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...


My betas rock.  That is all.


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


Chapter 17a


**Long long ago, we worked a case in North Carolina.  Voodoo 
killings at a Haitian immigration camp.  Just weeks before, you 
had been attacked by Donnie Pfaster.  I'd never seen you so 
frightened.  To be honest, I hadn't been certain it was possible.  
From that night forward, I knew there was a world of feeling 
beneath your everyday exterior.  A world I would rarely be 
allowed to glimpse.  On that case in Carolina, you pricked your 
hand on a thorn left on our steering wheel.  I tried to look at 
the cut to see if it was deep.  You wouldn't let me touch your 
hand.  Two steps forward and ten steps back.  Flash forward seven 
years, Scully.  I still can't touch you where it hurts.**


He lay on the day bed in Scully's home office, staring at the 
hulking forms of furniture in the darkness.  One encounter with a 
Bug From Hell hanging on the ceiling above your bed and you just 
never looked at your ladder back chair the same way.  A strange 
bed, strange smells, strange sounds.  Nothing unusual for Fox 
Mulder.  It was more rare to sleep in his own bed these days.  
Hell, he didn't even have a bed anymore.  No apartment, no home.  
No name, no credit cards.  Only the measly savings the Gunmen had 
protected for him.  Scully had caught the drift of his sorry 
state of affairs and offered him a bed to crash on for the night.  
She hadn't really wanted him to stay.  She hadn't really wanted 
him to go, either.  At least he hoped that was what he had read 
on her unreadable face.

This room didn't smell like Scully.  Didn't *feel* like her.  He 
had seen her set up her laptop on the dining room table after 
dinner.  The office must have been Daniel's realm.  That thought 
felt a little weird.  Even stranger was the notion that perhaps 
Scully stayed out of here for the very reason that this room 
resonated too much of Daniel, and her pain was too near the 
surface.

Mulder rolled onto his back and gazed at the fuzzy grey ceiling.  
Christopher had fallen asleep in the baby swing, and Scully had 
carried him off to his crib.  The crib stood in the corner of her 
bedroom.  Scully shared her sacred space with her son.  Scully 
was a mother.  Scully was a *mother*.  Scully.  No more late 
night departures for Eastville, Nebraska where a young boy swore 
he saw the devil in Old Man Carver's field.  No more thirty-six 
hour marathons trailing from crime scene to autopsy bay to field 
office to crime scene.  No more X-Files.  She had made her 
choice.  To shape a young life.

He couldn't deny her that kind of joy.

But the rationale didn't soften the jolt.

His jaw hurt.

Mulder sat up in the darkness and toyed with the tempting notion 
of sneaking out to watch some quiet, mind-numbing television.  
But, Scully could be a light sleeper sometimes, and he had no 
idea what would wake Christopher.

Regardless, he had drunk far too much herbal tea to avoid a brief 
trip across the hall.  He was well on his way before he realized 
he would have to sneak past Scully's door to reach the guest 
bathroom.

Mulder had no intention of stopping or staring.  He had assumed 
the door to Scully's bedroom would be closed.  But Scully had 
left it slightly ajar.  Maybe she had wanted to keep an ear out 
for his movements; assure herself he was really there.  Or maybe 
that was wishful thinking on his part.  Maybe the air 
conditioning worked better with the door cracked.  Or maybe 
nearly a decade of paranoia had left her wanting an escape route.

Whatever the motivation, Mulder was left with a breathtaking 
view.  Scully lay, sleeping quietly, angled across the generous 
four-poster bed.  Her red hair fanned out across the silky pillow 
cases.  She had fallen asleep with the dim bedside lamp burning.  
A book lay forgotten somewhere near her thigh.  The pajamas he 
had known her to favor had been traded for something silky and 
strappy he couldn't quite make out, but her bare shoulders were 
bright against the dark red sheets.

He could hear Christopher's soft snores from somewhere in the 
shadows behind the door.  Tasha slept on the floor at Scully's 
feet.  She opened her eyes and wagged her tail at Mulder, but 
didn't bother herself to move.

Mulder quietly leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the 
door casing, unable to pull his gaze from Scully.  Two years.  
Two years with only a single momentary glimpse of his partner, 
his best friend.  And now here she was, slumbering like a 
princess in a palace, dark wood and red silk and antique lamps 
coloring her world.  He swore she looked younger than when he had 
left.  And he was afraid to wake her.  Afraid to talk to her.  
Afraid to tell her...

Her whole world had changed while he had been gone.  And he 
didn't know where he fit into it anymore.  Things had seemed so 
clear when he left.  Nothing was clear anymore.
 
Mulder had barely moved to go when his toe caught the corner of a 
hard piece of plastic, and a loud electronic chord echoed through 
the quiet apartment.  One of Christopher's toys.

Scully jerked awake, head lifting from the pillow, hand reaching 
toward the empty mattress beside her.  "Daniel?"  Her whisper was 
hoarse from sleep.

Mulder froze.

Scully was breathing hard, caught in a twilight between 
consciousness and dreamland.  She hadn't seen him in the hallway 
shadows.  He was afraid to breathe.  She held her position for a 
long time, breath gradually slowing and he saw the reality taking 
hold behind her eyes.  And he felt sick when he realized the 
nature of the reality.

Remembering her husband was dead.

Scully was up on her elbow.  She closed her eyes and continued to 
breathe deeply, quieting her racing heart.  Two years away, and 
she was as beautiful as he had pictured her in memory.  What he 
had forgotten was the way the whole world felt more real when he 
was listening to her breath.  He saw the gentle quivering of her 
chin, the slight tension in her cheeks.  He saw her make the 
deliberate choice not to cry.  Then her eyes snapped open, 
eyebrow lifted and she looked pointedly toward the front of the 
apartment.

Remembering her partner was alive.

Despite the seemingly audible wave of panic that coursed through 
his veins, she still did not see him in the shadows.  He thanked 
his remaining shards of luck.  Eventually, she lowered her head 
gingerly to the pillow and he heard her delicate sigh as she let 
her weight sink into the mattress.  He waited several more 
breaths, then crept as silently as he could down the hall to the 
bathroom.

When he emerged, a soft light was spilling into the far end of 
the hall from the kitchen.  Scully's bedroom light had been 
doused.

Mulder hovered at the office door and drew a deep breath, then he 
snugged the worn rope on his sweatpants and padded out to the 
kitchen.

Scully was standing at the counter, wrapped in a thick terry-
cloth robe and bouncing a tea bag in a steaming mug.

"Did I wake you?" he said softly.

Scully glanced up.  "No, I don't think so."

He ventured a few steps into the kitchen.  It was a cozy room in 
the early hours.  Copper pots hanging from the ceiling, fresh 
flowers on the side counter.  He recognized bits and pieces from 
Scully's old apartment.

"Little guy still sleeping?"

She didn't turn from the counter; shook the drips off her tea bag 
and placed it on a saucer.  "He's a good sleeper.  Always has 
been.  He'll wake up one more time before morning."

Which was when Mulder pinned down the vague hissing noise he'd 
been tracking to the baby monitor resting beside Scully's saucer.

He waited to see if Scully would speak, if he was the only one 
carrying the attempts at conversation.  She remained silent, blew 
across the top of her mug.  He let the silence stretch.

Then finally, "Scully, if you aren't comfortable with me being 
here, I can go for now."

She drew a deep breath and lowered her mug to the counter, still 
cupping its warmth in her hands.  "No," she said simply.

Not a four star welcome, but it ranked above 'Get out'.

He stood quietly and waited.  Because that was what you did with 
Scully if you ever wanted to hear the rest of the story.  Some 
things were never forgotten.

At last she turned his direction and leaned back against the 
counter.  Her sleep tousled hair shadowed half of her face.  The 
dim light above the stove cast deceptive shadows.  But he could 
see the small familiar scar at the top of her cheekbone, the tiny 
flaw in the center of her eyebrow.  Two years was such a very 
long time without tangible details for the senses.

"Mulder, it's not that, it's just..." she trailed off, her brow 
drawing in, tension clouding her face.  "Mulder this is so huge.  
Do you have any idea...?  So much has happened since you left, 
and to try to work back through all of that in a matter of hours, 
to try to rearrange my entire conception of the course of my life 
these past two years, it's just...Mulder, I'm still working on 
the simple fact that you're alive.  That you're here.  That 
you...*did* this."

She looked at him with her final statement, her blue eyes 
piercing through the shadows, and the nuance of her voice shifted 
ever so slightly.  He felt the pricks of ice.

There was so much she needed to hear.  So much he needed to say.  
Her sharp little mind could work so quickly.  He didn't want her 
to puzzle things out too thoroughly before she had all the facts.

"Scully, I know how hard this must be for you--"

But she closed her eyes, jaw tightening.

"I can *imagine* how hard...

She reached back and propped the heels of her hands on the 
counter, focused on the floor.  Her voice chilled his blood.  
"How the hell could you do this?"  She ran her tongue over the 
corner of her mouth, looked to the side, lids heavy.  He had 
rarely seen her this angry, this hard.  The intensity of emotion, 
so quick to the surface, shocked him.  She shook her head, spoke 
under her breath.  "*Fuck.*"

*Jesus Christ.  Mark that on your calendar, ladies and gentleman.  
I, Fox Mulder, have finally pissed off Dana Scully beyond all 
rational belief.  Where the hell do I go from that?*

"Scully, listen to me.  There's a lot you don't know yet.  I 
understand why you're angry.  But, we made so many choices in our 
time together on the X-files.  Our lives were about the work.  
Always, the work.  Anything else was secondary, be that right or 
wrong, for years we--"

"Mulder, don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't...talk."

"I thought you wanted to hear--"

"It's three o'clock in the morning, Mulder.  I just...I came out 
here to get some tea and some fresh air.  I have to get up in the 
morning."

"It's Saturday."

"I have to go in to the lab at Quantico for a couple of hours."

They stood in silence, the air electric.  The soft buzz of the 
baby monitor seemed disproportionately loud.  Christopher 
snuffled, sighed.  The refrigerator cycled and hummed.

"I came out here to get some fresh air," Scully repeated, 
glancing toward the patio doors.

She picked up the baby monitor and her tea mug.  "You 
could...join me.  If you want."

The invitation was unexpected to say the least.  But he nodded, 
his gaze never leaving her shadowed countenance.  "I'd like 
that."

Scully cringed at his response.  Pained at the distance between 
them?  He could only hope.

He followed her in silence.

*****

Stepping onto the balcony was like stepping into another world.  
The night was so beautiful, soft and warm.  The wind caressed her 
throat and cheeks like comforting fingers.  Soothed her fiery 
nerves.  The sound of the water from the fountain carried through 
the greenery on the gentle wind.

Scully set the baby monitor on the small glass drink table, 
carried the mug with her to the wide railing.

Mulder stepped up beside her, a careful distance away.  Every 
move they had made in the past eleven hours had been careful.  
Once upon a time, they had religiously respected one another's 
boundaries, but they had moved with ease and confidence within 
them.  In moments it was easy to forget why they couldn't do that 
anymore.  It was always an effort to stay angry with Mulder.  No 
matter how legitimate the motive, no matter how righteous her 
indignation, it was hard not to fall back into being "Mulder and 
Scully".  She had given in far too many times to that force of 
nature.  But Mulder had crossed a line.  There was no surrender 
here.  Some betrayals could not be buried or forgotten.  If only 
his touch didn't feel so good.  So damn good.  He still used the 
same aftershave.  *Mulder, touch my hair.  Please.  Ask me if I'm 
okay?  Ask...*

"Thanks for giving me a place to crash."

She gazed out over the flickering leaves in the night garden.  
"Yeah, well...I had a feeling the 'alternative option' you spoke 
of was the Gunmen's place.  And I have slept on that couch."

She caught Mulder's smile out of the corner of her eye.  
*'There's a Michael Jackson joke in here somewhere, but I can't 
quite find it.'*  "When did *you* sleep on their couch?"

Her expression sobered a bit.  The wind pushed back her hair and 
she let her lids fall half closed.  "You've been gone a long 
time."

Mulder just nodded, bending to her mood.

Scully stretched her neck, turned her face to the sky and let the 
wind soothe her throat.  "So many stars tonight," she said.  "I 
haven't seen them in so long.  Haven't had a moment to look."

Mulder tilted his head to share her view.  "Me either, now that 
you mention it.  Guess I forgot about my 'watch the skies' 
philosophy for a while."

"I used to look all the time," Scully went on.  "You and I...we 
were always finding ourselves in the middle of nowhere, away from 
city lights.  And there were always *so many stars*.  I would 
just stand, entranced.  Like any proper city girl would be."

She saw Mulder in her peripheral vision.  Saw the hint of a 
smile.  He turned his focus from the sky to her profile.  
Listening.  Nodding.

"I remember going out to the vending machines for a soda, outside 
our motel rooms, and just being drawn out into the shadows, to 
gaze up at the stars."  She paused a moment, soaking in the view.  
Mulder maintained his focus on her.

"You caught me once.  You came out for a snack, too, and you 
found me...star-gazing."

She chanced a real glance Mulder's direction, and found him deep 
in memory, profoundly struck by her words.

"I remember that," he breathed, hovering in the past moment.  "We 
sat on the grass and watched them together."

Scully narrowed her eyes.  "We did."

They locked gazes, a million unspoken thoughts crackling in the 
night air.  But for the brief moment, they were Mulder and Scully 
again.  He was her Mulder, not the half stranger who had appeared 
at the door to her new life.  But the man with the soft boyish 
smile and the kind eyes that spoke of a thousand hurts; who had 
been at her side for seven years whenever she reached out a hand.  
The man with aliens in his nightmares and a secret fear of fire.  
The man she had followed on nothing but gut instinct and a 
nagging sensation that she had finally found somewhere she could 
belong.  Mulder and Scully, out in the night together.

"Mulder.  I have to know where you were.  Why you left."

She saw his throat tighten as he swallowed, but he didn't break 
their eye contact.  "I want to tell you.  I've wanted to tell you 
for two years now.  I'd lie awake at night wanting to tell you."

*I'd lie awake at night wondering how much you suffered when you 
died.  If you were alone.  If you wanted me.*

She didn't speak.

"Not tonight," Mulder whispered.  "You're tired." He reached out 
his hand and ever so delicately smoothed her hair behind her 
shoulder.  Every muscle in her stiffened beneath his touch.  
Without warning, she was a breath away from crying.

Mulder dropped his hand, and Scully lowered her gaze.  Time 
seemed to stop.

Scully broke the spell.  She turned away and picked up her 
things.  "We should both sleep."

Mulder played along.  "Yeah.  You go on.  I'll be in in a few 
minutes."

Scully slipped past him, pulling back the screen door.  She 
stopped on the threshold, turning back to face him.  She 
commanded his attention.  "Mulder?  That ear infection you had 
when you were a kid, the one that made your ear so sensitive?"

"Yeah?"

"Which ear was that?"

"My right."

Scully swallowed hard.  She kept her eyes on the wooden planks at 
his feet.  "Your right.  Yeah."  She withdrew into the shelter of 
her apartment.


*****

(End Chapter 17a.  Continued in 17b...)
Feedback.  Oh, yeah. - bstrbabs@earthlink.net