlesticks--here we are--and matches. I know how one
can forget the little things when you're still getting your
household together.  Are you all right, Mrs. Mulder? Is the baby
giving you trouble?"
     "Can you stay a few minutes? I'd like to ask you something."
     "Of course, dear." She hung her raincoat and hat over the
doorknob and took back the candles. "Let's get these lit. Is the
fire still going upstairs?"
     "Yes," Scully said, and followed Mrs. Lynn to the second
floor, not even glancing over her shoulder at the sealed door.
     The main room seemed much cozier and more homey when lit by
candles and firelight. Mrs. Lynn told Scully to rest her feet and
refilled her glass of water.
     "There, have a drink. Have you heard from Mr. Mulder tonight?"
     "He called a little bit ago. He's on his way home." Finally,
she added mentally.  "Mrs. Lynn, if you don't mind my asking,  how
many children do you have?"
     "Five--Barbara, Harry, Peter, Anna, and Ned is the baby.  Are
you in need of some mother's wisdom, Mrs. Mulder?"
     "I could use a little wisdom," Scully said gratefully. "I
feel silly, having so many questions--"
    "It's no easy thing, having your first child, especially so
far from home. Ask me anything you like--I'll do my best to
remember."
     "I keep having warning contractions--I know it's normal at
this point, but they seem to be awfully close together."
     "How many have you had today?"
     "Five. The last two were about an hour apart."
     "Well .  .  . It sounds to me like the beginning stages of
labor. I expect you'll be giving birth in the next few days."
     "But I'm not due for another week."
     "Babies come when they're ready," Mrs. Lynn said kindly.
     Scully contemplated this for a moment, resting her hands on
the uppermost curves of her belly, then said quietly, "I just don't
want her to come before Mulder gets back."
     "When is he due back? Tomorrow?"
     "His plane lands around two. He should be here tomorrow night."
     "I'm sure he'll get home in plenty of time." Scully nodded
slowly, a little more comforted. Mrs. Lynn said, "If you're worried
about being alone tonight you're welcome to one of our guest rooms."
     "Thank you--you've done so much already. I think I'll be all
right, though. Can I call you if anything comes up?"
     "Certainly. Well, I'll leave you to rest, then. Enjoy sleep
while you can, Mrs. Mulder." She got to her feet and blew out all
but the candles closest to Scully. "Don't forget to blow these out
before you fall asleep, though."
     "I'll remember. Let me see you out."
     "No, no, sit, Mrs. Mulder. I'll just get my things and go out
through this door. No sense in you climbing those stairs again
today," Mrs. Lynn said as she descended the stairs.
     Scully listened to the creaking stairs and closed her eyes,
waiting for Mrs. Lynn to come back up again. She's right, Scully
thought sleepily. Soon, but not yet. "Are you ready to come out, my
baby?" she whispered, rubbbing her hands over her belly.
     More minutes passed, and Scully thought it was taking Mrs.
Lynn a long time to get her slicker back on.  "Mrs. Lynn?" she
called. "Are you okay?"
     There was no answer.
     Scully paused a moment, then pushed herself off the couch.
She picked up a candlestick and started carefully down the stairs.
"Mrs. Lynn?"
     At the bottom of the stairs Scully held the candle high above
her head and had a good look around, particularly at the tapestry
on the wall. Nothing seemed out of place, but Mrs. Lynn's slicker
and hat were gone.
     Puzzled, Scully went to the door to lock up for the night.
Strange that Mrs. Lynn would leave without saying goodbye, she
thought, when again there was a knock at the door.
     "Mrs. Lynn?" she said, opening it, and gasped at who was
standing there, dark against the lashing rain.
     "Hello, darlin'," John Silver said, and blew her candle out.

    ~Truly Madly Deeply Heaven & Earth 8~
    Mulder wasn't surprised that Scully didn't answer the phone
when he called from Gatwick. She could be in the garden or
showering or at the Hall with the Lynns. He said to the answering
machine, "I'm home, I miss you like crazy, and I'm treating myself
to a commuter flight home. Don't worry about meeting me at the
train station. I love you. See you soon."
     His leg kept bouncing with nerves during the hop from London
to Newcastle. Anticipation, he thought. Homesickness.
     Before boarding the Carterhaugh train he called home again,
and again got the machine. "It's me. I--well, I kinda wanted to
hear your voice, Scully.  Okay. See you soon."
     *That*, he thought, is strange. Of course she could be
spending the day with the Lynns--but--what if she'd gone into labor
without him?
     She would have changed the message on the answering machine,
he realized, and breathed deeply again. She would say something to
let him know he needed to be home--for she was Scully the Logical,
Maker of Plans, She Who Is Always Prepared.
     He found himself grinning as he watched the countryside roll
past, changing from mild green hills to rocky coastline. He could
hardly wait to tell her her new nickname.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    All calm feeling vanished when Mulder stepped out of the cab
in front of the Gatehouse.  Police cars were parked along the road
that led up to the Hall, and there were uniformed police officers
in the garden, holding umbrellas against the misty rain.
     He paid the cabbie and picked up his suitcase, and approached
the nearest officer. "This is my house. What's going on?"
     "Are you Mr. Mulder?" he said, more kindly than Mulder
expected.
     "Yes. Did something happen? Where's my wife?"
     "Please come with me--you'll want to speak with the deputy
chief inspector."
     "The inspector?" Mulder repeated, but the constable was
already headed towards the house.
     The constable led him to the first floor and Phoebe Green,
whose face was surprisingly tense when they approached her.
"Mulder," she began, closing her notebook, then she took his
suitcase from his hand. "Thank you, Dale. I'll take him from here."
     "What's going on? Where's Scully?"
     Phoebe bit her lip, then said, "I tried calling this morning,
and got worried when there wasn't an answer. When I arrived the
local police were already here--the inspector thinks, and he may be
right, that this is some kind of retaliation--"
    He stepped closer to her, his eyes boring into hers, and
repeated in a low voice, "Where. Is My. Wife."
     "We don't know, Mulder. She's missing."
     He was going to puke--right on her Italian shoes. He bent
over, wanting to scream, and breathed deeply, trying to regain
control.
     "Please come with me, Mulder. DCI Maddox will tell you
everything we know."
     He felt her hand on the back of his neck and shook it off.
"Don't touch me." He straightened up again and glared at Phoebe.
"I bet you just love this."
     "Don't be absurd. I don't wish her ill, Mulder. I don't. Come
along. "
    Mulder followed her upstairs, trying not to stare at the
constables taking photographs of the scene. The crime scene, he
thought. My house is a crime scene.
     "Mr. Mulder," the DCI said when they reached him, and stepped
away from the other officers he'd been conferring with.  "I'm
Deputy Cheif Inspector Maddox, Northumbria police. There's very
little to go on--I'm afraid I haven't much to offer you."
    "What's happened to my wife?" Mulder said quietly.
     "Janet Lynn was attacked here last night--chloroformed and
left out in the rain. Her grandson discovered her: he'd gone
looking for her when she didn't come back to the Hall by midnight.
She's in hospital now and has told us everything she could. She
didn't see her attacker's face, but did hear his voice. She said
he's American, not tall but very strong."
     "One arm or two?" Mulder murmured.
     "I'm sorry?" the inspector said, but shrugged and went on
when Mulder didn't elaborate. "It's safe to assume, I'd say, that
the man who attacked Mrs. Lynn kidnapped your wife, but beyond
that, we haven't so much as a tire track. The rain has washed away
any external evidence. We're combing the inside of the house now.
Is there anything you can tell us, Mr. Mulder? Do you have any
ideas of who would want to kidnap your wife?"
     "We left the States because of threats  my wife's safety,"
Mulder said. He rubbed his eyes, trying to comprehend this. "We
thought we'd be safe here."
     "We'll be sending any fingerprints we find to Interpol, of
course, but if you can narrow down our search--if there's anyone
who might have a vendetta against you, who'd follow you from the
States and who'd want to take revenge on your wife--"
    "I don't know. The people who were threatening her, they don't
leave fingerprints. Sometimes they don't even have names. I'd like
to sit down."
     "Here, Mulder," Phoebe said, and pulled out one of the
kitchen chairs for him. Mulder all but fell into it. This was too
much on top of the last few days--he couldn't *think*.
     "The only messages on the machine are from you," Maddox said.
"We're in the process of setting it up for tracing, for when the
ransom demand comes."
     "They don't want money," Mulder said, raising his head. "They
want *her*--more than that, they want our baby. She's due to give
birth any day now--when I talked to her last night she thought she
was having the beginning stages of labor."
     "Well," Maddox said grimly. "Then we've got a deadline. Now,
explain to me how you know who these people are and what they want
but can't give me any real information about them."
     "That's the way these men operate," Mulder said. "They live
in shadows--they give up their names, their families, everything
that makes them human, in exchange for power."
     "I see," Maddox said with an air of skepticism.
     "I know how that sounds."
     "I'm sure you do--particularly since you were out of the
country at the time. You have a very good alibi."
     "Alibi?" Mulder repeated blankly.
     "Inspector Green tells me your marriage was both sudden and
recent. Would you care to tell me more about that?"
     "DCI Maddox," Phoebe protested. "I hardly think Mr. Mulder
would arrange the kidnapping of his own wife--"
    "I think a man would do anything if he were desperate enough,"
Maddox said.  "If, for example, he were coerced into a marriage
with a child he didn't want--"
    It took all of Mulder's self-control not to lunge at him--but
when he got to his feet Maddox took a small step back. "My *wife*--
" Mulder said, "my *child*--are out there somewhere. Are you going
to help me find them or aren't you?"
     The two men glared at each other until Phoebe interjected,
"DCI Maddox, Mr. Mulder has been travelling since last night.
Perhaps he ought to rest a bit before you continue this."
     Maddox said tersely, "I'll have more questions for you," and
hurried down the stairs.
     Phoebe was apologetic: "Mulder, I never imagined--"
    "'Sudden and recent'?" Mulder snapped. "What the hell were you
thinking? Do you want to frame me? Do you honestly think I arranged
this?"
     "No. Of course not. He asked how long you'd been married and
I said since Christmas. I don't know why he'd think that you'd hurt
her."
    "Because husbands kill wives all the time," Mulder said. "You
know that. It's an easy answer. It would make more sense if I'd
married her for her money, though, or if my family disapproved or
there was another woman--if there was a history of tension." He
scrubbed his hand through his hair, feeling every ounce of
exhaustion brought on by the last three days.
     "Why don't you lie down for a while," Phoebe said. "You've
had such a long trip."
     "Yeah," Mulder muttered. He picked up his suitcase and
trudged up the stairs to their bedroom.
    In the doorway he stopped, and took in the neatly-made bed,
the framed photographs, the already-overflowing bookcase. Every
inch of their bedroom bore Scully's mark, her personality, her
taste.
     Mulder sat on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his
hands.
     A few minutes passed, and he heard footsteps coming up the
stairs.  Phoebe knoocked lightly on the bedroom door. "Aren't you
going to rest?"
     "I will."
     "Charming nursery," she said, and joined him on the edge of
the bed. "Very sweet. Was she excited to be a mother?"
     "She is. Very," Mulder said.
     "She is," Phoebe murmured. "Of course. We will find them,
Mulder."
     "How? You heard Maddox. We've got nothing. The rain has
washed any clues away--and Scully has been taken away from me
before without a trace. These people could take her anywhere in the
world and do anything to her. They're above the law. Oh, God," he
moaned, turning onto his side. "Scully. My little girl."
     "Sh," Phoebe soothed, stroking his hair. "Don't despair,
Mulder." He couldn't answer, instead burying his face in his
pillow. The mattress shifted as Phoebe lay down behind him, and he
glanced back at her, confused. "Oh, Mulder . . . The things I
remember. The nightmares yoo used to have . . . How I used to
comfort you . . . Would you like some comfort, Mulder?" she
whispered. Her fingernails flicked along his chest. "Just a
little?" She dropped a cautious kiss on his neck.
     Infuriated by her audacity, he flipped over and grabbed her
shoulders."What do you think you're doing?" He shook her roughly
and she cried out. "What the hell, Phoebe! Do you think you could
come in here and--and *fuck* me? In the bed I share with my wife?
What the hell are you thinking!"
     Her eyes were huge and startled. "Mulder--you're hurting me."
     "Get out of here," Mulder said, releasing her--all but
shoving her off the bed. "Get away from me."
     Phoebe got to her feet and straightened her skirt. "I'm sorry."
     "I don't know who the hell you think you are. Good God."
     "I thought I was your friend. I forgot the rules have changed."
     "Damn right they have. Get out of here."
     She started to leave, then stopped in the door. "I don't wish
her ill," she said without turning around. "I don't. I just wonder,
whgn we finp her . . . if she'll want to come home."
     "You know nothing of our relationship," Mulder growled.
     "I won't for long," she answered, and shut the door.
     Mulder closed his eyes and let himself fall back on the bed.
He could remember things too--and his memories weren't pleasant.
Smiles and excuses and tear-stained apologies, promises to do
better, whispered "I love you"s as her hands slid over his body and
he tried not to think about who she'd been touching just hours
before--no. Nothing he wanted to dwell on.
     But there were better memories, more recent, more sweet.
Waking up to Scully's kisses, for example. Her hand over his heart
as they slept. Her soft laugh as they played together. Knowing that
Scully was as faithful as she was loving.
     Of course she'd want to come home. Of course she would.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    He didn't think he'd sleep but he must have, because he awoke
to someone pounding on the door. "Mr. Mulder! The phone! Quickly!"
     Mulder jumped to his feet, grabbing the shirt he'd taken off,
and yanked open the door to follow the officer to the main floor.
The phone was ringing insistently, and all around inspectors and
officers were waiting with their equipment, tense. DCI Maddox
nodded curtly to Mulder, and Mulder picked up the phone, trying not
to shake.
 "Mulder."
     "I am fucking busting my ass trying to keep the two of you
safe and you run off to the States at the first kibble they throw
you. You're supposed to be so fucking brilliant--didn't you see it
was a trap?"
     Mulder looked at Maddox, who was staring at him as if he
couldn't believe this. He said, even though he knew the answer,
"Who is this?"
     "What, are cops there? Fuck. Fucking fuck, Mulder. They've
got her, Mulder, do you understand that? They've got her."
     "I know," Mulder said. "Please tell me you know where she is.
Please."
     "Are cops there? Are they listening?"
     He looked at Maddox again, wondering if Krycek would withold
his information if he told the truth. Hell. "Yes."
     Krycek let out a long, frustrated sigh and said again, "Fuck
you, Mulder. Be glad I'm the forgiving type. At least the locals
will know how to get here. Follow the Tweed into the Cheviot Hills,
to the Jolyon farm. Hurry." There was a click and the dial tone.
     "The Jolyon farm," Mulder said to Maddox. "Do you know where
that is?"
     "It's at least an hour by car--I can see about getting a
helicopter. Inspector," Maddox added. "I want your opinion. If you
say go, we'll go."
     "Do you trust him?" Phoebe said to Mulder.
     "No," he said. "But I believe him."

    ~Truly Madly Deeply Heaven & Earth 9~
    He was lost. That was the only thing that could explain it--
the map, the swearing, the swerving and doubling-back. Scully
doubted they were being followed--who would follow them? Who could
have seen them?
     The truck rattled and banged up the narrow, winding road. The
surrounding country was stark and cold, rain-soaked and nearly
uninhabited. The only light came from the headlights, and their
beams seemed to be swallowed by the dark.
     "Fucking country," Silver burst out. "Out in the middle of
fucking nowhere."
     Scully couldn't have answered this even if she'd wanted to--
he had slapped a piece of silver duct tape over her mouth as soon
as he'd wrestled her into the truck--but not before taking a kiss
that made Scully want to scrub her mouth with antibacterial soap--
and bound her wrists together with another. She could glare at him
through narrowed eyes, but he was squinting at the road and didn't
notice.
     They had passed the last farmhouse miles ago, and she had no
idea where they could be, except they were going upward and the
truck's engine was struggling to make the climb. The rain had not
abated. Scully had to abandon every half-formed plan for escape--it
was too dark, too remote, too cold.
     Not to mention she'd had three more contractions while they
were driving. She hoped wherever they were going had a doctor, or
at least a place she could lie down.
    Silver said in a mocking tone, "Oh, no, John, you'll be able
to find it just fine, just follow the river." He snorted. "Didn't
mention nothing about it being midnight in the fucking rain. Oh, no-
-wait until she's alone, John, wait until the right moment, we
don't want to give anything anyway." He snorted again.
     Scully twisted her hands together and looked out the window.
If she made a break for it now, and just ran down the hill--if she
found a light to go towards--
    "Fucking Spender," Silver muttered, shifting gears with a
horrendous grind.
     Scully stopped twisting her hands and stared at him a moment.
Spender? The Smoking Man--he'd followed them here?
     Without thinking Scully yanked the door handle and threw
herself out onto the damp grass. She tried to tuck-and-roll, but
still landed hard on her knees. She moaned behind the tape but
didn't let herself rest--she pushed herself up and took off at a
run, her bare feet sliding on the slippery grass.
     She heard the truck screech to a halt, gears screaming, and
follow her off the road. The headlights captured her and the truck
trailed her as she tried to dodge away. She stumbled on the uneven
ground and fell onto her elbows and knees. The truck swerved to a
stop in front of her. Scully crouched on the wet grass, panting, as
Silver swung down from the truck. He grabbed her hair and hauled
her up so that they were face to face.
     "Don't even think it!" he snarled. "You are worth too much,
little girl." He dragged her back to the truck and threw her
inside. He slammed the door shut, went around the truck and climbed
back into the driver's side. "Don't get any smart ideas, darlin',"
he said. "I have plans for you."
     I can hardly wait, Scully thought and closed her eyes.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    When the truck came to a stop Scully didn't move, sure Silver
only wanted to check his map again. She caught sight, however, of a
small light that was gradually growing bigger--until it became a
lantern, held by a red-haired man who stood by her window and
looked into the truck impassively. In a moment she realized where
she'd seen him before--it was Kurt Crawford, or one of his many
clones that Mulder claimed existed. She tried to catch his eye, but
there was no recognition in his expression as he studied her.
     Silver leaned towards him. "You Spender?"
     "No," Kurt said.
     Silver waited a moment, and when Kurt didn't continue he
said, "I'm looking for Spender. There's some farm--the Juliet farm?"
     "Jolyon," Kurt said. "You're at the gate. Follow me." One
more long, thoughtful look, then he turned and led them up a narrow
lane to a stone farmhouse.
     Silver threw the truck into the gear again. "I'm not going to
tell you anything because I'm a fucking asshole," he mocked under
his breath. "Hi, I'm Spender's toadie and I like walking around in
the rain. "
    Silver parked the truck in front of the farmhouse, and Kurt
helped Scully down from the cab. "She's muddy," he said to Silver.
     "She tried to get away. Bitch threw herself outta the truck--"
    "Mr. Silver," Kurt said mildly. "Show some respect." With an
arm around Scully's shoulders, he led her across the muddy yard.
     "Show some respect," Silver muttered, trailing along behind
them. "I'll show *you* what respect is, ya flaming--" Kurt glanced
back at him and Silver fell silent.
     The first thing Scully saw inside the farmhouse was a roaring
fire within a massive fireplace, and she stepped towards it
longingly. Kurt tightened his fingers around her arm to stop her,
and nodded to the other side of the dim room. "Mr. Spender. She's
arrived."
     She'd know that voice anywhere. "Dana. How good to see you
again." He approached her with a smile, a cigarette between his
fingers. "Kurt, help make her comfortable. That's a good boy."
     Kurt took a Swiss army knife from his pocket and cut the tape
that bound her wrists. When that was done he grasped the corner of
the tape over her mouth. "Ready?" She nodded, and he yanked the
tape from her mouth. She managed not to whimper and rubbed her face
to get rid of the sting.
     "What is this about?" she said to Spender in a low voice.
"What are you doing here?"
     "I'm here to look after you," the smoking man said. He turned
a rocking chair towards her and set it close to the fire. "Here.
Have a seat. You look terrible."
     Scully hesitated--but she was exhausted, dirty and soaked,
and the fire looked so inviting. She crossed the room and eased
herself into the chair. "I don't know what you want," she said
quietly, putting her hands over her belly. "The X-Files are closed.
Mulder has abandoned his quest for the Truth. We're just an
ordinary family now. You've won."
     "I know, Dana," he said, his voice slick with something like
compassion. "May I introduce you to Dr. Archer? He'll be looking
after you." A nervous-looking man came out of the dark, and she
shook his sweaty hand.
     "My p-p-pleasure, Miss Scully."
     She wondered what the Smoking Man had on him to force his
help, and said quietly, "It's Mrs. Mulder, and I wish to be
returned to my home. My husband will be wondering where I am."
     "That's simply not possible," the Smoking Man said gently.
"This is too important, Dana. This is the future, here in your
womb," he said and put his hand on her belly.
     Scully flinched at his too-personal touch. "I want to go
home," she said, turning her face to the fire.
     Silver was still standing by the front door. "I brought you
the girl, Spender. When do I get my money?"
     "Mr. Silver. A pleasure to meet in person at last. I trust
the journey went smoothly?"
     "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thanks for getting me out of jail. You've
got the girl, you've got the kid--when do I get paid?"
     "The merchandise is not completely delivered," the Smoking
Man said, a look in his eye like paternal fondness as he gazed at
Scully. "You'll be paid in full once the child comes."
     "That could be days!"
     "No," Dr. Archer said, then cleared his throat and said more
strongly, "It's going to be hours. Look at her." All four men
stared at her, and Scully scowled. "I can see you're in pain," the
doctor said. "How far apart are they?"
     She would have preferred to keep a stony silence--but, she
supposed, it was better that they knew. "About half an hour."
     "Splendid!" the Smoking Man cried. "This is so much better
than I expected. The bedroom is prepared for you. Kurt, please look
after Dana--Mr. Silver, I expect you to assist the doctor with
whatever he requires. How wonderful. Tonight."
     "Wait," Kurt said.
     "Yeah, what's all this about helping? I just want my money,"
interjected Silver. "I don't want to watch some kid be born."
     "Shut up, you," Kurt said to him. "Mr. Spender. How are you
sure this is the right woman? The right child?"
     "She's the last," Spender said. "There's no one else it could
be. And a barren woman, giving birth? It's the oldest miracle there
is."
     "What are you talking about?" Scully said, tired of his
doublespeak. She wanted her own bed, her midwife, her mother--and
Mulder. Mulder would make everything all right.
     "Dana." The Smoking Man knelt so he could look into her face.
"You remember the ship in Africa? You remember the words taken into
the Bible, about the end of the world? 'The lion shall lie down
with the lamb, and a little child shall lead them'?"
     "I remember."
     "This child is a blending of humanity and our new masters.
The date was set eons ago, when they would come, and this child--
your son--will be our liaison. Who knows--he may even be our king."
     Scully stared at him, wondering if that was firelight or
madness in his eyes. "No. You're wrong."
     "Dana, I know how much you wish this child was Mulder's. And
it was highly chivalrous of Mulder to give the child his name. But
you know in your heart that I'm right. Haven't you wondered how you
were able to conceive? The chip in your neck activated the dormant
child inside you, planted there years ago during our--experiments."
     Silver started laughing. "Y'all are fucking nuts. You most of
all, Spender."
     "The chip is gone. This child is Mulder's--we were in New
Mexico--we had a--an experience at Pueblo Bonito--" She stopped,
thinking that her explanation was even stranger than his. "And
besides, I'm having a girl."
     It threw him, but just for a moment. "No matter. That the
child exists is enough, boy or girl," the Smoking Man said,
standing. "Doctor, it's time to see to your patient. Make her
comfortable, please, Kurt." He lit up another cigarette.
     Kurt came to Scully's side, to help her stand again. She
wanted to appeal to him--he'd tried to help her before, hadn't he?
But another pain gripped her and all she could do was dig her
fingers into his arm and lean on him for support.
     "Mr. Spender," Archer said behind them as Kurt led her to the
next room. "We need to discuss this--I'm not sure--"
    "There's nothing to discuss," the Smoking Man said. "You were
sure enough when I gave you the cash."
     "You paid him in advance?" Silver exclaimed, but Kurt closed
the door before she could hear more.
     "This is for you," he said, picking up a thick, purple,
fluffy bathrobe. "Mr. Spender expected you to be with us for much
longer."
     "I wouldn't let him keep me here for longer." He didn't look
up from the robe, and she said, "Have we met before? Are you the
one I met with my partner four years ago, at Betsy Hagopian's home?"
     "No. The man you met is dead. But I knew of you before this."
     "Knew of me," Scully repeated. "Because of the experiments--
because of the project."
     "Because of those, and other things. Dana Scully," he said
with a sudden intensity, "my loyalties are with you, not with him.
He trusts me more than he should. I won't let him hurt you."
     It would have been a relief to believe him, but her nerves
were already stretched thin and she couldn't take more mystery.
"Why should I trust you? God! All I wanted was to raise my child in
peace!"
     "I know," he said gently. He was still holding the robe, and
he laid it on the bed. "You can clean up in here." He opened the
door to a small bathroom and turned on the light. "Rest while you
can--I'm sure tomorrow's going to be a long day."
     "Right," Scully muttered. She waited until he'd left the room
to move--not to the bathroom, even though her aching body longed
for hot water, but to the small square window. It was no use,
however: the window had been nailed shut, years prior to this to
judge from the rust on the nails. Frustrated, Scully slapped her
palm on the thick, wavy glass.
     Stuck, she thought. It was not the peaceful home birth she'd
been hoping for, with Mulder by her side and her twinkly-eyed
midwife to attend her--but she was in no position to make a fuss
now. The baby was coming no matter where she was.
     As for afterwards . . . She realized she was clenching her
hands, her fingernails digging into her palms. Maybe Kurt--or
whatever his name was--would be a man of his word. If he wasn't--
    She put a hand on her belly, willing herself to calm down.
"Don't be afraid," she told the baby. "I won't let them take you
away."
     Lifting her head, Scully went into the bathroom to clean up
and make her plans.
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    Rest, Kurt had said, which was good in theory but impossible
in practice. Scully tried to sleep , wrapped in the fluffy robe--
the wind was howling around the corners of the house and rattling
the windows, and she could hear the men talking.
     She could rarely hear the words, mostly just their voices.
Silver was not happy to be stuck there, he made this clear. Archer
was upset about something but didn't raise his voice enough for
Scully to hear what. Kurt slipped in and out of her room, bringing
water and making sure she was comfortable and warm enough. He
helped to clean her when her water broke, and when she needed to
walk through the contractions Kurt offered himself as her support.
He smelled odd to her--not bad, not like body odor or decay, but as
if he had no scent at all.
     Once an hour Archer came in to examine her. "You're
progressing very well," he said when the window was beginning to
turn golden from sunrise. "You're at six centimeters already."
     "What's your story?" she asked him.
     "My story?"
 How did you get mixed up in this? Where are you from? Your accent
says Wisconsin."
     "Minneapolis, actually," he said quietly. He wrapped a blood
pressure cuff around her upper arm and started to pump the bulb.
After a moment, he said, "Five years ago, a man asked me I'd like
to ensure no babies were ever born with defects ever again. I
thought he worked for the human genome project." There was a long
pause, while he watched her blood pressure and then deflated the
cuff. "He didn't."
     Scully rubbed her arm and said nothing.
     "And you?" he said. "How does your baby fit into this?"
     "It's a very long story."
     "And we haven't exactly got time," he observed.
     "I could tell you later. Once all the shouting's over."
Talking helped with the pain. Listening helped , a little.
     However Archer didn't smile, only quietly finished rolling up
the blood pressure cuff and put it in his bag. "Dr. Archer?" she
said.
     "Later." He started to rise, then sat down again and said,
"Miss Scully, I have no illusions. There's not going to be a later--
not for me, and not for you. The only promise he intends to keep is
to raise your child to be this leader he thinks it's going to be."
     Scully put her hands on her stomach. Yes. It made sense, of
course it did, this was the way he operated. He'd take what he
wanted and have Silver kill her, kill Archer, probably kill Kurt,
and once Silver had done this killing for him he'd kill Silver, too.
     "I'm sorry," Archer said quietly. "I've been trying to think
of something--anything--to get you out safely, but I don't see a
way. I'm in this country illegally. I have no money, I don't know
anybody in England--" He stopped and scrubbed his fingers over the
top of his head. He was a small, bespectacled man with a fringe of
red-grey hair, and he looked exhausted and overwhelmed. "I don't
see any way out of this," he said. "I'm sorry."
     She wished she felt brave enough to swagger--to say she'd
been closer to death than this and had survived--but she didn't
feel brave. Mostly what she felt was hopeless.
     Labor was harder than she'd ever imagined. It hurt more than
she'd thought, differently than cancer or a bullet wound. Focus on
your baby, her midwife had told her, focus on the end result and
that will help you through the pain.
     If Mulder were here, Scully thought, he would hold my hand
and sing to me; he'd rub my back and tell me I'm strong; he'd count
the seconds and help me hold up my knees, he'd tell me stories to
distract me--he would be perfect.
     But instead she had Archer, who was trembling in fear for his
own life too much to be of any comfort; Kurt, who was interested in
the process and the outcome but detached from the participant; and
the Smoking Man, whose eyes took on a discomfortingly fanatical
gleam as her contractions grew longer and closer together.
     "You're witnessing history, gentlemen," he said. "History,
quite literally, being born."
     "Get him out of here," Scully growled. "I can't do this with
him here. Make him go."
     Time dwindled down to seconds, ten seconds and a breath, ten
seconds and breath. She felt her body opening, the baby working its
way out to the light. "Mulder," she whispered sometimes, even when
Archer told her it was okay to yell.
     "Wow," Kurt said softly as he leaned forward to watch. "It
really works this way."
     "Your baby's almost here--give me one more, Dana! You're
doing wonderfully--almost there--deep breath and one big big push--
here she is! Here's your daughter." Archer laid the baby on
Scully's chest and started to scrub her roughly with a towel.
     Scully laid her hands on the baby, feeling her heat, her
lungs, her heartbeat, her wet mouth as she sucked in a breath and
wailed. "Margaret," she said to Kurt, who was watching in silent
amazement. "Her name . . . it's Margaret."
     "She's real," Kurt said in a stunned voice. "She's complete."
     "Perfect," Scully whispered, kissing one of the baby's tiny
hands with five miniature fingers. "She's perfect."
     Archer had said nothing while he cleaned up the afterbirth,
but after a few minutes he said to Kurt, "Will you tell Mr. Spender
there's an issue?"
     Kurt left the room at once. Scully just breathed, exhausted
and amazed and completely in love. She hardly noticed when Archer
covered her with a sheet and went to talk in a hushed voice to the
Smoking Man.
 But her eyes opened when she heard "hemorrhaging" and "hospital"
and "transfusion." Her head felt too heavy to lift. "Dr. Archer?
Tell me what's wrong."
     "Nothing, nothing," he assured her. "just a little--issue--
you'll be fine--"
    "There isn't time," the Smoking Man said. "There are cars
coming up the mountain. "
    "Mulder," Scully whispered.
     "Quite possibly." He picked up the baby, still wrapped in a
towel, and pushed Scully's hands away when she clutched at him.
"Mr. Silver, please see to the doctor. Kurt, come with me." He left
the bedroom and Silver stepped into his place. Kurt hesitated, gave
her a long look, and followed after him.
     "See to me?" Archer said, and Scully braced herself when
Silver took out his gun. She didn't flinch at the gunshot, or when
she heard the body fall to the floor.
     When she opened her eyes, Silver was staring at her, licking
his lips. "So, darlin'," he drawled. "What would you like to do
now?"

    ~Truly Madly Deeply Heaven & Earth 10~
    It was the longest hour of his life, that ride up the mountains.
     It would take longer to authorize a helicopter than it would
to drive out to the farm, so Maddox ordered his constables into
their cars. Phoebe and Mulder were to ride with him, and he radioed
in a request for medics and an armed response team as well.
     "We don't know what we'll find," he said simply. "I'm sure
she's fine," he added after a moment, glancing at Mulder over his
shoulder. "I'm sure your--acquaintance--is taking good care of her."
     "I hope so," Mulder murmured. In a perfect world they would
find only an annoyed Scully and smirking Krycek, but he'd learned
long ago this was a far from perfect world.
     Mulder rubbed his temples with his fingertips. Be okay,
Scully, he thought, be safe, be healthy. Know that I love you.
     Maddox was saying, "The farm has been abandoned about fifteen
years. The local heritage society is trying to get it named a
landmark--the house itself is almost four hundred years old--but
there's a question of ownership. There's still some family around,
they just don't want to live there." He shook his head. "An
interesting place to hold a hostage."
     "Is it remote enough that they wouldn't be noticed?" Phoebe
asked.
     "That, and time is on their side.  It's too cold still for
hikers, and the house itself is far back from the main roads but
high enough to have a wide view."
     Mulder continued running his hands through his hair. Scully
had told him once she knew she'd feel it if he died--he wondered if
he would have the same premonition. Would  he feel pain, numbness,
or just her sudden absence from the world?
     Thinking this way made him want to scream.
     There was no sign of life around the farmhouse--just an old
stone house surrounded by crumbling stone fences, shutters closed
over the windows, a stone barn behind it and a yard still muddy
from the previous night's rain. Maddox brought the car to a stop,
followed by the second police car and the ambulance. Maddox got out
of the car first, and one of his constables gave him a bullhorn
from the trunk.
     "If you had a name it would be very helpful right now," he
said to Mulder.
     "Try 'Spender'."
     Maddox nodded and clicked on the bullhorn. "Occupants of the
house, this is the Northumbria police department! Come out with
your hands up!"
     There wasn't so much as a creak from the stone house. Maddox
signaled to his men to circle the house and go down to the barn,
and asked Mulder, "Your wife's name is Dana?" At Mulder's nod he
clicked on the bullhorn again. "Mr. Spender! We know you have Dana,
and we know you don't want to harm her! We have a medical team to
attend her. Come out before anyone else gets hurt!"
     Still nothing. Mulder gripped the seat in front of him,
forcing himself to stay in the car and not burst inside to find
her. A sargeant signaled there were no other exits, and Maddox
scowled.
     "All right," Maddox said. "Enter the house--with caution," he
ordered, and the black-clad response team began to carefully move
forward. "I hope to God your friend didn't send us on a wild goose
chase."
     They could be on their way to Norway by now if he had, Mulder
thought, but couldn't bring himself to say it.
     There was the sound of shattering glass and a gunshot zipped
across the yard. "Everyone down!" Maddox ordered, though the
response team had already dropped to the mud. "This day just gets
better and better," Maddox muttered, crouching behind the car. "If
we get our hands on these people I'm going to break their necks
myself." He pointed at Mulder. "You are not to move. You're still a
civilian. Understand?"
     Mulder nodded, his heart racing.
     The front door opened. A man with a shaved head and a goatee
stood in the doorway. His gun was pressed against Scully's face,
his meaty hand wrapped around her throat.
     And Scully--Mulder wanted to fall to his knees--her face was
so pale she looked green, and the bathrobe she wore was dark with
blood. She could barely stand--it seemed to Mulder she was upright
only because her captor was holding her that way. It took all
Mulder's strength not to run to her and snatch her up in his arms.
     "Do you know him?" Maddox muttered. "Do you know who he is?"
     "His name is John Silver--he was arrested in December for
attempted kidnaping and double murder--he was in jail in Alabama--"
    "Isn't this a party!" Silver gloated, his fingers digging into
Scully's neck. "You want the girl? Get me out of this fucking
country. Then we'll talk."
     "Silver!" Maddox said through the bullhorn. "You're not in a
position to make demands."
     "But I've got the girl, now, don't I? And we've got the kid.
You want either of them to survive? Give me a clear way out of
here. Police escort to the Newcastle docks. You can have her back
when I'm done." He leered, his forearm rubbing the side of Scully's
breast. She looked like she was about to faint but she still had
enough strength to glare.
     "I'm going to kill him," Mulder muttered.
     Phoebe gestured for the bullhorn. "Mr. Silver, we can discuss
this," she said in her most soothing tone. "Dana needs a doctor.
She's gravely ill. You don't want her to die, do you?"
     Mulder could see his hand tighten around Scully's neck.  "How
do I know you won't stop me, without her as insurance?" He shook
Scully and she moaned in pain. "She stays with me."
     "Mr. Silver," Phoebe pleaded. "She's just given birth. Show
some mercy."
     "Turn yourself in, Silver," Maddox called across the yard.
"Kidnaping, murder, and assault? You won't get far. You'll be on
Interpol before sundown, and you don't have enough bullets for all
of us."
     "Besides, I won't let you take her."
     It only gave them a moment, but it was enough. Silver
loosened his grip to turn on the newcomer behind, and Scully thrust
up her elbow into his face. There was a crunch and blood started
gushing from his nose. He howled and grabbed his face. The gun went
off again when he dropped it, making everyone duck. Scully seemed
to fall in slow motion, and Mulder ignored the response team and
Maddox's shouts to run to her.
     "Stupid bitch!" Silver howled, his hands cupped over his nose.
     "What did I tell you about showing respect?" Kurt Crawford
said to him mildly. There was blood on his shirt and a bundle in
his arms.
     Mulder scooped Scully into his arms, grimacing when she
moaned. "Scully, Scully," he whispered, kissing her. "Scully."
     "He took the baby," Scully said, her fingers wrapping
themselves into his shirt. "The Smoking Man--Spender--he took the
baby--"
    "No, no," Kurt Crawford said. He knelt beside Scully and
showed her the pink face of the baby. "I told you," he whispered,
as Scully reached weakly to touch her cheek. "Here she is, safe and
sound."
     "How did you--?" Scully whispered.
     "My powers of persuasion," he said, and smiled a tiny bit.
     "Mulder, look. She's okay, she's here."
     "I see her," Mulder murmured. Beside them Maddox was
handcuffing Silver and the medical team was hurrying over to see to
Scully. But Mulder could only watch in amazement as the little pink
being, that had only been a heartbeat and occasional prod in
Scully's belly when he left, blinked her sleepy eyes and opened and
closed her rosebud lips.
     "Here, hold her," Kurt said, and Mulder took the baby into
his arms. She was warm--hot, really, and surprisingly heavy. Her
eyes were blue like Scully's, framed by fine dark brows.
     "Hey," Mulder said, and had to wipe his eyes with the back of
his hand. "Hey, baby girl. Remember me? I'm the old man. I'm sorry
I wasn't here for your big entrance, honey. I promise that's the
last important thing I'll miss."
     "Dana Scully said her name is Margaret," Kurt said.
     "Yeah . . . Daisy. We were planning to call her Daisy." He
looked up to tell Scully of the wonder of this little girl, but
there was an oxygen mask over her face and the medics were
preparing to lift her out on a stretcher. "Scully?" Mulder said,
getting to his feet, careful not to jostle the baby. "What's
happening? How is she?"
     The medic closest to him said in a low voice, "She's lost a
great deal of blood and there's been some tearing. She needs a
transfusion as soon as possible."
     "Yes, of course," Mulder said, and followed them as they
rolled the stretcher to the ambulance. He looked back into the
house to see another stretcher come out, this time with a body bag--
followed by the Smoking Man, in handcuffs. He gasped and started
towards him, not knowing what he'd say--but then the baby made a
little mewl and Mulder stopped walking.  "You're right," he said to
her. "There are so many more important things--like Mommy. Let's go
be with her."
    He climbed into the back of the ambulance and the medic put
the baby into a car seat, close enough so that Scully could brush
her cheek with a fingertip if she wanted. Her eyes flickered open a
moment, and Mulder kissed her forehead. "Rest now, love," he
whispered. "We're all here."
     Her eyes blinked once in acceptance, and she turned her face
towards the baby.
     Just before the ambulance door swung shut, Mulder saw Kurt
Crawford by the cars, watching them. Thank you for taking good care
of your sister, Mulder thought, and raised one hand in gratitude.
     Kurt smiled and turned away, and the door closed.

    ~Truly Madly Deeply Heaven & Earth 11~

    summer solstice, 2001
    Two sights made Mulder's life perfect, and he was looking at
them both right now. He had jogged upstairs from his morning run
with the paper and their mail, to find Scully making breakfast and
talking to the baby. He stopped below the top step, looking at his
girls. Scully was at the sink, her back to him, and the baby was in
her bouncy chair on the granite counter top.
     ". . . then you put on a dollop of plain yogurt on top and
sprinkle on some dill, and that's it. It's very tasty. I have yet
to figure out the appeal of cucumber sandwiches, though your daddy
says they're pretty good. But cucumbers and butter? Doesn't sound
good to me at all."
     The baby punched her hands into the air and burbled.
     "Exactly. Anyway, we will have fresh cucumbers from our very
own garden in about three weeks. This breakfast, however, does not
involve cucumbers, although the cherry tomatoes in the omelette are
going to be pretty tasty. Your daddy needs to eat more veggies."
     "Hey now," Mulder said, coming up the stairs, and Scully
smiled at him over her shoulder. "I eat my veggies." He put his
hands on her waist and kissed her. "I provide a good example for
our Daisy."
     "Yes, you do," she said, still stirring eggs into a pre-
omelette mess. "But I like to tease when I know you're
eavesdropping."
     Mulder laughed, gave her another gentle squeeze, and picked
the baby out of her seat. He nuzzled her soft neck and she
squeaked, wiggling. "Hey, you," he said softly. "How's my girl?"
     "Mulder . . . I've been thinking about Daisy."
     "Mm-mm?" Scully had given her a bath while he was out--she
smelled like soap and powder and diaper rash cream.
     "I find that I have difficulty calling her Daisy. She doesn't
*look* like a Daisy."
     Mulder studied his daughter a moment. "Well, there is that
distinct lack of petals."
     "Mulder," Scully said in her exasperated tone.
     "Do you want to rename her? You don't like Margaret anymore?"
     "Of course I like Margaret, I just . . ." She sighed and put
down the bowl and spoon to take the baby. "I don't want to call her
Margaret. It feels too big for her right now. But Daisy doesn't
suit her either. I was so sure we had a name and now I'm not."
     "Well . . ." He stroked the baby's head. At the hospital the
nurses had said her dark hair would fall out, but so far it had
only become darker and thicker, and her eyes were turning from baby-
blue to hazel. He could see the stamp of his genes on her face,
mostly in the eyes. "There's Peggy, or Maggie, or Meg . . . I'm
sure there are a lot of others I'm just not thinking of."
     "Mrs. Lynn suggested Madge when I mentioned this to her
yesterday."
     "Madge?" He shook his head. "Nope. Don't see it."
     "I like Meg . . . Megan? Meggie?"
     "Meggie," Mulder repeated, and smiled as the baby squeaked
again. "It's little and sweet, just like her."
     "I think I can live with Meggie," Scully said, and rubbed her
nose against the baby's. "What do you think, sweet Meg?" The baby
grabbed at her face and Scully laughed. "I think it'll work."
     "Was this going to become omelettes?" Mulder said, picking up
the bowl.
     "With cheese and tomatoes, but I can't find the mushrooms.
Did we finish them?"
     "I think so." He tested the pan warming on the stove, and
dropped in a slice of butter Scully had already cut. It sizzled and
popped. "What spices?"
     "I was thinking the red pepper."
 "Yum," Mulder said, and unscrewed the jar of pepper flakes to
shake in a teaspoon or two. "Do we have bacon? Bacon would go with
this."
     "No bacon, we're out." She eased herself carefully into one
of the kitchen chairs, and Mulder tried not to notice. "It feels
like a market day."
     "Things are a bit busy in the village," Mulder said as he
poured eggs into the hot pan. "Some Wiccan group is banging drums
in the town square for solstice, and they're setting up for a
bonfire tonight in the fields by the Hall."
     "A bonfire?"
     "You jump over a bonfire for luck in the coming year."
     "As long as they're not planning to burn the Wiccans," Scully
murmured, patting the baby's back. "Do you want to go? After the
year we've had, we could use a little luck."
     Mulder hesitated, then sighed and spoke his mind. "You're in
no condition to be jumping over bonfires, Scully."
     "I'm getting better," she said, which he knew was true--but
he also knew she had a long way to go still before she was back to
her normal, healthy self. She was still pale and bruised, tiring
easily, often dozing off when she sat still long enough. It was
only in the last week that she'd started getting dressed every day.
She took vitamins and iron supplements, ate carbohydrates and dark
green vegetables, but still her skin reminded Mulder of a glass of
milk, tranquil and smooth but easily broken.
     "Still," he said. "If you want to watch, let's go watch. But
no bonfire-jumping. Please? For me?"
     "I suppose," she said, and nuzzled the baby again.
     "Hey." He left the stove to kneel in front of her. "Maybe
next year--we can practice jumping beforehand."
     "It doesn't matter--it's okay." She smiled and kissed him,
and put the baby into his arms. "Do you want toast? I think I'd
like toast."
     He watched her, chewing his lip. This was hard on both of
them--he knew his protective streak annoyed her, but he couldn't
bear to be away from her for long. A run into the village was as
far as he dared to go, for half an hour at most. He'd convinced
Phoebe any consulting he needed to do for the Yard could be done
over emails and faxes, so that he didn't have to go to London
whenever they required him.
     Meantime Scully, who had always guarded her privacy like a
precious jewel, had to deal with him constantly underfoot and a
baby who hated to be out of her arms. He knew he should give her
space and let her have some time alone, but he couldn't bring
himself to do it quite yet. She hated to be coddled or treated like
she was weak--while he wanted to carry her up and down the stairs
and put bars on the windows, and maybe even stand guard at his door
with cannons and boiling oil.
     Two things kept him sane. One, John Silver was awaiting
extradition back to the States; and two, C.G.B Spender had yet to
explain how he'd gotten into the country and so was not yet allowed
out. As long as they were behind bars, Mulder reasoned, his family
didn't need to be.
     He supposed Alex Krycek was still lurking in the shadows
somewhere, watching over them for whatever his reasons, and the
thought gave him a little peace. He'd never imagined trusting a man
like Krycek with his family's safety, but he was not going to argue
with the fate Krycek had chosen.
     And Kurt Crawford, their other guardian--he didn't seem to
exist at all. Somewhere between Jolyon farm and the police station,
Kurt Crawford had vanished. Mulder wished him well, and hoped at
some time he'd chose to show himself again.
     In any fight, Mulder thought, even fights you've chosen to
leave behind, someone will watch your back.
     It was their time to rest, he reasoned, their time to raise
Miss Daisy--oops, Miss Meggie--to grow together, to prepare for
what the future held. He was as worried about what would come as
he'd ever been over the last ten years--more so, now, with this
little one to protect. But he could face it now. He had to.
     Scully had told him the Smoking Man's theories about their
baby's future, and he didn't believe it for a second. It was too
wacky, too fantastic, not the Smoking Man's style at all. He
couldn't figure out what had driven him, though--except a desire
for control.
     The toaster popped and Mulder looked up, then got up to stack
the toast and put it on the table. Scully closed the omelettes and
slid them onto plates. "Honey?" she said.
     "Poopyhead?" he answered, and she smirked at him.
     "Honey for your toast, beloved," she said, and put the jar on
the table. He brought over the bouncy chair and set it on the
table, and put the baby into it. She squeaked again and started
working her fist into her mouth, as her parents sat down to eat.
     "Tell me something," Mulder said as he spread butter on the
toast.
     "What?" She was watching the baby, not really paying
attention to him.
     "You don't really buy it, do you? The whole thing he said
about her being some kind of global leader? You don't believe that,
do you?"
     "Thank you," she said as she took the toast and bit into it.
"No, I don't believe it at all. I don't think he did either. I
think it was a lie he spun to convince people to help him, because
he couldn't tell them all he really wanted was to see a child he
thinks is his granddaughter." She ate a few bites of her omelette.
"I'm sure he's always thinking about the future, but I think his
scope has narrowed a bit. Fixated, even."
     Mulder sighed and reached over to palm the baby's head. "I
hadn't thought of it that way."
     "Blood means a lot."
     "Maybe . . . but even if I am his son, he's not my father,
not in a way that means anything."
     "I know," she said gently. "But think about it. If I'd given
birth in Alabama and you showed up twenty years from now, you would
mean the same thing to Meggie, no matter how much you loved her.
Fortunately," she wiped some spittle from the baby's mouth with her
napkin, "that's not an issue. She loves you and she knows you love
her."
     "Yeah," Mulder muttered and cleared his throat.
     "Daddy never knows what to say when I get mushy," Scully told
the baby, who kicked her heels in response. "I think that means I
need to do it more often."
     *~~~~~*~~~~~*
    They could see the bonfire ten minutes before they arrived at
the Hall. There were crowds and firecrackers and laughter, and
Scully hung back a little, worried that the noise would upset the
baby. She was relieved to see Mrs. Lynn when the family came over
to say hello.
     "I'm glad you came--have you ever seen a solstice bonfire
before?" Mrs. Lynn waggled her fingers at the baby, who was
watching with wide eyes, her fingers in her mouth.
     "Never. What does it mean?"
     "Well, it goes back centuries, to the Celts, I think. It has
something to do with sun gods. I don't really know. But there's
always been a bonfire and there always will be, even when we've
completely forgotten why." She looked at the fire, wrapping her
arms around herself. "Some things we can't afford to forget."
     Scully looked at her a moment, puzzled, then nodded and
kissed the top of Meggie's head. She watched Mulder and Ned
talking, and let Fiona speak nonsense to the baby. She saw Simon
wandering past, his arm around the shoulders of a local girl, and
kissed Meggie again, glad it would be another fourteen or fifteen
years before things would reach that stage.
     The bonfire was high and snapping when the first jumper took
his chance. He was young and athletic, and cleared the top of the
fire easily. His friends cheered loudly on his landing, pounding on
him on the back.
     "Jimmy McKenzie," Mrs. Lynn murmured. "Local layabout. He
could use a bit of luck."
     "I see," Scully said.
     A few more jumpers tried, some with more luck than others,
and there was much cheering and laughter at singed toes and bad
landings. Then, much to Scully's surprise, the first jumper got in
line to jump again, this time holding the hand of a girl.
     "That's another side to it," Mrs. Lynn explained. "Jumping
over the bonfire together is supposed to solidify your love."
     "Have you ever done this, Mrs. Lynn?"
     "Oh, yes, years ago. When Tom and I first met. Can't say it's
the reason why we've had forty-nine happy years together, but I
think it may have helped, in a way."
     "Really," Scully murmured, and looked at Mulder again. He had
found a comfortable place to sit, and looked like he was ready to
call it a night. She excused herself from Mrs. Lynn and went to sit
beside him, and he smiled and put his arm around her.
     "I'm not sure what the point of all this is," he said,
pitching his voice low to carry under the noise.
     "Good fortune," Scully said slowly. "You make a sacrifice and
get a boon in return."
     Mulder just laid his head on her shoulder and yawned. "I'm
surprised Meggie's taking all of this so calmly."
     "She's a mellow little bug." Scully hesitated, then blurted
out, "Let's do it. Let's jump the fire, Mulder."
     His head jerked up. "Scully--"
    "Please. I don't want to wait until next year. I know you're
worried but--I can't explain it. Just . . . please. I need to do
this. I need . . . to feel strong again."
     His face was serious. "Does it mean that much to you,
Scully?" She nodded, and he sighed. "Okay. Let's do it. Where's
Fiona? She'll be willing to watch Meggie, I'm sure."
     "Thank you." She leaned over and kissed him, then got up to
find Fiona.
     Fiona took the baby, but her expression said she wasn't sure
about the whole thing. "You ought to wait until the fire's gone
down a bit," she said, swaying a little to soothe the baby.
     "No, I'm ready now. We'll be back in a few minutes."
     "Be careful!" Fiona called after them, as they went to get in
the line to jump.
     Her hand felt sweaty in Mulder's, and his shook a little.
Other couples had lined up too, many of them kissing each other
while they waited. Scully found herself gauging the distance they
should run, trying to factor in the length of Mulder's stride
against her own.
     Then it was their turn. She looked up at Mulder and he looked
down at her, and smiled the smile she knew so well--the one that
double-dog-dared the universe to interfere. She kissed him, to
hoots and cheers, and they began to run.
     She closed her eyes, and jumped.
     *~*End*~*
     
Superhuge thanks to zara hemla, bugs, and SLS, who dotted my i's
and crossed my t's; and Marasmus, who told me how they do things on
the other side of the pond. Ladies, you are my sun, my moon, my
starlit sky, and I salute you.

Begun April 19, 2000. Completed July 5, 2003.