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: A few people were somewhat thrown by the "ear 
infection" comment in chapter 17a.  If you were one of those 
people, go re-read the opening paragraph of Chapter 7a.  My 
fault, I know...it's been quite a while since that one was first 
posted...:)

 


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


Chapter 17b



Gannon Michaels tapped his foot impatiently on the elevator floor 
as he watched the lighted numbers above the door slink their way 
toward three.  He glanced again at his watch.  Nine.  Scully had 
said she would be out at Quantico by nine.  Which meant he had 
about ten minutes until the latest she could leave and still make 
that goal.  He really wanted to catch her before she took off.

Granted, he could have called.  Could have sent her the autopsy 
photos by fax or email.  Could have asked her from the comfort of 
his office whether she thought the body really could have been 
decapitated by that tree branch, or if there was some weird truth 
to the local legend of an Ax-Wielding Witch flying by on her 
broomstick every seventh full moon.

But he had learned a few things about Dana Scully in the time 
they had worked together.  One of those gems of knowledge: there 
was often far more information in her silences than in her words.  
Those silences didn't transfer well over a phone.  If he wanted 
to squeeze every last drop of knowledge out of Dana, he needed to 
be eye to eye.  And despite its surface absurdity, something was 
telling Michaels this case had meat behind it.  And he was the 
only one paying enough attention to try to dig it out.

The elevator bell finally signaled his arrival, and it seemed at 
least a full minute before the doors slid open.  He shot out when 
there was barely room for the width of his chest, and charged 
down the hall, boots thunking dully on the heavy carpeting.  He 
slid to a halt at number 3370.

His thumb hit the doorbell even as his feet hit the doormat.

He heard Christopher's bright little voice from somewhere in the 
depths of the apartment.  Footsteps not far away, but that could 
have been the nanny.  A moment later the door swung open to 
reveal the woman who had once greeted him each workday.  She was 
in full uniform, pressed blue suit and black heels.  Not a hair 
out of place, make-up slick and subtle; single pearl earrings 
that reminded him of a pair he had once bought his wife.  He 
wondered if someone had bought those for Dana.

"Hey, I'm glad I caught you," he said with a smile.

Dana returned his smile with a subtle sideways grin, which, for 
her, was really a lot.  The warmth between them was still subtle, 
reserved, but easier now than it had once been, and certainly 
more frequent.  Motherhood could go a long way to soften a 
woman's exterior.  Especially, when she was speaking to an 
experienced and enthusiastic father.  But widowhood had dropped a 
lot of walls back into their accustomed place between Dana and 
the world.  Unfortunately, Michaels had found himself on the 
outside of those walls a time or two.  He couldn't blame her.  
Not with what she had suffered.

"Hello," she said, slyly playful.  "Did I used to work with 
someone who looks like you?"

"You might have."

"And didn't I transfer into a department where I no *longer* work 
with someone who looks like you?"

"You might have."

"Didn't I just see you about two nights ago?"

"I'm not sayin'."

Her half-smile softened into something more genuine.  "I’m almost 
out the door.  What do you need?"

He held out a file folder.  "Decapitation.  I don't like it."

She stared at him for a moment.  "Good...?" she said, cautiously 
taking the folder.

"I mean, I don't like the case.  Seems too cut and dried.  Well, 
now that's just wrong.  I mean cut...  I need to know if there's 
something here."

Scully nodded, flipping open the folder, but only for a cursory 
glance.  "Can I get back to you this afternoon?  I really am 
running late, but I can look it over while I'm at work this 
morning, get back to you by noon?"

"No problem."

"I'll call you.  Are you home today or in the office?"

"Both.  My boy's got a soccer game this morning I don't want to 
miss, but after that I'm putting in some work time.  Backlog like 
you wouldn't believe."

"Yeah, actually, I would."

He smiled.  "Yeah, I suppose you would.  But, then again, maybe 
when you were in there--" but he broke off as his focus was drawn 
by a flicker of movement in the apartment over Scully's shoulder.  
On the far side of the living room, near the entrance to the 
kitchen, stood a man.  A man, whom, at first glance, he did not 
know.  The man stood, in black jeans, and a T-shirt, one hand on 
his hip, hanging back, yet gazing surreptitiously in their 
direction.  Gannon stared a moment longer, not wanting to be 
rude, sensing Scully's awareness of his distraction, yet unable 
to shake the notion that--no.  NO.  That just wasn't possible.

He kept his gaze on the figure in the background.  "Agent 
Waterston?" he said evenly.

Scully kept her hand resting casually on the doorknob, posture 
relaxed, but she was no longer welcoming eye contact.  "Yeah?"

"Who am I lookin' at?"

Scully drew a slow breath through her nose, then took a step 
back, pushing the door fully open as she moved.  She swung out a 
hand toward the figure behind her.  "Gannon?  Meet Fox Mulder.  
Mulder...Agent Gannon Michaels."  She didn't look at either of 
them.

Michaels almost fell off the doormat.  He looked hard at Dana, 
but she wasn't biting, her gaze locked on the floor.  The man 
behind her stepped forward with broad, confident strides, hand 
outstretched, brow furrowed.  Michaels took his hand.  Firm 
handshake.  Long, confident fingers, circling his contrastingly 
thick hands.  "Agent Michaels," the man said.  Deep voice.

"Pleased to meet you," Michaels responded, reciting on rote.  He 
saw Scully shift uncomfortably, swallow hard.

"Have you worked with Scully?" the man she called Mulder asked.

"I did for a while.  Hell of a good Agent."

"Best there is.  So, what department are you in now?"

But Scully answered for him.  "Mulder, Agent Michaels is...well, 
he's you.  He is, now, the head of the X-Files."

Mulder stared at him, eyes narrowing, a look of wonder glossing 
his expression.  "Really.  Now that is interesting.  I would like 
to have a talk with you sometime, Agent Michaels."

"I would like that myself.  We should do lunch.  Now, if you'll 
excuse me...,"  he turned to face Dana, "could I speak with you 
in the hall for a minute?"

"Yeah," Scully said, voice almost a whisper.  She glanced briefly 
toward Mulder, made solid eye contact, and Michaels saw the 
lightning silent communication.  Hot damn.  This was Mulder.  
Holy fuck.  This was *Mulder*.

Scully brushed past Michaels and out the door, letting it swing 
half closed behind her.

Michaels followed her a few feet down the hall and circled until 
they were face to face.  "Dana?"

He waited for real eye contact.  Didn't get it.  "Yeah?"

"Dana, look at me."  Got it.  He lifted his eyebrows and shrugged 
his shoulders, asking the obvious question.

Her left lid fluttered, and she folded her arms across her chest.  
"Yeah," she whispered.  "I looked about like you do now around 
five o'clock yesterday afternoon."

"You're telling me that's really Mulder in there.  *Mulder*.  
Mulder is alive."

She arched her eyebrow, nodded.  "Apparently," she said, her 
voice hoarse.

"What the--Dana, I don't know what the hell to say to that.  
Where the hell has he been?  I--did you know?  You didn't...you 
didn't know all along...?"

She shook her head.  "No.  No.  I wouldn't...," but the thought 
faded unfinished, and he couldn't even guess where the rest of 
her sentence would have gone.  "I'm less than twenty-four hours 
ahead of you, here."

And the shakiness in her voice, the whisper of vulnerability, 
turned his attentions from the shock of the situation, the 
logistics, to the impact on the woman standing before him.  He 
drew a few controlled breaths, combed his fingers back through 
his hair.  "Is he okay?" he asked, voice warming.

She nodded slowly.  "I think so.  He seems fine."

"I know you don't need me to ask this, but you're...you're 
*certain* that's really Mulder in there?"

Dana's eyes slipped closed.  "I'm certain.  It never occurred to 
me when I first saw him, either, but now...it's Mulder."

"My God..."

He let that information soak into his bones for a long minute.  
Then he realized Dana was shaking, and Michaels reached out a 
hand and cupped it to her elbow.  She stiffened, but didn't pull 
away.  "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

She gave a soft exhale that held a trace of pained laughter.  "I 
have...*no* idea," she said openly, tears hazing her eyes.

"Jesus, Dana.  I don't even know whether to give congratulations 
or condolences.  I'm really not prepared for this occasion."

This time she did give a hint of a genuine smile, but her eyes 
were still wet.  A rare thing in the world--seeing Dana on the 
verge of tears.

"I'm gonna call you later," he said firmly, hand still holding 
her elbow.

Dana nodded.  "Yeah."

"I just, I want to know...  Just take care of yourself, all 
right, and keep me updated?"

"I will.  Thank you.  I, uh...I need to get to work."  She was 
gathering her strengths, re-engaging her professional persona.  
But the arm muscles beneath his fingers were still quivering.

"All right."

"I'll look at that X-File as soon as I can."

"Take your time.  If there *is* a witch in those woods, she's 
been there for a century, she'll be there tomorrow."

"Hey, what the hell, maybe Mulder will look at it for you.  You 
could have the real thing."

"I think I've had the real thing all along."

She only closed her eyes and turned back toward her apartment.

*Mulder.*  The things that can pop into your Saturday morning.  
Boy, was Amanda going to love this one.


*****


When she stepped back into the apartment, the first thing she saw 
was Christopher in Mulder's arms.  The two of them looked up at 
her in unison, Mulder's expression sheepish, hesitant.  Scully 
was surprised how forcefully the image struck her, and she leaned 
back on the apartment door as she closed it, ostensibly pushing 
it closed.  She stayed there a beat too long, and Mulder tried to 
read her hesitation.

"He--he was looking for you.  I think he was afraid you left 
without telling him.  I just thought I should pick him up.  Is 
that okay?"

*Jesus.*  How the hell had they gone from, "Here, Mulder, trash 
my reputation, finger me as a murderer on my death bed and keep 
yourself out of prison" to "Is it okay that I touched your son?"  
They had to fix this.  This roller coaster of emotions was making 
her nauseous.  But it was his card to play.  His story to tell.  
Until he started clearing pawns off the board, they would remain 
at this stalemate.  "Of course, it's okay," she said softly.  
"Thank you."

She forced herself into motion, crossed the room to where Mulder 
stood.  She gently brushed back Christopher's hair, and he batted 
at her hand.  Then he leaned out toward her, and Mulder passed 
his sweet warmth into her arms.

"So, Agent Michaels was your partner?"

Scully kept her eyes on Christopher.  Mulder's forced casual tone 
almost made her smile in the midst of the tension.  Someone else 
had the X-Files.  She was surprised Mulder's temples weren't 
visibly pulsating.  It had damn near killed *her* to let go of 
the strings, let alone Mulder.  But somewhere deep within, some 
long needy part of her was being quietly stroked.  Mulder had 
been here this many hours--and he hadn't once asked about the 
state of the X-Files.  Only about her.  That had never happened 
before.  *"I needed your medical expertise...Harold Spuller. Oh, 
I'm sorry, I didn't even ask you. What did your doctor say?"*
"Gannon was assigned to the X-Files a few months after you left.  
We worked together until I went on leave."  Mulder listened 
quietly.  After a long pause, Scully turned and looked him in the 
eye.  "He's a good man, Mulder.  It took me a long time to give 
him a chance.  But he stuck it out, despite my lack of a generous 
welcome, and he more than proved he was deserving of my trust.  
He's sharp.  He's honest.  His heart's in the right place.  His 
wife and kids mean the world to him.  And he believes in the 
work."

"Another believer for your skepticism?" Mulder smirked.

"No, actually.  He was more skeptical than I in the beginning.  
But, I could see a bit of the ghost of my former self in him, and 
I think that helped me lead him over to the dark side."

"So...you're saying *you* took over *my* role."

"Not exactly."

Mulder smiled.  But she could see the heavier thoughts behind his 
surface lightness.

"He has a new partner, now," she continued.  "An Agent George 
Brennen.  I don't know him well."

"What does Agent Michaels think of him?"

Scully thought about that before responding.  She kissed 
Christopher's warm skin.  "My impression, is that he thinks 
Brennen is a good agent, but he's still not convinced he's right 
for the X-Files."

"So, he still comes to you for help."

"Yeah.  He does."  They held one another's gazes for a long 
moment, and Scully knew, just *knew* they were back there 
together.  Phone call after phone call, day after day.  Her in 
the lab, Mulder in the field, but in the end nothing the Powers 
That Be could do to keep them apart.  Partners to the end.

Until one of them left.  By choice.

She broke the moment.

"I have to go.  I'm late, I'm meeting a student."  She turned 
away and hefted Christopher higher onto her hip, gathering her 
things ready to go.

"Yeah, I should get moving, too."

She glanced up, surprised at his words.  It hadn't occurred to 
her he had anywhere to go.  Should have, of course.  There were 
probably a thousand things he needed to attend to.  But nothing 
was following traditional logic in her mind right now.  "Where 
are you going?"

"Gotta see a man about a job," he said with an almost sad little 
smile.  "See if I'm going to have a shot at getting myself a 
place to keep my beer anytime soon."

"You said you don't have a cell phone right now.  How can I...?"

"Is your cell number the same?  I should be back before you are."

"No, actually, mine's different.  Daniel and I--we combined ours 
onto a family plan.  I stayed with that service.  Let me write it 
down for you."  She set Christopher down in the boppy pillow 
positioned at the center of a blanket of toys on the dining room 
floor.  She snatched a notepad and pen from the roll-top desk and 
jotted down her number, ripped off the top page and handed it to 
Mulder.

"Thanks," he said, reading the number before he tucked the small 
yellow paper into his jeans pocket.

Scully hesitated, not moving.

"What?" Mulder asked.

"Um...actually, I can give you a phone to use for today."

"A phone?"

She returned to the desk and rolled back the cover.  She took a 
phone matching hers, save for the added leather cover, from one 
of the narrow cubby holes.  "I haven't gotten around to canceling 
Daniel's line.  I kept it for a while, since his patients were 
still calling.  I could have had it forwarded, or left a recorded 
message, but...that was so impersonal...  He only gave the number 
to his critical patients.  No one really calls anymore, I 
just...well...I just hadn't cancelled it," she said, her tone 
giving a finality to the subject.  But she was holding out the 
phone to Mulder and he wasn't taking it.

"Scully, I don't know.  I mean..."  He cringed, looking down at 
her, seeking, imploring.  "It's only a couple of hours..."

Scully moistened her lips, conscious of her lipstick, conscious 
of the ripples and echoes in the room.  Christopher squealed 
delightedly behind her, discovering the world one tiny moment at 
a time.  She propped a hand on her hip, still holding out the 
phone.  "Take it.  Please."

Another beat passed before Mulder's warm fingers caressed her 
palm as he scooped the small metal object into his hand.

"Thanks."
 
"I have to go."

She picked up her things--briefcase, student file folders, breast 
pump case, then stooped to the ground to gather Christopher.  On 
her feet, she pulled open the door; she was a step away from the 
hall, when Mulder's hand settled between her shoulder blades and 
took her breath away.

"Scully?"

"What?"

When she turned, his hazel eyes had darkened, color shifting with 
his mood as it always had.  A few strands of his hair had slipped 
down over his furrowed brow.  She wanted to run her fingers 
through and gather his hair in her hand.  *"...even if George 
Hale only saw elves in his mind, the telescope still got built.*  
But she only looked at him a little impatiently while Christopher 
pulled on her blouse button.

"Scully, you said you were taking Christopher to your mother's.  
Is there any chance she could keep him a couple of extra hours?  
That way...we could talk..."

And she understood almost before he spoke what he meant to talk 
*about*.

Scully swallowed hard.  He was ready to tell her.  Her stomach 
ached from too much adrenaline and too little food.

"I, uh...I'd prefer to have Christopher home, but...if I ask Mom 
to make sure he stays awake this morning, he'll nap for a couple 
of hours when we get home.  That should give us...some time."

Mulder nodded soberly.  "Okay.  I'll see you later, then?"

But she couldn't answer.  It was too much like saying "Goodnight" 
once upon a time.  Too easy to take the next "Good Morning" for 
granted.  She turned and walked away.


*****


Sheets of rain blurred the narrow strip of window at the top of 
her office wall.  Late autumn in Virginia.  Scully sat at her 
desk, trying to focus on the student paper in front of her, on 
the *student* beside her.

"I don't understand.  Dr. Waterston, what exactly did you want 
from this project that I didn't accomplish?"

Scully drew a deep breath, willed her mind into the present.  She 
propped her arm on the desktop, hand at the top of the student's 
paper.  She twirled her wedding diamond absently.  "Josh, I gave 
you an 80 out of a hundred possible points, that's a very solid 
grade.  That grade doesn't indicate any major deficiency on your 
part."

"Dr. Waterston, by some grading scales, that is a 'C'.  I don't 
get 'C's'.  I get 'A's'."

Scully sucked in her cheeks, pursed her lips.  "Josh.  This is 
not like college.  This is the FBI Academy.  A past history of 
academic excellence certainly is helpful, yes.  But this is a 
different kind of education we're offering here.  The emphasis is 
on the practical, the everyday procedures and thought patterns 
that you need to imprint upon your brain.  It's a shock, if 
you've spent much of your life focused on the purely academic 
world.  I suffered some of that shift myself when I first came to 
the Academy.  But the fact is, you may yet lack the hands-on 
experience to get straight 'A's' in this class.  And that's okay.  
This is still early.  You're getting your experience right here.  
That's one reason the final exam weighs so heavily into your 
grade.  By that time, I hope my students have gained much of the 
knowledge and experience they need to excel."

Josh continued to stare at her like she was speaking a foreign 
language.  Apparently, his entire purpose in requesting this 
private conference, had been to find a way to convince her that 
she had made a mistake on his grade.  This was not Josh's lucky 
day.

"Josh.  You wrote a good paper.  You gave me a sample scenario 
that is very much by the book.  But you were lacking in original 
thought.  Innovation, ingenuity.  In the field, ninety percent of 
the situations you will encounter will not be covered in the 
manual.  Trust me on this.  Go home.  Think some more.  Think 
about ways you might have better driven the investigation that 
are not recitations from the rule book."

"Are you suggesting I should deviate from procedure?"

"No.  I'm suggesting you not be a slave to procedure to the point 
of being blinded by it, and that you not fail to fill in where 
the instructions are lacking.  I'm suggesting you take the rules, 
then add the necessary foresight and understanding to apply them 
to a real life situation."

Nope.  Still talking to a blank wall.

She handed back his paper.  "Give it your best shot.  If the next 
paper doesn't get a higher score, come back and we'll talk some 
more."

Josh reluctantly took his leave.  Scully pushed the door closed 
behind him, sat back down, and dropped her head onto her desk.  
Every muscle was exhausted.  The previous night's sleep had been 
anything but restful.

She wondered where Mulder was.  She toyed with the idea of 
calling his cell phone.  But she was absurdly uncomfortable with 
the notion of trying it.  What if he didn't answer?  What if he 
had vanished again?  It was easier to believe he was there on the 
other end of the line if she wanted him.  No doubt he was 
tracking down various higher-ups in the Bureau who owed him 
favors, campaigning to get himself reinstated as a Special Agent.  
Maybe he was seeking out his former VCU connections.

Scully glanced at her watch.  After ten-thirty already.  She 
straightened the stack of papers on her desk and slid them back 
into her briefcase.  Her eye caught the photograph on the corner 
of her desk.  A snapshot of Daniel and herself in the park just 
down the street.  He had stopped by to surprise her for lunch one 
afternoon, brought along a picnic basket.  They had stretched out 
on the grass in the brilliant summer sun, stepping outside their 
everyday lives if only for that short hour, and looking at the 
world through children's eyes.  Daniel had been snapping pictures 
of her as she tried to duck his persistent lens.  But, in truth 
he had been a good photographer.  He had dabbled in amateur 
photography, taken classes over the years.  He had taken one 
black and white portrait of her that was the only picture of 
herself she truly loved.  Thoughtful, hair blowing in the wind.  
He had captured something, something of the woman she hoped she 
was that she had never seen in the Polaroid snaps at family 
parties and national monuments.  But this photo on her desk; for 
this one, Daniel had grabbed a young man passing on a skateboard, 
and ask him to snap the picture of the two of them.  The boy had 
been very friendly, very willing to help.  He had snapped two or 
three shots of them before moving on, one of those the picture 
she now held in her fingers.

They sat in the grass, Daniel with one knee casually raised, she 
half lying across his lap, and both of them smiling.

And when she remembered Daniel, there were two moments she most 
loved to conjure.  One on the bridge the night they had first 
kissed again.  The smell of his cologne, the feel of his breath, 
the warmth of his body, the shelter of his arms, the strength of 
his profile in the shadows.  *"Keep me warm."*  The other moment 
lay captured in this photograph.  His thinning hair tousled in 
the wind, his smile reckless and joyful, like the boy he had once 
been who had loved to ride horses and steal his sister's 
barrettes and hide them in the flour canister.  The boy who had 
believed he would always be loved, and that he would never fail 
the woman he adored.  All of it untainted.  She had felt 
beautiful, being the one to let him recapture that slice of 
innocence, if only for a moment.

*God, Daniel.  I miss you so much...*

Scully set down the photograph, and picked up her briefcase.  The 
remainder of the grades could be entered on Monday morning.  She 
would come in early if she had to, finish the computer work 
before her first class.  Right now, she needed to pick up her 
son.  She needed to go home.

*Mulder.  Please be there when I get home.*


*****

End of Chapter 17b.  (Continued in 17c...)

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