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 21b



The word had spread through the Bureau grapevine days ago, the 
information been confirmed by a call to a trusted associate in 
VCU, but in the end, Walter Skinner did not truly believe the 
outrageous reports until he witnessed the phenomenon with his own 
eyes.

Skinner opened the door to his outer office on Tuesday morning, 
instead of buzzing Kimberly to send in his next appointment, and 
felt as though he had slipped through a time warp.

On the couch across from his door sat two agents who had once 
been under his supervision (if never his control).   One too tall 
for the low-set cushions, awkward and displaced in an office 
setting; the other poised and polished and unnaturally calm, red 
hair reflecting in the hallway window.

*What the hell were those grey blobs on his tie?*

Fox Mulder was back in Skinner's office.  And Scu--Dana, right 
along side him.

They looked up in unison at the sound of the door.  Skinner gave 
a quick silent look toward Mulder, then focused his attention on 
Dana.

"Agent Waterston, may I see you alone for a moment, please?"

"Of course, sir," came her easy response.  Dana pushed to her 
feet, but not without a quick glance toward Mulder.

Skinner had never seen a more amazing example of silent partner 
communication than witnessed in Mulder and Scully.  They should 
have been the Academy's poster children for synchronization in 
the field.  Problem was, no one else seemed to understand them.  
And he had long harbored a suspicion that the phenomenon spilled 
over into their personal lives.  Which left him wondering what 
they had really meant to each other.  He was almost certain he 
would learn no more about that subject now than he had in years 
past.

Dana's slender figure slipped past him, brushing his chest as she 
crossed the threshold, barely rising to his chin even in her 
wicked heels.  He gave Mulder a moment's pointed stare before 
closing the door.  Mulder bit his lip and fussed with his tie as 
he vanished from sight.

Dana stood beside her chair, waiting for Skinner to be seated.  
He gestured toward the chair as he moved into his own.  She 
smoothed her skirt beneath her and sank neatly into place.  She 
rested her hands on the arm rests and crossed her legs, squinting 
toward the streaks of light through the blinds.

She looked tired.  Slick and elegant as ever.  But he had worked 
with her long enough, seen her through enough illness and injury 
and stress, to recognize the slight tightness across her eyelids, 
the set of her mouth, betraying the lack of rest.  Physical or 
otherwise.

He had also worked with her long enough not to assume fatigue 
would dull the sharpness of her mind.

He never liked to face Dana Waterston before a minimum of three 
cups of coffee.

"Agent Waterston, I appreciate you coming in this morning."

She gave a slight nod.  "No problem, sir.  However, may I ask 
what this is about?"

"Relax, Agent Waterston, you're not here to be lectured.  And 
Mulder's not in any more trouble than I'm sure you're already 
aware of."

She barely flinched as he spoke, the slightest flutter of her 
left eyelid.

Skinner picked up a pen and hooked it through his fingers.  "I 
heard the rumor of Agent Mulder's...*miraculous return*.  And, 
frankly, I didn't believe it.  Hell, I'm not even certain I 
believe it now.  Let me be as direct as possible with you.  I 
asked Mulder here because I wanted to get a straight story from 
him.  And I wanted to hear directly from his mouth what his 
intentions are for the future, and decide whether or not I want 
to help him pursue those intentions.  I asked *you* here, because 
before I talk with Mulder--I want to hear from your mouth that 
that is indeed Fox William Mulder in my outer office.  And if it 
is, why there is any reason in the world I should do him any 
favors right now."

Dana remained quiet, her jaw shifting, lower lip curling in.

"Dana, talk to me.  Off the record if you need to.  But God 
knows, you have more riding on this than I do.  And I want an 
answer from you."

Dana's tongue slipped lightly over the corner of her mouth, and 
she drew a slow breath through her nose.  "Sir.  That is Agent 
Mulder outside the door."

He stared at her for a long beat.  She didn't waver.  "And you're 
certain of this?"

"Yes, sir, I am certain.  I was...understandably doubtful myself, 
at first.  But I now believe with absolute certainty, that that 
is Mulder out there."

Skinner waited her out, drew a deep, heavy breath.  "And you know 
where he's been?"

"In general terms, yes, sir."

"But you can't tell me."

"You need to ask Agent Mulder that question.  Sir."

"Dana..."

She lifted an eyebrow.  He never had determined if she liked it 
or hated it when he employed her first name.

"After all tha--everything that has happened in the past two 
years; you believe Mulder is justified in his behavior?"

For the first time Skinner could remember, he watched Dana 
quietly scramble for the right words.  The hesitation was barely 
visible to the naked eye.  But it was there, loud and clear, to 
someone who had played cat and mouse games with her for so many 
years.  "That--" she cleared her throat "--is a rather involved 
and personal matter, sir.  However, if you are asking me, if I 
would like you to help Mulder with his reinstatement at the 
Bureau or in directing his career toward the best possible use of 
his ample investigative talents--I would very much like you to do 
what you can, yes, sir."

Skinner narrowed his eyes, studying her, waiting her out, 
assessing the veracity of her claims.  In the end, he could only 
believe she was being sincere.  "Very well," he said.  He leaned 
forward, pushing up his glasses and propping his forearms on his 
desk.  "And what about you, Agent?  Have you made your decision?  
Do you wish to return to field duty at this time, or would you 
prefer to arrange something more permanent for your position at 
Quantico?"

Dana's lids slipped to half mast.  Her chest rose and fell 
beneath her snug blazer, blouse shifting against her pale skin.  
"Sir, may I have a few more days before giving you my final 
reply?"

Skinner nodded brusquely.  "You may.  But I will need a firm 
answer by Friday, Agent Waterston.  The Academy is looking to 
finalize their staffing decisions for the next class, and they're 
looking to me for answers."

"Yes, sir, I understand.  I appreciate your and the Academy's 
consideration, and I will give you my response by the end of the 
week."

Skinner accepted her reply, then punched the intercom to Kim.  
"Kimberly, would you please send Agent Mulder in now?"

A moment later, Mulder stepped through the door, and the barely 
overt smile that passed between the two agents as Dana watched 
her partner's approach, left Skinner momentarily silent.


*****


"Well, that was surprisingly painless.  I'm thinking it was a 
good thing he let you stay for the duration.  The ass-chewing was 
no doubt toned down for the benefit of the innocent bystander in 
the room."

Scully closed her eyes as they walked side by side down the hall, 
letting Mulder be her eyes if only for that brief moment.  The 
pointed stares from passersby were nothing new.  But it had been 
a while.  "I think it's possible he was just glad to see you, 
Mulder."

"Yeah, well, presumably so were you, but you still pulled a gun 
on me and socked me in the jaw--which is still sore, by the way--
so you never know."

They reached the end of the hall and Mulder pushed the elevator 
call button an unnecessary number of times.

Scully slipped into a soft smile edged with regret.  "Maybe, 
because I was a little *more* glad to see you."

Mulder sobered.  He touched a gentle hand to the small of her 
back as the elevator door slid open and revealed the empty 
chamber.  He guided Scully across the threshold.

Scully sat back against the handlebar at the rear of the car, 
Mulder moved to press the floor button.  But he hesitated, long 
finger hovering in front of the panel.

She arched an inquiring eyebrow.  "Mulder?"

He turned, finger waving enticingly between two buttons.  The 
parking lot; and the basement.  He lifted his eyebrows.  *Should 
we?*

Scully held his gaze for the length of a deep breath.  She 
glanced at her watch.  Then she pushed forward off the handlebar 
and pressed the button herself.

Down to the basement.

The progression felt surreal.  Every step so familiar, they'd 
been through the motions a million times.  But in another life.  
A life she didn't know anymore.  She felt dizzy, like time was 
switching around on her, the floor shifting.  Dana Waterston, 
wife and mother and pathologist.  Dana Scully, champion of the X-
Files, Mrs. Spooky, Queen of the FBI's most unwanted.

Part of her wanted to stop the elevator and go back upstairs, get 
in her car and drive home to the apartment above the garden, with 
her son and her dog and some semblance of security.  But part of 
her couldn't wait to step into the basement hallway.

In silent synchronicity, Mulder and Scully made their way down 
the cluttered hall, past the random spare bookshelves and reams 
of copier paper.  Their footsteps slowed in unison as they 
approached the half-open door.  Gentle sounds of activity wafted 
out from the office beyond.  A keyboard clicking, a chair 
squeaking.  At least one of the current X-Files agents was in his 
office today.  Once upon a time, hearing sounds ahead of them in 
this hallway had meant danger, violation, condemnation.

Mulder led the way.

"Oh.  My.  God."  Gannon Michaels looked up from his desk 
(*Mulder's desk*) in the corner of the office.  Agent Brennen 
turned from his computer with marked interest at the tone of his 
partner's voice.  Gannon shoved back his chair.  "Well, this is 
something I never expected to be around to see."

Scully grinned, still hovering in the doorway, shoulder to 
shoulder with Mulder as they scanned the room.

Michaels pushed to his feet.  He stepped away from the desk, 
holding out his arms toward the vacated seat.  "I believe this 
belongs to you," he said, aiming the statement toward both the 
visiting agents.

Mulder cracked a wry smile and at last stepped across the 
threshold.  "No, no.  Not anymore.  You sit down.  This is your 
office, we're just...dropping by to say 'hi'."

*We.*  Scully shivered.  Stupid, high school girl thing to latch 
onto, to love to hear him say.  But it felt so damn good today.  
Felt like home.

They moved a little aimlessly, scanning their surroundings, 
cataloguing what had changed and what had remained.  The pencils 
were gone from the corrugated ceiling.  The "I Want to Believe" 
poster remained firmly on the wall.  The desk Scully had added 
for Gannon now belonged to Brennen.  She saw Mulder take note of 
its presence; wondered if he knew she had been the one to 
requisition it.

The stacks of file folders that had once cluttered the landscape, 
had taken on a more ordered construction.  Some of that had 
happened under Scully's reign.  Some of it had been Michaels' 
influence.  The wall of clippings that had once decorated 
Mulder's space had been relegated to a bulletin board tucked into 
a corner of the floor.  Max's hat hung from the coat tree.

"I like what you've done with the place," Mulder said 
nonchalantly.  But Scully could feel the territoriality waving 
off of him like heat.  He was itching to take his seat behind the 
desk.  To get the tangible feel of the files back in his hands.  
To search, to seek, to explore, to find.  To nurture the world he 
had created.  She was surprised how badly she wanted to join him.  
Scully closed her eyes on a flash of Skinner's probing gaze.  *Do 
you wish to return to field duty at this time?*

She opened her eyes; back in the moment.  "Mulder, this is Agent 
George Brennen.  Agent Brennen, Fox Mulder."

Mulder swung around as Brennen rose from his desk.  The two men 
shook hands, exchanged appraising glances.  "Good to meet you," 
Mulder said, sincerely, if a little too rotely.

Brennen was the youngest of the four agents.  Dark-haired and 
clean-cut.  Strong features and deep brown eyes.  His height 
nearly matched Mulder's.

"I've heard a lot about you," Brennen said with a nod.

"Like that I was dead?"

"That was one thing, yes, but a few others here and there."

"But not half of what I've heard," Gannon jumped in.  "Having had 
the advantage of long stakeouts with Agent Waterston, of course."  
He gave a playful grin as he moved forward to shake Mulder's 
hand.  "Good to see you again, Agent Mulder."

Mulder nodded and gave him a genuine smile.  "Agent Michaels."  
The warmth felt real.  Scully's obvious respect for Michaels had 
no doubt spilled over into Mulder's manner.  And even without her 
influence, Michaels was a hard man not to warm up to.  He had 
proven as much to Scully in how quickly she had moved from seeing 
him as an unnecessary and unwanted intruder to a partner and a 
friend.

Michaels turned toward Scully.  "Dana..."  He stepped forward for 
a quick, firm embrace.

Mulder soaked up every detail of the exchange.

"So, what brings you to our little corner of basement paradise 
this morning?  And am I addressing...*Agent* Mulder again, 
or...?"

Mulder nodded, his gaze tracing the walls, the bookshelves.  
"Pending some red-tape and paperwork, it's looking that way, 
yes."

"Glad to hear it.  If even half what Dana says about you is true, 
the Bureau would do well to have you back."

The corner of Mulder's mouth pulled toward a wry smile.  "Could 
you tell that to a couple of important people who want to kick my 
ass when you get the chance?"

Michaels chuckled softly.  "Hey, you can't forge new trails 
without stepping on some important toes, right?"

"Spoken like a man who's been on the X-Files for a while."

"Speaking of which, you two wouldn't happen to have a free 
minute, would you?"

Scully lifted her eyebrows, and Mulder gave Michaels full eye 
contact.  "A minute for what?" Scully asked.

"Some advice.  I've been doing more looking into this 
decapitation in Tennessee.  The file I showed you?"  Scully 
nodded.  "I dug up some new information that has me even further 
intrigued, and I'm just short of throwing this up to Skinner and 
proposing a trip out to the great Midwest.  But I'd like you to 
look at some photos for me, if you wouldn't mind."

Mulder nodded, hands on his hips, more than ready to jump into 
the game.

Scully hung back at a leisurely stroll as Michaels led the way to 
the far end of the room, to a table covered in black and white 
8x10s.  Arms folded across her chest, unaccustomed to the ever 
present damp chill in these rooms, she watched and absorbed.

Michaels had Mulder in full presence.  Mulder had already studied 
the file in detail, committed it to memory more thoroughly than 
Scully herself.  He scanned the photos in detail, pulling the 
lighted magnifying glass down for closer view, hunching over the 
table.  Michaels briefed Mulder on the newest developments, and 
Scully tried to register the case facts, but she couldn't keep 
her focus on the surface activity.  The undercurrents were too 
strong, too loud.  Mulder was coming to life.  The color in his 
cheeks was rising, his muscles working, eyes bright.  This was 
his gift.  This was his home.

This was the man she loved.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when her cell phone rang.  
Scully snatched the phone from her suit coat pocket and stepped 
toward the hall doorway to answer.

"Waterston."

"Agent Waterston--A.D. Skinner."

"Yes, sir."

"I was hoping to catch you before you left the building."

"Well, actually, you have, sir.  Mulder and I just stopped by the 
X-Files office to speak with Agent Michaels."

"I need to see you back in my office for a few minutes."

"Certainly, sir.  I'll tell Muld--"

"Just you, Dana."

She swallowed.  Something off in the sound of his voice.  "All 
right, sir.  I'll be right there."

The line clicked into silence.

Scully took a moment, slipped her phone back into her pocket.  
She glanced over her shoulder toward Mulder and Michaels.  
Brennen had wandered in their direction, but seemed not much more 
involved in the moment than she.  He leaned back on the narrow 
table that Mulder had once described as her "area".

To her surprise, after a moment Mulder sensed her absence, her 
distant manner, and looked over his shoulder to catch her eye.  
"Anything important?" he called.

"Uh...that was Skinner, actually.  He needs me back upstairs for 
a minute."

"Not me?"

She shook her head.  "No, you're fine.  Just me.  I'll meet you 
back here?"

A trace of concern ghosted Mulder's expression, but he played 
along, nodding briskly.  "Yeah, I'll be right here."

She left the warmth of voices for the silent and dim hall.


*****


She wasn't gone long.  Her return trip down the elevator, along 
the shadowy hall, was absent of memories and nostalgic thoughts, 
driven solely by purpose.  She charged through the open door with 
no moment of reflective hesitation.  Michaels and Mulder were 
right where she had left them, Mulder's jacket tossed over a 
chair, sleeves rolled up.  Both spoke animatedly about the case.  
Brennen was nowhere to be seen.  Scully caught the words "witch", 
"legend", "cult", and something about "mud patterns" before the 
two men broke off and turned her way.

"Hey, Scully."  Mulder reverted to her former name for the first 
time on Bureau grounds.  But he was instantly alert to her shift 
in mood.  "What's wrong?"  He took a step toward her.

Scully kept her stance steady, breath even if too deep and a 
shade too fast.  She saw the concern spread to Gannon's 
expression.  The room felt too small.  "Mulder, I need to speak 
with Agent Michaels for a few minutes."

Mulder frowned as he moved closer, pressing up to her personal 
space, trying to communicate, just the two of them, despite 
Michaels' presence.  Mulder's hand moved just slightly and 
feather-light fingers grazed her wrist.  "Everything all right?"

"It's fine," she nodded sharply.  "I just need to speak with 
Gannon.  About an old case of ours."  She caught Gannon's look 
for a moment, then ducked away.

The heat of Mulder's body was pulling at her.  So close.  Sudden 
impulsive desire to kiss him, wrap herself around him and escape 
from here.

"Okay.  I, uh...I need to stop by payroll, anyway.  We were 
pretty much done here, right?"  He glanced over his shoulder for 
confirmation, and Michaels nodded.

"Sure, you go on."  Gannon's mellow voice, subdued by Scully's 
tension.

Mulder grabbed his jacket.  He unrolled his sleeves and shrugged 
back into the formal confines.  He deliberately walked too close 
to Scully as he passed.  "I'll call you later."  His breath close 
to her ear.  He brushed her ribcage ever so lightly with his 
hand, sweeping his arm across her stomach as he stepped past.  So 
subtle, so well within the confines of acceptable behavior.  Yet 
the intimacy of the gesture made her knees feel weak.

She listened to Mulder's footsteps fading down the hallway.  She 
looked hard at Gannon across the silent room.  "Maley's awake," 
she said bluntly.

Gannon's jaw literally dropped.  "You're fucking kidding me."  He 
paced toward her, setting down the file folder he'd been holding 
with a resounding *thwack*.  "You slashed the man's throat, shot 
him in the chest point blank, it wasn't bad enough he was still 
hangin' on as a vegetable in a coma, but you're telling me--"

"Skinner just got the call.  Maley woke up last night.  And it 
looks like he may reach a coherent enough state to stand trial."

"Jesus Christ.  Some cases just never leave ya alone."


*****


End Chapter 21b.  (Continued in 22...)
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