Summary:  After the events in Gethesemane, Mulder & Scully go on the run to
an unusual place and discover some hidden feelings.

Category/Rating:  MSR/NC-17
Spoilers:  US Season Four/All episodes up to finale
Warning:  This is an MSR, all friendshippers beware.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^
AFTER THE LOUVRE

by DBKate
^^^^^^^^^^^^^
dbkate@yahoo.com


It was half an hour past her partner's funeral and Dana Scully was late.

She took off in the rented Ford Taurus with barely a word to the other
mourners, choosing to simply kiss Mrs. Mulder on the cheek and insisting that
she hold onto faith.  It had been four days since Fox Mulder had taken his
own life, with a gunshot to the head and all hell had broken loose.  She had
ID'd the body, attended the inquiries and faced the inquisition.

Now she was ready for the real challenge.

She sped past the outskirts of D.C. and headed to the little-known streets of
downtown.	Her cel phone rang.

"Agent Scully?"

Skinner's voice still boomed, even through the tinny receiver.

"Yes, sir?" she answered, trying to concentrate on the road as she swerved
around a slower car.

"Everything is clear on this end.  You are taking your *vacation* now, I
assume?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes, sir," she said, screeching to a halt at a red light.

"Good.  Be sure that Mr. Luder stays the hell out of Dodge, please," he said
and hung up.

Scully smiled.

She revved the car impatiently waiting for the light to change.  She checked
her rear  view mirror quickly and satisfied that she wasn't being followed,
plowed on ahead. She forced the car into high gear and sped down even more
desolate streets, narrow, dark and empty.  When she came to the murkiest of
these, she stopped the car, but did not get out.  The car ground to a halt
and she waited.  She heard footsteps to her right, but made no move.

"Can I get a ride, sailor?" said a voice in the dark, through the passenger
window.

"Hop on in," she said, keeping the engine running and her eyes straight
ahead.

"Thanks."

Fox Mulder jumped in the car besides her, ducked down below the front seat
and Scully hit the pedal with a vengeance.  They took off like a shot into
the streets.

"I got the tickets, Scully," he said from below.

"Great.  Where are we going?" she asked, ignoring the speedometer as they
flew past buildings and streets.

Mulder hesitated.

"You'll see, Scully."

##################

It took them less than twenty minutes to reach the airport and its roads.

"So where *are* we headed, Mulder?" said Scully, as she turned into the
enclosed circular highway.

"Paris," Mulder replied.  He had finally felt more confident, but insisted on
keeping his eye in the rearview mirror.

"Paris? What's in Paris?"  she asked, turning yet another steep curve as
departing planes thundered overhead.

"The Louvre," he replied and pointed to their terminal.

Scully raised an eyebrow, but followed his direction nonetheless.

"The Louvre?" she asked, as she pulled into the parking lot and began
searching for a spot. "What's in the Louvre?"

"The Mona Lisa," replied Mulder

"Mulder..." Scully began, but was silenced by Mulder's gentle finger on her
lips.

"Trust me?" he asked quietly.

She looked at him closely and wondered if he was indeed all right, if
everything that had happened in the past few weeks hadn't damaged him in some
subtle way, some way that even her experienced eye wasn't yet able to detect.
 She wanted to talk, to wait, but she knew that any time spent standing still
was an opportunity for disaster to come closer.

Perhaps even to collide.

"Of course," she replied with a sigh.  She was heartened by his answering
smile and decided that Paris in spring wasn't the worst of all hiding places
on earth.

As long as they weren't found.

"You'll like it," said Mulder, as he opened his door.

"I'm sure I will," she said and got out to follow him inside.

###############

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you look out the window to your left, you'll see
the Emerald Isle of Ireland."

Scully turned her head at the captain's announcement and was vaguely glad to
see land after the six hours of endless and monotonous sea.  Mulder had slept
soundly throughout the entire trip and even her curiosity didn't have the
heart to wake him.

"We will be landing in Paris in approximately 30 minutes."

Paris.  She had never been to Paris, but had dreamed about it like countless
of other people, wondering if all things in Paris were as magnificent in real
life as they appeared in the imagination.  She felt slightly guilty at the
small twinge of happy anticipation, for Mulder and she were here on business,
and serious business at that.

Or at least she thought.

But Scully allowed herself to picture the Eiffel Tower against a perfectly
blue sky, strings of lights scattered throughout the narrow, nighttime
streets and imagine the smell of fresh bread and dark, sweet coffee in the
morning.  She tried not to smile, but one curled around her lips anyway as
she leaned back in her seat still dreaming.

Maybe I can convince Mulder to sneak out for one night.

Her eyes popped open at such a frivolous thought.  Remember who you are Dana
Scully,  she told herself sternly.  Remember why you are here.

But why *am* I here, replied a little nagging voice.

She turned toward Mulder with a huff and decided to wake him to demand an
explanation, when the peace on his face stopped her once again.  He looked
too content, too calm, to wake after the nightmare of the past month.  It can
wait, she chanted to herself.  Trust him.  Give him a break, she thought,
taking a deep breath.

Give yourself one.

And so she allowed her imagination to take her to Paris in any way, shape or
form it pleased.  She closed her eyes and enjoyed the next thirty minutes of
dreaming.

For that was all that was going to be allowed.

###########

"What do you think, Scully?"

Mulder picked up both their bags as the cab roared away after dropping them
in front of the small hotel.  It was barely a bread & breakfast, still in the
city, but behind a hidden alleyway and facing the black glass of a decidedly
unquaint high-rise.

But it was lovely.  Even this tiny building had its own distinctive
architecture, pillars and exquisite carvings, brilliant art in stone and
mortar, a timeless island of the past.  Scully tried to make a dry comment,
but even as she fought it, the magic of the city had already invaded her
soul.

"It's beautiful," she said honestly, and Mulder rewarded her with a
brilliant, shining smile, one that crinkled underneath his eyes and dared to
show a dimple in his cheek.

"Wait till you see the inside.  The carpets were made by hand," he said,
slinging both their bags over his shoulder, and guiding her up the short
staircase.  A serious, red suited doorman opened the front door and ushered
them in.

"You've been here before?" she asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Read the brochure," he replied without missing a beat, and she was forced to
laugh whether she wanted to or not.  Everything that had happened in the past
few weeks, the madness, sickness and death that had nearly overtaken them,
nearly killed them, was quickly fading and she was helpless against its
departure.

Scully entered the hotel with a light step.

And she saw the gilded wallpaper shining under soft lights, the carpets,
truly exquisite and certainly made by human hands, for no machine could
create something that showed such care and love. The cherry wood reception
desk was perhaps a century old, and the concierge wasn't too far behind she
noticed, as they walked up to register.  Everything spoke of warmth,
tradition and taste and Scully was enchanted.

"Monsieur? May I help you?" asked the concierge, in English.  Scully was
relieved.  The cabbie hadn't spoken English and French wasn't her language of
choice in school. They had taken a much longer ride than expected on the way
here.

"Mr & Mrs. Godot," answered Mulder, ignoring Scully's astonished expression
at the introduction.

"Very good.  Let me find your room," answered the concierge.  He walked
slowly to the far side of the desk and began to go slowly through the
register.

"Mr. & Mrs. Godot?" whispered Scully, incredulously.

"Joan of Arc was already booked," answered Mulder with a shrug.  He motioned
for quiet as the concierge made his way back.

"Room 1013, Monsieur & Madame Godot.  We will carry those things up to your
room.  Please, Monsieur, this way.  Madame, watch your step over these tiles.
They are slippery.  Come, right this way," said the concierge, suddenly
becoming amazingly animated, one arm waving at the bellhops, the other taking
Scully's elbow and carefully leading her down the marbled halls.

He rang for the elevator and held the doors open as they both entered.

As the doors closed Scully turned to Mulder with a questioning expression.

"We are here for a reason, right?" she asked carefully.

"Yes," replied Mulder watching the floors roll past the stained glass of the
elevator window.

"And that would be?" asked Scully slowly.

"To see the Louvre," he replied as the elevator ground to a stop.  The doors
opened and Mulder stepped outside.

"Tenth floor, Madame," he said, holding the door open for her.

He offered her his arm.

###########

"Mulder, this bathtub is incredible!"

Scully's voice echoed happily from the bathroom and boomed throughout the
room.  Mulder smiled.  Nothing like a woman and her bathtub, he thought.  He
tossed himself on the huge, king sized bed and closed his eyes, and listened
to the sounds of the noisy Parisian streets below.  There was no TV in the
room, but he had better entertainment right there.

"They have perfume in here, Mulder. French perfume!"

He tried not to laugh at the astonished and gleeful yell.

"Smell this soap!  And these towels, they are huge!  And look! A drinking
fountain..."

Ooops.  Mulder sat up.

"That's a bidet, Scully," Mulder yelled back quickly. "Uh, don't drink from
that."

There was a long moment of silence and then Scully's hysterical laughter
began to echo off the tiled walls and through the room.  She stumbled out,
clutching her sides as Mulder shook his head at her.

"I think someone didn't get enough sleep on the plane," he said with a smile,
as she sat next to him on the bed and wiped the laughter from her eyes.

"A bidet," she choked.  "Oh lord..."

Mulder looked at her with a smile and wondered when was the last time he had
seen her laugh.

Or if he had ever seen her laugh.

"So, do you like it?" he asked softly, watching as she lay back on the bed
and stretched out her arms, feeling the comforter beneath her fingers.

"I think so.  But there is just one thing, Mulder," she said, her blue eyes
focused on the ceiling, her hands carelessly stretching up, toward it, as if
she could almost touch the small, carved flowers that adorned it.

"And that is?" he asked, but he knew the question.

"What are we doing here, Mulder?" she whispered, still concentrating on the
flowers above. "I mean, really.  I know there is a reason and you'll have to
tell me it eventually. I can wait..."

She pulled herself up and looked straight into his eyes.

"But I might just end up taking a five-hour bath and say to hell with it,"
she said, with a smile in her eye.

"I told you already, Scully," he replied and smiled back, but weakly.  "We
are going to the Louvre."

"And what's in the Louvre, Mulder?  And don't say the Mona Lisa, because then
we'll have a fight," Scully replied.

"But the Mona Lisa, *is* there, Scully.  Don't you want to see it?  We can go
to the Rue Morgue tonight, and the Eiffel Tower tomorrow. Don't tell me
you've never even wondered what they've looked like.  Haven't you, Scully?"
asked Mulder sincerely, and Scully was taken aback.

"But what does all this have to do with the Kritchgau?  The alien body?"
asked Scully, incredulously.

"Nothing," said Mulder softly.

Scully's expression changed.  This was no longer a joke.  They had things to
do.  Truths to find. They were supposed to be here on business.

Serious business.

"I thought we could use a vacation, Scully," he continued, trying desperately
to read her face.  "You and me. We had to go somewhere far away, why not
here?  I thought you would like it here.  Especially since..."

Mulder suddenly went silent.  But Scully could still hear what he was about
to say, even if he hadn't said it.

*Especially since you're sick.*

Her cancer.  That's why he's doing this, she thought.  He feels guilty.  This
is what this is all about, her mind screamed.  Give poor, dying Scully a last
hurrah.  Her anger started to blind her.

"So, you felt sorry for me and took me to France," she snarled.  "Poor, poor
Scully...so sick.  She needs some pity."

"No, no...Scully, wait..." said Mulder, turning pale under her glare. "You
don't understand..."

"I don't want your pity, Mulder!" she cried out furiously, her face turning
red and the tears beginning to bite behind her eyes. "Not yours, not my
mother's, not Bill's, no one's, Mulder.  Don't you understand? Pity will not
help me!!"

Mulder felt his temper slip away.

"I'm not pitying you!  I'm tired, Scully.  Aren't you?" he yelled back, his
voice thick and cracking. "Aren't you tired?"

Scully hesitated and thought for a moment.  Yes, I am tired, she thought.
 But....

"Scully, aren't you tired of believing that there is no joy in this world?
 That all there is, all that exists in life, is pain and lies?" Mulder
continued, his voice softening. "I hope not, Scully.  Because I can't live
like that any longer.  That's what I've realized, Scully.  That life is short
and that the truth isn't worth a damn when you're alone. I've been alone for
a long time Scully, and I can't go on like this.  I can't."

Mulder stopped and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Because I'm tired, Scully," he finally whispered.

Scully saw that Mulder's features had finally crumbled and beneath them were
obsessions that had fallen away and they had left behind a simple humanity.
 He had become a man longing for something outside of himself, something
outside of his sister, his tortured family, outside of his own guilt.

She could barely stand the sight.

"All right, Mulder," she said, looking away.  "We'll take a break.  I think
that's appropriate.  We'll...we'll go to the Louvre.  I think that's a good
idea. Maybe we could use some time to think.  Time to plan."

Scully hung her head and stared at the floor, unable to continue.  She felt a
finger slid under her chin and lift her face. Mulder's eyes met hers.

"Thank you, Scully," said Mulder simply...gratefully.

And she knew he meant it.

################

"Mulder, I think it's closed."

Scully was speaking in whispers outside of the great museum. The street lamps
still burned brightly outside in the night, but there was only stillness and
darkness behind the doors.

"The Louvre never closes," said Mulder matter-of-factly.

Scully pursed her lips.

"And what makes you think that?"  she said dryly.

"I read the brochure," he replied and jogged up the huge stairs to peer in
the door.

Scully was content just to look at the huge palace, with its Gothic style
exterior, the pride of six kings.  To their right, ran the Seine river and
the lights of Paris still shone.  But Mulder appeared determined to enter,
even at the inconvenience of the hour.

"We'll come back tomorrow," said Scully, feeling compelled to speak in
whispers outside the overwhelming building.  "We'll go back to the cafe..."

"I think we can get in, Scully," said Mulder, squinting down a ledge.

"We are *not* breaking into the Louvre, Mulder," squeaked Scully indignantly.
 "Absolutely not."

"We aren't going to steal anything, Scully.  I just want to look," he
replied, peering down the side of the stairs.

"Everyone wants to look, Mulder.  That's why they come here.  We'll come back
tomorrow," she hissed, now getting nervous.  "Come on."

"It *is* open, Scully!" he whispered back triumphantly.  I see a crack of
light on the stones.  A quick run inside and then we'll leave.  I can't come
all the way here without seeing the Mona Lisa, Scully. Can you?"

Scully rolled her eyes.  Oh, he is so...so..

Alive.

He is alive, she thought.  Absolutely and wonderfully alive.  She watched for
a moment as he carelessly dangled down the side stairs, attempting a closer
look at the stolen entranceway.  Something inside of her broke open at the
sight.

"Won't we get caught?" she said, biting her lip in thought.

"A flick of a switch says we won't.  That's the entrance for security.  No
wonder the Mona Lisa was stolen twice," replied Mulder, running back down the
stairs, grabbing her hand and virtually dragging her down to the open door.

She followed without complaint.

They entered the dull security center, surprisingly dead and empty.  Mulder
examined the grey panels for a moment and switched off only the motion
detectors.  A small hum came to a standstill and Mulder let out a yelp.

"Elvis has entered the building," he said to Scully dragging her up the steel
stairs, his eyes bright.

"God help us," said Scully, but feeling an odd thrill at such an awful and
forbidden deed. She ran up the stairs behind him.

Mulder burst through the top door and Scully gasped.

Heaven had unfolded.

The room was huge. Long, with an impossibly high ceiling, the Grande Gallery
lay before them.  Scully stared and  couldn't understand how a single room
could stretch almost a thousand feet in front of her with such beauty.

"Oh, my God," she gasped.  "Oh, my..."

Mulder nodded in mute agreement.

"Look," she murmured pointing to the left.  "Look...."

The Venus de Milo greeted them.  Her head bowed to one side, her invisible
arms graceful and poised,  even in absence.  Scully fought the almost
overwhelming urge to touch the spotless marble and slowly, sadly passed her
by.

Her regret soon passed. For here were so many other sights to see.  She
passed by sculpture after sculpture and painting after painting and not the
dull ones you stare at in boredom in some local museum, but all the lovely
ones, the real ones, that you only see in books or postcards or perhaps a
dream or two.

But Mulder looked perturbed.  He pulled Scully along, past the Winged Victory
of Samothrace, looking, searching for something.  He breathed a sigh of
relief when he saw it.

The Mona Lisa.

He put a finger to his lips and motioned for quiet at Scully in the already
silent hall.  She answered with a thrilled *shhh* and they edged toward it.
The Mona Lisa sat still, accepting their tiptoeing homage, smiling as ever,
somewhere over their shoulders as she has at all pilgrims for the past few
centuries.

Mulder grasped Scully's hand tighter as they walked up.

And the treacherous world outside disappeared.

Scully felt no need for words.  Impulsively, perhaps instinctively, she took
her hand from Mulder's and wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him
closely, laying her head against his heart.  She looked at the great countess
and hoped that she could have the same peace after heartbreak that she had
found.  Mulder grasped her waist in return and his head lay atop of hers.
 And so entwined they stood, still and peaceful in time, surrounded by the
past.

Scully felt his lips against her forehead.

She closed her eyes and felt the waves of warmth and a slight shiver run down
her body.  I have lived so long alone, she thought, and life is so short.
 She raised her lips and was rewarded with a kiss, soft at first, but growing
stronger...more desperate the longer she waited.  She took a moment to
respond, just wanting to savor the feeling, the taste and warmth of Mulder's
lips, but soon her own desire betrayed her.  She twined her arms around his
neck and pulled him against her, rocking slowly, pressing against his chest,
hearing his heart.

He gently laid her down on the floor.

Scully didn't even notice the hardness of the tiles, just that they felt
deliciously cool through her blouse and upon her back.  Mulder lie on his
side next to her, carefully holding her face in his hands, kissing her
slowly, trying to give her the chance to stop before there was no turning
back.

But that time had passed.

Before Mulder could think, Scully was on top of him; her mouth and hands
everywhere, needing and taking, wherever they touched.  He began to feel
dazed, her warmth spreading over him like a blanket, and when he opened his
eyes, the ceiling above him stretched forever, almost to eternity.  She
kissed him again and he couldn't help the groan that left his throat.

He couldn't ignore the ache between his legs.

He tried to put it away, this terrible desire, but she was, if by instinct,
her own way of knowing him absolutely and perfectly, urging him on.  As he
felt her hand caress him through his jeans, he bucked and tore into her.  He
pulled her blouse open, silk and small buttons popping aside, buried himself
in the warm, sweet skin and closed his eyes against her moans.  He unclasped
her bra and pulled it up harshly and took a nipple in his mouth, felt it hard
and hot against his tongue.  Scully arched and whimpered against him, softly
imploring him to continue, not to stop, but to please, please go on.

And the Louvre fell away.

Soon Mulder was inside of her, on the floor of the palace, his body one with
hers.  Their rhythm was the rhythm of life and he no longer feared death.  He
thrust into her with open eyes, searching hers for what he needed.  And above
her lips, full and bruised with kisses, through her passion and the pain of
the past few months, he saw it.

He saw love.

Open and perfect, shining at him in this huge room, before these figures
created with love and passion, she became one with them.  And he was one with
her.

They fell over the edge together.

And soon, in the aftermath, in the Louvre, two lovers finally lie in peace,
with the Mona Lisa, serene and smiling sweetly over them.

###############

"Where to next, Mulder?"

Scully's eyes were still bright from the lights of a Paris evening.  She and
Mulder were walking hand in hand down the Rue Morgue and the world was
finally right.

"London?" he asked, with a smile.

"Tower of London?" she replied with a sly look.

"Now that's a challange," he said, picked her up and twirled her underneath a
new sunrise.  He kissed her and she no longer felt fear.

"I live for a challenge," she replied.  "But you knew that."

And Mulder nodded, smiling under the rising sun over Paris.

#############

comments welcome
dbkate@yahoo.com