***************************************************************** This author's e-mail address has changed to: rn500@usa.net ***************************************************************** Date: 27 May 1998 08:07:35 GMT From: RN500 Subject: NEW: "12 Hours" (1/2) by L. Phillips Title: 12 Hours Author: Linda Phillips Rating: R Classification: S / R / A Keywords: MSR Spoilers: "The End" Disclaimer: The X-Files and it's characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Television. I'm only playing with 'em. Summary: Post episode story. I want to say a public thanks for all the encouragement I have received from a great group of people - Linda, Kat, Susan, Jen, Suzie, Esther, Katie, Loretta... I could go on for hours! You're all the greatest! ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Comments to Linda at rn500@ozline.net ~~~~~~~~~~~~ All I want right now is for him to put his arms around me. I hold him to me, feeling his heart pounding beneath my cheek. I long for him to hold me as I do him, for us to share the despair and betrayal that we both feel. But, as is so often the case, his first instinct is to suffer alone. In one staggeringly clear moment I am reminded of the fact that, in Mulder's heart of hearts, I am still only an aide-de-camp in his X-Files domain. I am an extra, an assistant, and I couldn't possibly feel the depth of his anguish at the sight of the last seven years of his life gone up in flames. He so easily forgets that it's also the last five years of mine. I try to push those thoughts away. I can feel him trembling against me. His arms are at his sides and he clenches his fists as his gaze travels the charred, smoke darkened remains of our office. I finally lift my head to look him in the eyes. "Mulder..." There's nothing else I can say. He looks at me. His eyes are black, wide, mad with rage. He says nothing. He stares into my eyes for a long moment, then pulls away from me and flees the room, leaving me standing there amid the ruins of all that we have known together. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I was numb. I am numb. My mind refuses to take in what I have seen as fact. I so easily believe in things that I can't see, can't touch. But this... this is more than I can interpret into reason right now. I don't need to ask why. It was a preemptive strike, from "them", whoever the hell "they" are. I wish that cigarette smoking bastard would show up at my door right now. One shot, right between the eyes. I had a chance before, and I blew it. My humanity got the best of me. Or was that it? Perhaps it was weakness, not humanity, that kept me from pulling the trigger that night. He offered me something, and like a child with the promise of a long awaited new toy, I took the bait. For a chance to know "the truth". You know what? I am sick to fucking death of the truth. In the past year, my existence has turned upside down. Again. I had programmed myself to constantly work, dig, find, seek. It almost didn't matter for what. Just keep looking for that truth I so desperately wanted. The truth that I always felt would put my life back together. But as some of those truths have emerged, I had to begin to question what I had let become the basis of my life. And now, this. I barely felt Scully's hands on me. She leaned against me, offering me solace. But I could not accept it. My mind was reeling... it still is. And so, I choose not to think. I choose instead the truth that is found in the amber liquid that burns my throat as I swallow it warm from the bottle. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I sit in the dark of my living room, the radio softly playing in the background. I keep glancing at the clock on the VCR, I'm not sure why. The hour means nothing, really. I won't sleep tonight, I'm certain of that. What will we do now? That is the chant I hear over and over in my mind. How do we pick up the pieces and start again? And will we even have the strength left to do it? I can't reconcile myself with the fact that we may go out on "their" terms. Not with a bang, but with a whimper. It's unacceptable to me. And if it's unacceptable to me, it's doubly so to Mulder. I want to see him. I've put my hand on the telephone a dozen times tonight, twice I even started to dial the numbers, but hung up. I know him. He won't give in to sharing his pain. He will want to in immerse himself in it, let it stick him with a thousand sharp points until the blood flows freely. It is one of the few things we have in common, although I have fashioned a shield for myself that keeps it all from view. Flashes of images keep running through my mind, like a filmstrip projector with a will of it's own. A blackened desk, debris still smoking, emergency lights flashing, filing cabinets blistered from the heat, their contents incinerated. And Mulder. That look on his face. I have to see him. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ She never should have come back here. What was she hoping to find? Was it me? With all my heart I hope not. That was a long time ago, and those feelings are as cold as my icy hands. And now she's become another victim of the X-Files. No, that's wrong. Not the X-Files. She became a victim of the lies and deception, just like the rest of us. I remember the passion we shared, about so many things. Passion that burned too hot to touch sometimes. Passion for the work, for the quest, for the discovery... and for each other. We pushed each other to the brink, but never quite with the courage to go over the edge. It took me a long time to realize what held us back: because there was no safe place to land. We were so much the same, Diana and I. At first exhilarating, over time it became frightening, too intense to survive the light of day. I look at Scully and I see contemplation to my eagerness, I see calm to my storm, light to my dark. When I looked at Diana, I only saw myself. She said I could have used an ally these past five years, someone who was of a like mind. Someone who believes in me, she meant. She doesn't know, I've had something better. I've had someone who stayed even when she didn't believe. The kid was right when he said I was thinking of one of them. But it wasn't Diana. I tip the bottle up again, and it goes down easier. I wonder what she's doing right now. No, I *know* what she's doing right now. She's worrying about me. If I was half a man, I'd call her, tell her I'm okay. But I'm afraid if I hear her voice, I'll crumble. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I knock once, twice. No answer. I slip my key in the lock and turn. Slowly the door opens and I peer in. From the darkness I hear Mulder's voice. "Scully, c'mon in," he says, his words thick and strange. "Come and have a drink with me." My eyes adjust slowly to the shadows. I see him sitting on the far corner of the sofa, leaned back, a pint bottle in his hand. I move toward him and sit down slowly, watching him, waiting for... something. Implosion, spontaneous combustion, anything but the quiet figure that I'm seeing here. He holds the bottle out to me. "Here, have a drink," he says. "It's not good to drink alone, so said.. so say... damn!" He shakes his head. "So- they-say. There." His eyes narrow as he looks at me, brows together. "You're not gonna make me go get a glass, are you?" I shake my head slightly and reach for the bottle. I haven't drunk whiskey straight since my college days, but tonight seems like a good night to try it again. In one swift motion I bring it to my lips and tip it back. I remember this now. It burns like hell. I down a long swig and pass the bottle back to Mulder without looking at him. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, head in my hands, praying that the bitter liquid doesn't come back up. We sit silently like this for I don't know how long. Eventually he nudges my arm with the bottle and I take it, gulping down a mouthful quickly so that I don't really taste it. I hold the bottle up to the dim light coming in the window, tipping it just slightly. A small triangle of liquor sloshes in the bottom corner, and I bring it to my mouth and finish it off. I hand Mulder the empty bottle, and he takes it with a whistle. "You go, girl," he slurs. We look at each other for a long moment. Finally a derisive laugh erupts from me. "I'm at a loss for words, Mulder. Can you believe that?" I say, sinking back into the sofa with a sigh. "I can't get past, ' what do we do now?' " He stands, stumbles, catches himself. Facing away, he says evenly, "Does it matter any more? Does it really fucking matter?" I look up, close my eyes for a moment, open them again. "Yes, it does, Mulder," I say quietly. "It does." He turns to face me. A rueful smile crosses his face and he laughs bitterly. "Look at me, Scully." I am. " *Look* at me!" "I am, Mulder. I see you." He runs his hand through his hair as he gathers his thoughts. "I'm thirty-seven years old, Scully. Thirty-fucking- seven years old." He shakes his head as if presented with a fact that defies belief. His hands drop down, shoulders sagging, as he stares above my head somewhere. He speaks again, but not to me. "We can chase bad guys till we croak from old age. But there's always more where they came from." His voice is quiet, and he sighs. "Always more." I have never seen him so defeated. "We can start over..." I offer, and I mean it. "With what, Scully?" He meets my eyes, his face grim. "It's gone! They've taken everything this time." Without thinking I reach my hand out to him. "Not everything..." He hesitates, then comes near me and takes my hand in his. "Not that they haven't tried," he replies with a sad smile. "But you're too tough for 'em. You're always too tough for 'em." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I feel strength pulsing from her hand, like a current that travels into me. But it's not enough. Not this time. I sit down on the sofa. Suddenly I am weary to the bone, body and soul weary. Without another thought, I lean over and lay my head on Scully's lap, swinging my feet up on the sofa. Her jeans are rough against my face, but warm, with a scent I don't recognize. "Your legs are bony," I hear myself saying. "You're too skinny." She doesn't say a word, but I know exactly what she's doing. She's closing her eyes as she shakes her head, a half Mona Lisa smile barely turning up her mouth. "Should I get you a pillow, Your Highness?" she asks. "No." I reach up and put my hand on her knee. "Stay here." Her fingertips lightly brush the hair from my forehead. It feels good. "I'm tired, Scully." "I know, Mulder." "I'm so tired." "Rest now," she says, her fingers gently running over my temple. "You'll be here?" "I'll be here." I close my eyes. My whiskey soaked brain swirls and turns, refusing to be calm. I concentrate on the light stroke on my forehead, over and over, reassuringly constant. Like Scully. Finally, I drift. But never too far away. It seems as though a whole day has passed when I open my eyes again. I glance at the clock, it's glowing numerals telling me that it's only been an hour or so since I lay my head down. I look up to see Scully with her head leaning back against the sofa, mouth slightly parted, eyes closed. Her chest rises and falls with easy breaths, her arm still lying across my shoulder. I feel dirty, sweaty. I smell of the blackened smoke that covers our office. Gingerly, I move Scully's hand from my shoulder and rise slowly from the sofa. She stirs just a bit, turning her head to one side. In the bathroom I turn the shower on, hot as I can stand it. As I peel off my clothes, I catch sight of my face in the mirror. I study it for a moment, trying to make sense of what I see. A man. Just a man. A man whose nose is too big and whose memory is too long. A brain in a body made of flesh and bone, as breakable as the next guy. I'm not Arnold Schwarzenegger. I can't take on the world single-handedly and live to tell the tale in the end. What the hell am I trying to prove? The steam clouds the mirror, and I wipe a clear circle in it with my hand. It is not a face I want to recognize. I see fear, sadness. Defeat. I step into the shower and let the hot water pound on my throbbing scalp. Even my hair hurts. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When I open my eyes he is gone. For a split second I panic, then I remember where I am, and I hear the shower running. I sit forward, rubbing my eyes. My stomach growls, and it occurs to me that I haven't eaten since yesterday morning. I need food. Something definite, something I can put my hands on. I go to Mulder's kitchen and hesitantly open the cupboard doors. I stand there, staring at the nearly empty shelves, as if by some miracle I'll blink my eyes and two big fat hamburgers will appear. Somehow I just know that if we sit down and fill our stomachs, an answer will come. 'Oh, my God,' I think. 'I've become my mother.' Whenever there was a crisis in our family, my mom made food. Lots of it. Casseroles, pies, bread, you name it. It took me a long time to figure out her strategy. While you were eating, you couldn't talk, couldn't cry, couldn't argue. You had to think. But there's nothing here to work with. A can of peaches, a box of crackers, two cans of tuna, and a variety of other mis-matched items. I start to cry, little silent tears at first. Then a whimper catches in my throat, and all hell breaks loose. My hands lean against the counter and I cry great heaving sobs. After a few minutes, I hear my name called tentatively from behind me. I whirl around, my face hot, my eyes swollen. "God damn it, Mulder!" I yell. "Why can't you ever have any fucking food in this place?" I take a deep breath, trying to calm my shaking voice. It doesn't work. "You - never - have - any - god - damn - food..." The words come choking out between sobs. I feel like an idiot, but I can't help myself. Mulder's face is pinched with concern, and he holds his hands out as he moves toward me. My eyes close and I feel his arms close around me. I fall against him, and I cry like I've never cried before. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I've never seen Scully like this. I hold her to me and her body convulses with great heaving sobs. I wait, smoothing her hair, as she lets it out. What I feel like doing is collapsing on the floor with her and both of us can cry our eyes out. But I don't think I have any tears left in me. When her sounds have slowed to irregular hiccups, I loosen my hold and step back. Scully drops her head, trying to hide from me, but I put my hand along her jaw and tilt her face up. She won't look me in the eye. I quickly reach behind me and grab a paper towel off the roll, then turn back to carefully wipe her swollen eyes and wet cheeks. I want her to know that she can cry and still be the strongest person I've ever known. Finally she looks at me and sighs, her mouth set in a self-deprecating frown. I guide her over to the kitchen table, such as it is, piled high with magazines and newspapers and clippings. She sits down and turns to watch me, eyes curious. I open the fridge and, miracle of miracles, there is a half loaf of bread in there and it's not even green. A near empty twelve pack of soda yields two Cokes. I open one of those funny little refrigerator drawers, whose purpose I never really understood, and bring out a handful of single-serve jellies that I swiped from a diner a while back. Mixed Fruit, but what the hell. Closing the fridge, I move to the still open cupboard and bring out my secret weapon - a small jar of peanut butter. I search the silverware drawer for a clean knife, to no avail. But I have learned to adapt. A big spoon will do. Spreading a couple paper towels on the counter, I make up two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches fit for a king. I grab the can of peaches (with a convenient pop-top, as I never know where my can opener is) and open it. Back to the silverware drawer. Hmm, one fork. Story of my life. I lay the feast on the table and sit down with Scully. She looks it over, shakes her head, gives me a hint of a smile. "Mulder..." she says. She closes her eyes and is silent for a moment. When she opens her eyes, a little sigh escapes. "They broke the mold when they made you." "Thank God," I say, and bite into my sandwich. My stomach is churning, and the last thing I want to do is eat. But I force myself, knowing she won't eat unless I do. She picks up her sandwich and takes a bite. Her eyes close again and she makes a moaning sound. "I have never tasted anything so good," she says with a laugh. "Try this with it," I say, spearing a peach slice from the can. I hold it to her mouth and she takes it between her teeth, then chews slowly. "For some reason, it goes perfect with peanut butter. When I was a kid Samantha and I used to sit on the porch eating peanut butter and crackers and peaches out of the can. A regular white trash snack." This coaxes a chuckle from her, and she eats greedily. We continue in silence for a while, until the peaches are gone and there are only crumbs on the table in front of her. I've managed to choke down half of my PB&J and the Coke. Then she says it. "What are we going to do, Mulder?" Don't ask me that, Scully, I say to myself. I can't think about it yet. But I don't speak. I just shake my head. She nods silently, bringing her fingertips together against her mouth. "What I should do," she says, "is go home and let you get some rest. That's what I should do. We both need some sleep." "No," I say suddenly. My hand shoots across the table to take hers. "Don't go. Please." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I stare at our hands entwined on the table. Finally I work up the courage to bring my gaze to Mulder's face. He's trying hard, so hard. But I can see his eyes, and the wound is bleeding. He is so lost. "You take the sofa," he says, his voice slightly pleading. "I'll sleep in the chair." I nod my agreement, silently thankful, not mentioning that I don't want to be alone either. He walks ahead of me and opens a closet door in the living room, taking out a pillow and two blankets. I watch as he fluffs the pillow up, and for some reason that touches my heart like nothing else has on this God-awful night. He places it on the end of the sofa, then spreads his arm out as if to say, your carriage awaits. I drop down, suddenly exhausted, and lay my head against the slightly musty smelling pillow. Mulder unfolds a blue blanket and spreads it over me, tucking it around my neck. It seems backward, *him* comforting *me*. But I accept it, gratefully and silently. He leans back in the big chair and swings his long legs up onto the ragged ottoman, throwing a blanket over himself. I pretend to close my eyes, but keep one just slightly open, studying his silhouette. He sighs quietly, his eyes open, staring straight ahead. Damn. I feel my throat tighten again, and my eyes get damp. There's nothing I wouldn't do for him, yet there is nothing I *can* do right now except be by his side as he suffers silently. After a time my eyelids grow heavy and I give in to the exhaustion that makes my body feel like lead. I dream of Emily. We're at a park and I am pushing her on a swing. She laughs again and again, a sound so sweet that it brings tears to my eyes. She pumps her short, stubby legs, back and forth, back and forth, going higher and higher. She seems to have no fear. I, on the other hand, yell to her to stop, slow down, you're going too high. She just looks at me and smiles. She doesn't speak, but I know what she's thinking. 'You're not my mommy,' she wants to say. I open my eyes with a start, blinking to adjust them to the dim light. I look at Mulder, thinking he's asleep. Then I hear a muffled sound coming from him, and he passes his hand over his eyes. He's crying. Without thinking, I speak. "Mulder..." He turns his head away from me as I stand and go to him. He won't let me see his face, so I sit on the arm of the chair and pull him to me. He turns quickly and buries his face in my lap, and I feel the wet tears on my leg. "God damn it!" he cries in a strangled voice. "God damn it, god damn it!" I hold him to me quietly, stroking his back, hoping somehow that he feels my love for him. Soon enough his ragged breathing slows, and he lifts his head but still won't look at me. "I'm sorry, Scully," he whispers, wiping his face with the palms of his hands. My chest aches. "Look at me," I say. He doesn't. "Mulder, please." Slowly his reddened eyes rise to meet mine. "Don't you understand?" I hear myself asking. "Don't you know by now?" I lean my head down and touch his lips with mine. I don't know what I'm doing, but I know I have to do it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I love Scully. I've known this for so long, I can't remember when I didn't know it. I've thought about her, dreamed about her. The last thing I want from her is a pity fuck. She takes me by surprise with this kiss. My mind is reeling. I reluctantly draw back and just look at her. I don't know what to think. "Scully..." My mouth hangs open and I can't think of another thing to say. She holds my chin in her hand while her gaze travels my face. Finally, her eyes settle on mine. "I know what you're thinking, Mulder." "Do you?" I can barely speak. "Yes. And you're wrong. You're so wrong." Her lips come to mine again, and this time I can't help but believe. I pull her down onto my lap and bury myself in her hair, her lips, the scent of her skin. My conscience is shouting that this is the wrong time and the wrong reasons. But, God, I need her! That's all I'm sure of right now. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mulder breaks away from our kiss and holds me to him tightly. I reach my arms around his neck and hang on, my head on his shoulder . He seems to want nothing more of me yet, just to hold me here. If only the world could stop, just for a while. Let us be, now. The last of our walls has come down and I don't want it to end. Finally, he breaks the silent spell. "Do you want to know about her?" he asks. I consider this for a moment. "No," I reply, shaking my head against him. "No, I don't. It's enough that she hasn't been here for the last five years and I have." We are silent again for a few minutes. His hold on me never loosens. "I love you, Scully." "I know." I lift my head and look at him. I want him to know that I mean this with all my heart. "What do you think's kept me going this past year and a half? I feel you with me, Mulder. All the time." He closes his eyes, gently shaking his head, now in the unnatural role of the skeptic. I lay my head against him again. "You're worth loving, Mulder. You are." He tips his head back and takes a deep breath. He knows words as weapons, as lies, rarely as something to be trusted. Now he's even struggling with his trust in mine. I won't let that happen. I kiss him again, gently on the lips, then place soft kisses over his closed eyes, his nose, his forehead. He's so still, barely breathing. "Scully..." he says, his voice a strangled whisper. "Sshh," I whisper back to him. "I need you to believe in me, Mulder. Please believe in me." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ End Part 1/2 "12 Hours" Part 2/2 By L. Phillips ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I melt. I've never wanted to believe in anything as much. I crush her small body to me, kissing her hard. Suddenly, I want to be enveloped by her, feel her surround me. We become a tangle of arms and hands and mouths, breathing life back into one another, and it feels so damn good. "Scully, what are we doing?" I intend to be forceful, but it comes out as a moan. She pulls back just enough to speak. "I'm your one in five billion," she says with the shadow of a smile. "I love you. Isn't that enough?" It is. Oh, it is. My hands glide over her, but there is too much in the way. I want to feel her skin, see if it's as soft as I have always imagined it to be. She quickly unbuttons her shirt and shrugs it off. Her white satin bra shines in the faint light. I hold her away from me for a moment, just to look at her. My hands slowly run the length of her arms, and she shivers. "I'm cold," she says quietly. "Make me warm, Mulder." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I don't know where these words are coming from. But they come, and I don't want to stop them. I feel what I'm saying with every fiber of my being. In one smooth movement Mulder stands and lifts me with him. He lays me gently on the sofa, then takes off his shirt before he lies beside me. He pulls the blanket up over us and his arms wrap me close against his chest. The scent of him fills me, overwhelming my senses, and everything fades except for this. In the midst of the chaos that has been this night, there is contentment here for me. My fingertips trace the hollow of his throat, the curve of his jaw. He makes a moaning sound and closes his eyes. "I need you, Mulder," I whisper. His eyes meet mine and I think, this is how you quantify the spiritual. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ We make love with tenderness, every touch a healing caress. We both know it is not passion that we need tonight - there will be time for that. She cries out only once, as the waves wash over her, and I can feel her drawing me in as she holds me to her. I wait in exquisite torture while her body completes its slow hungry dance, watching her, barely able to believe what is happening. I kiss her closed eyes, her gasping mouth, and begin to move slowly, carefully. My body is responding to her slightest touch, her every breath, and I feel strangely and wonderfully untethered to the world outside. I force myself to keep my eyes open. I want to see her, and she opens herself to me through her eyes, inviting me into a place in her soul that I've never been. Her lashes glimmer with wetness in the soft light. 'Don't cry!' I think. I want to say it, but I can't speak. But she sees. As always, she knows. She smiles and holds me to her more tightly, whispering her love to me, until I can't stop calling her name and I am overcome with all that she is to me. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I can't remember the last time I have fallen asleep in a man's arms. But sleep I do, heavenly, dreamless sleep. When I awaken the daylight is here, and I feel Mulder shift on the sofa next to me. I try to focus my bleary eyes, and I see that he is reaching for the phone. I watch, anxiety creeping into my belly as he answers it. "H'llo?" he says sleepily. Suddenly his eyes are wide open, alert. I listen to the one sided conversation. "Why not?" he asks edgily. Then calmer, "I see..." He glances down at me. "Yes, she's here... alright, we'll be there." "What is it?" I ask, not sure that I want to know. "Skinner wants to see us in his office as soon as possible. He wouldn't say more on the phone." We just look at each other for a moment, trying to draw some strength for what we face. Finally I sit up, holding the blanket against me, curiously modest now in the light of day. Glancing at the clock, I'm startled to see that it's nearly 10 a.m. I turn away from Mulder and quickly dress, and he does the same. As I pull on my jeans I can't help but think how surreal this suddenly all seems. "I'll meet you there after I go home and clean up," I say, slipping on my shoes. "No." He says quickly and turns to me. "Let me pick you up." I understand. He wants us to arrive together, show a united front. I nod. "Okay. I'll see you in a bit," I reply awkwardly, picking up my coat as I move toward the door. I feel oddly unsure of what to say, what to do. It's a strange sensation after five years together. "Scully..." I turn back. He takes a step to me and holds up his hand. Instinctively I press my own against it, our fingers interlacing. He doesn't need to tell me. "I know, Mulder." He brings my hand up and presses his lips against it before releasing it. My eyes are misty. "I'll be there soon," he says. I nod, then leave quickly without looking back again. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Yesterday at this time I was a lucky man to have Scully as my best friend and partner. Now the gods have seen fit to favor me with her love. What a difference a few hours can make. I can tell she feels awkward in this new connection that we've made, unsure of how it fits in our lives. I on the other hand, have no such hesitation. I feel I have been waiting for this all my life. And now, to complicate things further, we are going back into the lion's den together. Strangely, I feel little apprehension. We've known for a long time that this day would come. Our futures with the FBI stand precariously centered on a balance, the truth at one end and the lies at the other. We'll soon find out which way the balance will tip. But I feel strong now, and we won't give up without a fight. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ An hour and a half later we pull into the Bureau parking garage. Mulder has held my hand all the way here. As he pulls the car into an empty spot, I give his fingers one last squeeze before I pull my hand away. He seems so calm, while my nerves are stretched taut. We walk side by side through the hallways, inviting furtive glances by almost everyone we pass. They all know what happened in the basement last night. I'm sure not a few are thinking that it's about time we got our comeuppance, about time Mr. and Mrs. Spooky stop wasting taxpayer's money chasing ghosts. I straighten my spine as I walk and meet their looks with chilly ones of my own. Mulder stares straight ahead. Skinner's secretary must have seen us coming, because he opens his office door as we approach. His face is impassive and his voice strong as he summons us in. We take our places in the by now customary seating arrangement, with the A.D. leaning back against his desk. Skinner folds his arms, chews his lip for a moment. Then he looks at us. "First of all, I want to tell you that Agent Fowley is doing better. She's still in serious condition, but she's holding her own." I close my eyes and let out a quiet breath. "Secondly, I want to show you both something." He picks up a set of keys from his desk. "Follow me." Mulder and I glance at each other, then stand and follow Skinner's purposeful stride down the hall. We turn the corner once, twice, then stop. The keys rattle as the A.D. pushes one into the lock and turns. He opens the door and motions us in. Mulder and I walk to the center of the small, windowless room and stand there as if in a trance, shell- shocked. Skinner comes to me, takes my hand in his and turns it upward. The keys drop into my palm. "This is your new office," he says matter-of-factly. "It's not the corner suite, but I think you'll find it a bit more comfortable than your old one." Two desks. There are two desks. Near one is a stack of boxes. Skinner walks over to it and lifts the lid from the top box. "I've been in this business a long time," he says quietly. "I knew... I sensed... something was going down. Two weeks ago I spent my Sunday in your office making a copy of every file that I could find." He looks at Mulder, then back to me. "I know it's not everything, but it's a start. We're not going down without a fight." Mulder's eyes are shining. I think he's afraid to speak. Finally, I find my voice. "Thank you, sir." A ridiculously inadequate comment, but he looks at him me knowingly. With that, the A.D. turns and walks to the door. As he's about to close it behind him, he stops and looks back at us. "Oh, and Agents..." he says, a hint of a smile on his lips. "...try to be on time tomorrow, hmm?" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Scully and I look at each other for a moment, not moving, not saying a word. Then in a rush, I lift her and spin around as I let out a little whoop. As I set her back down, I look at her, that beautiful smile on her face, and suddenly I have a problem. I'm hornier than hell. "I love you, Scully." She laughs and kisses me. I kiss her back, hard, and she makes a surprised little moan. I hold her close, whisper in her ear. "Let's christen the new office..." I tease, only half joking. "Lock the door," she says quietly. I can't be hearing this right. I pull back to see her face. Her blue eyes beckon me, and she gives me a languid smile that almost brings me to my knees. I've been witness to two miracles in the last twelve hours - do I dare to hope for a third? The look on Scully's face tells me that I'm about to find out. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ End Comments to Linda at rn500@ozline.net -- http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Station/2978/