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)


Chapter 28:



"But when the leaves fell on the ground
Bully winds came around, pushed them face
down in the snow

He got the urge for going
And I had to let him go"
                 --Joni Mitchell, "Urge for Going" 





**I didn't ditch you, Scully.  I never ditched you.**



"So who found the body this time?" Mulder asked, keeping brisk 
pace beside Gannon Michaels in the hallway of the Quantico 
morgue.

"City clean-up crew," Michaels replied.  "Had a nasty round of 
storms out there end of last week, took down a lot of old trees, 
knocked out some above ground power lines.  Crew was out there 
picking up some of the felled trees and literally tripped over 
the body."

"I'm guessing the city doesn't pay them enough for that."

Michaels gave a soft chuckle, eyes still on the file in his 
hands.  A few paces later, Michaels stopped in his tracks and 
snapped the file shut, whirling on his boot heel to face Mulder.  
"I got a question for ya," he said, eye contact solid.

Mulder nodded, arms slack at his sides.  "Shoot."

"I just came from A.D. Skinner's office.  If Agent Waterston 
comes up with something suspicious enough on this examination, 
the A.D.'s willing to sign off on another trip to the backwoods.  
Thing is, early yesterday morning, Agent Brennan left for a week 
at his Dad's farm in Oregon.  Now, I'd rather not be in the 
middle of nowhere, Tennessee, with no back-up within an 
afternoon's drive.  But I don't see calling Brennan back, seein' 
as his Dad's not in the best of health right now.  So, I'm hoping 
you don't mind--I made a subtle suggestion to A.D. Skinner.  And 
I got the distinct impression that if I do get the okay to head 
back to Tennessee, Skinner would be willing to temporarily assign 
you to assist me with the case.  Now, if I'm overstepping my 
bounds here, you just let me know and I'll turn my horse around 
and head home."

Mulder felt his heart thudding against his chest.  The hall 
seemed unusually dim.  He gave no outward motion save the 
tightening of his jaw muscles.  He shrugged, nodded tersely.  
"I'll do what I can.  Don't think I'll be direly missed in 
background checks."

*An X-File...*

Michaels gave a wry smile.  "I don't know, the way I hear it, 
you've had more experience there than just about anyone in the 
department."

Mulder gave a close-lipped smile.  "Just wait."

Michaels cracked a smile and continued down the hall.

As they pushed through the double doors of the autopsy bay, Dana 
Scully was pulling off her goggles, and disentangling the elastic 
from her ponytail.  "Hey," she called as they entered; 
breathtakingly beautiful in a disarray of scrubs.  Her eyebrow 
was raised and her eyes shone with the energy of professional 
discovery Mulder had learned to sight a mile away.  "Perfect 
timing," she said.

"Came as soon as you called."  Michaels pushed back his coattails 
and rested his hands on his hips as he stepped up beside the 
sheet-draped body.

Scully nodded briskly, and for a split second as she reached for 
the clipboard at the foot of the autopsy table, her gaze locked 
onto Mulder's, and a spark of personal connection arced between 
them.  A delicious thrill coursed from Mulder's chest to parts 
below.  For a moment he forgot about the body on the table.

Something had definitely shifted in his life.

"So how did this poor sucker die?" Mulder asked, moving up beside 
Michaels.  

Scully pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and flipped 
back the cover sheet to the victim's waist.  "Well, on the 
surface, that part's obvious," she said as Mulder and Michaels 
grunted, covered their mouths, and took matching steps backward.  
"He was decapitated,"  Scully said without a flinch.  She reached 
out a latex-gloved finger and poked lightly at the man's head, 
rocking it free of the neck below.  "But the real question is 
how?"

Mulder squinted at her over his hand, begging the question.  
"So...how?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know," Michaels repeated.

Scully shook her head.  "No.  But it was no tree limb.  The cut 
is too clear, too even.  This was something manmade, something 
uncannily akin to a blade."

"But...you're saying it's not a blade," Mulder finished.

"I'm saying from all appearances on the cut itself, it would seem 
to be a blade.  But there is no metal residue whatsoever around 
the wound.  Which means it was synthetic.  Plastic or...a cord of 
some kind..."

Michaels nodded.  "So, it was a manmade weapon."

Scully's eyes narrowed.  "Yeah..."

Her tone was less than authoritative.

Mulder stepped a shade closer.  "Scully, that's a 'yeah' I 
wouldn't want to hear after a question like 'Are you sure it's 
the *red* wire that deactivates the bomb?'"

She didn't react to the humor, mind still absorbed in the 
scientific puzzle.  "Well, that's the official answer, but I 
just...this cut just looks so...I just can't believe there's no 
trace of metal.  It looks like a knife, or a cleaver..."

"Or an ax..."

Scully looked up at him, jaw cocked.  "Mulder, no.  That is not 
what I'm saying."

Mulder raised his hands like a white flag and immediately 
regretted letting go of his nose.  "Did I say anything?"

"I am not implying this was some sort of magical weapon, wielded 
by--"

"Then what are you implying, Agent Waterston?" he countered.

Scully held his gaze for a long beat, lids half lowered, trace of 
a dry smile on her lips, and Mulder was half aware of Gannon 
Michaels quietly watching their exchange.  Mulder didn't care.

"I'm *saying*, Agent Mulder," she replied, "that there is more 
here than meets the eye.  Based primarily on the preliminary tox 
screen I got back a few minutes ago."

"Oh, yeah?" Michaels asked.  "What did you find?"

"Laymen's terms?"  She glanced toward Michaels.

He gave a single firm nod.  "I think you know me well enough by 
now."

"A whole lot of chemicals that shouldn't have been there.  Most 
of them traceable to local plant life in Tennessee."

"What does that mean?" Michaels asked.

Scully met Mulder's gaze, head tilted slightly back, and in that 
eye contact he knew she knew they both had an answer even if she 
would be the only one to speak.  "It means someone has been 
playing pharmacy at home.  Experimenting with tried and true 
recipes.  Namely...playing witch."

Michaels' eyes sparkled.  "This stuff illegal?  Potentially 
poisonous?"

"A little of both, yeah," Scully said, spreading the sheet back 
over the victim's body and pulling off her gloves.

"This wasn't just some kid who drugged himself up and got himself 
killed when he was high?"

Scully shook her head.  "No.  Our witch is a modern one with some 
technical skill.  The drugs were injected directly into the 
bloodstream.  And the only needle puncture I found on the body is 
on the base of the right shoulder blade.  Not a convenient place 
for self-injection.  And since he was alone--only one set of 
prints in the mud--it wasn't likely a 'buddy high'."

Michaels tossed a glance toward Mulder.  "Then we got it, don't 
we?  That enough to get Skinner to go for it?"

Scully nodded.  "I would guess so, yes.  I would have a lot of 
trouble calling this accidental death."

Michaels held his hands up.  "Then we're off."

Mulder nodded, eyes on the sheet covering the body, caught up in 
the potential scenarios flashing before his investigator's eyes.  
*Ritual death?  Ritual sacrifice?  A thin attempt to bring the 
legend to life?  Perhaps a seed of truth?  Or something else 
entirely...?*  "Yeah, I'd say, so.  So, we're off to Tennessee."  
And with his last words he lifted his gaze and caught Scully's 
clear blue gaze.

And all his excitement dissipated.  Not three tickets to 
Tennessee.  Not three.  She didn't do this anymore.  Her part of 
the job was done already.  She had walked away from the field 
work.  Stepped out of the game.  Out of that life.  *His life.*  
Two tickets...

Scully's gaze fell away, and Mulder couldn't tear his own from 
the tender lines at the corners of her eyes.

Michaels fell silent, deferring to the connection before him.

"Agent Michaels spoke with Skinner," Mulder said softly.  "He 
requested I be temporarily assigned to assist him with the case 
while Agent Brennan is out of town."

Scully nodded lightly without looking up.  The possibility must 
not have been news to her.

"Scully..." Mulder began softly, but he lost the words.

Scully caught a shallow breath, eyebrow lifted, gaze down.  
"I'll, uhmm...I'll get my official findings written up as soon as 
possible and get a copy up to Skinner.  I imagine he'll want to 
review it before signing off on the 302.  If I get it to him 
tonight, you may be able to leave by morning."

Mulder nodded, silently.

Scully turned away and began returning bottles he couldn't 
identify to their assigned places in the cabinets above the 
counter and sink.  She was too short to reach some of them.  He 
knew better than to offer help.

"All right, well...I'll go pull together the rest of the case 
file to put with your report for the A.D.," Michaels said.  
"Really appreciate the last minute help on this, Dana.  Didn't 
think we'd get another shot at this one."  She glanced over her 
shoulder, smiled briefly.  "Anytime."

Michaels started toward the door.  Mulder didn't move.  Scully 
picked up her clipboard and retrieved the audio tape of the 
autopsy proceedings.

When Michaels reached the threshold, he turned around, "You need 
a ride back, Mulder?" he asked.

Mulder flinched.  It was hefty cab fare from Quantico to the 
Hoover Building in rush hour, and Michaels had given him a ride 
over.  "Yeah, I'll be right there."

Scully was instantly onto his intentions.  She didn't want him to 
stay alone, didn't want to talk.  She turned and met his gaze, 
"Yeah, you go on," she said evenly.  "I'll see you tonight?"

He kept his back to Michaels, eyes narrowed, fighting to 
penetrate her facade.  At last he nodded slowly.  "Yeah.  I'll 
call you later?"

She nodded, but she wasn't looking at him anymore.  She was all 
pathologist.  And his stomach ached.

He turned and followed Michaels out into the hall.

And five paces later he turned on his heels and slammed back 
through the double doors and caught Scully utterly off guard with 
a kiss like it was the first time, lifting her off her feet and 
swinging her around like a paper doll, held tight to his lips.  
She kissed back, hard.  And a moment later, he let her go, 
landing her solidly on her feet, and turning without a word to 
push back through the still swinging doors, her rapid breaths 
carrying to his ears.  Michaels hadn't even made it to the 
elevator.


*****


She lay in the moonlight, listening to the chorus of life around 
her.  Christopher's soft breaths in his crib, Mulder's soft 
breaths in her hair.  Her insides still quivered with the 
aftershocks of Mulder's touch, muscles craving continued 
attention.

But sleep evaded her.

Not the case for Mulder.

Or so she thought.

"What's wrong?" he whispered.

Scully startled, jumping in his arms.  "Jesus, I thought you were 
sleeping."

"What's wrong?" his arm tightened around her stomach.

"Nothing," she breathed.  But it wasn't an answer and both of 
them knew it.

"Are you okay with this?" he asked.

She drew a deep breath, practiced in forcing evenness.  "With 
what?"

"With me working an X-File."

She closed her eyes.  "It's what you do, Mulder."

"It's what you do, too.  But you don't do it anymore."

"I left.  You didn't."

"You left to protect your child."

*My Christopher.*  "Yes.  I made that choice.  For me.  For my 
son."

Mulder was silent.  The apartment was silent.

"Mulder...I saw you this afternoon, last week...  Do you know how 
long it's been since I saw that spark in you?  That spark of 
adventure.  That gleam you get in your eye when you catch the 
scent of something unexplained, something you can sink your teeth 
into...the same man who painted orange X's in the rain and tried 
to make me believe in aliens over a decade ago."

"Scully..."

"And made me fall in love."

"*Scully...*"  His breath was hot on her neck.

"Mulder, this is what you do.  It's your gift.  It's what makes 
you...*Mulder*."

"*You* are what makes me Mulder."

She closed her eyes and let that sink into her skin like 
sunshine.  She turned in his arms and met his eyes in the 
moonlight.  "Mulder.  You have to do what you do.  Go.  Go...be 
Mulder."

The lines in his brow pulled at her.  "But, Scully...you gave up 
what we do, because you didn't want our work near your son."

She swallowed hard.  "I did.  But I've never asked you to do the 
same."

He held her gaze in deep silence, pulling at her thoughts, 
searching for her soul.  She kept her walls in place.

"It's one case," he said, softly.

She nodded.  "Go find the witch," she said with a soft smile.  
"I'll be here when you get home."

But he only frowned harder, contrasting the lightness of her 
tone.  "Are you sure?"

"Mulder.  Haven't I always been here?" she said.

He watched her for a long breath, then he pulled her to him for a 
fierce embrace.  She clung to him hard, face pressed into his 
shoulder, and it wasn't long until sleep took him again.

She was able to slip away with only an ineffectual fumbling of 
his hand toward her departing form before sleep reclaimed him in 
full.

She slipped on her robe and closed the door of the bathroom 
behind her.  She turned on the water to blur the sound.

She sat back against the counter and braced her hands on the cold 
Formica as she cried.

Half an hour later she was asleep against his warm skin.


*****


"Why is it always Gate 42.  Have you *ever* flown out of Gate 2?" 
Michaels asked, snapping his ticket straight and quickening his 
pace down the crowded terminal.

Mulder offered a dry smile.  "I had Gate 5 once, but it was my 
birthday, so I figured it was something about the alignment of 
the planets..."

Michaels laughed as he switched his suitcase handle to his 
outside hand to avoid a collision with Mulder's carry-on.

It was all Michaels could do not to remark on the notable change 
between Scully and Brennan when it came to slackening pace for 
her shorter legs in the midst of a desperate rush to the gate.  
With Mulder a good three inches above Michaels, he guessed the 
man could secretly relate; but Michaels judged it best to keep 
quiet.

It was obvious the former King and Queen of the X-Files were more 
than friends, these days.  And for that, he was infinitely happy 
for Dana.

The two men walked in silence until they reached the gate.  There 
were only a few seats left in the waiting area, but the boarding 
had not yet begun.  The lighted board above the attendant showed 
a ten minute delay.

Michaels dropped into the nearest available molded plastic chair 
and turned to take in the brilliant blue sky, streaked with the 
last traces of sunrise.  Off on another adventure.  Amanda hadn't 
even been awake when he had left this morning, mumbling 
unintelligibly to him as he had kissed her goodbye.  He would 
have to give her a call when they touched down in Nashville.

Mulder sat two chairs down, coats piled between them.  The taller 
man stretched his long legs out before him, already seeming 
cramped and uncomfortable in his surroundings before the 
restricting flight hours had begun.

"So, what do you think we're up against here?" Michaels asked.  
"Is this an X-File in the purest sense or just some whacko 
messin' with our heads?"

Mulder shook his head, hands folded on his stomach; chewing his 
lower lip as he contemplated his shoes.  "Too soon to tell.  
Probably nothing.  But there's a killer there either way.  And 
sometimes that's more of what the X-Files is about than anything-
-taking on the cases everyone else is too quick to laugh at 
before innocent people die."

Michaels nodded.  "I'll drink to that."

Mulder didn't reply.  He was gazing out across the crowd of 
waiting passengers.  Michaels focused in on a woman at the check-
in counter, pleading with the attendant.  "How can you say I'll 
still have a chance if you're already overbooked on every 
flight?"

"Ma'am, as I informed you, there are still a few minutes to the 
cut-off time for this flight, when we will make the final 
determination for our passengers on stand-by.  But as I've said 
before, this is a very popular flight, so I can't promise you a 
place.  You might have a better chance on our ten-fifteen flight-
-"

The woman sagged and walked away from the counter, dropping back 
against a nearby pillar and releasing her bag to her feet.

"Poor sucker," Gannon said with a sideways smile, and Mulder 
chuckled softly, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

Mulder took a bag of sunflower seeds from his pocket and shook a 
few out into his hand.  His held his hand across to Michaels.  
"Seed?" he asked.

Michaels shook his head.  "No thanks.  They give me hives."

"Ooo.  Sorry."  Mulder retracted his hand, dumped the seeds into 
his mouth and began cracking the shells between his molars.

The two men fell silent as they waited in the quiet coolness of 
the early hours.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we'd like to welcome you this morning to 
flight 1013 with service to Nashville and continuing service to 
Detroit.  At this time we would like to start boarding our First 
Class passengers."

Michaels glanced at his ticket, registered that he would be in 
the next to last group to board, and pulled a crossword puzzle 
out of the outside pocket of his carry-on.  

Mulder pulled his legs closer and leaned forward, forearms 
resting on his knees.

The flight was boarding group two and Michaels was contemplating 
what a four letter Egyptian beverage could possibly be when 
Mulder straightened up beside him.

"I gotta go," he said with a definitive crack of a sunflower 
seed.  He pushed to his feet and grabbed his jacket.

"Go?  What's going on?"  Michaels dropped his crossword onto his 
suitcase and shoved to the edge of his chair.

Mulder stepped a few paces forward without a reply.  He leaned 
toward the stand-by woman still resting against the column, 
flipping through a small address book and punching numbers into 
her cell phone.  He tapped her on the shoulder with his ticket.

"Take this up to the counter," he said simply.  "Go to 
Nashville."

The woman's eyes widened; her fingers tentatively brushed the 
proffered ticket but were hesitant to grasp.

"Take it," Mulder prompted.  "I can't use it."

"Mulder..."  Gannon prompted from behind.

But the woman was taking the ticket and starting to thank Mulder 
with innocent wonder.  Mulder nodded dismissively and turned away 
to pick up his bag.

Gannon pushed to his feet.  "Mulder, what's going on?  Where are 
you going?"

Mulder turned and met Michaels' gaze intently and respectfully.  
His green eyes were unnervingly piercing and it crossed Michaels' 
mind to wonder at the things this man had seen in his life, the 
utterly foreign lens through which he must view the same world.  
Michaels himself had only begun to tap at the surface of that 
world.

"I'm going home," Mulder said plainly.

The two men held eye contact for a long moment until Gannon 
narrowed his eyes and gave an almost imperceptible nod of 
understanding.

Mulder matched the gesture.  "Take care of The X-Files for me, 
will ya?" he said.  Then he popped another sunflower seed into 
his mouth and turned and walked away.

Michaels stood in the busy airport, missing the call for his 
boarding group as he watched the legendary Fox Mulder's figure 
blur into the crowd and vanish into the distance.

He turned and boarded the plane for Tennessee.

He had a witch to catch.


*****

(End Chapter 28.  Continued in the Epilogue...)
bstrbabs@earthlink.net