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 19


"I really don't mind what happens now and then.  As long as 
you'll be my friend in the end."
--Three Doors Down, "Kryptonite"


*My sister disappeared one clear autumn night in 1973.  Vanished 
from my life, taking with her the last flickering hope of 
childhood my encroaching adolescence had left me to keep; the 
little flame inside that believes in faeries who take cookies 
from your doorstep when you sleep, in Santa Claus and his merry 
elves, and that when you wake in the morning to the nudge of your 
mother's gentle hand--everything will be all right.  My sister 
took that with her.  Or so I thought.  My loyalty in the search 
for my sister was real.  But maybe one of the reasons my passion 
for her cause has so overrun my life, sprang from the need to 
hold on to more than my sister.  The need to hold on to the 
innocence she represented.  The seed of belief I thought lost.  
And then one day, an arrogant red-head walked into my life.  And 
we ran through fields beneath the stars.  And we chased after 
phantoms.  We banded together against an invisible enemy, and we 
touched the edges of death and pulled one another back.  We 
laughed in a rainstorm and we held each other in the snow.  And 
one day they hurt her.  And she silently reached out for me with 
the wide-eyed pain of a child.  And she bounced back into the 
fight with the fury and power of a woman.  And for years I 
struggled to make her believe.  And in the end...she gave me back 
my belief.  In everything.*



Scully nearly fell asleep before she finished changing into her 
pajamas.  Exhaustion was taking her.  Her muscles were shaky.  
She would grip her toothbrush, thinking she had it solidly in 
hand, and flip it into the sink.  She needed to lie down.  Close 
her eyes.  Let go.  Her skin welcomed the soft silk of her 
pajamas.  She longed for the soft cotton of her sheets.

The guest bed was still made up for Mulder.  He settled in as if 
there had been no night away.

Strange that he had never lived under her roof before, and now, 
after so much time apart, it seemed...expected.  Like staying in 
the same motel.  Maybe they needed to make up for so many hours 
outside one another's space.

Scully moved through the nightly rounds, checking doors and 
locks, turning off lights, setting the thermostat.  On her path 
to her room, Scully stopped by the den and tossed Michaels' X-
File onto the daybed, beside Mulder's ribcage.  He startled at 
the landing and looked up from the magazine in his hand.  She 
recognized one of Daniel's photography journals.  "What's this?" 
Mulder asked, eyeing the file.

Scully leaned heavily on the door casing.  "It's a case file.  
Look it over for Michaels, would you?  I think there's something 
there.  I'd like your opinion."

Mulder's eyebrows lifted, something like genuine amusement 
crossing his countenance.  And something else.  "An X-File?  
You're handing me an X-File?"

She ran her tongue over the corner of her mouth, shook her head 
tersely.  "I don't know.  Maybe not.  But I think...," she drew a 
deep breath, "I think it could use a second opinion."

Mulder nodded, his eyes narrowing.  His gaze was boring into her, 
searching for the thoughts behind her words.  She met him head-on 
for a moment, her own gaze steady and even, made stronger by the 
lethargy and unfettered honesty born in exhaustion.  The 
apartment was comfortingly quiet.  Different from the agonizing 
silence of a few hours ago.

She pushed off the door casing.  "Good night, Mulder."  His words 
followed her down the hall.  "Good night.  Scully."

Scully pushed her door nearly closed.  She left a crack.  She 
settled into bed and turned out the light.  She listened to the 
sound of Christopher's breath.  She strained in the quiet for a 
sound beyond her room.  She felt the ghost of his arms around 
her, his mouth in her hair, the scent of his skin.

She lay in the dark, and almost...almost...asked him to sleep 
beside her.


*****


*Her back hurt, shoulder wrenched and the skin of her wrists raw.

"Bitch.  Stop fighting."

His filth was all over her.  She would never wash him off of her 
skin, out of her hair.

"Your boyfriend's dead already."

*DANIEL!!*

Her forearms ached from the pull across the floor.  And for a 
moment, she was in her thin pajamas and dragging over broken 
glass with Donnie Pfaster in the next room and a hard cotton gag 
pulling at her mouth.  But then she was under her dining room 
table again with blood on her silk blouse and a killer on her 
back.

"Don't you understand?  Don't you get it?  You, out of all of 
them...  *They're coming!*.  And they put that *thing* inside 
you, under you skin.  So they can control you.  So they can use 
you and make you a fucking slave for their Nazi take-over.  Don't 
you get it?  They already own you!  You're one of them!"

The knife was pressing her vein.*

She gasped for breath.

*Jesus*.  Scully sat up in the darkness.  Switched on the dim 
bedside lamp and pushed back her hair.  *Breathe.  1, 2, 3...*  
Dreaming.  Just dreaming.  It had been a while...

Christopher murmured in his sleep, disturbed by the movement and 
light.  She squinted at the clock on the nightstand.  2:30.  He 
would wake up to nurse soon.  Her skin was covered in cold sweat, 
her silk pajamas clinging miserably to her skin, carrying 
memories of childhood fevers and the nauseating smell of cough 
syrup.  Her heart raced.  Scully reached to her nightstand for 
her glass of water.  It was uninvitingly warm, but she drank it 
down.

She twisted her wrist, habitually stretching the scarred and 
tight skin, shook it off with a snap of her hand.  Her cheeks 
were flushed.  Scully pushed back the covers and crossed to 
Christopher's crib.  He was spread out on his back, blanket 
kicked away, and skinny little bare legs glowing softly in the 
moonlight.  His face was turned toward her, perfect mouth 
slightly open, cheeks smooth and peaceful.  His chest rose and 
fell in even rhythm.  No such horrors plagued his gentle dreams.  
She would give the world to keep it that way.  She leaned her 
arms on the side rail and watched him for a while, keeping the 
time of his breaths, studying every detail of his still form; the 
set of his eyes, the feather fringe of his lashes, the little 
dimple at the base of his chin.  His tiny fingers curled around 
the corner of the crib bumper.  When she was certain he was 
sleeping soundly and wouldn't wake in the next few minutes, 
Scully crossed to the bathroom and closed the door.

She turned on the shower water and let it warm the room while she 
twisted her hair up into a clip.  Letting her sweat dampened 
pajamas fall to the floor, Scully stepped into the shower.  The 
water was both cleansing and calming.  She rarely had the chance 
to relish her time in the shower these days.  She was either 
rushing off to work, or hurrying back to Christopher.  She missed 
the leisurely baths of her former life, treasured relaxation 
rituals on the nights her work had left her alone.  Candles and 
scented beads.  Lotion and silk afterward.  Now, the candles were 
locked away, out of reach of grasping fingers, and the leisure 
time alone had become nonexistent.

Scully let the water pound on the taut muscles of her back and 
shoulders, not caring when the fine spray peppered the curls at 
the back of her neck.   After a while she was able to close her 
eyes without the images of her dream instantly rising behind her 
lids.

She shut off the water, and wrapped herself in her thickest, 
thirstiest towel.  By the time she had donned fresh pajamas and 
her pink velour robe, Christopher was wiggling and mumbling and 
working his way up to yelling for her.

Scully lifted his warm sleeping weight into her arms and settled 
them into the rocker beside her bed.

Christopher didn't nurse long before sleep took him once again.  
She sat rocking him, waiting until he was in soundest slumber 
before attempting a move.

Mulder's door creaked in the hall.  Scully looked up just in time 
to see a flash of movement as he crossed to the bathroom.  She 
waited it out, and a few minutes later, he moved more slowly the 
other direction.

She called out to him in a muted whisper.  "Mulder.  Mulder!"

He turned, sleepily surprised and squinted into the pale, warm 
light in her room.

"Scully!"

"Ssshhh."  She nodded toward Christopher sleeping in her arms.

Mulder winced and took a step inside the room.  "Sorry," he 
whispered.  "What are you doing awake?"

She half smiled.  "Being a Mom."

Mulder's eyes smiled in return, but he looked awkward, lost.  All 
long arms and legs in his sweats and time-worn tee.  A man 
displaced.  She gestured to him with her free arm.  "Come in."

He crept forward, lowered himself to sit on the floor at her 
feet, one long arm resting on raised knee.  "Did he just fall 
back asleep?" he whispered, gazing at Christopher's contented 
expression.

"Mm-hmm.  I'm waiting until I can put him back to bed."

They were quiet.  Mulder reached out with an impressively tender 
touch and lifted the baby blanket over Christopher's bare arm.

"What are you doing up?" Scully asked.

He shrugged.  "Bathroom."

But there was more.  She waited him out, quietly studying him, 
rocking Christopher, until Mulder felt her diligent probe.

"Not so great dreams."

Scully swallowed.  "What about?"

But he shook his head and said simply and falsely, "I don't 
remember."

"What happened to that impeccable profiler's memory of yours?"

"You didn't think it was so impeccable all those times I missed 
your birthday."

Scully smiled.  "You have a point."

And for a moment, their eyes met, and despite his evasive 
replies, the shared humor did more to sooth her than an hour of 
hot water could have.

"Did I hear the shower running a little while ago?"

She pulled back, looked away.  "Yeah, that was me."

He lifted his eyebrows in question.

"Just needed to freshen up," she said, the evasion like a 
presence in the air.

Mulder looked injured, but did not pry.  Which was good.  And 
hurt.

She turned her attention back to Christopher, drawn into his 
precious quiet, unable to keep the overwhelming love from writing 
itself plain as print on her face.  She saw Mulder taking it all 
in, feeling the warmth between mother and child, and he turned 
his attention to the sleeping boy.

"How did this happen, Scully?" he asked in hoarse wonder.  "I 
mean...you're a *mother*.  You're doing it.  You're raising a 
child.  After all that we went through..."

Scully offered a jaded smile, eyes heavy.  "I know.  It's hard to 
believe, some days.  Even for me.  And now I'm a single mother, 
and..."

Mulder sobered.  "That must be pretty scary, sometimes."

"Sometimes?" she questioned, toying with a smile, and Mulder 
almost laughed, surprised by her openness.  She never tired of 
that spark in his eyes.  *"I'll always keep you guessing."*

"It looks like you're doing fine to me, Scully.  I'd say this is 
one lucky little boy sleeping here."

"I hope so," she said softly, eyes back to her son.

The silence between them was comfortable.  The way it used to be.  
She didn't want to let go.

"Scully?"

"Hmm?"

"Can we...I mean..." he cleared his throat and tried again.  She 
felt the depth of his words and looked up to give him her full 
attention.  "I want to take you out tomorrow night.  Just for 
dinner.  After Christopher is asleep, if you can find someone to 
watch him...  And I don't want to talk about the vaccine.  I 
don't want to talk about abductees or chips or government 
conspiracies or X-files or covert research facilities.  I 
just...I want to know how you've been.  And...I want to tell you 
some bad jokes, because I imagine you've been kind of short on 
them lately, and I've had plenty of time to develop a new 
repertoire and very few people to test them on."

Scully's breath lodged in her throat.  She forced the air through 
her lungs, watched the tense creases flicker around Mulder's 
eyes.  "I'll, uh...I'll ask Ashleigh if she can come by.  She's 
taking a fairly heavy class load, so she can usually just bring 
her homework over here."

"Good."

They held each other's gazes for a long silent moment.  Then 
Scully lifted Christopher, Mulder steadying her as she rose to 
her feet, and with practiced skill, she lowered his sleeping 
figure into the crib.  She kissed her son's warm forehead, and 
Mulder touched a hand to Christopher's blanketed stomach before 
he turned.  His hand deliberately brushed Scully's as he moved 
away.  She kept her hands on the crib rail, grip tight and eyes 
closed as she listened to his padding footsteps retreating to the 
guest room.


*****


Mulder ducked out the door just ahead of Scully, not wanting to 
slow down the morning frenzy any more than necessary.  The nanny 
had arrived, and Scully was heavily entrenched in exchanging the 
vital baby information while finding all the paperwork she had 
ignored throughout the weekend and transforming from sleepy 
morning Scully into the slick professional doctor she showed the 
rest of the world.

The sun was pushing its way through the morning clouds and might 
yet win out.  Mulder stepped up to the curb outside Scully's 
building, fishing his rental car key out of his pocket.  He 
scanned the street as he dug into his pocket, catching the single 
key between his fingers.

Across the street a familiar face rose from the driver's seat of 
a red Hyundai.

Mulder pushed back his coat tails and propped his hands on his 
hips, squinting in the sun as his friend approached.

"Hey, Mulder.  Glad I caught you," Frohike said as he rounded the 
car.

"Melvin Frohike appearing in the daylight twice in one week.  The 
earth must have shifted off its axis."

"Very funny.  I burn easily.  I was just stopping by with the 
rest of that paperwork we put together for you."

"And about my car....?"

"Byers is on it.  He got himself a rental this morning, so he 
should be able to get yours back to you today.  He's almost 
talked his guy down to a decent price on that Honda he's had his 
eye on, so he should back in business in no time."

"Good to know."

"Oh, and a file came in from your source."  Frohike held out a 
stack of papers stuffed into two manila envelopes.  "Did you 
request something?"

Mulder nodded tersely.  "Yeah,  I sent word last night.  I didn't 
expect such a prompt response."

"Came in around 5am.  Several pages."

Mulder was already scanning through the top pages.  "Thank you.  
Much obliged," he said, feigning his best John Wayne.

"So, how goes the job hunt?"

Mulder winced, wrinkled his mouth and closed the folder.  "I'll 
get back to you after I see who I can suck up to today.  All this 
kneeling is gonna be rough on my dry-cleaning bill."

Frohike clicked his tongue.  "You buck the system, you pay the 
price, my friend."  Then, more kindly.  "Best of luck to you 
today."

Mulder gave a small smile and nodded.  "Hey, whatever happened to 
your second source of income--that book Byers was finishing up 
when I left, the one about the cow conspiracy of '65?  He ever 
try to get that published?"

"Oh, he tried.  But you of all people should know that the 
establishment would never--"  but he broke off, catching sight of 
something over Mulder's shoulder.

Mulder turned to see Scully emerging from the front door of her 
apartment building, briefcase over her shoulder and folders in 
her arms.  Her auburn hair shone bronze and brilliant in the ever 
increasing sun.  She was walking briskly, thoughts intent upon 
her own destination, already in her professional mindset.  She 
was passing within a few feet before she glanced up and 
registered the two familiar figures on her street. 

"Dana!  Good to see you, how are--" but Frohike broke off.

Mulder's stomach clenched as he watched.  He saw Scully look 
over.  Saw her sharp blue eyes focus directly on Frohike, 
register his presence.  Knew she was well within earshot to hear 
the friendship and warmth in his words.  But her gaze shifted in 
less than a second, back to her task, back to the road ahead.  
She never missed a step on the path to her car.

Frohike's solemn gaze followed her across the road to her car.

"Scully...Scully!" Mulder called, but his voice was flat, knowing 
she wouldn't respond to his plea.

Frohike held on with sad eyes as Scully ducked into her car.  
When she closed the door, his gaze fell to the concrete.

The silence was like a cold wind.

"She'll come around," Mulder said at last.

But Frohike closed him off with a firm shake of his head.  "No.  
And if she does, she shouldn't."  He looked up with false 
bravado, pushing the subject aside.  "Good to see you man.  I'll 
get on Byers' ass about your car ASAP."

"Frohike, she just--"

"Expected her friends to tell her the truth when it counted."

Mulder's hands fell to his sides.  Nothing to say, nothing to do.

Frohike offered a small nod of understanding.  Then, he walked 
back to his car.

Scully was gone.

Mulder climbed into his own car-of-the-hour and rested the heels 
of his hands on the wheel.  He closed his eyes and thudded his 
palm against the unforgiving hand grip.  *Dammit.  Dammit.*


*****

(End of Chapter 19.  Continued in 20a...)
My mailbox is always hungry -- bstrbabs@earthlink.net