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 22	



**It is slowly killing me to be near you now--and not touch you.  
To see you as I did today, once again in the office we shared for 
so long, every bit as beautiful as you were a decade ago; your 
white blouse pulling across your chest, your skirt hugging the 
curve of your hips like a second skin, your deep lipstick drawing 
my gaze to your mouth at every turn, red hair a flame in the 
shadows.  I watched you every day for so long, knowing you were 
all I wanted--and just out of reach.  But everything changed when 
you kissed me in the rain.  I'm not alone, anymore.  You want 
this.  And seeing you as we once were, knowing you want my hands 
on you...  Scully, if we had been alone...**



She left Quantico as early as she could get away.  She wanted to 
be home.  She needed space; time to her own thoughts.  When 
Scully came in her front door, Christopher was sitting on the 
living room floor amid a sea of toys strewn across a lazy Golden 
Retriever.  Christopher squealed with delight at Scully's 
appearance.  Margarite was seated on a nearby lounge chair.  She 
smiled, at Christopher's joyous reaction.  Scully crossed to her 
son.  "Hey, Big Guy."  She stooped down and lifted her child into 
her arms, kissed his warm pudgy cheek and hugged him close.  "I 
missed you, Little One," she whispered.  She shifted him onto her 
hip, free hand cradling his tiny fingers.

She looked up toward Margarite with a small smile.  The woman 
exuded kindness.  It hadn't been a hard decision to hire her.  
Margarite had been best friends with Maggie Scully's younger 
sister for decades.  Scully had met the woman at family parties, 
heard stories about her for years.  When the need for a nanny had 
arisen, the family grapevine had dropped the perfect applicant 
into Scully's lap.

"Hello, Dana," Margarite said, her smooth voice comfortably 
soothing, her slight accent close enough to Maggie Scully's to 
speak of home.  "How was work?"

Scully nodded, stiffening a bit, despite the comforting warmth in 
her arms.  Christopher fingered a button of her blouse.  "It was 
fine," she said simply.  "How about here?"

Margarite nodded as she crossed to where Scully stood.  She 
touched a hand to Christopher's back.  "All business as usual 
here.  Went to the park for a bit this afternoon.  Tasha, too.  
So hopefully they'll be quiet for you this evening.  I swear this 
guy is trying to talk more and more every day."

Scully lifted an eyebrow.  "Any new words?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure I'm 'Wee' now.  And I *know* you're 'Ma'.  
And twice I've heard 'Ba' for bottle, just today."

Scully nodded.  "Yeah, I thought he said that over the weekend."

"And he's gotten onto a new syllable today.  Sounds kind of like 
'muh', but I can't see that he's applying it to anything yet.  
He'll be talking up a storm before you know it."

Scully smiled.  "So hard to imagine.  I can't believe he's 
growing so fast."

"Happens in the blink of an eye.  Raised five of my own and never 
got used to it."

Scully cringed good-naturedly.  "I can't even fathom five."

"You'd be surprised how natural it is when you do it."

Scully just half-smiled, her attention on Christopher and his 
perfect little nose.  She nuzzled her face close to his, forehead 
to forehead, felt suddenly too vulnerable.  Behind her, Margarite 
gathered her things.

"In the morning, then?"

"Thanks, Margarite," Scully said, glancing over her shoulder as 
Margarite slipped out the door.

The apartment fell quiet.

Scully got herself a glass of water, Tasha trailing her heels.  
She settled on the couch to nurse Christopher.  Tasha took her 
usual place, stretched out along the remainder of the couch, 
nuzzling against Scully's thigh, occasionally licking 
Christopher's toes or the top of his head.

Scully sat back and closed her eyes, hoping to calm the tension 
in her temples escalating rapidly toward a headache.  She gently 
stroked Christopher's silky-fine hair.  They had been so ready to 
take Maley to trial a year and a half ago, every evidentiary 
detail fast in hand.  Not so, anymore.  It would mean copious 
time and effort to re-familiarize themselves with the case, hours 
of coordinating work with the D.A., extra time away from 
Christopher.

Not to mention the added stresses of her dual role as 
investigating officer and victim.

It would mean seeing Maley again.

Hearing his voice.

Recounting every detail of the attack to rooms full of strangers.

Scully kept her eyes closed, centering her focus on the soft 
mouth against her skin, breathing deeply.  She lifted her head, 
took another sip of water as Christopher depleted her liquids, 
and watched her son in his quiet contentment.  Christopher sensed 
her attentions and gazed up at her, his big eyes wide and intent 
and infinitely trusting.  He reached a hand to tug at her hair, 
pulled a fistful down toward her breast to hold close as he 
nursed, effectively pinning her focus on him.

*Stay close, Mom.  Keep me safe.*

*Oh, God, Baby, I'm trying.  I'm trying.*


*****


Christopher had just spit his strained carrots on the dog when 
Scully's cell phone rang.

The Caller ID glowed with the words "Daniel's Cell".  Scully's 
pulse skipped for multiple reasons.  She punched the talk button.  
"Hey, where are you?"

"Wal-Mart."

Scully coughed.  "Wal-Mart?"

"I found an apartment.  I'm officially no longer homeless."

"But, Mulder, you don't have any stuff."

"Hence the trip to Wal-Mart."

"No, Mulder you don't have any--"

"It's a furnished apartment, Scully.  I'm here for essential 
accessories--sheets, towels, sponges, Mr. Pibb."

"Oh."  She hesitated.  Pressed past the burn in her stomach.  
"Well....good.  I mean, that's great, you found a place so 
quickly."

"Yeah, it was pretty lucky timing, actually.  D.C.'s not known 
for its excess of housing, right?  The building just had the one 
unit left, but it was clean and close by work and available for 
immediate occupancy, and I'm the prime example of an immediate 
occupant."

"Yeah, of course.  That's great.  So, are you...I mean, are you 
planning to stay there tonight?"

"Is that a hopeful note I hear, Scully?"

"No!  I mean, no, of course not, I was just--"

"Fear not, I still fully intend upon you feeding me.  I'll be 
over for dinner in about half an hour."

"You realize I'm just thawing something in a skillet?"

"You realize I'm weighing this against Taco-A-Go-Go."

"Half an hour."

"Will do.  And Scully?"

"Yeah."

"You okay?"

He stole her breath.  "I'm fine."  But the softness in her voice 
spoke a different world.


*****


Mulder assumed baby-duty while Scully heated dinner.  Christopher 
sat on a cushioned mat on the kitchen floor and Mulder stretched 
out on the tile beside him.  She watched, unobtrusively, taking 
in the subtleties of interaction between man and child.  In the 
short time since Mulder's return, Christopher had begun to draw 
him in.  She had seen the growing sense of wonder in Mulder.  The 
shift from semi-detached amazement at this new little presence in 
their lives, to the deeper connection.  He was realizing that 
Christopher was not just a baby, but an individual of his own.  
With his own thoughts, his own fears, his own likes and joys, his 
own experiences to come.

Scully had taken a few days to make the discovery, herself.  She 
and Daniel had spent so much time preparing for the day they 
would bring Christopher home from the hospital, working out all 
the technical details, the rituals of care, choosing the proper 
equipment; then the first hours had been a whirlwind of newness, 
frantic efforts to do it all right, pull it together and not blow 
anything after so much planning.  Then finally a quiet moment had 
come.  Just her and Christopher; his warm body and tiny fingers 
and his sweet little yawn and his fingers curling around her own.  
And she had realized, he was a little human being having a day, 
like anyone else.  He was just really really new at it.  And she 
had so much to teach him.  But he was Christopher, from the very 
first day.

Scully almost burned the frozen dinner-in-a-bag watching Mulder 
bouncing a pig puppet in front of Christopher to make him smile 
and squeal.  *"You like that, buddy?  Where's the pig?  Where did 
it go?  There it is!  You found it!"*

They ate dinner at the dining room table, Christopher content in 
his swing, listening to the wind-up music soother.  The food 
helped stave off Scully's headache, but she popped a Tylenol 
after dinner to keep ahead of the pain. 

When the dishes had been cleared and the kitchen cleaned, the 
three of them retreated to the living room, Christopher on the 
floor, exploring his world and Mulder's briefcase, Mulder and 
Scully on the couch.

"So, tell me about your apartment," Scully prompted, taking a sip 
of her water.

Mulder shrugged.  "Low on the glamour, fairly high on the 
functionality.  It's a three month starter lease.  We'll see 
where I'm at in three months.  Eventually, I do hope to have my 
own furniture again."

"I'm sorry we sold it."

"I didn't exactly give you much choice.  Besides, I think my 
couch might better have been torched."

Scully gave a soft smile.  "You might have a point.  But some of 
the furniture was nice.  I'm sure you miss it."

He shrugged, didn't really reply.  Scully tilted her head.  
"Mulder..." she shook her head.  "I still can't believe you did 
this.  I can't...God, Mulder, you must...it must have been 
terrifying."

"I don't think I really thought about what I was getting into 
until I was in over my head.  You've heard that before, right?  
And then...it was just day to day."

"You didn't have any back-up.  Any *friends*.  The Gunmen, did 
they know that--"

He shook his head.  "No.  I mean, they knew I might pull out, go 
deep under, but I don't think they really believed it.  They had 
me under surveillance for a few days, I think they really 
believed that's all it would be.  I cut them off."

Scully nodded, cold trailing her spine at the mention of their 
friends.  She didn't want to go there tonight.  Regretted guiding 
the subject.

Mulder seemed to sense her withdrawal, and moved the conversation 
safely away.  "However, on the plus side, not having much stuff, 
I have yet to gain the capacity to bury my bed, so I can actually 
sleep in the bedroom for a while."

Scully grinned, a vague sadness lingering in her eyes.  "That's 
good."

They fell silent, comfortable as always in simple togetherness.  
She watched Christopher pulling at the edge of the coffee table, 
firmly grasping Mulder's green highlighter.

"What happened today?"  His voice was soft and throaty, 
penetrating her defenses with a single breath.

Scully looked down at her water glass, thumb tracing the rim.  
She couldn't keep Mulder out of the loop, couldn't risk him 
hearing the news from someone else.  "For the past year and a 
half, James Maley has been in a coma," she said, voice low.  
"Little chance of him waking.  Less chance of his higher brain 
function proving intact."

Mulder's eyes narrowed, scrambling to catch up.  "Maley?"

Scully slipped below his gaze, drew a shallow breath--and Mulder 
got it.  He reached out with a tenderness that made her shiver, 
brushed the backs of his fingers down the length of her forearm.  
*Daniel had avoided touching the scars, except for rare moments 
kissing her wounds.  Mulder couldn't keep his fingers away.*

Scully focused on her lap.  "Yeah.  Last night...he woke up.  
Skinner got the call this morning.  Nothing's a lock yet, but the 
preliminary indications point toward Maley regaining the 
necessary competence to stand trial."

"You shot him."

She nodded.  "Among...other things."

Mulder sat forward, propped his elbows on his knees and combed 
his fingers through his windblown hair.  She could feel the rush 
of emotion in his muscles.  "Dammit, Scully.  I still can't 
believe that--"

"Mulder, it's okay."

He whirled on her, hitting hard with his dark stare.  "In what 
possible way?"

"It's part of the job, it's not something new, it's just...I 
didn't..."  She trailed off, victim to the tension and 
increasingly aware of the throb in her temples.  She shifted 
restlessly, placing her drink on the end table.  She brushed a 
hand over Christopher's hair as she turned back.

"You just what?" Mulder asked.  And she could hear the struggle 
in his voice, the deliberate effort to pull back from his flare 
of self-loathing and rage to the quietness he knew was required 
to hear what she needed to say.

She drew a deep breath, steeled herself against the words.  "I 
knew when I left he X-Files that there would be lingering 
responsibilities.  Incarcerated criminals being considered for 
parole, ongoing appeals of convictions...  I was never naive 
enough to think there was such a thing as a clean break from our 
job.  But of all the cases to come back, to touch Christopher's 
life....  I never...I just never wanted this to be part of his 
world."  She broke off, sniffed hard, brushed the back of her 
knuckles down the tip of her nose, and looked away.

Mulder shifted, turning more fully to face her.  He reached a 
hand along the back of the couch.  "Scully..."

"Skinner asked me today for a final decision whether I wished to 
return to field work.  He needs an answer by Friday."

Mulder's hand hesitated an inch from her shoulder.  "What are you 
going to say?"  So controlled, so neutral.  Yet she could hear 
the scream from every fiber in his body.  The only card she had 
ever held that scared the bejesus out of Fox Mulder.

Scully looked down at Christopher.  He grasped her pant leg and 
tugged, and Scully reached down and lifted him into her lap.  He 
squealed for his rubber fish until she lifted that, too.  She 
could feel Mulder absorbing her every move.

"Mulder...," she shook her head, gaze on Christopher.  "What can 
I do?"  The question was rhetorical.

"Scully, you have to be yourself.  You have to follow what feels 
right, do what you want with your heart, what would fulfill you.  
You can't be a good parent if you deny who you are.  You know 
that."

"I'm more than a field Agent, Mulder."

"Of course you are."

She moistened her lips.  Took a moment.  "Michaels and I were 
working round the clock.  We knew he was on the prowl, we *knew* 
there was another death coming.  We were fighting the clock, felt 
like destiny.  You've been there."

"More times than I want to count."  *God, Mulder, it's so good to 
talk to you.  Take me to a cheap motel with connecting doors 
between our rooms and order me a flat stale pizza and try to 
convince me a blurry late-night Three Stooges movie is something 
I should stay awake to see.*

"We broke for dinner.  Michaels just grabbed something close by.  
I took a couple of hours and went home, because I was supposed to 
meet Daniel.  We met up in the hallway of my apartment, went 
inside.  I put dinner down in the kitchen, Chinese take-out.  I 
went back to my bedroom to get cleaned up.  I said something to 
Daniel, but he didn't answer me.  So, I walked back down the hall 
to see where he was.  Maley was in the coat closet.  Hit me...out 
of the blue.  When I finally got a glimpse of Daniel, he was 
already unconscious on the kitchen floor.  I thought he was dead.  
Maley fought me down.  Tied me to my dinner table.  Carved up my 
arm.  In the end--I slashed his throat and shot him in the chest.  
In my living room.  In--My--*Living Room*. "  She looked up at 
Mulder, unacknowledged tears in her eyes.  He was watching, 
unmoving, his deep eyes piercing her skin.  "And later, Daniel 
said to me...'What if there had been a child in your arms?'"  
Deep silence.  Christopher smacked his lips around his rubber 
fish, squirmed in Scully's lap and sprawled across the throw 
pillow.  Scully's tears blurred her vision, but her gaze conveyed 
the unspeakable--*What if it had been Christopher?*.

Mulder looked stricken.

"No life is safe," Scully whispered, even and deliberate.  "I 
know that.  But I cannot choose a life for my son, that I *know* 
isn't."

The air felt thinner as she waited for Mulder to speak.

Then simply, "Okay."

Her throat closed.
 
His hand stole the last distance to grasp her shoulder.  And 
before she knew it, his mouth was on hers and she was drinking in 
the tenderness of his kiss like water.  His lips were warm and 
full and the need to explore the real and physical texture of 
intimacies she had known only in fantasy was instantly 
overwhelming.  Mulder's hand cradled her cheek and her own 
fingers rose to mirror the gesture, combed through the edge of 
his hair.  The ache of connection spread deep, but the power was 
all the more for having been caught off guard.  Of all the 
thousands of heart-rending moments they had shared--careful and 
restrained, yes, wholly intimate nonetheless--this was the first 
time they had not turned away at the moment of greatest need.  
The first time she had felt her need answered.

When they broke away, Christopher's insistent fingers tugging at 
her hair, they held close.  Breath against breath, touches warm, 
lingering.  Mulder's thumb stroked her cheek, her hand cupped the 
back of his neck.  "We'll get through this," he whispered.

Scully nodded, traced her tongue over her lips, tasted the tear 
she hadn't felt escape her lashes.

"Scully?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you go out with me?"

She gave half a laugh.  "Mulder...are you asking me on a date?"

He did smile.  "That's the usual interpretation of the term, yes.  
It's an American idiom, 'go out with', usually referring to an 
event attended as a twosome--dinner, a movie, ice skating, 
typically with some degree of romantic intent."

Her chest rose and fell, and her arm scooped instinctively around 
Christopher, keeping him from the edge of the couch.  "Yes.  I 
would like to."

"Tomorrow night?"

"I think I can work that."

"Good.  Then it's a date."


*****


The house was eerily quiet in the late hours.  Mulder had packed 
his meager belongings and driven off to his new home.  
Christopher slept peacefully in his crib.  Tasha rested at the 
end of the hallway, guarding both Scully and Christopher in equal 
measure.

Scully sat before her laptop at the dining room table, entranced 
by the cool glow of the flat screen.  Her headache was eating at 
her reserves.  Almost time for another round of medication.  She 
was surrounded by files, disks and papers.  Autopsy photos, 
witness testimony, lab results, crime scene analyses.  And it was 
all starting to blur and make her skin hurt and she could feel 
him awake out there.  Somewhere.  Miles away.  Knowing she was 
still alive.  Knowing his task had not been completed.

*Dammit.*  She pulled off her glasses and rubbed at her eyes.  
Time to move, shake it off, back up.  Scully stood, the stiffness 
in her legs telling her she'd been working longer than she 
realized.  She switched off her computer and gathered the files 
onto the tabletop, out of Christopher's reach.  She kept one 
other file in her hand.

Turning off lights and checking door locks, Scully made her way 
down the hall.  She moved quietly into her darkened bedroom, the 
only light the gentle glow from the nightlight on her bedside 
table.  She hovered beside Christopher's crib, listening to the 
even sounds of his breath.  Sinking silently, she stooped beside 
him, peering through the bars, bringing them nearly face to face.  
She slipped her hand through the bars and stroked a single finger 
down the back of his hand.

"I'm so sorry, Baby," she whispered, her words hardly a breath.  
He slept on.  "I never wanted this to touch your life.  Any of 
it.  But it will.  And this may not be the last time.  But this 
is something I have to do."  Scully shifted her weight, watched 
the slight ripple of her son's eyelids as his focus shifted 
beneath.  "As much as I want you to live in a perfect world...you 
don't.  None of us do.  And sometimes...people do bad things to 
other people.  This man--he hurt Mommy.  And he hurt your Dad.  
And he hurt a lot of other people we didn't even know.  But this 
stuff Mommy has to do now...this is to make sure that everyone 
else is safe from this man.  That he can never hurt me or you or 
anybody else, ever again.  Do you understand?  I have to do this.  
But I'm so...sorry..."  She closed her eyes and leaned her 
forehead against the wooden dowels.  Pain throbbed against her 
temples.  But the small contact with Christopher's skin spread 
like warmth up her arm, soothing her body, deepening her breath.  
He slept on, oblivious to the comfort he bestowed.

"*I love you, Christopher.*"

She readied herself for bed.  She left her nightlight burning.  
She took the single file to bed with her, poring over the 
contents once again.


*****

End Chapter 22.  (Continued in 23a...)
Feedback=Author Candy - bstrbabs@earthlink.net