DISCLAIMER JAZZ: "The X-Files" and its characters are the 
creations and property of the fabled Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen 
Productions and Fox Broadcasting. I am, of course, using them 
without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. All 
other concepts or ideas herein are mine.
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: Through US season 7
ARCHIVE: ONLY ON THE AUTHOR'S OWN WEBSITE 
(http://rowan_d.tripod.com/elizabethr.html) UNTIL STORY IS 
COMPLETED. This way I can mess with the early parts as later 
parts develop...
TIMELINE: Though this takes place sometime after "all things", in 
this universe "Requiem" did NOT happen...


CONTENT WARNING FOR READERS: This chapter contains a description 
of a crime scene involving violence toward very young children.  
If this is not somewhere you want to go, get out now.  If you 
don't want to go near this chapter, and yet you've been reading 
this WIP for two or three years and don't want to stop now--just 
email me, and I'll try to give you the safe parts and the bare 
bones information from the rest (no pun intended:)), so you can 
pick it up again with the next installment.



"Water's Edge"
by 
Elizabeth Rowandale <bstrbabs@earthlink.net>
Copyright (c) 2003


Chapter 13 




"And so we got dragged into the LaPierre madness -- I got dragged 
into this LaPierre madness by a Mulder who never really seems to 
understand how dead children turn me inside out."
                                    --"Absolute Zero" by august



**There's more going on at that Medical Center than meets the 
eye, that's abundantly obvious.  But I don't know what it is, 
Mulder, and I don't know where to begin.  But you would know.  
I'm certain you would.  Your sixth sense for the offbeat, the 
alien, would kick into high gear within ten miles of that place, 
and you would make one of those fabulous leaps of yours and tell 
me you had a theory.  And your theory would prove to be right.  
But I don't have a theory, Mulder.  And I'm...I'm sorry.**



The early morning light painted the opposing rooftops a striking 
orange, and Daniel soaked up the splash of color over the blue-
grey courtyard as he drew in the moist air.  No matter how many 
compounding decades stood between him and childhood, there was 
still something magical about Saturday mornings.

His schedule had long since drifted from anything traditional 
enough to guarantee him a Saturday left to his own wishes and 
desires, but the spirit remained.  His early morning jog had 
taken him through the neighboring housing development, and he had 
heard the stirrings of young voices, had almost felt the thoughts 
of approaching spring--of bicycles and wagons and kites to be 
carried in eager anticipation to the park down the street.

He did his best thinking in the first hours of light.  The dawn 
had always felt like his own private possession; a secret pocket 
of suspended time he had discovered and captured for himself.  He 
never used these sacred minutes of clarity to focus on research 
or medical journal write-ups.  This time had always been reserved 
for the subjects that really mattered to him in the course of 
time.  The precious things that could so easily be pushed to the 
back burner in the rush of a hectic day.

This morning, as he paced the length of his balcony in his grey 
sweats, cooling down and soaking up the fresh morning air--Tasha 
snoring on the loveseat, content after her run--his thoughts 
centered on one subject.  Dana.

Daniel was starting to believe that twenty years at her side 
would not be enough to give him a cleaner grasp on the inner 
workings of her enigmatic mind.  And perhaps in twenty years they 
would never stop angering each other almost as much as they 
brought joy.  But he was willing to try.

She had caught him completely off guard with the invitation to 
dinner at her partner's home.  The plunge seemed monumental.  To 
date, she had hardly opened up to him about her work life in her 
own words, much less been willing to expose him to others' 
unchecked comments on the life she lived when she was away from 
him.

He could feel the tension in her from the moment they met at her 
apartment door.  The open softness he had witnessed in her body 
that morning had vanished utterly.  Replaced by a tight veneer 
that rippled the skin of her back beneath his gentle touch.

She had remained subdued throughout much of the evening.  Any 
time she was spoken to, she had been friendly and responsive, but 
her quiet distance had prevailed.  Once upon a time that would 
have frightened him, which showed he had made at least some small 
progress.  He understood how difficult this was for her, knew he 
had to leave the pacing up to her.  He was just eternally 
grateful for the step in the right direction.  Acknowledging him 
to others as a significant part of her life was really far more 
than he had hoped for at this stage of their relationship.  And 
it was certainly a courtesy he had neglected to afford her once 
upon a time.

Watching Dana's interaction with Gannon Michaels had been an 
amazing education.  Michaels had made it clear how long he had 
worked to get Dana to accept a dinner invitation, which told 
Daniel more about the significance of the evening than anything 
else.  It was obvious Michaels and Dana were friends as well as 
co-workers.  But the woman this man worked with everyday shared 
only fragments with the woman Daniel had slept beside.  Agent 
Scully--the aspect of Dana Scully he had yet to meet or 
understand.  He had dared to touch on the subject over the final 
strands of the spaghetti dinner.

*"I just find it so hard to picture.  Knowing Dana outside of her 
work like I do...I just can't picture her as the hero of an 
action movie, wielding a weapon.  I mean, look at her--it doesn't 
seem possible does it?"  His words had been offered lightly, but 
Michaels' appraising gaze had surprised him.  Michaels had 
shifted his eyes to Dana before responding and she had held his 
look, lids heavy, before letting her attention fall back to her 
half empty plate.

"Dana?" Michaels had said at last, his intense gaze back upon 
Daniel, his tone not quite lightening with his words.  "You 
kidding me?  Try her.  She'll have you on your back before you 
can blink."

Daniel had turned to Dana in question.  She had merely raised her 
eyebrows and drawn a deep breath through her nose, then turned 
away and quietly pushed the subject aside.*
 
Damn, that woman was hard to read.

The brilliant orange was lifting from the rooftops and blazing 
the sky.  The precious minutes were slipping away.  Reality was 
setting in.

The courtyard below was quiet, save for the gentle sounds of the 
water fountain.  A lone figure stood outside the garden gate, a 
mere silhouette in the brilliant sun.  A figure dressed in black, 
appearing to be gazing up toward his very balcony.  Perhaps that 
was a trick of the light as well.

Tasha grumbled and shifted in her sleep.

*Dana Scully, what do you want from your life?  Our life?*

A vibrant memory stole his senses.  A quiet moment after dinner.  
Dana had stepped away from the group.  Amanda Michaels had gone 
to the kitchen for drinks.  Daniel had gone to retrieve his 
blazer before following Michaels onto the back veranda.  And 
there Dana had stood, leaning down to pick up her purse, then 
tossing back her hair as she stood.  Blindingly beautiful.  Grace 
and beauty and everything he had remembered for all the years he 
had had nothing but memories to go on.  Her rich auburn hair 
hooked behind her ear, her soft generous lips a deep wine shade, 
the smoothness of her cheek, the seductive hollow beneath the 
bone, her heavy lashes shading the clearest blue eyes he had ever 
stared down.  Everything in her movement spoke of femininity and 
elegance.  And the final touch--she was utterly unaware she could 
take a man's breath away.  She had turned to him, perhaps sensing 
the weight of his gaze.  She had held his gaze a long breath, her 
clear blue eyes never flinching at his intensity.  Then, she had 
offered him the smallest, gentlest of smiles; the delicate down-
pull at the corners of her mouth betraying the thousand 
darknesses that weighed on her every waking moment.

And in that silent connection, he had never felt more loved, more 
touched.

He wanted to spend his life with this woman.

The sun at last broke away from the line of rooftops, claiming 
its supremacy over the world below.  Daniel drew a last deep 
breath of the warming air.  Tasha rolled onto her back and 
silently hoped for a tummy rub.  He hadn't seen Dana since 
Thursday night.  He had invited himself to cook her dinner in her 
own apartment tonight.  She had seemed appropriately amused by 
the idea and left a key for him at the management office in case 
she got roped into work.  Daniel closed his eyes and turned back 
toward his apartment.  The figure by the gate had vanished.  
Probably just a neighbor waiting for a ride that had finally 
come.


*****


"I got the call at 5am.  They said the tip came in around 4:30, 
so there wasn't much of a delay."  Scully swung the car around a 
sharp curve on the tail of the Woodbridge squad car, and Michaels 
put a hand out to steady his cup of coffee.

"And they said this guy...?"

"Matched the description of Dennis.  It was vague, but it's worth 
a shot.  Came up on their computer."

"And he just showed up at the station house?"

"Apparently.  Sounds fishy, considering our man ought to be 
avoiding law enforcement like the plague, but then again, he 
wouldn't appear to be the sharpest tack in the drawer, so..."

"Well, I'll give you that one, but he's gone now, you said?"

She nodded, eyes still on the traffic.  "Afraid so.  They didn't 
get any information on him or where he might be contacted, he 
just gave the tip about the warehouse and vanished.  They didn't 
make the connection to our search until he was already gone."

"And the tip was what exactly?  I know you told me on the phone, 
but you gotta take into account my daughter was awake scratching 
her poison oak rash until about 3am, so--"

Scully winced and glanced in his direction.  This was the first 
real reaction he had gotten out of her since he'd climbed in the 
car.  "The cream's not helping?"

"Well, it is now, but it took a while to really get ahead of it.  
So the tip was--"

"A body." She was right back in professional mode.  Hard edged 
and distant this morning.  Maybe she hadn't had much sleep 
either.  Or maybe she just didn't want to be here on a Saturday 
morning.  Either way, he wanted to be a bit more connected before 
they walked into a potentially dangerous situation, no matter how 
slim the risk.  "He claimed he had reason to believe there could 
be at least one dead body inside a deserted warehouse on the 
south side of town," she continued.  "Nothing else.  They were 
getting ready to send a car out, when they caught the connection 
to our guy, and they put in a call to see if we wanted to tag 
along."

"And of course we jumped at the idea of visiting a rotting corpse 
in a deserted warehouse before most of the world has made it out 
of their PJ's and into Starbuck's."

"Why, you don't think it's worth checking out?"

Michaels grinned.  "Did I say that?"

Scully glanced back and forth between Michaels and the road, 
appraising, processing, then said, "Are you on the forensic 
pathology thing again?"

"I'm not on anything, but too little sleep and not enough 
coffee."

"I do not enjoy dead bodies any more than anyone else..."

"I'm sure you don't.  It's not like you chose them for a career 
or anything..."

"I chose a career deciphering the endless mysteries of the--"

"Turn up here."

"I see that--of the human body, and how it effects its immediate 
environment, and vice versa, to leave a wordless story of the 
events that have transpi--"

"They're slowing down," he said, gesturing toward the squad car.

Scully followed the turn onto the crumbled and rough parking lot, 
long in a state of disuse and abuse.  Traces of fast food garbage 
and a makeshift ramp showed the lot to be a favorite hideout of 
the local skateboard crowd.

They drove cautiously across the open lot toward the building 
towering at its center.  The massive structure had been forsaken 
some years past.  Windows were broken, graffiti littered the 
peeling walls.

They coasted behind the squad car as it made a full circle of the 
building, then pulled to a halt at a near but safe distance from 
the apparent entrance.

Scully shifted the car into park and turned off the engine, 
squinting up at the building in the rising morning sun.

Michaels looked down from the building toward his partner.  
"Dana?"

She turned.  "Yes?"

"I liked your boyfriend."

Scully's gaze slipped downward a bit, the lines of her face 
softening, half distracted, half warmed.  "Thank you," she said 
softly.  Then with barely a hint of a smile, "I liked your wife's 
cooking."

Michaels returned the smile.  "She'll be glad to hear that."

Scully pushed open the door and climbed out.


*****


The wind was icy from the overnight rain, despite the determined 
sun overhead.

The two local cops were crossing from their car to meet Scully 
and Michaels.  They came together in the trashy parking lot, 
Scully watching her step lest she catch a heel in one of the 
breaks in the concrete.

"We ready?" the tall one asked, and Scully glanced his way, 
appraising his confidence and how it weighed against his 
wariness.

"There was another door around the back," she said.  "How about 
the two of you circle around and come in from there.  Agent 
Michaels and I will give you thirty seconds to get in position, 
then we'll enter through the front.  Agreed?"

"Sounds like a plan, Ma'am," the tall one said, and the two 
turned in unison and started on a wide path around the outside of 
the building.

"You really think we'll find anything in here?" Michaels asked, 
when the officers were out of ear shot.

"No idea," Scully said plainly.  "But I don't like the feel of 
the place.  Do you?"

Michaels looked up at the pale yellow of the sheer wall.  "Not 
particularly.  But what do I know?"

"Usually?  Quite a lot."

Scully was surprised how easily the comment slipped past her 
lips, though she never turned to make eye contact.  But it was 
the truth.  Michaels' instincts had proved their worth on more 
than one occasion, and she knew she wasn't the most forthcoming 
of senior agents when it came to praising her partner's work.  He 
deserved to hear her true thoughts now and again.

Michaels didn't respond, but she felt the significance of his 
gaze as it hung on her back before his focus returned to the 
warehouse.

"Thirty seconds," Scully said.

"Let's do it."

They flanked the door, weapons at the ready.  Scully reached out 
and tested the knob, not surprised to find it unlocked.  The 
broken windows on the ground floor had long since deleted any 
option of security.

The smell hit them the moment she cracked the door.

"Jesus," Michaels muttered, wincing and wrinkling his nose.

Scully locked with his gaze.  "I'm high, you're low.  On three.  
One, two, THREE!"

Scully kicked back the heavy door, and Michaels slid in in front 
of her almost before her leg was down.  They swept the massive 
expanse before them, checking their corners, eyes searching the 
rafters and catwalks above.  Despite the sunlight, the interior 
of the warehouse was a maze of shadows, and there was no reliable 
method of securing the area.  Ten to one the electricity was 
years gone.  They would have to move slowly, and watch their 
backs every step.

Scully pulled out a flashlight and gripped it with the hand 
supporting her weapon.  Michaels did the same.  In the invisible 
distance, they heard a matching clang as the two locals entered 
from the rear.

Scully crept forward, Michaels a few steps behind her, backing 
along her path, covering the other direction.  She almost slipped 
when her shoe hit the first damp place.  "God, what--"  Instinct 
told her what she would see before her vision confirmed it.  Dark 
ruby liquid mixed with dirt as it smeared across the concrete 
floor and the leather of her shoe.

"Awww...fuck.  This isn't gonna be pretty," Michaels breathed.

Scully looked up, more alert than before, sweeping the area with 
her flashlight.

"Where's it coming from?" she said, not really asking Michaels.

They moved more slowly, watching their footing.  A bird cried out 
overhead, a thin trail of sound tying them back to reality from 
the dim silence.  The blood was growing thicker beneath their 
shoes, more abundant.  Sound fell eerily dead for this cavernous 
arena.  Echoes would have been a comfort.  But nothing here was 
alive.

Scully moved through the protocol, clinging tight to procedure 
and ignoring the building sense of dread in her gut.  The smell 
of old blood was nauseating at best--one thing about her 
profession she had never developed a satisfactory immunity to.

She heard the effect on Michaels in the unevenness of his breath.

They were approaching a row of heavy machinery stretching to 
their left as far as their flashlights reached, and to their 
right only another ten or twelve feet.  Scully moved in the 
direction of the break, intending to circle the end of the row.

Another sharp clang in the distance pricked her nerves, but odds 
were it was the local cops making their way from the back of the 
warehouse.

Scully approached the last machine in the row, a massive 
press or a grinder, maybe.  She pushed her back up against the 
cold steel, weapon at her shoulder.  Michaels fell into place 
beside her.

"I gotcha," he said simply.

Eye contact again.  *One, two, three.*  Sweep in, and--

"What in hell--"

"Oh, Sweet Jesus..."

Scully processed the next moments in flashes, unable to recall 
the order in which the images entered her brain.

*Blood on the walls-crimson on the floor-fragments of thickness-
skin, bone, hair-five of them-two, two on the floor-one on a 
workbench-two on chains, hanging from chains, a cruel streak of 
dust-filled sunlight-too small too small too small-TOO FUCKING 
SMALL SWEET JESUS MAKE IT VANISH IT'S NOT HERE, IT'S NOT HERE, 
IT'S NOT HERE*

"Oh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me..." Michaels' voice faded as he 
moved back away from her.  Scully listened as his footsteps 
quickened, the soft thud as he dropped to his knees, the 
strangled retching sounds that followed.

Eyes forward, blinking in and out of reality on the surreal 
glimpses--blood and tortured flesh, Scully backed up the ten 
paces to where Michaels had dropped, touched a stabilizing hand 
to his back.

He was silent below her.

"You okay?" she asked.

His voice was weak, but focused.  "Yeah.  You?"

Scully nodded.  "Mmm."  No real words.  There was nothing to say.  
Nothing to say.

She knew her skin was as pallid as the grey light through the 
filthy windows.

She hadn't felt cold like this since her first uncensored glimpse 
in a violated grave, one rainy Minnesota morning years and years 
ago.

*Dear God, Dear God, I can't walk around that corner again.  Not 
ever again.  Just make it vanish.  Make it vanish. THEY'RE ALL SO 
FUCKING YOUNG.  I can't...I'm not seeing this...*

*Mulder...help...*


*****


Scully stood outside the door of her apartment for a good five 
minutes before she found the stamina to draw out her key.  Daniel 
was waiting for her inside.  She knew he knew nothing of the day 
she had lived through.  Knew he was fixing her dinner, expecting 
a lovely Saturday evening for two.

And for the life of her she couldn't think of anything she wanted 
less right now than to talk with another human being, 
particularly one she cared about, and who cared about her.

She wanted to be quiet.  And numb.  And cold.

She turned the key and opened the door.

Daniel emerged from the kitchen at the sound of the door, tea 
towel over his shoulder and flour on his half open shirt.  She 
did everything she could to muster a smile.

"Hey.  Welcome home, pretty lady," Daniel said warmly, and her 
stomach cinched into a painful knot.

She leaned in as he kissed her cheek, kissed him back.  His skin 
was so alive.  "Hey," she managed.  "Don't tell me you're 
actually cooking?"  She gestured toward the towel.  "I thought 
you had used your whole repertoire on me with that last dinner?"

"Very funny.  I told you, I've become quite the chef in my years 
as a swinging single."

She should have thrown back another witty remark.  She couldn't 
find the energy.  Daniel was starting to pick up on the cold 
edge.  She didn't have the energy to smooth it over.  He eyed her 
for a moment, his piercing gaze burning through her defenses.  
She was kidding herself if she thought she could hide anything 
from him.

Then she saw the flashlight on the dining room table, and her 
next words were razor sharp.  "Where did you find that?"

Daniel missed the curve ball completely, glanced over his 
shoulder to follow her gaze.  "What...?  The flashlight?  
Uhmm...it was in your nightstand, I think.  I needed something to 
see into the back of your kitchen cabinet.  I was looking for a 
large enough salad bowl.  Why, what's wrong?"

Scully drew a breath, jaw tightening, anger numbing the ache.  
"My nightstand.  In my bedroom.  I'm sorry, I just don't remember 
inviting you to rummage through my bedroom drawers."

Daniel's eyebrows rose.  "You don't.  Well, excuse me, Ms. 
Scully.  I thought, when you gave me the key to your apartment 
and invited me to rummage through your kitchen to cook for you--"

"You invited yourself."

Daniel scoffed, hurt triggering a flare of anger on his side, and 
she welcomed the fire, knew she was being unfair and couldn't let 
herself care.

"I heard no complaints.  And I'm assuming if we had been having 
sex in your bed tonight, I wouldn't have heard any complaints if 
I searched through your nightstand drawer for a condom.  Which 
*is* where you keep them, yes?"

She slipped her tongue over the corner of her mouth, lids at half 
mast as she weathered the cut of the implications.

"Fine.  Look at what you want."

"Dana, what the hell are we talking about here?  What's going 
on?"

"Nothing.  Nothing is going on.  I just want a few minutes alone.  
I want to come home to my apartment and get washed up and 
changed.  Is that too much to ask?"

"I'm sorry, am I stopping you?"

She flashed him a wary expression, one hand on her hip, bit back 
on her words, closed her eyes.

"Apparently not," she said coldly, and she turned her back and 
walked away.

The glare of light in the bathroom stung.  For a long minute, 
Scully gripped the edge of the sink and stared down her 
reflection in the bathroom mirror.

She looked as bone-weary as she felt.  She licked her finger and 
dabbed at the mascara smudges at the corners of her eyes, tried 
to restore a modicum of her protective polish.

Her chest hurt with each intake of breath.  Her icy words to 
Daniel had only deepened the ache.  She had been wrong.  She 
didn't need cold numbness.  She needed softness and tenderness 
and ease.  But to give herself that, she first had to allow 
herself to feel...and that would be the hardest of all.

Leaning forward, Scully slid her palms over the smooth edges of 
the sink.  She closed her eyes and pulled in and released a few 
slow breaths.  Deliberately ducking her pale reflection, she 
straightened her back and opened the door.

Daniel was in the dining room, distractedly busy laying napkins 
and silverware on the table.  The only light spilled over from 
the brilliant kitchen.  She stopped a few feet short of the 
table, resting her hands on her hips--projecting nonchalance, 
truthfully needing the support.

After a moment, Daniel set down the last of the utensils in a 
clump, and sat back against the edge of the table.  He folded his 
arms across his chest, defensive but not forbidding, ready for 
battle, but taking in her shift in mood.  The scent of warm food 
left her mildly nauseous.  She kept her gaze intent upon her 
shoes.  Not all the blood had washed out of the creases in the 
leather.

She spoke softly, muting sensation.

"We went into a deserted warehouse today on a tip there might be 
a body inside related to our case.  It wasn't related to our 
case.  But there were five bodies.  None of them more than a year 
old at time of death."  Scully caught Daniel's reaction only 
peripherally.  "Some kind of ritual sacrifice, probably, or... .  
I did two of the autopsies this afternoon.  The rest are 
scheduled for tomorrow, but if I'm lucky they will have handed it 
over to the local authorities by then.  They're still ID-ing and 
tracking down...families.  It will be all over the news by 
morning."  She cleared her throat.  Paused.

Daniel had listened in silence and now took a step toward her.  
"Oh, Jesus Christ, Dana.  I--"

But she couldn't feel.  "It's not as if I've never done this 
before.  I mean, this is worse, but I've done this kind of 
thing...more times than I ever should have, it's just--" *Just 
that my support system's not in place anymore, Daniel.  And no 
matter how dense Mulder seemed sometimes, he was still always 
beside me.  No badly placed jokes this time, no strategically 
timed cell phone calls when I've had just one hour too many of 
fluorescent lights and old blood, no gentle hand at the small of 
my back, or dinner afterward in a dim sushi bar where words 
aren't necessary or even expected, but company and routine are 
quietly calming...*

"It seems like it should be easier, somehow.  I mean--easy's the 
wrong word, but...I don't know..."  The tears were starting to 
hit without warning, burning hot behind her eyes.  She wasn't 
ready to feel them yet, but biology was taking over.  That was 
the gift with Daniel.  It hurt so little to cry in front of him.  
He was unique in her world, that way.  "It's wrong for it to ever 
be easier, but it feels like it gets harder every time..."  Her 
breath was catching.

Daniel ventured another step closer.  She was still studying her 
shoes, hands on her hips, but her body wasn't pushing him away.

"It does get harder," he said, his deep voice cool and even.  
Daniel's fingers twined around her wrist and her chest ached.  
"Maybe some people find a way to cope, a way to distance 
themselves from it.  But, I know I didn't.  I started my career 
in pediatric cardiology, remember?  Then, you know what happened?  
Maggie was born.  And a week later, I found out I couldn't even 
set foot in the Neo-Natal ICU.  There's nothing harder than 
children, Dana.  Don't apologize for feeling that."

Scully lifted her head, looked off to the side, let him watch the 
tension in her throat.  "I can do the work," she said matter-of-
factly.  "But I keep seeing their faces when I close my eyes.  
Those faces that should be so perfect..."  She was losing her 
voice now.  But it didn't matter, because Daniel felt her 
slipping and his hand was on her cheek, warming her skin, the ice 
in her bones.  "Dana...I'm sorry, honey."

And in that moment she loved this man for not telling her it was 
all right.  Because it wasn't all right, dead children never 
could be.  But hearing someone else acknowledge the tragedy was 
the only kind of comfort that could be found.

If Mulder had understood that...just one time...

Scully didn't remember the moment she moved into Daniel's arms.  
But when he whispered, "It's okay, Darling.  I'm here," his voice 
was a soft rumble in his chest beneath her ear.  She closed her 
eyes and forced herself to breathe.  His shirt was soft against 
her cheek.  His arms gave her shelter, and in the end she could 
only let herself cry.


*****

(End Chapter 13.  Continued in Chapter 14a...)

Feedback to a writer is like a Valentine in Charlie Brown's 
mailbox.:) -- bstrbabs@earthlink.net