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... UTTERLY TRIVIAL POETIC LICENSE NOTE: Just for the record, I am well aware that "Bell Atlantic" has changed its name to "Verizon" and that in the timeline I've set for this story, that change should apply. However, I think Verizon is a STUPID name by comparison, and have chosen to pretend this never happened...Thank you. WATER'S EDGE by Elizabeth Rowandale (aka Elizabeth Boyd-Tran) Copyright (c) 2001 CHAPTER 6 "And the fact that you are alive in the world and maybe alone makes me wish I were there." -- Betty Buckley, 'If I Remember You Right' *Mulder. I don't know when I stopped finishing my sentences and started letting you do it for me. When I wasn't busy finishing yours, that is. I'm learning to speak in complete sentences again, Mulder. Alone.* It was both one of the bravest and most impulsive things she had ever done. Just picking up the phonebook and looking up his number. She had been almost certain it was just an exercise, that he would prove to be unlisted. But there it was, just above her finger, in the big standard directory shipped each year from Bell Atlantic. Waterston, Daniel, Dr. 555-1112 It seemed unreal that the entry had been there--in a book she kept in her own house--for ten years now. Waiting. She had spent half her day on an autopsy, the other half in the living room of the dead woman's parents. This was the third death in as many months. All the bodies had been found in the kind of dreary backwoods areas of isolation and neglect that she and Michaels had tromped through yesterday. All the victims had been twenty-something single women, all natural dark-blondes. And all had had the words "Watch Me" carved crudely into their inner forearms. Prior to time of death. It was an X-File only because each of these women had claimed to be abductees and each had claimed she was being stalked by Men in Black in the weeks before her murder. Michaels was looking to Scully for ideas, for information, for experience, and skating all around the words, "but don't *you* have a chip in your neck?". And she was pretending she wasn't uncomfortable as hell with all of this, pretending she hadn't lived in a world of denial where Mulder had let her slide on these cases, sheltering her from her own truths. She sat on her living room couch, the television playing softly in the background, a dim glow emanating from the crackling fire, black pump propped on the edge of the coffee table. The handset of her cordless phone was cradled gingerly in her hand. The question remained, *did she want to dial?* 555-1112 The beeps accompanying the digits were uncomfortably loud in the cocooning quiet. She stopped breathing as she listened to the phone ring. She was about to prepare herself to hang up on an answering machine and was entertaining prickly thoughts of Caller ID when he picked up the phone. "Hello?" All business. All cool. Living a life she knew nothing about. And making her chest tight with the richness of his familiar voice. She caught her breath, took a moment too long to respond. "Hello?" he said again. More questioning this time. Less patient. "Daniel?" she breathed, wishing her voice were stronger. But it was all he needed. She felt the moment of recognition through the phone line. "Dana?" So much gentler than the cursory "hello". "Can I see you?" "Always." "How's, uh...are you...," her English was slipping, "tonight?" "Do you know where I live? Do you have a pen?" ***** The wind blew soft against her skin as she closed the car door. Tonight was the warmest D.C. had seen in weeks. The scent of distant spring tickled her nostrils and brought memories of bicycles and roller skates and lemonade. The gentle air twisted and teased and caressed the bare skin at her throat. Her sweater's neckline fell on the low side of casual. She was alternating between confidence and self-consciousness at her visible curves. A protective suit coat hung over her arm. She had changed clothes twice before leaving her apartment. How long had it been since she had chosen clothing to see a man she knew was attracted to her? Long enough she needed to ask the question. And she was only assuming he was still attracted to her. No. No, that had been apparent in his voice. The only question was whether he was attracted to the woman she was now, or the girl she used to be. And that wasn't something she needed to think about tonight. Even the outside of the building was impressive. On the drive over, between glances at street signs and her scribbled directions, Scully had watched the shift of terrain from cramped functionality to spacious elegance. She had slowed the car and lingered over the ancient oaks lining the far side of Daniel's street--the differences between a government job and private practice. The life she could have chosen. The click of her heels on the concrete path played counterpoint to the crackle of dry branches against the brick building front. She was too aware of everything tonight. Sensations were too vivid. A coach light at the front door, dried roses in a barrel by the mat: quaint touches to soften the presence of a high security system. Scully tapped in the code Daniel had given her over the phone, pausing only a moment when she caught the numbers spelling out "D-a-n-a" on the keypad. Standing outside number 3370 in the third floor hallway, reality settled into her stomach with a steady quiver that made her dizzy. She wasn't ready for this. She was counting purely on inertia to propel her forward once she had set the wheels in motion. Sticking to the familiar was always easier than making a change, but easy wasn't always right. Ironically, it was these very same thoughts that had taken her away from Daniel's arms so long ago. If she hadn't drawn a deep breath and moved, she would never have made it to Quantico. Maybe some things were more about time and place than right and wrong. One way to learn. The door clicked and swung open. *God...* A year ago, Scully had reunited with an aging man with a heart condition, tied to oxygen and IV tubes, thrown utterly from his proper place *above* the ailing patient. But the Daniel Waterston before her now was a million miles from that dim place. His camel Armani suit draped over his shoulders, outlining his thick muscles. He had been working out. Finally decided, perhaps, that even doctors were subject to the weaknesses of the flesh. His jacket hung open over a soft grey mock turtleneck. A wide gold watch caught the light at the rim of his cuff, warm against an unseasonably tanned arm. Scully forced a breath. "Hi." Daniel narrowed his eyes. His gaze swept the length of her figure, lingered a moment at the base of her neckline and she tried not to move. Then his eyes softened as he tilted his head in her direction. "You found me." She nodded. "I did. It's an, um..." she glanced back toward the elevator, "...it's a lovely street. Old trees." "You and your trees," he said with a hint of a smile, and the familiarity warmed the chill of uncertainty. He was still studying her, absorbing her. With a quick, easy movement, his warm hand was around her wrist. "Come on in." Hot shivers up her arm. The electricity brought a rush of memory. **Standing side by side in the dim night-time lights of the med- school lab. Staring down at the work table, not seeing what was in front of her anymore. Losing hold of the pretense that she was still just there to assist with his paper. "I should go, Daniel. I should walk out now, before..." "Dana..." His breath ruffling her hair, the loose strands outside her functional ponytail. Her pulse racing, body motionless. "Dana...I'm asking you...to stay." The taste of coffee on his lips. And all the logic of her world slipping through her fingers...** The apartment was lovely. Simple, yet elegant. To her left, a grand piano opened onto the formal dining room. Crystal candleholders and polished wood caught streaks of light in the shadows. To her right, plush cream upholstery and a stone and wood fireplace promised comfort and cozy evenings. The modern conveniences were there, too. The big screen TV tucked into the mahogany cabinet in the corner. The tall theatre speakers flanking the couch. And just ahead was the archway to the kitchen. "Can I offer you something to drink? I was just making some coffee. You do still drink coffee, don't you?" She was trailing a few steps behind him, through the archway, off the carpet, onto the tile. If this was still her Daniel, the pots hanging overhead were just for show. But then...he had been single a long time. "Decaf," she said. "Probably shouldn't, but I do." Daniel shrugged. "Harmless vice. I switched to decaf myself not long ago. Hated it with a passion at first. But I've found one that's not half bad. Comes from a little coffee shop out by the water. I stock up whenever I'm down that way." Daniel took two coffee mugs from a standing rack on the counter, then glanced toward her again as she spread her suit jacket over the back of a kitchen chair. "I can hang that for you, if--" "No, it's fine. I'll probably have it cleaned this weekend anyway." She dared to make solid eye contact. His gaze grabbed hers and refused to let go. The silent exchange lasted too long. Before she could pull too far away, Daniel said softly, "You really do look wonderful, Dana." She smiled, feeling almost shy. "So do you," she said. Easier, as always, to turn the conversation outward. "You look healthy. Strong." "I told you I was getting well the last time we talked. You didn't think I'd give up without a fight, did you?" Her smile softened, lost some of its tension. "Not with your stubborn nature, no." "Nothing you would know about, of course." She lifted an eyebrow, feigning innocence. Then acquiesced. "Touche." Daniel turned back to the coffee. As he poured, Scully wandered out through the dining room, unable to keep still. She ran her fingers softly down an arpeggio on the grand piano, relishing the rich, clear tone. She shouldn't have quit piano lessons so early. Once upon a time, science had seemed like everything. In the living room, she studied each of the photos along the mantle. Maggie at various ages from childhood through the present; group shots that looked like Maggie with a husband and a daughter; a formal shot of Daniel himself, looking uncomfortable in a stiff necktie. "A granddaughter?" Scully asked as Daniel entered and placed the two mugs side by side on the coffee table. "Frightening, isn't it? But I'm hopelessly proud, of course. April is 7 now. And she has a half-sister who's 17, from Maggie's husband's former marriage. But she lives with Maggie and Brian. Needless to say, those two girls keep me busy." Scully nodded as she crossed the soft carpet. "That's great. I wish my family were closer." She took a seat on the edge of the couch, close, but not too close. She lifted her mug and blew across the steaming liquid. "Are your parents still in San Diego?" Scully shook her head, her stomach flipping as always when she knew she had to make that correction...*well, it's just my Mom, now...*...some things never wore off. "No, they moved out here not long after I did. My father took a position at the Pentagon, expecting to retire soon. But, um...well, my Mom still lives out here, but my father passed away almost eight years ago." The sympathy in Daniel's eyes was deep and genuine. He knew better than anyone what her father had meant in her life. It was unnerving being with someone again who knew her so well... She had grown accustomed to her cocoon of privacy. "Oh, Dana...I'm so sorry. I can only imagine how hard that must have been for you." She nodded, torn between how easy it would be to open up to him and her need to maintain a safe distance. "But my Mom's doing well. Keeps as busy as ever. And Bill Jr.'s a Dad now." Daniel's eyes widened. "Good God, that's a frightening thought." Her smile was easy. "Isn't it, though? But I must say, he has risen to the occasion admirably." And then she realized the path this conversation would take, *and how's Melissa?*, and she really wanted to go elsewhere for now. To her advantage, Daniel picked up on her shift of mood, but attributed the cause to something more immediate. "What is it, Dana? Why did you call me tonight? Are you all right?" She nodded quickly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Rough day at work, but..." She cleared her throat, took a testing sip of the coffee. As Daniel watched her quietly, giving her the space she needed, Scully settled more comfortably on the couch. She pulled one ankle up behind the opposite knee as she turned to face him. Resting her arm on the back of the couch, she gazed into the contents of her mug. "I'm sorry to just drop in on you...out of the blue." Daniel shook his head. "It's me." Dana closed her eyes. Which somehow enhanced the rich scent of the coffee. "Don't say I scare you." That made her open her eyes. "I'm the one who came here." "You were also the one who left in the first place." "Over eleven years ago." "Not so very long." She laughed dryly. "Daniel,...you have no idea how long." "Tell me." She met his gaze firmly now, gauging. Then, she nodded. "I hope to." Daniel reached out and, with his precise surgeon's fingers, he smoothed the delicate fringe of hair that had slipped across her brow. *Jesus, how did he do that. No wonder he scared her.* "Is there...anyone in your life?" she asked, eyes closed again. Her armor tonight. "No. What about you, Dana? Beautiful lady..." She shook her head. "There...there was. I think. But now..." She swallowed. "No." "Why are you here, Dana?" She let that question linger in the air between them, feeling in the haze for the truth. "Honestly?" She looked up, surprised by the veracity in her firm response. "I miss you." Now it was Daniel who closed his eyes, thick, sandy lashes catching the light, and she remembered what those lashes felt like against her inner wrist. Funny how time could fold and bend. "Jesus, Dana. You always did know just how to pierce my soul." "Is that a bad thing?" "I'm here, aren't I?" It was time for a shift of subject. Her jumbled thoughts stumbled upon a point of interest. She sniffed pointedly, and her gaze swept the room, seeking out end tables and open surfaces. Daniel's small frown asked the obvious question. "No ash trays," she said, settling her gaze on his. She lifted an eyebrow. Daniel smiled. "Yeah, not anymore." "Since when?" He shrugged. "Since that little round at the hospital." She nodded. "But you stopped. That's hard no matter what the motivation." Small talk was getting easier. More comfortable. That was part of the thing about Daniel--it was never hard to be at home with him. They just kept clicking, no matter how much fell between them. They kept up the small talk for longer than she had expected, dipping occasionally into more serious topics, playing touch games--a finger brush as they passed a coffee cup, ravelings lifted from clothing. She gave him a surface explanation of what the X-files were, what she did every day. She didn't tell him about Mulder. She would, but tonight needed to be about other things. She listened to the subjects of his current research, issues in his private practice. He was seeing patients part-time now, spending the rest of his time teaching and working at the University. A comfortable balance. Once the basic catching up had been exchanged, the pace of the conversation slowed. Exhaustion was hitting her. Her third cup of warm coffee was softening her edge, and she was starting to think about the drive home and what time she needed to get up in the morning. "You're tired," Daniel said simply. "Exhausted. This case we're working has been...relentless." He nodded. "It's okay. You need your rest." She drew a deep breath, clearing her head. This was her cue to stand up, to go for her coat. But she was finding it hard to let go. "Well..." She swallowed stiffly, aware that Daniel was watching her every gesture, then she set her mug on the coffee table and moved toward the kitchen. Daniel was right behind her, helping her on with her jacket, walking her to the front door--where she stopped and turned to face him to say goodnight. Scully stood for a long moment, studying the effect of Daniel's polished leather shoes against the light plush carpet. She ran her tongue over her lips, tasting the lingering tang of the coffee. To her surprise, when she tried to speak her throat was tight with the threat of tears. "Daniel?" she whispered. "Yes?" "Do you want...." Her breath quivered. "Do you want to try...*us*...again?" The heaviness in his sigh pressed painfully upon her shoulders. "You know the answer to that. But, it's my turn to be scared, Dana. You promised me something the last time we were together. And then you walked away. Again." --*"What do you want, Dana?" "I want everything I should want, at this time in my life. Maybe I want the life I didn't choose."... And Daniel had held up his hand to her. It was a gesture they both knew, had shared before...in two glowingly significant moments in their past. A gesture of promise, a gesture of asking, and of answering. And she had answered with her fingertips, clasped his hand and offered her heart and her tears. Maybe that was why she was here tonight. A promise yet to be kept.*-- "You've walked away from me twice now. Quite honestly, I don't think I could take that again." His words were simple. But his eyes had darkened, and the glimpse of genuine pain and vulnerability she caught shot deep beneath her skin. Daniel smelled like autumn leaves when he was first waking in the morning. His skin was silky and warm in the early moments of consciousness. "You know the last thing I would ever want...have ever wanted, is to hurt you. But eleven years ago, Daniel, you betrayed me beyond belief. I had every right to leave." "I only wanted to help you..." "Be that as it may..." Her jaw was tight now, her defenses reasserting themselves and pushing back the vulnerability. There were arguments yet to be had. "I'll be honest Daniel, I can't promise you anything tonight. So much has changed in my life so fast, I..." "I know..." *No, you don't...* "...but, last spring, I don't think I walked away from you. I think, I stepped back. To take stock. To let you take stock. Deal with things in your life, Maggie... And then my partner...well, it just wasn't the time anymore." Daniel nodded. Waited. "But there is one thing I *can* tell you," she said, walls shifting again. "It has always felt...right, just being in a room with you. It's like something...," a shaky breath, a beat, "...stops hurting." Daniel couldn't speak. Then his arms were around her, and relief flooded her limbs as she realized how hard her body had been pulling for his touch for the past few hours. *Maybe longer...* Daniel's scent was all around her, and there was a dizzying sensation of forgotten home. She was struggling against her tears and losing, and Daniel was nestling her closer. His hands had a way of sheltering, protecting her. They were the hands of a father. Of a healer. Of a lover. Time to go. For now. But Daniel's touch was like soft music that she didn't want to stop. As she pulled away, his gentle eyes moved over her tears and asked the question without words. She could offer only a repeated, "I missed you." Daniel continued to tenderly stroke her hair. "Sleep here tonight...just on the couch...I--" But she was shaking her head. "We need to move slowly. For both our sakes." His expression turned deeply serious. "Maybe eleven years is slow enough." Scully closed her eyes, and leaned her forehead against Daniel's chin, feeling his five o'clock shadow. He placed a light kiss against her warm skin. "What are you doing tomorrow?" he asked, teasing, yet serious. She smiled, pulling back and gathering herself to go. "Work. But not all day. You?" "Tell me, and I'll be there." She swallowed. "You always have." ***** End Chapter 6 (Continued in Chapter 7...) Feedback makes me a Happy Camper.:) bstrbabs@earthlink.net