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...

A NOTE ABOUT UPDATES: I am about to move cross-country with my 
family, so my Real Life is about to intrude quite heavily upon my 
writing time.  Our movers start work mid-July and there will be 
packing days, travel days, motel days, moving in days, unpacking 
days, etc., before we finally get settled on the other end and I 
can get back to a regular posting schedule.  I just want everyone 
to know my situation, so no one panics about the status of the 
WIP.:)  Rest assured, I will be back to regular posting as soon 
as I can possibly manage it, and I will be writing throughout the 
ordeal (on truck stop napkins if need be).  Also keep in mind, my 
Net access during these next few weeks will be spotty at best, so 
if you write to me and don't receive a reply, I'm probably 
offline and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.  I appreciate 
your patience and understanding.


"Water's Edge"
by
Elizabeth Rowandale <bstrbabs@earthlink.net>
Copyright (c) 2003


Chapter 23a


"Everything about her was warm and soft and scented; even the 
stains of her grief became her as raindrops do the beaten rose."

                 --"House of Mirth" by Edith Wharton



**Scully, you have this way of listening to me when I talk.  You 
focus in, and that little line at the inner edge of your eyebrow 
deepens, and sometimes you fold your arms across your breasts and 
lean just a little bit toward me.  And you're always skeptical 
and sometimes critical, and you know when I'm hurting and I won't 
admit it, and you're deeply concerned and quietly empathetic, but 
always *always* you listen.  No one ever listened to me like you.

I missed you.**


Gannon Michaels pulled a slightly flattened peanut butter 
sandwich from his briefcase and stared at it non-commitally.  He 
reconsidered his decision to decline his partner's invitation to 
lunch and entertained visions of Agent Brennen sitting 
comfortably on the bench outside the Hoover building chowing down 
on a large ham on rye.

But hunger and immediacy won out and Michaels plunged into his 
peanut butter.  He brushed a few crumbs off the rather gruesome 
crime scene photos painting his desk; the latest blow-ups from 
the Tennessee Witch case he wasn't supposed to be concentrating 
on anymore.  But the case had lodged itself firmly between his 
teeth, and try as he might, he couldn’t get it out without 
further investigation.

That's what lunch hours were for.

He had been poring over the same repetitive case facts for no 
more than ten minutes before a soft tap on his half open office 
door startled him to attention.

Fox Mulder stood in his doorway.

"Mind if I intrude?"

Michaels struggled to swallow his peanut butter and set down the 
file folder.  "Agent Mulder!  Not at all.  Just me and my 
sandwich, here.  My partner went out to grab some lunch of his 
own."

Mulder nodded and eased forward, perhaps a bit too casually.  He 
tapped a hand against his thigh as he once again scanned his 
surroundings.  Michaels could only imagine how strange it was for 
Mulder to be back in this room.  It was strange enough to be 
watching a man Michaels had felt in these walls for so long only 
as a ghost.

Michaels pulled a soda can from his briefcase.  "Can I offer you 
a drink?  I've got an extra."

Mulder turned, hesitating a moment as if pulling himself back to 
the present.  *How many ghosts haunted these walls for him?*  
Mulder moved toward the desk.  "Yeah, I'll actually take you up 
on that."  He took the can, popped the top and took a long drink 
of the sweet carbonation.  He stared at the top for a moment, 
then said,  "So, how are you liking life in the infamous X-Files 
division?"

Michaels curled his mouth into a sideways grin.  "Well, I'd say 
these couple of years have been more of an education than any of 
the prior training I had."

Mulder laughed.  His smiles, though tainted with hints of 
darkness, came much easier than Dana's.  "Yeah, I can believe 
that.  You definitely don't come out of this room the same as you 
went in."

"All hail to that," Michaels said, tilting his own soda can in 
Mulder's direction.  They both took a drink.

Mulder swung the chair away from Brennen's desk to face Michaels 
and dropped into it, long legs stretching out before him.

"So, background checks?" Michaels asked.

Mulder nodded.  "Don't worry.  If you stay on the X-Files long 
enough, you'll piss off enough people to get your turn."

Michaels laughed.  "Man, I wish you were kidding."

Mulder took another sip of his soda.  "So, what's on your plate 
right now?  Still working on that Tennessee Witch or did you give 
that one up?"

Michaels shook his head.  "Nah, haven't given up, but I'm gonna 
need something better than what I've got to get another 302 
approved."

"Comin' down on you, are they?"

"Well, let's just say, from what I can surmise, you and Dana in 
your heyday used up the travel budget for well into the next 
century."

Mulder cringed.  "Sorry about that."

"Hey, I would have done the same in your shoes."

"From what Scully says about you, I'm sure you would."

Michaels felt a flash of warmth at the implied compliment.  
Somehow, the idea of Dana speaking well of him to Fox Mulder 
carried more weight than any other agent in the Bureau.  He took 
a bite of his sandwich.  Reaching down into a bag beside his 
desk, Michaels pulled out a paltry package of BBQ chips.  "You 
had lunch?" he asked Mulder as he tossed the crinkly package to 
the far side of the desk.

Mulder waved it away.  "Nah, I'm fine, thanks."

And from what little Dana had hinted about Mulder's appetite, 
such a refusal virtually guaranteed the man had something on his 
mind.

"I got some interesting data from the Smyrna, Tennessee registrar 
this morning," Michaels said.

Mulder looked up, eyebrows lifting like a hunting dog perking his 
ears.  "That so?" he asked.

Michaels nodded.  "Death records.  It would seem that the 
townsfolk have at least some factual basis for their gruesome 
little legend.  Although, there certainly hasn't been a 
decapitation every seventh full moon, there have been an unusual 
number of decapitations in those woods over the last 30 or 40 
years, attributed to a variety of causes.  And I'm still counting 
back and comparing the dates and charts, but the ones I've 
checked so far *do* fall during full moons.  I'm still counting 
to see if they fall on the would-be sevens...."

Mulder pushed up from his chair, and circled to Michaels' side of 
the desk as Michaels shuffled through his papers, bringing some 
of the morning's faxes to the forefront.

Mulder leaned a hand on the desk beside Michaels, scanning the 
data over his shoulder.

"I'd say that's a little more than a coincidence, wouldn't you?"

Michaels nodded.  "I would.  But I'm thinkin' finance might see 
it a little differently at this point.  I'm hoping to come up 
with something with a little more punch to it."

"Yeah, I see your point," Mulder said, catching the edge of his 
lip between his teeth as he scanned the paperwork.  He picked up 
one page and straightened up for further study.  "What does 
Brennen think?" Mulder asked, not looking away from the page.

"He thinks I ought to listen to Skinner and leave it to the local 
authorities for now."

Mulder didn't reply.

"Can I ask you a tactless question, Agent Mulder?"

That got his attention.  Mulder lowered the paper to the desktop 
and gave Michaels genuine eye contact.  "You wouldn't be the 
first one around here, of late," he said with a wry smile.

"You planning to make your way back into this office one of these 
days?"

Mulder stared him down for a beat.  Then he dropped his gaze, 
hands propping on his hips, pushing back his coat tails.  
"There's a lot to consider there.  I don't have an iron clad plan 
right now."

"Dana's out of the game, isn't she?" he asked softly.

Mulder didn't reply, but his lids lowered just enough to make the 
answer clear.

"I can't blame her," Michaels said simply.

Mulder shook his head.  "You've got kids of your own, don't you?" 
he asked.

"Two little rugrats.  A wife in there somewhere, too."

Mulder tried a smile.  "Do you really know what you're into here, 
Agent Michaels?"

Michaels shook his head.  "Probably not.  But I'm learning.  And 
for now, I see a job here that needs to be done.  And I don't see 
anyone else jumping up to do it."

Mulder laughed, but there was little genuine humor in the sound.  
"That's a dangerous philosophy, Agent Michaels.  I think Agent 
Waterston can vouch for that."

Michaels fell quiet, sorting through the undercurrents of the 
conversation.  "My family's my priority.  Always will be."

"Just being here in this office puts them at risk.  You realize 
that?"  He locked gazes, testing him.

Michaels held his ground.  "I do.  And Dana and I have talked 
about that.  At length a few times, actually."

That seemed to catch Mulder by surprise.  But it also seemed to 
relax him a bit.  At long last, he said, "Would you mind keeping 
me updated on that Tennessee case?  If anything new does come 
up?"

"Absolutely.  Be happy to have your help, anytime."

Mulder nodded.

"And in the meantime, I wouldn't mind asking you about a few 
things in those cabinets over there, if you’ve got a few 
minutes..."

Mulder turned to look pointedly at the X-File cabinets.  "A *few* 
minutes?" he asked, the edge of humour returning to his voice.

Michaels laughed.  "To start."

An hour passed before either of them looked at the clock again.  
Brennen was late returning from lunch.  Mulder pushed up from his 
seat on the floor and retrieved his suit coat from the back of 
Brennen's chair.

"Hey, I appreciate the time," said Michaels, returning files to 
their proper slots.

Mulder shrugged.  "Anytime."

He was already at the door, jacket slung over his shoulder when 
he turned back.

He didn't meet Michaels' gaze when he asked, "Her husband...was 
he good for her?"

Michaels breath caught; he forced a deep draw of air on the 
thought, wished he knew more about the man he was answering this 
for.  Finally, he said honestly, "At the time, yes.  He was a 
good man.  I liked him, from the little I knew him.  And I know 
he loved her."

Mulder continued to stare at the floor.  A long beat of tremulous 
silence, then Mulder simply nodded, pushed off the door casing 
and vanished down the hall.


*****


Ashleigh opened the door for him.  Scully was in the back of the 
apartment settling Christopher for the night.  So Mulder was 
standing somewhat awkwardly in Scully's living room, making small 
talk with a college girl who would have caught his eye a lifetime 
ago but looked like a child to him now--when the most beautiful 
woman he had ever seen strode casually down the hall.

He knew Scully was beautiful.  That information had been part of 
the fabric of his days for so long he couldn't remember life 
outside its influence.  But tonight...  Scully was dressed in a 
deep navy gown, gentle draping skirt stopping just above her 
knee, satin hugging her midriff like skin.  A deep V-neck and 
bare shoulders flashed him with pale skin.  Shoes in matching 
navy, wide ribbons twisting and twining about her ankles.  Her 
hair was tied; long, straight sections hanging loose and elegant 
around her face.  Her earrings caught the soft yellow light, 
flickering in and out around her hair.  Diamonds  and something 
else...sapphires, maybe?  (*A gift from Daniel?*)  Her make-up 
was darker, more dramatic than he had ever seen in the office.  
Yet she applied it with practiced perfection.  Something about 
her rang out as vaguely European.  Made him remember the 
hypnotizing intrigue of the elusive French women he had seen 
shopping in the better parts of London during his college years; 
with their ease of motion and graceful confidence, standing out 
in a crowd as much for their subtlety, their quiet elegance, as 
for their beauty.

And she was his date tonight.

"Hey, Mulder," Scully said, a hint of a smile softening her 
voice.

"Hey, yourself," he said.  Because Ashleigh was there, and he 
couldn't tell Scully she was beautiful for the first time with 
her babysitter eaves-dropping.  But the wonder in his eyes and 
the hoarse tone of his voice must have carried to Scully, because 
he caught the slight warming of her cheeks, the surreptitious 
fall of her glance and the gentle pulse in her throat.

"Christopher's asleep," she said to Ashleigh, but Mulder could 
feel the connection still hot between Scully and him.  Their 
partner radar was in high gear.  And maybe a few other things....

"Sounds good," Ashleigh said, tucking her fingers into the tight 
pockets of her low-rise jeans.  "I'll just be here, dragging my 
way through the Industrial Revolution.  You go have fun."

Scully smirked.  "Hey, I did my time in school.  More than."

Ashleigh smiled in return.  "I'll give you that one."

Scully picked up a small black purse from the dining room table 
and a silky shawl that she draped across the crooks of her elbows 
like she dressed this way everyday.  She took her trench coat 
from the coat tree, but didn't put it on.  "Are we ready?" she 
asked, finally meeting his gaze.

He nodded.  "Ready when you are, G-woman."

Ashleigh laughed behind him at the affectionate name.  He 
wondered who this girl saw when she looked at Scully.

"All right, well...we shouldn't be too late," Scully said, and 
Ashleigh just nodded.  "If we are, just keep the monitor by you 
and crash on the couch."

Ashleigh waved her out the door.  "I've got it, I know the drill.  
We'll be fine.  Go."

Scully relented.  "I know you do.  All right.  Thanks, honey," 
she said, brushing an affectionate hand over Ashleigh's arm.

And Mulder was captivated.  The easy affection, the intimate 
interaction...something to marvel at with Scully.  The most he 
had seen of this side of her had come at the bedsides of patients 
and victims; when her mother or sister had come to visit *her* in 
the hospital.  Had she always been this way with her family?  Had 
motherhood softened her?  Or was she finally just showing him 
Dana along with Agent Scully?  He didn't know which scenario he 
wanted to be true.  He only knew he was entranced.

*Scully, did you just call someone 'honey'?*

"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing toward the door.  Scully fell 
into step beside him, and he opened the door for her.  Scully 
worked the lock before pulling the door.

"Have fun, Grams," Ashleigh called.

"*Stop!*"  Her voice was firm, but the affection was unclouded.

Ashleigh was laughing as the door closed.

"She really enjoys that, doesn't she?" Mulder asked.

Scully swung on him with a warning eyebrow.  "Don't start."

Mulder lifted his open hands like a white flag.  "Did I say 
anything?"

"Don't."

"Whatever you say, Mrs. Waterston."

Her glare was enough to subdue him into silence.

He touched a hand to the small of her back as they fell into step 
down the hall.  Touching Scully was so comfortable, so easy.  
Even in the early years of their partnership, Scully had felt 
more like home than anywhere in Massachusetts.  She watched her 
shoes as they walked.  At the elevator, Mulder pressed the 
button, Scully looked up at him appraisingly.  She took in the 
suit, the somewhat ordinary tie, the newly polished shoes.  "You 
look nice," she said softly, left eye half-closing.  "You always 
do."  You could learn the world from Scully's left eyelid.

For once in his life, Mulder consciously spoke to Scully without 
the filter between his brain and his mouth.  He reached out and 
drew the backs of his knuckles down the line of her jaw.  
"Scully.  You take my breath away."

Visible sensation danced across skin, through her quivering 
breath to her hooded lids--and shot straight to his core like a 
leaping flame, and the memory of her hips hugging his left him 
aching like a teenaged boy.  *Scully, do you know how long you've 
been the only woman I see?*

"Thank you," she whispered.

But he only shook his head.  It wasn't a compliment; it was a 
statement of truth.

The elevator bell sounded as the doors slid open, and Scully 
stepped inside.

She slipped into her trench coat the moment the chill night air 
touched her arms.  She circled to the passenger side of Mulder's 
car.  And he would have followed to open the door for her--and 
part of him wanted to drown her in chivalry, give her the red 
carpet treatment--but he sensed she wouldn't want that now.  The 
lines were so jumbled between them.  *What was the protocol for 
old friends to fall in love? *  There could be no falsehoods, no 
distances, no formalities.

Scully sank into the passenger seat she had once occupied on a 
regular basis.  She scanned her surroundings, probably noting the 
lack of fast food bags and misplaced file folders.   "Looks like 
Byers kept your car in fairly decent shape."  She met his gaze, 
chin lifted slightly in challenge.  "And you haven't had it long 
enough to mess it up yourself."

Mulder wrinkled his nose at her.  "Ha. Ha."  She was right, of 
course.  "Yes, well, not all of us have the keys to a Lexus on 
our chain."

Scully was quiet as he pulled out onto the road, the deeper 
implications of his words quivering in the air, and he was almost 
sorry he had spoken.  At last she said simply, "It's good to be 
back in your car."

And he felt like a vise on his temples had been released.


*****


The restaurant didn't take reservations, and when they arrived 
the wait was estimated at 45 minutes to an hour.  Neither of them 
minded.  The night was crisp and clear, the veranda surrounding 
the restaurant was redwood and spacious and inviting.  They 
strolled the circle together, brushing past other diners-to-be, 
gazing out across the night.

"So, how goes the training of the next generation?" Mulder asked, 
because work had always been the easiest way to start.

Scully nodded, watching the traffic on the distant highway.  
"This current group isn't too bad.  Encouraging, for the most 
part."

"Good to know the future of forensic pathology is safely in your 
hands."

She gave a fleeting smile.  She was a little distant tonight.  
Beautiful.  Lovely.  Soft.  But pulled away somewhere, or pulled 
inside.  He needed to edge his way within.

He had never trusted his abilities to do that.  She either melted 
beneath his glance or iced him entirely.

"What about you?" Scully asked.  "Did you get your official 
assignment yet?  Or are you still on General Assignment?"

"Oh, no no.  No General Assignment for Fox Mulder.  I am now, 
Officially the Domestic Terrorism Background Check and Fertilizer 
Inspection King.  Once again."

"Oh, you're kidding me.  They couldn't even put you on white 
collar crime?  Copyrights, or...

But Mulder was shaking his head.  "For the FBI's Most Unwanted?  
The man who won't even die right and stay out of their hair?"

But Scully didn't smile.  She was studying his face, her eyes 
narrowed, gaze unnervingly penetrating.  "I'm sorry," she said at 
last, and there was a gentle sympathy in her voice. 

Mulder shrugged, shook his head.  "They have to save face.  Make 
an example of the renegade.  If I keep my mouth shut long enough, 
they'll reassign me to something worth my time.  In the mean 
time, it pays the bills."

"That's a big 'if', Mulder."

"It is, I know, yeah."

And finally she smiled, but her eyes still held an elegant 
sadness.

They kept walking.

"What about Michaels' X-File?  The...Tennessee Witch.  It seemed 
to catch your attention.  Have you learned any more?"

"Actually, I did, yeah.  I dropped by on my lunch hour.  He's 
been tracking the town's history.  Seems they really have had an 
unusually high number of decapitations in those woods."

"Really?"

"Yep.  I think Michaels is hoping to patch together enough 
suspicious info to convince Skinner to okay another lovely little 
trip to the forest, give him a chance to dig a little deeper."

"There's a meeting I'd like to witness."

Mulder grinned, feeling the shared memories between them.

They walked together in comfortable silence.

"Was it hard to leave Christopher?" he asked, catching her by 
surprise.  "When you first went back to work?"

Scully looked up at him, eyes deepest blue.  "Torturous.  But I 
trust Margarite.  She's been a friend of my aunt's for decades.  
But I would give the world to be home with him.  I miss so 
much..."

"Could you do that?"

She arched an eyebrow.  "What do you mean?"

"I mean...I'm assuming you probably can't, financially, but could 
you...could you stand to be away from work, for that long?"

Scully considered this for a moment, taking the question 
seriously as it had been asked.  "I think I could.  There was a 
time when I would have said no.  But now that I have 
Christopher...there's very little I wouldn't sacrifice to be 
there for every moment of his early life.  Makes everything else 
seem...less."

Mulder nodded.  "I can only imagine.  But...it seems like you."

She narrowed her eyes, studying him in the indefinite light.  She 
didn't need to speak to ask her question.

He cleared his throat, stumbled through his words.  
"Well...Emily.  You were willing to do just about anything.  So 
fast."

She took that in, a passing darkness clouding her lovely 
countenance.  She turned her gaze forward as they walked.  "Yes.  
I was."

He was ready to change the subject for her, an old reflex, when 
she said, "You accused me of never talking to you about Emily.  
About...losing Emily."

And suddenly he was back years in time and his heart was caught 
in his throat.  *And if you had, would I have had a clue what to 
say?*  "It wasn't an accusation."

"I never said I wouldn't talk to you.  You never asked me."

"Of course, I did, Scully.  You just didn't want me to."

"Yes," she said firmly, her pace quickening with her breath.  "I 
did."

He kept pace with her in silence.  Then finally his thoughts 
slipped past his lips.  "Did you talk to Daniel about Emily?"

Scully nodded, looking away.  "He knew about her, yes."

"No.  Scully.  Did you *talk* to him about her?"

Her eyelids flickered and she folded her arms across her chest.  
The wind toyed with her hair.  He wanted it to be his fingers.  
*He was on a date with Scully.*  Her steps slowed.  "No."

She turned toward an open space at the veranda railing and he 
followed, came to a halt by her side.

"I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have asked you that."

He watched the muscles of her throat working as she swallowed.  
"No," she said clearly.  "You shouldn't have had to ask."

*Scully.*  "You still think about her?"

"Every day.  I always will."

Scully tossed her hair back in a quick motion that startled him.  
She looked out over the parking lot and tapped the toe of her 
shoe.  "God, Mulder, I just...I don't know how to do this."

He touched a hand to her elbow, instantly concerned, greedily 
seeking eye contact.  "Whoa, do what?  What are we talking about 
here?"

She gestured between them.  "*This*.  A date.  With you.  Mulder.  
So much has changed since we were partners, I just...it's hard to 
know who I'm supposed to be with you now.  Tonight."

He shook his head in uncertainty.  "You can't just be yourself?"

"I'm just...I'm not..."  She turned and leaned her hips back 
against the railing, folded her arms.

"Scully...haven't you--I mean, haven't you ever been yourself 
with me before?"

"More than anyone."  The answer was so simple.  So matter-of-
fact.

She lost him.  "So, now...I'm confused."

She was thinking it out, puzzling through the facts as he had 
seen her do a thousand times with other people's lives, so rarely 
with their own.  "Well, it was in a limited framework, Mulder.  
It was...I mean, there were rules about what part of our lives we 
were supposed to share, and we never crossed...  You've never 
seen me playing in the sprinkler with my nephew or picking out 
shoes with my mother or...trying out 50 different lipsticks 
trying to find one that doesn't make my teeth look yellow."

Mulder suppressed a smile.  "That's true.  And that's all new 
and--" he ducked to grab her eye contact, "--*fascinating*.  
Except maybe for the lipstick thing."  Scully almost gave a 
smile.  "But I don't think that's something you need to worry 
about, Scully.  Those things...they aren't the kinds of things 
that could ever change the way I look at you.  The way I feel 
about you.  It's the big things that matter.  And those...I think 
we've pretty well covered.  I know who you are when the chips are 
down, Scully.  When people are hurt, when lives are at stake.  I 
know who you are inside.  And you know the same about me."

She was listening, but her mind was still spinning, pale eyes 
seeing beyond the simple vision of wooden deck and weeknight 
edge-of-the-city crowd.  "It's so strange.  I mean...," she gave 
a quick flick of her hand indicating her clothes, "...I dressed 
up trying to look attractive for *you*.  And to have 
you...looking at me with," her cheeks flushed slightly as she 
struggled for a tactful phrase, "an eye to a potential end."

Her trace of a shy grin spread to his own lips.

Scully looked down at the ribbon circling her ankle.

"Scully."

She didn't move.

"Do you honestly think I've never looked at you with that 
potential before?"

The air seemed to fall to silence between them.  He was painfully 
aware of her body, every breath and tensed muscle.

"I was never...*sure*," she said carefully.

Mulder moved closer, moving into her space.  "Well, let me 
reassure you," he breathed against her ear, her auburn locks 
tickling his nose in the wind.  *Scully, it feels so good to be 
close to you again.*  Sensory memories overwhelmed him--
whispering case facts kept secret from suspects, the sound of her 
breath, the feel of the collars of her suits, pressing tight in 
front seats of off-road transports, crowding together over tiny 
hand-scrawled maps and fingerprints and blood stains.  Breathing 
her perfume, her shampoo, her soap, her breath.  A thousand 
accidental brushes.  Shoulders, cheeks, hair, thighs, hips, 
breasts.  And the times she had brushed too close to *him* 
afterward.  And the knowledge like a live wire in the air between 
them, though she never looked at him once or said a single word.  
Yet the vibrations were audible between them...

"How could you not be sure?" he said now, mouth still close to 
her ear; almost touching.  His hand rose to cradle the side of 
her neck, and he felt the quickening of her breath, though her 
arms were still folded across her chest.

She turned ever so slightly until her temple nearly rested 
against his.  She started to speak, but her words failed, and she 
only breathed out on a soft vulnerable sound that flamed the ache 
in his groin.

"Is your headache better today?" he asked, thumb smoothing her 
cheek.

He watched her swallow, watched her brow tense in confusion.  
"Yeah," she said uncertainly.

"What is it?"

"I didn't tell you I had a headache last night."

He only gave her a soft smile, unwilling to surrender an inch of 
her personal space.  "Wouldn't you know if *I* did?"

She paused.  Finally let the side of her face graze his.  Then, 
"Yeah."

He lifted his chin and kissed her temple.   He felt the 
gooseflesh dance down her neck.  Felt her muscles quiver beneath 
his hands.  He pulled back just a shade, touched a gentle hand to 
her forearm.  "You're shaking," he whispered, quiet awe mixing 
with concern.
 
Scully arched an eyebrow, but didn't lift her gaze from the deck.  
Someone walked past, no more than a foot away, but for all his 
investigative skills, Mulder couldn't have said if the figure 
were man, woman, child, or canine.  He was absorbed by Scully.

"Scully...I've seen you get harassed by convicted serial killers 
and never flinch.  I've seen you walk into dark sewer tunnels 
amid outbreaks of violent, animalistic deaths with, frankly, 
inhuman calm.  And tonight..."

"I'm scared," she finished in a whisper.

"You're scared.  Of what?"  He caught a loose strand of her hair 
between two fingers and smoothed it along the side of her face.

Scully shrugged, eyes dancing away.  "Needing you.  Losing you.  
Disappointing you."

"Scully, you could nev--"

"Don't."  She shook her head sharply.  "Don't promise me things 
you can't control."

"I wasn't going to," he said firmly, devoid of anger.

"Mulder it's just...with you..."  She sighed heavily.  He could 
feel the deep pain in her, feel her grasping for words in the 
dark.  Her words carried to him on an intimate breath.  As though 
she wanted to speak and yet not speak.  "Mulder, with you...the 
view from the top...it's so high...it could be the most beautiful 
I've ever known.  But the potential fall...is just so far down.  
And I'm...I've lost so much..."

He leaned down closer again.  "Scully, I know that.  I know the 
risks.  You don't think I'm taking them, too?  And I can't 
promise you perfection.  I won't.  I can't promise the future, 
what might or might not happen between us, same as you can't 
promise me.  I can't promise we'll conquer the mountain and never 
slide.  But what I can promise you, Scully...is a rope to hang on 
to.  And I would never...*never*...let go of that rope.  I never 
let go when the government or the aliens or whoever the hell they 
were took you away.  I wouldn't let go when Donnie Pfaster locked 
you up.  I wouldn't let go when you were dying of cancer or when 
you were buried under the ice in Antarctica.  And there is 
nothing in the world that would make me let go now.  Nothing."

The tension in her delicate frame was painful to watch.  Her arm 
hung at her side, and she brushed her thumb unconsciously across 
the pads of her fingers.  He hadn't seen that nervous gesture 
from her in a very long time, thought perhaps she had left it 
behind.  Her next whisper hit him like a knife in the stomach.

"You let go two years ago."

"No.  *No.*"  Every fiber of his being needed to convey this to 
her.  "It just took me longer to find my way back this time.  But 
Scully...everything I did every day of the past two years was 
toward the goal of keeping you safe.  The only way I knew how."

"You let go," she repeated, almost the petulant child.  
Determined.  Hurting.

"No," he said firmly.  Sudden, aching vision of Scully sinking to 
the stairs of the Gunmen's dusty hallway.  Sobbing.  Alone.

She didn't speak.

He slipped his fingers cautiously around her hand.

She let him.

He held on tight.

"I'm hungry," she said at last.

And he almost smiled in relief.  "We should be up next."

"Good."

The wind blew across and around and over them, and he was 
cocooned in the scent of her skin.


*****

(End Chapter 23a.  Continued in 23b...)
Speak to me, Baby -- bstrbabs@earthlink.net