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 21a


"I'm falling even more in love with you
Letting go of all I've held on to
I'm standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here with you"
                    --Lifehouse, "Hanging by a Moment"



**Scully...I smell like you...**



They stood in the rain longer than they should have.  They 
breathed against one another's skin.  They felt one another's 
heart beats.  They didn't care they were nearly drowning.  They 
didn't want to let go.

They climbed the stairs together.  Scully paid Ashleigh, and 
Mulder followed the girl out the door to see her safely to her 
car.  By the time he returned, Scully had started a fire in the 
fireplace.  Fingers of amber light danced about the walls.  Tasha 
basked in the warmth of the fire, no longer bothering to rise and 
sniff Mulder as a foreign presence.  Scully stooped before the 
fire, towel drying her hair.  Another fresh towel lay on the back 
of the couch for Mulder.  He reached out without a word and 
lifted the towel to dry his face and hair.

"We should get out of these wet clothes," Scully said, pushing to 
her feet.
 
Mulder lowered the towel and deadpanned for a moment, then he 
wiggled his eyebrows, and Scully closed her eyes and softened 
into a wry smile.  "And into dry ones," she said evenly.  But her 
skin flushed beneath her blouse as she turned away.
 
Scully retreated to the master bathroom to clean up while Mulder 
did the same in the guest bath.  She took her time, concentrating 
on the routine tasks, trying to focus on the immediate and not 
wanting to realize she was trembling.  Part of her was still out 
in the rain, sheltered under the black night sky, pressed tight 
to Mulder's warmth, his vibrant and real flesh surrounding her.  
Alive.  Holding onto her.

They emerged one after the other, hair still damp, skin soft from 
the rainwater; Mulder was in sweats and a T-shirt, Scully in her 
most luxurious pink bathrobe.

"Little guy sleeping?" Mulder asked, glancing toward Scully's 
bedroom.

"Mercifully quiet."

She lead the way to the kitchen, fixed them each a drink while 
Mulder hovered in the shadows, pulling at her senses.  She led 
the way to the couch and the inviting warmth of the fire.

Scully passed a goblet of white wine to Mulder and took a sip of 
her own iced tea.  She pulled her legs up beneath her, and she 
saw Mulder catch a flash of her pale skin before she straightened 
the robe around her legs.  Subtle.  But he noticed. 

They were quiet for a moment.  Then Mulder reached his arm along 
the back of the couch and drew his fingers ever so lightly down 
her cheek.  Scully shivered against the soft cloth of her robe.  
Nine years since they'd met.  And the electricity between them 
had never been so alive.

Scully closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.  "Where did you 
live?" she whispered.  "When you were gone..."

Mulder shook his head as his hand fell away, eyes deceptively 
dark in the firelight.  "Nowhere.  In a crappy one room apartment 
with no sunlight.  I didn't go out.  Didn't want to risk my 
cover.  I took the subway to work every day.  Work was 
underground--literally."

"What was it like?  I mean...were you okay?"

He nodded.  "I was.  I mean...I was safe most of the time.  There 
were risks, but, mostly it was drudge work.  Lots of down time to 
watch cable and read cheap spy novels."

She narrowed her eyes, fought to hold his gaze in the uneven 
light.  "What was the hardest part?" 

And she saw the transformation cross him like a shadow.  Pain.  
Raw and untended.  Buried.  Glimpsed unbidden.  His soft lips 
parted, and his eyes washed with tears.

Scully reached out to touch his face, and he fell so easily into 
her touch.  He closed his eyes and turned into the warmth of her 
palm.  Scully's chest ached.  Such deep pain so near the surface.  
Why hadn't she seen it before?  "The worst part was being away 
from you," he whispered.  "Scully you're the only one I've ever 
had in my life who...you're...I ...I just missed you so much."  
His voice was little more than a whisper, and he tried to tamp 
down on the well of emotion, but Scully felt it all, and her hand 
stroked his cheek.

"You were alone," she said.  And the thready tenor to her voice 
brought to life the infinite layers of his admission.

Out of the quiet, Mulder said simply,  "So were you."

She gazed at him a long moment, silent communication serving them 
as it always had.  Then she nodded.  And she saw the wave of 
comfort wash over him like a blanket.  He would never wish this 
for her.  But he needed to hear it tonight.

They could only be honest.  Deception had brought them to this 
precipice.

"Scully...?"

"What?"

"How long?"

She pulled up straighter, let her hand fall from his cheek to his 
wrist.  Her eyes asked for more.

"How long have you felt...more for me?"

She swallowed hard.  *Full lips on hers, firm chest muscles 
pressing against her breasts, hips tight against her own and the 
stirring ache in her groin.*  "How long have I felt it?  Or when 
did I admit it?  To myself."

"Both."

Things could slip out so easily in the late night firelight.  
With soft clothes and damp hair, and blurry edges to once harsh 
lines.

"I admitted it when Daniel asked me if I wanted a child.  
Suddenly everything was real.  And you weren't coming home. And I 
couldn't start to let go of you, unless I admitted why...I 
couldn't."

Mulder nodded.  And it was hard to see the line between how much 
he wanted to hear her words, and how much he didn't.  But he 
asked the next question.  "And...how long...have you felt..."

The real truth.  The ruling force of her life (both their lives), 
kept silent and private like a solitary religion.  "Since I woke 
up.  And you weren't there.  And then you brought me 'Superstars 
of the Superbowls'."

She looked away over the back of the couch.  They were quiet.  
Then, Mulder said, "Damn, we're slow."

And Scully actually smiled.  Because the gentleness behind 
Mulder's teasing had always soothed her soul.

She didn't speak.  She picked up her iced tea, took a sip, and 
gazed into its amber depths.

"Are you okay?" Mulder whispered.

She kept studying her glass.  "I'm fine."

"Are you terrified?"

Her pulse quickened.  Damn, this went deep tonight.  She drew a 
breath, but her muscles quivered as she forced the air into her 
lungs.   She arched an eyebrow.  Still not looking away from her 
glass.  "Very."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Scully blanched.  She closed her eyes and the tension creased her 
brow.  *Don't promise me that, Mulder, don't do it.  I'm not 
ready to believe you again.*  When she opened her eyes they were 
blurred with tears.  She saw Mulder see it.  Saw the hesitation, 
the battling need in him to touch her.  "Slow, okay?"  she said.  
But she barely got the words out without her voice breaking.  She 
was shaking.

"I think we've established that's what we're good at," Mulder 
breathed.  He was joking again, trying to warm her, but his voice 
belied the lightness.  The tenderness bled through.  And it hurt 
so much to feel this from Mulder.  *Mulder.*

She started to speak, but in the end she only breathed.

Mulder's fingers combed gingerly through the damp tails of her 
hair trailing across the sofa back.  "Scully, look at me."

She lifted her eyes on instinct, but had to work to hold it.

"I know you would never marry anyone you didn't love."

She held his gaze for several beats, swallowed thickly.  "Mulder, 
your fish are in Christopher's room."  Her voice was hoarse; she 
cleared her throat.

"What?"

"Your fish.  The tank, the fish...they're in Christopher's room.  
He likes to watch them."

"You kept my fish?"

She nodded.  He watched her with something like wonder until at 
last she looked away and set her empty glass on the coffee table.  
Mulder had forgotten his half-finished wine.

"Tell me about the X-Files," Mulder said.  "What was the most 
fascinating case that came across your desk while I was away?"

"Oh, God, um..."  Scully drew a deep breath, sat back and settled 
deeper into the generous cushions.  "I'd have to think about 
that, I...oh, I know, what you would have liked to have seen.  
That would be the haunting case in Mississippi."

"A haunting?"  Mulder leaned forward, forearm propped on his 
knee.  "Ghosts, Scully?  I seem to recall you telling me once 
upon a Christmas Eve that you didn't believe in ghosts?"

"Did I say I do?"

"Pardon me, but you just referred to this as the 'haunting 
case'."

"*Alleged* haunting case, then."

"So, it was just a hoax?  We've seen a thousand of those, Scully, 
why would that be of interest--"

"May I talk, please?"

Mulder sat back with a deliciously mischievous smile.  "By all 
means, Dr. Waterston, lecture away."

"Thank you.  So, it caught my attention, when I got this letter--
addressed to you, actually--from an 80 year old woman living with 
her son in the antebellum plantation home she had been born 
in..."

Scully talked, and Mulder soaked up her words like a sponge.  He 
was in his element again.  They were there together.  And he was 
thriving, drinking in the challenges like a man fresh from the 
scorching desert.  She recounted numerous cases for his benefit.  
He learned a bit more about Michaels and how they worked 
together.  And this lead to that and soon they were revisiting 
their old shared cases and comparing memories and arguing the 
same familiar points all over again.

The fire burned low, and Mulder drained his wine glass and the 
first refill.  Their eyelids grew heavy, and the strain of the 
day pulled at their muscles.

Scully eventually slipped away for another glass of tea.  And 
when she returned, Mulder had fallen asleep, his long frame 
sprawled haphazard across her couch.

Scully took one of the folded afghans from the trunk on the far 
wall, and spread it across his sleeping form.  She doused the 
fire.  Checked the locks for the night.  She stooped down beside 
Mulder.  Reaching out, she touched her fingertips to his temple, 
feather light in the shadows.  Her Mulder.  A thousand motel 
rooms and all night marathons.  A thousand interrogations and 
courtroom appearances and lunches at Sam's Deli.  A betrayal and 
a sacrifice and a devastating loss and a new life and a miracle 
and now here he lay.  With no one and nothing left in the world 
but her.  Sleeping contently on her late husband's couch.  Her 
gaze moved over his shoulder, his muscular arm, resting free on 
top of the blanket.  Another vivid flash of powerful arms locked 
across her back.

Scully leaned forward and touched her lips to Mulder's forehead 
before she turned and retreated down the hall.

In the dark of her bedroom, she folded back the covers and 
dropped her robe.  A square flash of light on her dark comforter 
caught the moonlight.  Her fingers traced over a manila file 
folder.

Frowning, she carried the folder to the bathroom and switched on 
the light, shivering in her thin nightgown.  A file folder, yes.  
With a stack of Xeroxed or faxed pages inside.  She leafed 
lightly through the slick sheets, scanning the contents, catching 
the gist of the data.  Medical records.  Documentations of 
research.  Chemical compounds.  Symptoms.  Metabolic processes.

The effects of a certain chemical compound in vaccine form on the 
child of a nursing mother.


*****


Mulder drifted out of slumber into awareness of the witching hour 
shadows on Scully's living room wall.  He glanced around, 
disoriented for a moment.  Knowing *where* he was, but not why or 
how.  Scully.  Hadn't they been talking?  One minute she had been 
there...  He must have fallen asleep.  A blanket lay heavy over 
his legs.  She had tucked him in and slipped away.

Mulder stretched and yawned, lids still drugged with slumber.  
The moon was high, the sun still a couple of hours away.  But he 
*had* drunk two glasses of wine.  And now that he was awake, 
there was little option but to drag himself up to go pee and most 
likely fall into the guest bed on his way back down the hall.

Mulder stumbled through the necessary tasks and was only steps 
from the door to the guest room, when he heard a soft sound of 
pain from Scully's room.

He froze mid-step, breath held and listening.  He thought perhaps 
he had heard Christopher murmuring in his sleep.  But the 
apartment seemed wholly quiet.  And just when he was beginning to 
think he had imagined the sound completely, it came again.

Distinctively Scully.  A delicate whimper of fear.  Pain.  
*Jesus.*

He crossed to Scully's half-open door, squinting into the deeper 
shadows.  In a moment his eyes adjusted and he could make out the 
soft curve of her figure on the far side of the bed.  He could 
hear Christopher's even breaths from the crib.

Scully was dreaming, restless and vocal in her sleep.  Mulder 
braced a hand on the door casing, gazing into the darkness.  
Frozen; darkly entranced.  He didn't have a clue where the lines 
lay.  Years ago, he wouldn't have dared set foot in her inner 
sanctum.  Somewhere in the middle, he wouldn't have hesitated to 
touch a hand to the back of her neck to wake her from a turbulent 
sleep.  Now, they were closer than they had ever been, yet he was 
less sure of his status than he had ever been.

And while he debated his rights to her trust and her personal 
space, Scully jerked awake and shoved up onto her elbow.

She was gasping for breath, panting like she'd been running.  She 
sat up, lifted the back of her hand to her cheek, breath 
hitching.  "Oh, God," she breathed, and her voice was shaking.

Mulder pushed himself forward.

"Scully?"

She startled at his appearance as badly as she had waking from 
the dream.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.  Scully, are you okay?"

He moved toward her, cautious and tentative, lowering his weight 
to the edge of her bed.

Scully was still breathing so hard.  Trembling like water in a 
surface wind.  Her eyes never rose above his waist.  "Yeah," she 
breathed.  "I'm okay, I just..."  She shuddered deeply.  "Oh, 
God."

"Hey, easy, easy."  He reached out and smoothed his hand down her 
hair, caught hold of her hand.  "It's all right.  I think you 
were just dreaming."

"I know.  It was..."  Her face crumpled and she sniffed hard 
against her impending tears.  The ache brought his hand to his 
own stomach.  "He was here again," she whispered, head tilting 
toward her shoulder.  She pushed her hair behind her ear.

"Who was here?"

"His knife was in my arm, and I was pinned to the ground..."

*Oh, fuck...*

Scully shook her head, brows tight in confusion.  "But time was 
all messed up.  It wasn't then, it wasn't...Daniel wasn't there, 
but...but I could hear Christopher down the hall.  He was yelling 
for me, and...and *he* could hear Christopher, and I knew if I 
didn't get away, if I didn't..."

She was slipping back into the throes of the dream as she spoke, 
and with her last words she was crying openly.  He had to touch 
her.  He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, cradled the side of her 
neck.  "It's all right," he whispered.  "He's not here.  He's not 
here.  Christopher's safe.  It was just a dream, Scully."

She nodded distractedly, but she still needed to speak.  So he 
pulled back to listen, hands solid on her shoulders.

"I know," she said.  "It was a dream, I just...I don't know, it 
didn't feel like...it was like..."  she was straining so hard, 
searching for something slipping just out of her grasp, fading 
out of her memory and vanishing into the black, "...like 
something's happening, or...I could feel...I don't know, I-
it's...something...it's just a dream, I...I'm sorry.  I'm sorry, 
it's...it's just a dream."  She was sagging.  Coming back to the 
room around them, and letting the brass ring fly.  But he felt 
the significance of what had brushed her.

Scully closed her eyes, pacing her breath, fighting to steady the 
world.

"It's all right," Mulder whispered again, caressing her cheek, 
the side of her neck.  She made no protest to the intimacy of his 
touch.

He took the moment and pulled her into his arms.  Her hand snaked 
up around his neck, the other grasped at his shoulder from below 
as she buried her face in his throat.  The comfort brought her to 
tears again, and he locked his arms hard across the tight muscles 
of her back.  Her nails dug into his skin.
 
"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Mulder shook his head sharply.  "Stop."

And for a few precious moments she fell silent, clinging to him, 
bare arms and shoulders hot against his skin, so much of her warm 
and trembling flesh so close to his own--letting him comfort her.  
He could count the moments in their life on one hand.

She was the first to pull away.  Quick, graceful brushes at the 
damp, tender skin beneath her eyes.  "I just...I don't 
understand, why now..."

Mulder nodded.  "We were talking about what happened.  You 
telling me about it brought it back out for your mind to play 
with.  It's only natural."

But she was shaking her head.  "No.  It's always in my conscious 
mind.  Every morning when I get dressed and push past all my 
sleeveless blouses."

*Oh, Jesus.*  She said the words so simply, so matter-of-factly.  
She might as well have karate kicked him in the chest.

But he swallowed the pain, because Scully was still distracted, 
still reaching...

He needed to sink into her thoughts.  "The attack--it was really 
bad, wasn't it?  Horrible for you."

Scully winced, lifted one shoulder protectively.  That was his 
answer.  "But it's so far in the past for me now.  It's been over 
a year since I had any kind of dream or flashback to...  And now 
two nights in a row..."

"The same dream last night?  That's what woke you?"

She drew a deep breath.  "Different, but...the same."  She wasn't 
meeting his gaze.

"You've been through a lot this week.  My dreams haven't been so 
hot lately, either, if you hadn't noticed.."

She didn't respond.  "What do you think it is?" he asked gently.

But she just shook her head, eyes closed.

He drew the backs of his fingers down the side of her face, then 
traced a path down her right arm and very deliberately over the 
inside of her forearm.  Scully shivered, eyes on his hand.

"We should be sleeping," she said softly.  "We have to face 
Skinner bright and early."

"Just like old times."

"Except this time, *I'm* not in trouble."

"Ask me to stay."

Scully shook her head, edged her hand away.  "No.  I can't--"

"Just ask me to sleep here.  Just tonight.  It's only a couple of 
hours."  He gestured toward the window, and the faintest hint of 
light on the horizon.

But Scully shook her head again.  "No.  Not yet."

"Why not?  We've slept side by side before.  Why not tonight of 
all nights?"  His voice was gentle, sincere.

"Because tonight, I want it so much."

"And that's a reason I should go?"

She lifted her eyebrows, letting the statement stand.

"Scully...do you ever think that maybe, maybe you and I have 
gotten in the habit of denying ourselves everything we really 
want for so long, that we've forgotten how to just step up and 
live.  Really be alive."

To his surprise, Scully seemed at once to hear what he was 
getting at, fall into synch.  "Of course.  I've been struggling 
with all of that while you were gone.  I tried to step back into 
a normal life, and...well...there were a lot of walls to break 
through, a lot of engrained patterns to escape before that could 
happen.  My life before was...well, you know what it was."

"No," he said softly.  "Only some of it.  I want to know more."

"Even with Christopher.  I had wanted a child for so long...and 
then when Daniel suggested we just put the gears in motion, make 
it happen.   All my instincts told me to run.  I had been denied 
for so long this thing that I wanted so badly.  I was so afraid 
to let go and...believe."

Mulder began to stroke the back of her hand where it rested on 
the mattress.  "But you did it."

Scully gave a small but genuine smile, and her fingers closed 
around his.  "Yeah.  I did.  And he's going to wake up hungry any 
minute now."

"I can't stay?"

She looked him dead in the eye, a storm of thoughts circling 
behind her intense gaze.  "Not tonight," she whispered.  "For 
tonight....leave your door open for me."

"Scully.  My door has *always* been open for you."

She closed her eyes.  He squeezed her hand.

Then he stood and walked away.


*****


He thought he would have trouble getting back to sleep.  But 
exhaustion could be a powerful force.  He woke once more before 
dawn.  And he thought his dream had spilled over into reality.  
Until he clicked into full consciousness and the very real 
feeling of Scully's back pressed tight against his chest.  Her 
breaths were deep and even in sleep, her hair cascading across 
his neck.  The piercing red light of the baby monitor glowed from 
the desk on the opposite wall.

Mulder didn't shift, didn't stir her slumber.  He lowered his arm 
ever so gently across her stomach, and Scully nestled closer.  He 
fell back asleep.  When he woke again, his clock showed only five 
minutes from the sounding of his alarm.  He moved away from 
Scully with infinite care.  He reset the alarm for fifteen 
minutes away, lifted the blanket over Scully's bare shoulder, and 
left to take his shower.


*****

(End Chapter 21a.  Continued in 21b...)
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