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 20a


"Many miles, many roads I have traveled 
Fallen down along the way 
Many hearts, many years have unraveled 
Leading up to today"
--Madonna, "I Deserve It"



**About six months ago, I walked past someone in a crowded subway 
who was wearing your perfume.  My eyes filled with tears before 
my mind even consciously placed the source of the memory.  I 
missed my stop that day.  I was late for work.  Scully...**



Mulder vanished while Scully spent some evening time with her 
son, settled him for the night.

Mulder was running out of clothes.  And now that he had a 
functioning credit card and a few minutes to himself, he decided 
on a brief run to the mall.  Clothes shopping was not his 
favorite pastime.  In fact, it numbered shockingly low on the 
list.  But he was determined to take Scully to dinner in 
something other than the same pair of jeans she had seen him in 
for days.

You could learn a lot about a neighborhood from the caliber of 
stores fortifying its local mall.  Judging from the price tags 
now sliding through his indecisive fingers, Scully was doing all 
right.  Apparently, Daniel had had more in his portfolio than a 
piddling anonymous nest egg managed by three morons with an 
underground newspaper.  Mulder had known what it was to live this 
way once upon a time.  Life on the Vineyard seemed a century ago.

He needed his job back.

Mulder settled on the largest of the department stores and 
entrenched himself in the men's department, struggling to avoid 
the attentions of the far too young and slightly pudgy brunette 
working the counter outside the dressing room.

After far too much time in and out of the dressing room, he made 
his way to the counter with two pairs of slacks, a pair of jeans, 
two dress shirts, a tie covered in little grey alien heads (he 
had to give them props for avoiding green) and two long-sleeved 
mock turtlenecks.

It felt strange to be shopping for himself again.  To be dressing 
to his own choice of style, his own identity; not that of the 
alternate persona he had inhabited for the past two years.  He 
was Fox Mulder again.  Back in his own skin, his own clothes, his 
own car.  He felt strange just hearing the name "Mr. Mulder" 
falling so readily from the pudgy brunette's over-glossed lips as 
she rang up his purchase.

Maybe Mulder wasn't quite the loser he remembered.  It felt 
surprisingly good to be him again.

The sun had set and the parking lot opened up while he shopped.  
Mulder was halfway down the aisle to the car when his new pants 
started playing Vivaldi's Four Seasons.  The late Dr. Waterston 
had apparently been a classical music fan.

With some hesitation, Mulder flipped open the cell phone to 
reveal the lighted screen.  Above the string of numbers glowed a 
single word--"Home".

Someone else's home.

Yet the voice he knew would be on the other end of the line--for 
too long he had assumed that voice belonged to him.

"Mulder."

"Hey, it's me."

"Hey."

"Where you at?"

"Heading for my car.  Just had some shopping to do.  How about 
you?"

"Christopher's finally sleeping.  Want to get some dinner?"

"I'm on my way."

He snapped the phone closed and dropped it into his pocket.  He 
opened his car and tossed his shopping bags onto the back seat.  
He tried not to analyze why he was nervous about dinner with 
Scully.  It had once been the easiest thing in the world.


*****


She was waiting for him beside the curb, looking vintage Scully.  
Black slacks and a white blouse, long black coat hanging open in 
the wind, three inch heels disguising her height.  Squinting in 
the glare of the fluorescent street lamp, unaware of his 
approach, and looking like someone you wouldn't dare cross in a 
dark alley.

He pulled up to the curb and she offered a small smile as she 
crossed to his car and climbed inside.  "Hey," she said softly.  
Her gaze scoped the length of his figure, taking in the new mock-
turtleneck and slacks.  "Nice threads," she said, the corners of 
her mouth twitching slightly to temper her gentle teasing.

"Why thank you.  Might I say the same of you."

"You saw this outfit this morning."

He nodded.  "And it looked good then, too."

The twitch spread into a genuine smile.  And he nearly lost his 
breath.  He could count on one hand the number of those he had 
seen since his return.  Nothing warmed him like a Scully-smile.

"Little Uber-Scully out for the night?"

"For a while, I'd say.  He was tired.  Just didn't want to give 
up for the night.  Thank God for breast milk."

He had been about to pull away from the curb, but he hesitated, 
gazing full-on at Scully; the gentle wave of her hair as it 
framed her face, the line of her blouse and the shadows that 
tempted beneath.  He drew a deep breath of her perfume.  Because 
she was there, and he could.  "That's a pretty amazing thing to 
hear you say, Scully."

She was quiet a moment, holding his eye contact.  She was 
breathtaking tonight.  Like any of a hundred nights.  Stakeouts, 
late flights, covert contacts.  And he had never told her.  
Never.  He listened to the sound of her breath.  He knew her by 
her breath alone.  Even over a phone line.

*"He called me..."*

Apparently, it worked both ways.

"Yeah," Scully said simply.  "I suppose it is."  Then she tossed 
her hair with a graceful turn of her head and focused on the 
street beyond the windshield.  He touched his foot to the gas and 
carried them into the night.

They rode in silence.  Comfortable.  Routine.  Scully rested one 
hand on her small purse.  That was new, not Agent Scully 
standard.  He wondered if she had always carried a purse on her 
off hours, or if time out of the field had shifted her habits.  
He could tell by the angle she leaned upon the seatback that her 
weapon was still at the small of her back.  She never let her 
weapon in the vicinity of Christopher, which meant she had 
strapped it back on specifically for her evening out.  So either 
he was in worse standing with her than he thought, or Scully 
still fought her demons in every shadow.  Much as he did.

"I saw you once," he said without planning.

Scully turned from the window, headlights dancing shadows over 
her pale skin.  She had narrowed her eyes, watching him with that 
distant Scully curiosity he had spent so much of his life beside.  
"Saw me what?" she said softly, and the gentle intimacy in her 
voice fluttered through his stomach.  He so rarely caught her, 
defenses down.  Once upon a time it had taken a 23 hour shift and 
a red-eye plane ride to wear the edge of remoteness from her 
voice.

"In a hallway.  Five months after I left."

Her face tightened, fingers curled around the outside armrest.  
"You *saw* me?  Where?"

"At the Kincaid Medical Research Facility.  I heard your voice 
first.  I was there to pick up some blood samples.  Running an 
errand for the underground.  And I heard your voice, far away."  
*And my heart stopped.*  "Then I heard the footsteps and someone 
whizzed past the window in the door to the hallway.  And I ran 
toward the window.  I should have run the other way.  I should 
have run the moment I heard your voice, but...  I ran to the 
window, and just as I was coming near, I saw you run by.  And I 
took the last few steps and I plastered myself to the window and 
tried to watch your back as far as I could down the hall.  And I 
knew every second I was putting everything at risk.  Everything.  
But I couldn't...I couldn't look away until you were out of 
sight.  Because...it was you."

Scully gazed at him in silence, the light and shadows flickering 
deceptively across her skin.  At last she breathed out slowly, 
precisely, "The hallway.  The dizzy spell."

"The *what*?"

But she shook her head, broke eye contact.  "Nothing.  I didn't 
see you."

He nodded.  "I know.  But I saw you.  And I heard you.  And I 
knew...at least for that moment...you were okay."

They were silent, Scully's eyes on the shadows at her feet, 
Mulder feigning concentration on the road.  Then at last she 
whispered, "You were right there?"  And when she looked up, he 
was certain the dampness reflecting in her eyes was no trick of 
the light.

He glanced back and forth earnestly between Scully and the road.  
"Scully?  Scully, what--"

"Nothing."  She shook her head, answering some question he had 
not really asked, and she turned back to look out the window.

They rode on in silence.


*****


Mulder pulled to a halt in the parking lot of a B-B-Q and 
Steakhouse she had driven by a hundred times but never ventured 
inside.

"Can't beat their steaks.  And they even have good fluffy green 
stuff.  Or so I hear."--was all the explanation she got.  But the 
lighting was soft and the booths generous and thickly padded.  
Her day had been long and not without its stresses.  And it had 
been a long time since someone had taken her out to dinner at the 
end.

Scully gave her order to a perky blond named "Mindy", then 
settled into her seat and sipped her raspberry lemonade while 
Mulder ordered his big hunk of meat.  Clearly his eating habits 
hadn't changed with time.  The lemonade was good.  Not too sweet.  
Some remixed 80s dance song played behind the hum of diners' 
voices.

"So, how is the job situation by now?" Scully asked, when Mindy 
had bounced away.

Mulder nodded.  "I think I'm in.  I think I may have sacrificed 
any tiny shred of dignity I once possessed.  But ya gotta live, 
right?  And tomorrow, I've been requested to appear at the office 
of one Walter Skinner.  He requested your presence as well, if 
that's possible."

"I see.  What time?"

"8 am.  If you can't make it, that's--"

"No, I think I can.  Tuesdays are light for me.  I think I can 
get my T.A. to cover me for the morning."

He nodded.  "Okay.  Thanks."

The silence was uncomfortable for a moment.  Mulder spun a stray 
toothpick left on the table.  They weren't sure where the 
boundaries were supposed to lay on their conversation tonight.  
It was virtually impossible to avoid all realities of their 
present day lives and work.  Yet it was all too easy to slide 
from the right subject into the wrong one.  In truth, Scully had 
been more than grateful for Mulder's suggestion in the quiet 
early hours of her bedroom.  There were few ideas more inviting 
to her at present than a simple night of Mulder and Scully.  
Without all the entanglements and betrayals and regrets and 
recriminations.  Just two friends who had been through the war 
together and come out hand in hand as they had always done.  But 
another part of her was terrified to find out the one thing she 
had always believed in wasn't there anymore.  Only one way to 
know.

Mulder made the brave jump to a new subject.

"So...you got *married*."

Scully forced a last swallow of her mouth full of lemonade.  "I 
did."  She cleared her throat, ran her tongue over her lipstick.

"How did that...I mean...you told me how it happened, I just..."

"Mulder...why is that so hard for you to believe?"

"Why...I..." shakes his head.

"In the time we spent together, did I...not seem like someone who 
ever wanted to be married?"  She pinned him with her gaze, eyes 
narrowed and focused, and she knew the power she had always held 
over him when she did that.  He either looked away and ignored 
her, or spilled his soul through his eyes if not his words.

This time he hedged, but did not look away.  "Well, no, it's not 
that, exactly.  I mean.  You were focused on your career, of 
course.  You had chosen a path that didn't leave a lot of time 
for a family.  Certainly not for children.  But...I always 
assumed that you wanted someone in your life.  Eventually, at 
least.  Yeah."

"So...why are you surprised?"

"I guess...," he looked away now, shrugged, "because it was fast.  
Because I wasn't there."

"Not so fast; for a second time around.  We already trusted one 
another."

He nodded.  "I suppose that's the key, huh?"  And now the eye 
contact was back.

"I think so," she said evenly.  The undercurrent was 
uncomfortably strong and she crossed her ankles and swallowed 
hard.

She could feel the question coursing through his lankly limbs 
like adrenaline, but he wouldn't ask it.  Not now.  Not here.

Neither would she answer.


*****


The food arrived at an opportune time.  The distraction of 
arranging and comparing dinners brought them back to comfortable 
and easy conversation.  Familiar teasing and joking ensued.  
Scully had ventured beyond her traditional salad regime and 
actually ordered a French Dip sandwich (sans cheese), and Mulder 
was enjoying watching her negotiate each dripping bite to her 
mouth without endangering her white blouse.  Some of the angles 
she employed afforded him a particularly enjoyable view he tried 
very hard not to openly indulge.

"So, tell me about your family, Scully?  How is everyone?"

Scully grabbed a napkin and dabbed at the corner of her mouth, 
nodding as she chewed.  "Everyone's good.  Mom's actually seeing 
someone."

His eyes widened.  "Your Mom's dating?"

Scully grinned.  "I know, it's hard to believe isn't it?  She was 
terrified when he asked her out.  She hadn't been on a 'date' 
date in over forty years.  But, apparently, she met this man when 
she was working with a church group at the homeless shelter.  He 
volunteers there on Saturday mornings, serving food, cleaning.  
But he's a lawyer.  He's in the process of passing his practice 
on to his son and retiring."

"Have you met him?"

She shook her head, tapping her sandwich on the edge of the au 
jus cup.  "No, no.  She's been very coy.  But when I get her on 
the phone, and she doesn't have to look at me, she gossips a 
lot."

Mulder chuckled softly.  "That's great, Scully.  Good for your 
Mom."

She nodded, studying her sandwich.  "I think she was a little 
hesitant to open up to me about it in light of...my current 
status.  I think she felt a little guilty starting a new 
relationship, when I...," but she trailed off, drew a deep 
breath, set down her sandwich and took another sip of her 
lemonade.

And Mulder was left socked in the gut once more by how recently 
Scully had suffered through something so horrible.  And how he 
had been oblivious to the whole thing.

But she seemed to want the conversation to move on.  So, he let 
it.

"What about everyone else.  How about my number one fan, Bill?  
How's he doing?"

"He's good.  Matthew's growing in the blink of an eye."

"No more new little Scullys on that side?"

Scully shook her head.  "No.  I don't think they'll be having any 
more."

"Really?  I had Bill pegged as the traditional 2.5 children kind 
of guy."

She took a moment to breathe as she chewed, and he watched the 
rise and fall of her chest.  Scully never flaunted her 
femininity.  Never overtly drew attention to what she was or 
showed a consciousness of her hair or make-up or clothes.  But 
she didn't have to.  Everything about her was all woman.  It was 
part of her essence, her blood, and it rubbed off on everything 
she touched.  "Oh, I think Bill was thinking that way, too, 
originally.  But he and Tara had to try for a long time before 
they got pregnant with Matthew.  And everything went well, and 
now...Matthew's a very...'high energy' kid."

Mulder smiled and Scully reflected some of his amusement.

"I don't think Tara's any too eager to add to that demand.  And I 
think they're just happy for the miracle they have."

Mulder nodded, his gaze narrowing, searching.  "What about you, 
Scully?"

Her eyebrows rose and she stopped mid-bite.  "Me?"

"Do you want another one?"

"Sandwich?"

"*Child.*"

She closed her eyes with a brief flush of embarrassment.  Then 
she set down her sandwich and smiled softly, wistfully.  "It's a 
nice fantasy.  But realistically...no.  I don't think I do.  The 
one I've got...is amazing.  And I hardly have time to spend with 
him as it is.  Especially, now that...  Well.  I think maybe one 
little miracle is enough for me.  I'm not exactly 22 anymore."

"You're hardly 50 either."

"You sound like Daniel."

*Shit.*

Mulder frowned, hoping to show only confusion.

She unconsciously fingered her wedding ring.  "My husband was 
always quick to point out our age difference when he felt he knew 
more than I did," she said, ghosted in teasing memory.

"And was that often?"

"Quite often, yes."  She nodded.

"I find that hard to imagine."

"Well, my late husband's arrogance was rivaled probably only by 
mine."

"That couldn't have been a...*quiet* relationship."

Mulder didn't know what to feel when Scully actually laughed out 
loud.  "No," she said, still smiling.  "That it was not."


*****


"What was your name?" she asked him after Mindy refilled her 
lemonade.

"My name?" he asked, eyes begging the question.

"Your cover name.  For the last two years  Who have you been?"

"Oh, that."  He stabbed at his hunk of steak.  Yep.  Damn good 
steaks here.  "Mike Stephens."

"Mike?"  She was tonguing her lemonade straw, catching hold of it 
while she looked ahead at him.  Unaware she was mashing his 
brain.  She had done that to him before a few times.  In little 
roadside eateries in the middle of nowhere.  Oblivious to the 
effect.  "You don't look like a Mike."

"I don't think that endangered my cover.  Besides, no-one has 
ever believed my name is Fox."

"You don't look like a Fox."

"Oh, really, *Dana*.  What do I look like?"

She took a beat to answer.   Then, "Mulder."

And he didn't realize how much he had missed the way she said his 
name.


*****


"So, that photo on your mantle...is that from your honeymoon?  
Vacation?"

Scully had finished her dinner and was now watching him chew his 
way through his gigantic blob of meat, eyeing it with something 
between skepticism and disgust.  But then she surprised him when 
she picked up a spare roll and dabbed the corner into the juice 
at the edge of his plate.  He tried not to notice.  Scully drew 
in one eyebrow at his question, probably mentally scanning the 
photographs on her mantle.  "Oh, yeah, the--honeymoon.  Yeah."

"Bermuda?  Bahama?  Key Largo?  Montego?"

She skipped the joke.  He felt at home.  Scully lifted her 
eyebrows, sucked in her lower lip.  "Italy.  Italian Riviera, 
actually."

"Italian  Riviera?  You went to Italy for your honeymoon?"

"I did."

He gave a low whistle.  "Impressive, Ms. Waterston."

Her lips twisted with a hint of a playful grin.  "Well...it was 
something we had talked about...a long time ago.  In my Edith 
Wharton Italian Gardens phase.  And marrying a successful doctor 
can have its advantages."

"So, I see.  Kind of like that formidable rock on your hand."

Scully glanced at her ring, fingering the band.  "Like that, 
yes."

"It looks lovely on you," Mulder said, hoping she would hear only 
the very real sincerity in his voice.  But the look in her eyes 
told him she felt the compliment came hard.  Damn Scully for 
hearing every breath behind his words.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"You never...I mean, I never figured you for much of the jewelry 
type, Scully."

She considered that, contemplating her bread.  "Well...elaborate 
jewelry and field work don't exactly mesh.  Same goes for lab 
work.  You never much saw me outside of my profession."

"No.  No, I didn't."

Quiet.  The background music had drifted into something that 
sounded like Celine Dion.  Scully double-dipped her bread into 
his meat juice.

"So, how did he pop the question?  And did you keep the poor man 
in suspense, or did you answer him right away?"

Scully pulled back, looked down at her lap for a moment, then 
back up, brow slightly furrowed, bittersweetness fresh in her 
eyes.  He knew he'd been nearing her limits, chancing the 
inevitable eviction.  "Mulder, you don't really want to hear all 
of this, do you?"

"Well, that depends," he said around a cumbersome bite of steak.

"On what?"

"On whether you want to tell me."

He watched the muscles in her throat as she swallowed.  She 
didn't answer, but her expression was not unwelcoming.

"Is it hard for you to talk about it?" he asked gently.

"Of course.  But not...bad to remember.  The good parts."

"You had an Edith Wharton phase?"

"You still read the Chronicles of Narnia."

"Everyone still reads the Chronicles of Narnia."

"You need to get out more."

"Tell me you didn't like it."

"I liked the *first* one."

"Scully, it's all about Prince Caspian."

And he felt at that moment like maybe, just this once, he had 
said the right thing.  Because she no longer looked as though she 
might cry.


*****


The night air was fresh and cool with a wind that almost hinted 
of the sea.

Scully had subtly, but forcefully, picked up the tab, promising 
Mulder's ruffled male feathers he could have his turn as soon as 
he was on the government's payroll again.

The restaurant sat on the highway side of a long and rather 
elegant shopping plaza.  Many of the shops were closed for the 
night, but the major stores remained open and the meticulously 
landscaped walkway was well lit.

Scully tipped her shoe back on the heel and angled her head 
toward the walkway.  "After dinner stroll?" she questioned.

Mulder's gaze met hers, an intriguing crinkle at the corner of 
his right eye.  She had forgotten how he could pierce her 
defenses with the gentlest expression.  *"I just don't want you 
to think you have to hide anything from me."*  That was where 
they had begun.  Here is where they had come.

He shrugged.  "Sure, if you want."

She stepped past him, and he touched the small of her back as he 
fell into step beside her.

They walked for a while in silence.  "There's a Barnes&Noble down 
at the far end, I think," Scully said.  "If they're still open 
I'd like to stop in.  I've been looking for a waterproof bath 
book for Christopher.  Something with a rubber ducky in it."

"Rubber duckies are crucial to every child's development."

She turned and looked up at him as they walked, arched an 
eyebrow.  "Did you have a rubber ducky, Mulder?"

"I did.  But it had this weird short beak and freakishly large 
eyes and it actually kind of creeped me out.  I'm thinking it may 
have had something to do with my later obsession with aliens.  If 
my parents had just gotten me a more normal ducky, they might 
have saved a lot of people a whole lot of trouble."

Scully watched her shoes as they clicked rhythmically on the 
sidewalk.  "Mulder?" she said.  Then after a beat, she looked up 
and gave him a deeply affectionate smile, and the moment sucked 
her into a precious memory of a senate hearing and a familiar 
figure in the grandiose doorway.  "I'm glad you're not dead."

A moment of genuine amusement flashed across his features, but 
all too quickly something clouded and dark rode in on its wake.  
"Are you?" he asked, almost a whisper.

Scully halted and Mulder stopped a step ahead, angling to face 
her.  She frowned at him, concern twisting her stomach.  "Was 
there some question?"

He watched her, deep set lines of long-neglected pain painting 
his brow.

Scully moved a half step closer.  "Mulder, what is it?"

"Scully...."  His voice was distant.  Heavy.  A million miles 
from where they had been a moment ago.  "Before I left--how did 
you feel about me?  What did I mean to you?  I mean...*really* 
mean to you?"

Scully felt like all the clear air had been sucked out of the 
night and a thousand pounds come to rest upon her chest.  She 
glanced to the side, convincing herself the open air still 
surrounded her.  People moved along the elegant walkway, carefree 
and enjoying the night and oblivious to the way the ground 
shifted beneath her feet.

An invisible line drawn a decade ago had just been crossed. 


*****

(End Chapter 20a.  Continued in Chapter 20b...)
Cyber cupcakes given for feedback -- bstrbabs@earthlink.net