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...


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


Chapter 16b



"Haven't we met.  You're some kind of beautiful stranger."
                           --"Beautiful Stranger", Madonna


The world shimmered around her.  One quick glimpse, two seconds 
on a quiet residential street and life would never be the same 
again.  Scully had learned life could work that way one cold 
night when Deep Throat died under her hand and she found she 
could never go home again.  Or maybe she had found a new home, 
she just hadn't known it yet.

Scully's fingers quivered when she turned the key in her 
apartment lock.  Mulder watched in silence, hovering a few feet 
behind.  She saw the slight flicker of his eyelids when she 
nearly dropped the key.

She pushed the door just enough to pop the lock and hefted the 
file folders in the crook of her arm.  She hesitated.  The ground 
was shifting beneath her.  Time was all out of order and she 
couldn't process the present spilling over onto the past.  She 
couldn't catch hold of anything concrete.  The adrenaline was 
wearing off and clarity and action were giving way to fear and 
emotion.  She needed...

Scully reached a blind hand toward Mulder.  He caught her grasp 
on instinct and they clung to one another's wrists.  His pulse 
beneath her palm seemed to pump the blood through her own veins.  
Scully half-turned, didn't raise her eyes.  "Don't...just 
don't...leave, okay?" 

Mulder nodded, squeezed back hard.  *'Say a few Hail Mulders for 
me'...fingers slipping from her grasp...*  "I'll be right here."  
He started to move closer, to reach out for her.  But she let go 
and moved away.

She didn't turn to see the hurt in his eyes.

Scully opened the door, and Tasha shoved her big furry head 
through the crack, wiggling and wagging at her mistress's return.  
Scully reached down and petted her dog's ears as she stepped 
across the threshold.

"Well, hello there," Mulder said to the smiling face nosing his 
hand.  "You're a *real* dog, aren't you?  Man-sized.  And who 
might you be?"

"This is Tasha," Scully said stiffly.  She dropped her file 
folders onto the entrance table, swung her briefcase to the 
floor.

"How long have you had her?"

"She was my husband's.  He got her when she was a puppy.  She's 
almost 8 now."

Mulder nodded.

They were speaking, communicating successfully.  Yet the world 
was so surreal Scully felt detached from her own words, amazed 
when her responses matched up with his questions.

It was the next greeting that left Mulder speechless.
 
From the hallway appeared Ashleigh, pretty as always, with her 
strawberry-blonde hair and pale complexion; faded jeans and a 
snug-fitting sweater.  In her arms, she cradled Scully's baby 
boy.  At her son's first sight of his mother, his face lit up 
with the world's most brilliant smile, and his pudgy little arms 
stretched out toward her.

Mulder's face was an open book of wonder.

"Careful, kiddo," Ashleigh said with a laugh as she shifted her 
precious cargo into Scully's welcoming arms.  "Mommy's right 
there."

With her back half-turned to Mulder, Scully lifted her son into 
her arms.  She pressed her cheek close to his and kissed his ear, 
drawing strength from his vibrant energy, his innocent love.  His 
heavy warmth in her arms steadied her uncertainty.  "Hey, Little 
Man," she whispered.  "How's my favorite guy?"

Ashleigh shared in the joy of the daily reunion ritual, then 
glanced curiously in Mulder's direction.  Scully caught the vibe 
and shifted to face Mulder.  Her son rested his head contentedly 
in the crook of her neck, and that was all Mulder focused on.

"Ashleigh, this is...an old friend of mine..."  Scully sought 
Mulder's gaze, silently asking if he were really among the 
living, if she should use his real name.  He gave an almost 
imperceptible nod.  The exchange was so easy, so instinctive.  
Something buried sparked inside of her.  "Fox Mulder," Scully 
finished.  "Mulder, this is Ashleigh Dawson.  She gives the nanny 
a break a couple of days a week, when she doesn't have classes."

"Nice to meet you," Ashleigh said softly. 

Mulder nodded.  "You, too."

He was waiting to be introduced to her son.  But she couldn't.  
Not until they were alone...
 
Much to Scully's gratitude, Ashleigh filled the quiet.  "Well, 
would you believe this guy hasn't napped since I got here?  
Margarite said he dozed for about half an hour or so this 
morning, but otherwise he has been awake since you left at six."

"So you've had quite an afternoon," Scully offered dryly.

Ashleigh just smiled and reached out to stroke the little boy's 
back.  "Oh, he was fine.  But I'm sure he'll be out for the night 
by seven, seven-thirty for you.  He did eat some cereal and about 
half his carrots.  And he had his bottle about an hour ago."

Ashleigh's hand slid down the child's back onto Scully's arm and 
over her hand.  She brushed the red knuckles.  "Oh, God, Grandma, 
what did you do to your hand?"

Scully pulled back too sharply.  Surprise and injury washed 
across Ashleigh's clear face and Scully was instantly sorry.  But 
it was hard to offer an apology.  She couldn't feel anything 
right now.  Not now.

"I'm fine," Scully said softly.  "I just...hit it on the car 
door."

Ashleigh frowned, reached toward Scully's hand again, and she 
managed not to pull away.  "It looks like it's swelling, you 
should get some ice on that..."

She nodded, briskly.  "I will."
 
Ashleigh let Scully's hand go with a glance toward Mulder, and 
for the first time, she registered the damage to his jaw.  No 
genius required to put the two together.  She looked back to 
Scully, searching her face intently now, and Scully shook her 
head, dismissing the subject.

Ashleigh took a hesitant step back.  "I, uh...I guess I'll be 
going."

Mulder picked up on the unspoken dynamics and turned away.  He 
strolled a few feet into the dining room, looking over the 
furniture, the grand piano.  Scully followed him with her eyes.  
*Mulder, did you have piano lessons when you were young?  Why 
don't I know?  Mulder, are you really in my living room?  Are you 
really breathing?*

Ashleigh's urgent whisper pulled her back.  "Dana, you're 
shaking.  Are you okay?"

Scully gave Ashleigh's hand a placating touch.  "I'm fine."

Ashleigh held her gaze a moment longer, then acquiesced and 
gathered her things.

When Mulder turned back, Ashleigh had her book bag over her 
shoulder and her keys in her hand.

"So, you have class tomorrow, right?  We'll see you again 
Monday?"

Ashleigh nodded.  "Absolutely.  Bye, you," she said with a grin 
and a wrinkle of her nose toward the baby.  She leaned in and 
kissed Scully's cheek.  The warmth was comforting and unnerving.  
"Bye, Grandma."

"Drive safe," Scully said, and she closed the door behind her.

Scully felt Mulder staring at her back for a good ten seconds, 
before she turned to face him.  He moved across the room, 
stopping only a few steps from her.

She cleared her throat.  "So...Mulder.  This is Christopher 
Patrick.  He's seven months old."

She hated the flutter of vulnerability in her voice.  But this 
was her son.  And she was presenting him to Mulder.  *Mulder*...

Mulder reached out hesitant fingers and drew them ever so lightly 
down the soft cushion of Christopher's cheek.  The little boy 
smiled.  "Christopher," Mulder breathed, his voice thready with 
emotion.  "Is he...I mean...I thought you couldn't...is 
he...biologically..."

Scully shook her head.  "No.  He's adopted.  But he's ours."

She saw his flinch at the pronoun.  But he didn't let it spill 
over into his words.  "How old was he when you got him?"

"Just a couple of days," Scully said, and she couldn't suppress a 
soft smile at the memory.  The first days had been nothing short 
of magic.  "It was meant to be."

Mulder nodded, struggling to soak all of this in.  Her gaze rose 
to meet his, and in a flash, seven years of intimate eye contact 
hit her head-on, grey-green eyes that could look through her soul 
and soothe her spirit.  The intensity was far beyond what she 
could take at the moment.  She retreated.  "You need to get that 
ice."  She moved toward the kitchen.

Mulder hung back a moment, and Scully caught the sound of his 
half-suppressed sigh.  His facade resurfaced, and he followed 
her.  "'Grandma?'"

Scully pulled an ice pack from the freezer.  With a mother's one-
handed skills, she took a towel from the kitchen drawer and 
wrapped the ice pack.  "She calls me that because she knows it 
annoys me, but..."  She held out the ice pack to Mulder.  "I kind 
of am, actually.  Her step-grandmother."  She cleared her throat 
as Mulder settled the ice pack into place on his jaw.  She could 
see the sting of the cold despite the padding of the towel.  She 
weathered a sudden gut-deep urge to kiss his jaw.  The mere 
thought tightened her throat.  Scully took a second soft-pack of 
ice and strapped it to her own hand with a tea towel.  She held 
the tails of the towel in her fist.  Christopher squealed and 
stretched toward the refrigerator until she went back and pulled 
out a cold teether for him.

"She's Maggie's step-daughter," Scully continued, gaze locked on 
her own hand.  Christopher took hold of one of the loose tendrils 
of her hair and stuck it in his mouth with the teether.

Mulder furrowed his brow.  She was edging toward something, and 
he sensed it, but he hadn't caught on.

"Formerly, Maggie Waterston," she said, and the tendons in her 
throat tightened.

He had it.  "Waterston."  Mulder's voice was barely a whisper.  
"You married Daniel?"

Scully sniffed hard, arched her eyebrow.  Her eyes hazed with 
tears.  And Mulder saw it, and she knew he didn't understand.  
But he looked at her the way he always had when she cried--like 
the world would shatter if he couldn't make it stop, and she had 
missed that look so damn much it hurt even to think of having it 
back.
 
"What happened?" he whispered.
 
The tenderness in his voice pushed her limits.  "Can we, uh...," 
Scully lifted the back of her hand to her cheek for a moment, 
letting the ice pack cool her flushed skin.  "Can we go sit 
down?"

Mulder nodded.  "Yeah.  Of course."

Christopher picked up Scully's tension.  His tiny mouth screwed 
into a frown.  He spit out her hair and reached up and slapped 
gently at her face.  Scully leaned into his touch.  She turned 
and took two bottled waters from the refrigerator door, then led 
the way into the living room.

Scully took a seat on the couch and settled Christopher beside 
her, propped him as far from the edge as possible.  She reached 
down to the basket of toys beneath the coffee table and spread a 
wide selection before him.  He grasped his favorite plastic pig 
rattle and began shaking.  Tasha leapt up onto the far end of the 
couch and settled in with her nose beside Christopher's thigh.

Mulder took a seat in the rocking chair.  He was watching 
Christopher like he could never see enough.  "He has such big 
eyes," he said softly.

"I know.  He just...seems to look right into your soul sometimes.  
Like he knows everything you're thinking."

"Scully..."  She looked up.  "What are *you* thinking?"

Her stomach hurt.  She couldn't swallow her water.  "I'm thinking 
I need to know what's going on?  Mulder...you just...I come home 
from work one day, and..."  Her voice faltered, and her eyes were 
hot with tears again.  She ignored them.  She slipped to a 
whisper, let her tongue play over the corner of her mouth.  
"Mulder, where were you?"

"I was undercover.  Deep undercover."

"Undercover as what?  Where?"

Mulder held her gaze for a long moment.  He narrowed his eyes, 
deep set lines gracing his brow.  His words were slow and 
deliberate.  "I want to tell you, Scully.  And I *will* tell you.  
Everything.  But not yet.  I need to...it's things you need to 
hear, Scully, huge things, but I need your mind open and I need 
you ready to hear.  And I don't think... I just think we should 
talk for a while first.  Get...get our walls back down."

Scully hardened.  Her jaw tightened, and she looked down at 
Christopher for a moment, then back to Mulder.  "What makes you 
think that will happen before you give me one hell of a good 
explanation?"  Her anger was returning, and the numbness that 
came with it was more than welcome.

Mulder dropped his gaze to his lap.  The lines in his forehead 
didn't fade.  "No guarantees, I suppose.  I can just hope."

The openness wrenched her gut.  He looked weary.  Battle-worn.  
It didn't show on the surface.  His hair was a little longer, the 
way she liked it.  Unruly as ever.  He was dressed in tight black 
jeans, a burgundy tee-shirt, and the very same leather jacket she 
had found missing from his closet two years ago.  His skin was 
slightly tanned, his freckles prominent across his nose.  On the 
surface he looked good.  A new line or two around his eyes 
perhaps, a grey hair at his temple.  But beneath the surface, he 
was deeply tired.  And a collage of memories shimmered across her 
vision; a hundred defeated nights, seven years of dark rainy 
streets and never ending battles and propping each other up with 
all they had to give; holding up candles to paths in the dark.

Christopher dropped his rattle, and Scully leaned to retrieve it.  
He whacked Tasha's nose and she snorted indignantly.

Mulder lifted his head.  "Tell me about you, Scully.  Please.  
Tell me about...your *life*.  How did all this happen?"

Scully swallowed and focused on drawing Christopher's attention 
to a teething cow.  She surrendered it to his eager grasp, and 
leaned her arm on the back of the couch, pushing her loose 
strands of hair behind her ear.  This conversation could not be 
any more inconceivable.  She just wanted to stop speaking and sit 
and breathe Mulder's scent for while.  But she couldn't.  She 
just...couldn't.  "Well...you left.  I searched for you.  You 
closed all the doors behind you.  Eventually, I went on with 
life.  You didn't leave me much choice.  I worked, continued the 
X-Files.  A few months after you left, Daniel and I started 
seeing one another again.  Things went well, at least most of the 
time.  Fast, with our history.  After a few months, we moved in 
together.  Here.  This was Daniel's apartment.  Not long after, 
he proposed.  We got married last winter.  About..." she stopped 
to think, "...nine months ago."

Mulder nodded.  There were a thousand thoughts behind those clear 
hazel eyes, and once upon a time she would have been able to read 
them all.  Tonight she was looping in and out.  Maybe he was, 
too.  "And this little bundle of joy?" Mulder asked.  "When did 
he come into the picture?  I mean...I thought adoption was a 
pretty complicated process these days.  I've heard of people 
waiting years to get a child..."

Scully nodded her agreement.  "Absolutely.  We never expected...  
We had gone ahead and started the process.  We knew we wanted a 
family in the future.  We put in all the proper applications...we 
were looking strongly at getting a little girl from China.  We 
thought it would be a few years at the least, maybe several.  We 
meant to get married, buy a house, settle in, be ready.  Daniel's 
health and age were factors in the application process, but I was 
a strong enough candidate, that we were expected to be deemed 
qualified parents.  Then, one afternoon, Daniel was at work--
there was a family for whom he had been a kind of "family doctor" 
for a long time.  The women in their family suffer from a 
hereditary heart defect.  Treatable, but...  The family's sixteen 
year old daughter had gotten pregnant.  She had big plans for her 
future--college, law school.  Being a teenaged mother wasn't part 
of the plan.  But the family is devout Catholic, so abortion was 
out of the question.  They wanted to arrange an adoption, a 
private one.  The parents were talking to Daniel after an 
appointment, they found out we were looking...Daniel was someone 
they already trusted...  The next thing we knew, we were filing 
paperwork.  Christopher was born three months after our wedding."

Scully ran her fingers through Christopher's silky fine hair, 
remembering sitting on a hospital bench beside Daniel, their 
fingers locked together, watching the clock and awaiting the 
hourly reports from Christopher's biological grandfather.

"Meant to be," Mulder repeated back, his voice just above a 
whisper.

Scully closed her eyes.

"What happened?" he asked, and she knew he meant Daniel.  She 
didn't want to answer.  She didn't talk about it yet.

"His heart.  The risk was always there, but we thought...we 
thought he was relatively stable for the time being.  Medicine is 
not an exact science.  We lost him four, almost five months ago."

"Four months?  Jesus, Scully.  I'm so sorry.  That's...," he 
leaned forward, forearms propped on his thighs, "four months--
that must still feel like yesterday to you."

Scully stared down at Christopher's little fingers as he worked 
over his train rattle.  "Some days," she whispered.  Tasha 
stretched up and licked Scully's fingers.  She still looked for 
her master each evening before dinner.

"What about work?" Mulder asked, shifting the subject as much for 
her sake as his.  "I looked for you in the Bureau records.  You 
weren't there, so I was surprised to see your gun.  But I'm 
guessing now...you're not under Scully anymore?"

"No, I'm not."

"Are you still on the X-files?"

"Not since Christopher.  Though I still do consulting, almost 
daily, actually.  I took six weeks maternity leave.  Then I 
accepted a teaching position at Quantico.  Officially, it's still 
a temporary assignment.  I haven't surrendered my field agent 
status.  But I need to make a firm decision by the end of the 
month; where I belong."

Mulder nodded slowly, letting her take the lead.  She could feel 
a thousand questions burning behind his quiet acceptance.  "You 
have other priorities now," he said plainly.

She didn't speak.  Then at last, "I'm sorry I hit you."

Mulder gave her the slightest hint of a wry smile, and she was 
surprised how good it felt.  "Really?"

"No.  Yes.  No."  And she almost laughed.  But she couldn't hold 
eye contact.  She closed her eyes.

Christopher started banging his rattle and fussing.  She picked 
him up and put him in her lap.  He didn't want to hold still, 
squirmed in her arms and started pulling at her blouse, nosing 
her breast.

"Mmmm, somebody's hungry.  It's almost six, I--"

"Scully are you...are you breastfeeding?"

She looked up, struck by the fascination in Mulder's voice, his 
eyes.  She drew a few deliberate breaths.  "Yeah.  I am.  It took 
a while, he had to be mostly on formula for a couple of months, 
but now we're doing fine."

"That's..." he shook his head, shrugged, at a loss for 
description.  "That's amazing, Scully.  It's wonderful."

Her expression softened, cautious, but warming.  "Yeah.  It is, 
actually.  But, uh...as I was saying, it's late, I need to feed 
him, then get his bath, get him ready for bed.  If I nurse him 
any later I'll never keep him awake afterward until his bedtime.  
Instant valium, you know."

"Much as nature intended."

Scully pushed to her feet and lifted Christopher with her.  Tasha 
raised her head, appraising the situation, and where she might 
place herself to best advantage.

"Are you hungry, Mulder?  Can I--"

But Mulder waved a hand, shook his head.  "I'm fine.  Go, take 
care of your son.  I'll be here when you get back."

She swallowed hard.  "Yeah."  She licked her lips, forced air 
into her lungs.  "Yeah."  Her leg brushed Mulder's as she carried 
Christopher toward the hall and she felt dizzy.

*Be there.  Just...be there.*


*****


He sat in the quiet of Scully's living room as the sun sank and 
cast flickering shadows of the garden trees over the dining room 
wall.  Another fifteen minutes and he would need to switch on a 
lamp.  But truthfully, the dimness was comforting.  He wanted to 
sit and let his brain fall quiet and begin to process the 
overload of new information.  This was Scully's living room.  He 
was sitting in a strange apartment where he only recognized 
fragments and pieces of the furniture.  And this was Scully's 
living room.  Elegant, attentively decorated.  Some baby items 
stuffed in here and there, obviously not part of the original 
plan.  He pushed to his feet and made a slow circle of the living 
areas, studying in more detail--the books on the shelves, the 
pictures on the mantle.  The pictures kept his attention for 
quite some time.  

Scully and Daniel sharing a piece of wedding cake.  Scully in a 
soft ivory gown.  Not a full-out wedding gown, nothing so 
elaborate and fairytale for Scully.  But subtle and elegant and 
beautiful.  Her longer hair fell soft and wavy over her 
shoulders.  And she was smiling.  A full-watt Scully-smile.  
Daniel was smiling, too.  He could see the adoration even in the 
lifeless photo.  *A wedding.  Scully...*

A photo from a beach.  Honeymoon, perhaps?  Vacation?  Scully in 
a one piece basic-black bathing suit with a translucent skirt 
tied around her waist; seated on a beach towel and squinting in 
the sunlight.

Scully and Daniel, forehead to forehead, cradling Christopher 
between them.  He was tiny.  Couldn't have been more than a 
couple of weeks old.

More family portraits he didn't recognize.  Probably Maggie 
Waterston and her children.  Ashleigh in one of the shots.  A 
photo of the Scully family at some kind of gathering.  Maggie and 
Bill and someone he didn't know, that he guessed could have been 
Charlie.  And Scully seated on the floor at her brothers' feet.  
Smiling.

Another life.  Another world.  Scully had found a life.   A 
husband, a home, a dog, a *child*.  Everything she had ever 
quietly confessed to wanting on late night stakeouts in the 
middle of nowhere, when he had failed to really listen.  A job 
that didn't require her body and soul in exchange for 
endangerment of her life.  A job that left her something to give 
her family at the end of the day.  These pictures held a Scully 
he had never seen, or barely knew.  He had worked beside her, 
*lived* beside her for seven years, waiting, watching every day, 
expecting that one day, however far away, they would move outside 
the shadow-world in which they were trapped, that he would be 
allowed precious access to the side of Scully he treasured only 
in glimpses and reflections.  The vulnerable side, the feminine 
side, the open, loving side.  The side that danced and dreamed.  
All of it was there everyday, tempering and charming every move 
she made.  But she only opened the gates wide to the rare and 
select few.

And Daniel had had it all.  In the two short years Mulder had 
been gone.

Daniel had had all of her.

Daniel.

Scully.

Mulder looked away.

A rattle of sound from the rear of the apartment moved him along.  
He didn't want to talk to Scully about the pictures.  Not 
tonight.

Mulder strolled back through the living room.  Books on the 
shelves.  Many of them medical in nature.  Could have been 
Daniel's *or* Scully's.  Mysteries.  DVD's in the corner cabinet.  
An impressive collection.  On the far right of the first shelf--
"Little Women", the Winona Ryder version.  And below it, a single 
VHS stuffed in with the DVDs--"Superstars of the Superbowls".

Damn.  Perhaps this was Scully's apartment after all.

He was in the kitchen, rustling about in search of the makings of 
hot tea, when he heard Scully in the living room.  A cranking 
noise, then a soft music-box lullaby carried in.  Probably the 
baby swing he had seen in the far corner.

A moment later Scully stepped into the lengthening shadows of the 
kitchen.

"Scully?"

She moved cautiously, her expression so intense he stopped mid-
action and offered his full attention.  Her hair was down loose 
around her shoulders now, elegant and lovely.  Her eyes were 
laced with tears, her brow deeply creased, gaze seeking.  Her 
arms folded protectively across her chest.  Her suit coat was 
gone, leaving only her thin silk blouse.  Her defenses had been 
shed with the coat; dropped, if only for this brief moment.  She 
edged closer, gazing up at him with a pleading, aching mixture of 
disbelief, want, need, desire, absence of understanding.  She was 
asking, asking if he was real, if he was standing in front of 
her, really standing in her kitchen holding a handful of teabags.  
She was asking if she was dreaming.  And all of this she conveyed 
as she stepped at last into his personal space--the first time 
since she had nearly broken his jaw--and she looked directly up 
at him without so much as a waver in her gaze.  "Mulder?"

Any resentments he had harbored moments ago were lost in the 
overwhelming need to give her something to hold on to.

Mulder nodded, solemn, regretful, and reached his hands out to 
caress her arms.  All that mattered was to be there for her.  To 
be whole and real and the other half she could always count on.  
If she would have him.  "It's me," he said simply.

Scully's face crumbled and she moved forward into his arms, 
losing the struggle with her tears.  Mulder closed his arms 
fiercely across her back, and Scully pressed into his chest.  She 
caught her breath on a choked sob muffled by the cloth of his 
shirt.  He held her tight, lost count of time.  Scully clung to 
him, nails digging into his back, and he was crushed by the 
fathomless depths of emotion in her rigid muscles.  A world of 
pain hovered beneath her pale, smooth skin, the scope of which he 
couldn't begin to grasp.

Then she shut off.  She pulled away.  Detached physically, 
emotionally--wholly.  She turned her back and left the room.

And he stood in the quiet and let his heart pound against his 
ribcage as her scent faded.

*Breathe.  Just breathe.*


*****

End of Chapter 16b.  (Continued in 17a...)

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