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...

AUTHOR'S NOTE WITH MINOR SPOILER:  I know you guys are dying for 
Mulder.:)  I know the Daniel thing is slowly killing you.:)  And 
I know that until recently, this WIP has been written so 
incredibly slowly that it seems like she's been with Daniel 
forever (do you realize, that in the timeline of the story it's 
only been a little over a week since Scully first phoned 
Daniel?;-)).  But you're sooooo close to Mulder.  Bear with me, 
people.  We're almost home.:)  And a million thanks to everyone 
who has stuck with me through those long dry spells without 
posting.  Life's a little smoother now, so I hope to never do 
that to you again.:)  And if you need more reassurance, my 
mailbox is always open.



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


Chapter 14a


Two weeks later:

**"I called your cell phone yesterday when I was trying to reach 
Daniel at work.  I didn't realize what I'd done until a 
stranger's voice answered.  They've given your number to someone 
else."**


Scully took a sip of her iced tea and set the glass back on the 
coffee table, never looking up from the forensics report.  She 
had brought a monumental pile of work home this weekend, stopped 
by the office three times already, but she refused to spend 
another hour in the dinginess of their basement confines if she 
could manage to accomplish the work and still soak up the 
brilliant sun of the fresh spring afternoon.  She and Michaels 
had been marathoning it day after day as the clock ticked on and 
they remained in the dark as to the killer's identity.  Michaels 
had begun to show the strain, and Scully had surreptitiously 
taken on part of his workload this weekend and sent him home for 
some quality time with his family.   No further victims had been 
identified, but the silence virtually guaranteed to her the 
killer had already made his choice, was spending his days 
stalking his intended victim, oblivious to their round-the-clock 
struggle.

Late on this Sunday afternoon, Scully was sitting on the floor of 
Daniel's apartment, surrounded by file folders and spirals of her 
own barely legible scribblings.  Tasha slept on the floor beside 
her, warm body pressed up against Scully's leg.

She could hear Daniel moving about in the kitchen, unloading 
dishes from the dishwasher and shuffling through the cupboards.  
The quiet domesticity was dizzying against the death and cruelty 
radiating from the pages around her.

*What do you want?  Are we a million miles off base?  Is this 
about the invasion?  About colonization?  Or are we wandering off 
on the basis of a red herring and you're really just killing your 
step-mother's look-alike over and over again for all those times 
she snuck into your bedroom to molest you?  Give us 
something...just a hair's breadth slip...a tiny chink in your 
armor...tell me what you want.*

She picked up the map again, stared down at the four red dots 
where each of the bodies had been found.  She traced them with 
the cap of her pen, connected the dots, criss-crossed between 
them, envisioning the lines and patterns in her mind like a blind 
game of chess.

*There's nothing here, nothing here.  What are we missing?  Who 
are you watching?  Where do we begin to look?*

She straightened up from her hunched posture over the coffee 
table, stretched her back, tilted her head to stretch her neck--
and caught Daniel watching her from the kitchen doorway.  She 
lifted her eyebrows.  "What?"

He smiled, shoulder propped casually against the door casing, 
arms crossed.  "Nothing.  You just...look a bit like a student I 
had...a long time ago."

She eyed him quietly for a moment, making the adjustment back to 
reality, back to the room around her.  "Was she cute?"

"Drop-dead gorgeous."

"She must be fading by now...a few wrinkles and grey hairs here 
and there."

He shook his head.  "Not from where I'm standing."

"Maybe you should stand closer."

"Maybe I should."

Daniel crossed the room and sank down to the floor behind her.  
He immediately settled his hands on her shoulders and began to 
work the rigid muscles there.

"Mmmm...oh, God, that hurts."

"Do you want me to--"

"No, no, no, don't stop."  She closed her eyes and let her head 
fall back, sinking into his touch.  "There, yeah.  Oh, that's 
good. Mmmm...oh, God, that's nice."

"Do you have any idea how erotic you sound when you're getting a 
massage?"

Scully gave a weak but genuine laugh.  "Anyone ever tell you you 
have a one track mind?"

"Everyone.  But they're usually referring to cardiology.  This 
track is reserved for you."

She sighed, still entranced by the effects of the massage.  "Good 
answer."

"You're so tight," Daniel said softly, a thread of solemnity 
slipping into the playfulness.

Scully only murmured a wordless response.

"Your right shoulder's hard-wired to your ear.  Is it still 
bothering you?"

"Much less now.  It just gets tired faster."

Daniel's skillful fingers worked at her sea of tension a few 
minutes longer, probing her shoulder, coaxing it loose with 
impressive facility.  Then he closed his arms around her, leading 
her to fall back against his chest.  She had no desire to resist.  
"You need rest," he breathed into her ear.

"I know.  But if I don't keep at this someone else will die."

"Don't talk shop to me, I'm a cardiologist.  I've used that line 
a hundred times myself, giving my reasons for still being on the 
floor of the ICU in my 26th hour on shift.  It doesn't wash.  You 
take care of yourself, or you can't care for anyone else.  Ground 
rules.  Don't learn the hard way, like I have."

*Ouch.*  That sucked her shoulders back up a notch.  "I'm all 
right," she whispered, eyes closed, knowing her posture and tone 
betrayed her exhaustion.  But she was keeping it together, still 
a long way from stringing herself to breaking point.  She'd done 
it enough times to recognize the signs.  As long as she got a 
good night's sleep tonight...

Daniel held her close, kissed the side of her neck, and she felt 
herself sinking drowsily into the warmth.  *'Watch me.'  Why?  
Why do you do it prior to death?  If you're punishing the aliens, 
why are you punishing the victims?*  "Are you staying tonight?" 
Daniel asked into her skin.

She nodded.  "Mm-hmm.  My things are in the car."

With a last kiss to her throat, he let her go and she reluctantly 
pulled back into a sitting position.  "I'm going down to my car 
to get the cooler I left in the trunk.  I'll get your bag from 
your car.  Keys in here?" he asked, reaching toward the blazer 
she had tossed over the back of the couch.

"Yeah, left side."   She straightened her clothes, brushed her 
hair back from her face and picked up her pencil.

"Back in a few," Daniel said, and she turned only vaguely in his 
direction as her attention sucked back onto the desert of sparse 
facts spread on the table before her.

The phone ringing was like a jolt piercing through from another 
reality.  Scully looked up, registered that Daniel was still 
downstairs.  Her cue to move.  She pulled off her glasses and 
tossed them on the report in front of her, wincing slightly at 
the visual adjustment.   She pushed to her feet and Tasha 
grumbled and rolled into the warm place Scully had left.  She 
grabbed the phone on the third ring.

"Hello?"

The line was silent.

"Hello?" she tried again.

A woman's voice.  "Uh...yes, is this Daniel Waterston's 
residence?"

"Yes, it is, can I ask who's calling?"

"Who is *this*?" the voice was somewhat sharper.

Scully flinched, stomach tensing, recognition dawning.  "Uh...I'd 
like to tell Daniel who's calling."

"His *wife*."

Scully didn't respond for a long breath.  She heard Daniel's key 
in the door, watched it swing open.  "Just a moment, please."  
She held out the phone to Daniel as he approached. 

"It's your wife," she said flatly, never meeting his questioning 
gaze.

And as Daniel took the phone and said, "Hello?  Barbara?"   
Scully snatched her blazer off the back of the couch and walked 
out the door.  She heard Daniel calling her name as the door 
swung closed, but pretended she was out of ear shot.


*****


He found her on the wrought iron bench by the fountain.

She tilted her head as she registered his presence, but didn't 
lift her gaze.  He stood a safe few steps away, hands in the 
pockets of his slacks.  Her semi-casual clothes were as elegant 
as her professional wardrobe, draping and formfitting to her best 
advantage.  Or maybe it was just her.  She gave the clothes their 
elegance.  But she wore too much black these days.  He remembered 
her in blues and creams.  "She hasn't been my wife for over a 
decade," Daniel said, coolly.  "You know that."

Dana closed her eyes.  He watched her shoulders pull in as she 
drew a breath.  Her freckles glowed in the sunlight.

"We were together a long time, Dana.  Neither of us has re-
married.  Barbara still tends to leave off the 'ex'.  *I*...do 
not."

"Does she know who I am?" Dana asked.

Daniel nodded.  "She does.  Maggie knows, so..."

Dana nodded.  Then she broke her frozen posture, drew a deep 
breath, and lowered the ankle she had tucked beneath her knee.  
She propped her forearms on her knees.  "Dammit," she said 
softly.  "I hate this, Daniel."

Daniel stepped closer, easing his way into her space.  "Hate 
what, Dana?  Why is this bothering you?  This isn't about us."

She looked up at him, imploring, injured.

"Dana.  Barbara and I shared a life together.  There are still 
connections.  Our daughter, for one.  Our grandchildren.  We're 
still in touch on occasion for the sake of the family."

But she shook her head.  "That's fine, Daniel, that's not--this 
is not jealousy, that's not what...  I know how you feel."

Now it was Daniel who frowned.  He closed the distance between 
them, took a seat on the bench beside her.  A gust of wind 
carried the faintest mist from the water fountain onto his skin, 
reminded him of the sea.  "Well, then what is it?"

Dana shifted; restless and edgy.  "It's the memory.  The reality 
check.  A glimpse of the possible future.  Jesus, Daniel, what we 
did...what brought us here..."

The pain was thick in her voice, and it struck him deeply that he 
hadn't caught the scent of it before today.  He worked to 
carefully construct his next words, to rise to the occasion.  "We 
made some mistakes, Dana.  I'm the first to admit that.  I 
handled a lot of things badly.  I would change things if I could 
do it again.  But we did the best we could.  And I won't 
apologize for how I felt about you then, or how I *feel* about 
you now."

Dana turned and locked gazes with him, the intensity cutting 
through his defenses.  There was so much passion behind those 
cool blue eyes.  So few people got to see that far.  "Daniel, 
there's...there's just so much baggage left for us.  Everything 
was so messed up.  It's never been just us.  We've never been 
together without guilt, without pain, if not to us, than to 
someone else.  Even now..."

Daniel nodded, knowing he couldn't brush this off, knowing she 
needed him to hear her right now.

"That's true.  It *was* true.  But what about now?  How does that 
affect us now?"

"It has to affect us.  It has to.  There are still people in our 
lives who remain affected by the repercussions.  Your family, my 
family.  We can't just pretend that it was always like this.  *I* 
can't.  I can't instantly detach from everything I felt before.  
The time we spent together...I mean, my God, Daniel, I'm a 
Catholic.  Do you have any idea, can you imagine what all of that 
was doing to my self image?  According to my religion, I'm going 
to hell for the time I spent with you."

Daniel blanched.  "You don't really believe that, do you?  A 
woman of science?"

Dana let go a breath, allowing for the literal truth, but pushing 
through to her point.  "It doesn't matter what I do or don't 
believe now.  What matters is how it felt to me then.  And a part 
of me...a part of me has always hated you for letting that happen 
to me.  For not trying to stop me and letting that become...a 
part of my past, part of my psyche.  For not loving me enough to 
be strong for me...when I couldn't."

Daniel let that sink in, working past the gut-pain of her brutal 
honesty, to the vulnerable need she was opening to him.  "What 
happens," he began, his voice a near whisper, "when two people--
who would give the world for each other--are at their weakest at 
the same moment?"

Dana shook her head.  "I don't know.  Us, I suppose."

Daniel reached out and ever so gently stroked her hair.  It was 
like silk between his fingers.  "The world is rarely black and 
white, Dana.  The older you get the more you see the many many 
shades of grey.  Do you think this is ever what I pictured for my 
own life?  That I didn't take my wedding vows as seriously as 
anything I have ever done?  That the path of my life wasn't 
tearing me apart?"

"Dammit, Daniel."  She tossed her hair back, squinting up at the 
brilliant sky.  "I've been living in every conceivable shade of 
grey for so long now...I'm not sure I remember what the sunlight 
looks like.  I want some white light."

"You belong in the sunlight, Dana."

"I can't keep--I just...can we..." but she lost the words for her 
thought and just closed her eyes against the glare of the sun.

Daniel leaned into her personal space at last, breath inches from 
her ear.  His world filled with the scent of her perfume.  Dana 
responded to him instinctively, tilting her head to rest her 
forehead against his without opening her eyes.  For a long moment 
they just stayed there, soaking in each other's nearness, 
reaffirming their connection.  He rested his hand on her thigh as 
they weathered a fresh rush of spray from the fountain.  The 
feather-light moisture peppered across her slacks.  He lifted his 
head, and reached out to smooth her hair behind her ear.

"What do you want, Dana?" he asked, his voice low and close 
beside her.  "Last spring, you said to me you wanted everything 
you should want at this time in your life.  What does that mean 
to you?  A lover?  A home?  A child?  Let me give you those 
things."

"I can't have a child, Daniel."

"Baby, I know that," he said gently, kissing her temple.  "And 
first of all, that's only one of the things I listed for you.  
Secondly, Darling, there are a hundred ways to become a parent if 
that's what you really want."

She was quiet for a moment, then pulled away and looked up, 
probing every nuance of his expression.  "Is that something you 
want, Daniel?  You've already raised one family.  You have 
grandchildren, now."

"You never miss an opportunity to point that out, do you?"

But she didn't want the humor.  "Daniel..."

He sobered.  "I won't lie to you, Dana.  Part of me can't imagine 
giving up my freedom that way again, taking on that kind of 
commitment, restricting my life.  Realistically, at my age, the 
rest of my active life would be as a parent if I started again 
now.  But, with you--the thought of sharing a life with you, 
shaping a young life between us--that's not something I would 
ever walk away from.  Children are something you can't regret 
once you've met them--people like us can't, anyway.  So, yes, 
Dana.  If you don't want a child, I won't have missed out, 
because I've already raised a beautiful daughter.  But if you do 
want a child, I would very much want to have that child with 
you."

Dana watched him for a long beat.  Then the slightest smile 
played at her lips.  "You're talking in awfully confident terms, 
Daniel Waterston."

Daniel nodded.  "Yes, I am, and I knew I'd scare you with that.  
But Dana, you said you know how I feel about you.  If that's 
true...you shouldn't be surprised at all."

She dropped her gaze to the soft spring grass beneath their feet.

"It's all about timing, isn't it," she said.

"What is?"  He reached out and rubbed a gentle circle on her 
back.

"Everything.  Our destiny, the choices we make.  Questions laid 
before us at one time in our lives seem to have one unequivocal 
answer, but then faced with the same question years later, the 
answer is 180 degrees away, and somehow just as right.  And 
sometimes...we never get asked again.  And if the answer changes, 
we never get the opportunity, to try the other road."

He was listening quietly, watching her profile as the wind toyed 
with her fiery hair, watching the flicker of her thick lashes as 
she studied the blades of grass.

"Eleven years ago, it wasn't the right time for us.  It wasn't 
the right time for you, for a dozen reasons.  It wasn't the right 
time for your wife, and certainly not for Maggie.  And it wasn't 
the right time for me."  She paused, drew a measured breath.  
"And last year...wasn't the right time for me, because, 
conventional definition or not, I *did* have someone in my life 
that I had made...unspoken promises to."

Daniel nodded, absorbed in her words.  When she didn't speak 
again, he asked, "But...what about now?"

Dana turned to face him, not quite on the same wavelength.  Her 
eyes gave a silent entreaty.

"Now, Dana.  Is it possible, even remotely, that maybe...now is 
meant to be our time?  That maybe this time it doesn't have to be 
about guilt, or escaping, or heart wrenching choices?  That just 
maybe, it could be about smiles, and laughter, and--feeling 
safe?"

She squinted up at him, a whirl of thoughts behind her steady 
gaze.

"Dana?  Can you at least admit it might be possible?"

Finally, she nodded.  "It might be."  And there was an almost 
hopeful note in her careful words.  "It might be."

*"We're going to keep our eye on the ball. Then, we're just going 
to make contact.  We're not going to think.  We're just going to 
let it fly, Scully, okay?"*

*****

End Chapter 14a (Continued in 14b)
Feed. Hungry. Author. -- bstrbabs@earthlink.net