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...


IMPORTANT NOTE: Anyone who has written to me in the last couple 
of months about anything (feedback or personal) and has not 
received a proper reply, please write to me again or forward your 
previous message.  My mail program somehow ate my folder of 
messages to be replied to.  I have no idea how this happened.  
The file was not corrupted, it scans without errors, yet the most 
crucial of the many folders simply vanished.  And I am much too 
scatterbrained to remember everyone who still had something in 
there...<sigh>...


"Water's Edge"
by
Elizabeth Rowandale (bstrbabs@earthlink.net)


Chapter 27a:


"I remember stormy weather  
The way the sky looks when it's cold  
and you were with me 
content with walking
so unaware of the world"
                --"Tuesday Morning" by Michelle Branch



**'Hey, Scully.  What's...' Soft blue eyes.  Pale and haunted.  
Trench coat and untucked blouse on my motel room threshold and my 
pulse stops and lets my blood swim before my eyes.  'What's 
wrong?'

A quiet sigh, deep lines in your freckled brow.  A whisper that 
tears my heart.  'My ankle hurts.'  And it's clear as a voice in 
the room that you're not saying that at all.  And I scoop you 
inside my room.  And we watch TV.  And in the end you cry, but 
it's all about the hurts inflicted upon you in the battle with 
our demented killer of the week and as such it's understood we'll 
never mention it in the morning.  And in the morning when you're 
slick and together and back in the field, but won't quite look at 
me, it's my chest that's been ripped open and raw.

Scully.  You're talking to me.  Don't ever stop.**



Scully was awake by first light and dressing herself and 
Christopher for early Mass.  Mulder watched her shadowing about 
the curtained room through half-closed lids, not yet ready to 
face the day.  He had caught her arm when she first left the bed 
for the shower, sleepily grasping at her warmth, questioning why 
she was pulling away, but she had only kissed him tenderly on the 
temple and whispered, "Church.  I've missed the last couple of 
weeks.  Mom wants us there."

He wasn't sure who "us" was.  He wasn't sure if Maggie Scully 
knew he was alive.  Or if she knew and wished him dead again.  He 
closed his eyes and let Scully move around him.

When she was about to head into the kitchen to feed Christopher, 
he pushed up to a sitting position on her massive four-poster 
bed, blankets falling back to expose his bare chest to the chill 
morning air.  "Hey, Scully.  How are you feeling this morning?" 
he asked.  He coughed, then cleared his throat.

Scully adjusted Christopher's weight in her arms.  "I'm fine.  No 
problems."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Scully...did you...I mean, did you want me to come with you?  I 
can be ready in a few minutes, I just...if you don't want..."

Scully came to a halt in her routine busyness and focused on him 
fully.  She took a step closer, sat down on the edge of the bed 
and let Christopher spill over her arm onto the blankets to 
explore.  She drew a deliberate breath and rested her hand on 
Mulder's leg through the comforter.  Her hands were always so 
feminine and graceful.  Even brushing away dirt in a field full 
of dead bodies.  "I do...*want* you to.  But my Mom...I haven't 
talked to her yet."

Mulder combed his fingers through the mess that must have been 
his hair.  "She doesn't know I'm alive."

To his surprise, Scully's eyebrows rose, her gaze fixed somewhere 
beside his hip.  "No, actually, she does know that.  The first 
Saturday after you showed up, when I took Christopher over to her 
house while I went into work for the morning, and I asked her to 
keep him awake so he would nap later...she and I ended 
up...talking..."

Mulder narrowed his eyes, listening quietly, trying to process 
Scully's trademark underlayers of information through the haze of 
his sleepiness.  "So...she hates me?" he said, only half-joking.

Scully cracked a fleeting grin.  "No.  No more than I did.  Less, 
probably.  She just...I haven't told her that we're... 
well...here," she said, meeting his gaze with gentle affection in 
the lines around her eyes.

"Ah.  And you're not quite ready to appear at church with the new 
guy when you're technically still in black," and even as he 
spoke, it registered in his brain, that this Scully who had once 
worn almost exclusively black in her life and had shown him a 
variety of colors since his return, now wore simple black slacks 
and blazer and black heels.

She didn't speak, but her gaze fell to his lap.  "You're not 
exactly new," she said softly.  "And *I'm* ready.  I just don't 
want to... There are a lot of feelings to be hurt.  Daniel's 
daughter--not that she would be there this morning, but--it took 
us so long to get close.  And she loved her father so much.  And 
she finally came to believe that I did, too...and, for 
Christopher, I just don't want--"

But Mulder stopped her with a finger on her lips.  "Ssshh.  It's 
all right.  Go to church."

She swallowed hard, but didn't lift her gaze.  "Mulder, I don't 
want you to think--"

But he pushed forward and silenced her this time with his lips.  
And she instantly awoke to the kiss, hand rising to the back of 
his neck, mouth pulling at his lips.  "It's okay," he whispered.  
"Since when have we ever let the rest of the world in on our 
lives anyway?"

That brought a genuine smile to her lips.  He could drink from 
her all day and never miss water.  Scully.

She remained there with him for a long moment, forehead to 
forehead, Christopher sucking on the corner of the comforter.  
Tasha stretched her furry head as far as her neck would take her 
across the foot of the bed.  And it was hard to believe he and 
Scully had once almost died in an arctic wasteland.

Scully gathered Christopher and turned to go.

She turned the blinds to throw the first strands of morning light 
onto the ceiling.  At the doorway, she lingered and held Mulder's 
gaze for a timeless beat, clear blue eyes endless in the dawn 
glow.  Her eyes could spread warmth through his chest like cocoa.

Her mouth moved ever so gently, no voice with her shaped words; 
the silent passage of thought and sensation he had waited a 
lifetime for -- "I love you."

Mulder's pulse skipped, ears pounding.  He mouthed the words back 
to her, suspended in the spell of morning light.  "I love you."

The faintest trace of a smile brushed Scully's lips.  Then she 
turned and was gone.


*****


The candlelight and sunbeams through stained glass were 
comforting.  Quiet and familiar.  Christopher dozed through the 
first part of the service and Scully sat quietly with her fingers 
entwined with her mother's, enjoying the return of the easy 
affection between them that had been scarred during the darker 
years of her life.  Halfway through the sermon, Christopher 
awakened, ready to attack the day, and Scully slipped out with 
her vibrant son to the crying room at the back to pace the bright 
toy-filled carpet with a smattering of other mothers in fine 
clothes draped in burp cloths.

When the service let out, she drifted with a quieter Christopher 
into the side vestibule to step up beside her mother for their 
traditional Sunday ritual.  Without a word, she reached out her 
free hand and closed it over her mother's aging knuckles as they 
moved the flame together to light a candle for her father, one 
for Melissa, one for Emily...and one for Daniel.

They used to light one for Mulder.

They lowered the candlelighter into the sand, and Maggie kissed 
Dana's cheek as they moved toward the exit.

The sun was brilliant in the crisp autumn sky.

Scully and her mother lingered on the landing at the top of the 
church's front steps.

"Do you have to get home, or do you want to come back to the 
house for a while?" her mother asked, pulling on her black 
leather gloves.  Scully had always thought her mother looked like 
a movie star in her perfect, soft leather gloves.  They had often 
appeared as Christmas presents from her father to her mother, 
sometimes from exotic ports overseas.  She remembered vividly the 
first time she had been afforded the privilege of borrowing a 
pair of those always elegant gloves to attend Melissa's cello 
competition at the opera house in downtown San Diego.  She had 
felt like a woman that night.  Elegant and feminine and powerful.  
The charm of the right gloves had lingered in her sentiments.

"Actually, I do need to get back," Scully said.  "I'm meeting 
Mulder."

Her mother's eyelid flickered ever so slightly, a mixture of 
quiet concern and wariness and motherly warmth.

"Are you two...working things out?" she asked carefully.

Scully nodded.  "We're okay.  We're good."

"Is he back at the Bureau now?"

"On grunt work, yes.  He hates it, but he's taking his due."

Her mother nodded, then reached out a gloved hand and brushed the 
luxurious leather against the soft skin of Scully's throat as she 
fingered the rings on her daughter's gold chain.  "Go easy on 
yourself, okay?" her mother said softly.

Scully swallowed hard, snugging her hold on Christopher, 
adjusting the blanket around him.  "I'm okay," she whispered.

And her mother held her gaze for a long moment.  "Okay."  Then 
she nodded and lowered her hand, declaring the subject closed.

"But what about you?" Scully asked as they moved in silent 
concert down the first of the concrete steps.  "Where's the 
elusive Sean today?  I thought you were still hitting the Sunday 
afternoon Arts in the Park exhibits."

Maggie glanced over her shoulder twice, a half-shy twinkle in her 
gaze, before answering.  "We are.  But he's out of town this 
weekend.  We're meeting for dinner tonight."

Scully smiled as they reached the bottom of the stairs and 
started up the street toward their cars.  "Mom?" she said softly.

"Hmm?"

"A very wise woman once told me...never feel guilty for the 
moments you feel happy."

Her mother's steps stopped abruptly and she halted beside her, 
eye contact hard and intense.  Scully-blue to Scully-blue.  Then 
at last her mother nodded softly.  "She did, didn't she?"

Scully narrowed her eyes against the wind and brilliant sun and 
let the moment stand, slipping in and out of sensory visions of 
her father on Christmas morning, of his imposing figure lying on 
the floor with her brothers tackling him, of her mother being 
lifted off her feet in a passionate embrace when her father 
returned from sea.

And Mulder's lips on the scar on the back of her own neck and his 
arm around her shoulders in a backwoods in Massachusetts and his 
arms around her ribs as she nearly fainted on her balcony and her 
head resting in Daniel's lap on the living room couch as he 
stroked her hair.

Unspoken thoughts vibrated around and between the two women on 
the sidewalk.  Then Scully kissed Christopher's warm forehead, 
and her mother leaned across and did the same, her eyes softening 
with the special brand of affection she reserved for her 
grandchildren.  They walked on in silence.


*****


When Scully opened the apartment door for him, she was still in 
her church clothes, heels and all, looking every bit the Agent 
Scully he had seen behind his eyelids for as long as he could 
remember.  The smile that greeted him without the eyebrow of 
skeptical question at his presence, however, was something new.

"Hey," she said.

And he stepped in and pulled her to him with a hand on the small 
of her back for a quick but deep kiss.

A childhood music box melody played in the background; 
Christopher's baby swing.

"Perfect timing.  I just finished feeding Christopher."

She turned back into the room, picking up a teddy bear rattle and 
crossing to pass it to her son who squealed and began shaking the 
toy vigorously.  As Mulder closed the apartment door, Tasha sat 
down and leaned her full weight against his leg.  He tried not to 
tip over.

"Scully, I think your dog is a small horse in disguise."

Scully glanced over her shoulder with a wry smile.  "At bath time 
I'm inclined to agree with you.  Did you eat lunch yet?"

He nodded.  "Grabbed something at the corner deli.  You?"

"I'm fine."

He frowned slightly.  "Not quite an answer.  Did you eat?"

She straightened from where she had been leaning to fix her son's 
bib and tossed her hair back from her face as she turned.  She 
met his gaze solidly enough.  "I ate a few bites.  I think the 
vaccine's...nagging my stomach a little bit.  I'm okay.  I'll eat 
some more later."

His eye muscles tightened.  "Yeah?  You really okay?  You keeping 
your food down?"

She nodded, reassuringly.  "Oh, yeah.  I'm fine.  Really.  Just 
starting slow today."  Her smile was fleeting but genuine enough 
he let the subject go.

"So, did you finally get yourself some groceries?" she asked, 
moving closer to him.

"That I did.  The Mulder refrigerator is now appropriately 
stocked with frozen dinners, bagels, beer, and orange juice."

Scully touched a hand to her stomach and cringed with a sweet 
touch of humor.  "Oh, God, Mulder, please don't mention that all 
in one sentence right now."

He laughed softly.  "Sorry, Scully."

"How about your cable, did they ever turn it on?"

He shrugged.  "Basic's working, but I'll have to call them again 
Monday morning about the kinky channels."

Scully lifted an eyebrow and Mulder fell into a mock-lecherous 
grin.  "Though, if I play my cards right, I'm guessing I might 
not miss it tonight."

Scully just eyed him with a look of the victorious cat.

"Oh," Mulder said, jarred from the spell by memory, "and I keep 
forgetting--I officially have my own cell phone again.  I'll give 
you the number.  And--" he reached into his jacket pocket, "--
here you go.  Appreciate the loaner."

Scully froze mid-breath, staring hard at the small black object 
in Mulder's hand.  He fell immobile, too, unsure what to do.  At 
last, Scully held out her hand and let him pass Daniel's cell 
phone into it.  Her skin felt cool.  Her focus remained on her 
hand.  "Yeah, uh...you're welcome, no problem.  I'm glad you've 
got your own again," she said, nodding tersely.  But her thoughts 
were a million miles from her words, and he wondered if she even 
heard her own voice.

"Scully..."

"I guess...I mean, I suppose I can cancel this now.  It's served 
its purpose."

He watched her watching the phone.  He waited for the radar to 
kick in between them, hoping as always to read her thoughts.  
Once in a blue moon it worked, and he could feel where she hurt.  
"You don't want to," he said solidly.

The tendons in her neck tensed.  "It's stupid, isn't it?" she 
said, glancing up.  "I mean...I cleaned out his closet, I've gone 
through his business papers, boxed his old letters for 
Christopher, but I can't...I can't cancel his cell phone."  She 
released a sharp breath through her nose, almost self-
deprecating.

Mulder reached out with a single finger and pushed back her hair.  
"It's not stupid.  Nothing you feel is stupid.  It's always 
something small that hits you wrong.  And his cell phone...that 
was your connection, right?  Your link with him.  That's how it 
always was with us..."

She didn't move.  He waited, wanting so deeply to touch her, but 
she was so tightly strung, so carefully poised, he couldn't cross 
the bounds.  The right to touch her was so new.

Scully drew a soft breath and seemed to want to speak, but he 
could see the hurt behind her eyes, and her throat locked.  She 
was holding her composure, hardly flinching, but there was so 
much behind her facade.  She was fighting so hard not to cry his 
stomach hurt.

It was so easy to forget what she had been through so recently.  
So easy to get lost in the joy of the moment, *his* moment, and 
not see the thorny path along which she had come.

Scully tightened her jaw, then, without ceremony, closed her hand 
around the phone and turned her back and walked away.

"Scully?"  Mulder was no more than five paces behind.

He was amazed by his bravery when he pushed through her half 
closed bedroom door and stepped into her private chambers 
uninvited.

Scully stood, silhouetted against the streaks of noonday sun, 
back to him, hand to her brow.

"Scully?  Are you okay?" he said softly.

He watched her shoulders rise and fall as she breathed.  "Just 
give me a minute," she said, voice water-soft.

"No," he said simply.

Her hand fell and she turned slightly as if to look over her 
shoulder, though her hair still sheltered her face.  "*No?*"

He shook his head and took a step closer.  "No.  We can't do it 
that way.  It can't be like that."

Her voice was so open, so vulnerable.  "Like what?"

"Scully, you lost your husband.  Just months ago.  If it had been 
years, maybe...  But, Scully...if we're going to do this; if 
we're going to be...something more, this subject can't be off 
limits.  You have to let me be here for you.  Be part of your 
mourning process."

He could feel her hesitation.  She was still half looking over 
her shoulder, still hiding her face.  He could almost see the 
tension in her back, in the vulnerable place beside her spine.  
"Mulder, that's...it's wrong, I can't do that to you--"

"No.  It's not wrong.  Scully, we've been best friends for a 
decade.  And I hope, that no matter what else happens between us, 
that will *never* change.  And I refuse to give up that role now 
of all times."

She was quiet and still, save for the unevenness of her breath.

Mulder softened his voice.  "Scully, I won't lie to you.  I wish 
you'd never been married.  I wish you had never loved anybody but 
me in your whole damn life.  But, life doesn't work that way, and 
we're both old enough to know that.  We're human beings and as 
such, we meet many people on our journey.  And what matters, is 
that right now, today--you and I are here.  And we're together.  
And, hopefully, it will stay that way for a while.  But if I 
can't be here for you along the way..."

The silence suspended time in the room, like the slow motion 
swirls of the dust particles in the sunlight and the orange 
streaks of Scully's hair in this very same sunbeam where she had 
told him she loved him.

Then Scully reached out a hand behind her.  And Mulder stepped up 
and caught it.

"He was too young," she choked out.

And a moment later she was wrapped in his arms, and he was 
muffling her sobs with his chest.  He let his own tears soak 
undetected into her hair.  He had never been able to stomach the 
sound of her tears.

And something told him this was bigger than the moment.  It was 
about the suffocating silence months ago when Scully had watched 
her husband pass away and gone home to an empty apartment with no 
Mulder there to hold her.  *She had needed him.  Just him.*  And 
he almost dared to believe that.  That maybe she had never really 
let anyone comfort her for her loss until he came home.

She fit so perfectly beneath his chin.  As she had once upon a 
time in a hospital hallway, when his heart had nearly stopped at 
the sight of an empty bed and he had soaked up every nuance of 
her substance and vitality and tried to will with sheer desire 
her continued existence.  He wouldn't lose her then.  He wouldn't 
lose her now.

She held on tight, digging her fingers into the muscles of his 
back, until at last they were still and just holding on in the 
warm rays of sun.

She pulled back first and gazed up at him, comfortably quiet as 
she so often seemed to be in his presence.  He cradled the side 
of her neck.

"Where did you need to go yesterday?" he asked, voice soft and 
hoarse.

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

"The errand you put off."

Her jaw tightened and her lids fell to half-mast.  "Just a 
personal errand.  It can wait."

He held her in his gaze, eyes narrowing, hands stroking her hair, 
her face, keeping her warmed to him.  "You were going to visit 
Daniel, weren't you?" he breathed.

Scully gave a soft, dry laugh, bristly, but not cold.  Her voice 
was low.  "Stop profiling me."

He shook his head.  "I could never profile you, Scully.  And not 
for lack of trying.  You usually go every weekend?  Every other 
weekend?" he asked, tone casual, but deep.

Her eyes widened, half to dry her tears, half to push him away.  
"Stop," she said deliberately.

He kissed her forehead.  "Come on.  Let's go.  I'll take you."

"No."

"Come on.  I'll hold Christopher for you, give you some time 
alone.  When was the last time you got that luxury, hmm?  Come 
on."

She was wavering, holding his eye contact, though her brow was 
lined with concern.  He swept an arm around her shoulders and 
scooped her toward the door.  "Come on.  Get your boy ready."


*****

(End Chapter 27a.  Continued in 27b...)
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