From: "adriana" <marmalad@zaz.com.br>
Date: Tue, 19 Sep 2000 22:32:50 -0300
Subject: As - 4/4
Source: direct

Disclaimer and everything else in Part 1


***************************

Chapter 31


The first thing he noticed when he opened his eyes was 
that it was already late evening. 

Twenty-seven minutes past seven, according to his clock 
radio clock.  

He blinked to adjust his eyes to the darkness of the 
room. Scully had closed the curtains while he was 
sleeping. She hated sleeping with any kind of light on; 
she was always closing curtains and blinds. He may have 
problems finding sleep but when he found it nothing short 
of an alien falling from the skies right over him would 
wake him up. 

He had doubted he would be able to sleep at all, even 
more after he had left Scully at her apartment. 

They hadn't talked on their way back to her building. 
They hadn't even said good-bye. He dropped her at the 
building's door and waited to see her go inside safely. 
He waited for her silhouette to appear in the window 
before going to his own apartment. He did what he had 
told Skinner he would do, support her in whatever decision 
she made. If she wanted to be alone, he would leave her 
alone and bleed in another place. 

Less than an hour after he had arrived home, she had knocked 
on his door. He took the bag hanging on her shoulder and 
locked the door behind her. He did his best not to let his 
surprise show; he tried to show her that she was where she 
belonged. When he got into his bedroom, she had already pulled 
off the bedclothes and borrowed one of his T-shirts, her favorite 
nightgown. He stripped into his boxers and lay down, spooning her.

He slept for almost five hours. 

"You awake?"

He found her backlit by the dim light coming from the 
hall of the living room. Her hair was mussed and the T-
shirt's neckline had slipped to her shoulder. She was 
barefooted and holding a glass of water in her hands.

How could he go back to those days when waking up to 
find her standing in the doorway to his bedroom - their 
bedroom - had just been part of his dreams?

'Don't make me stop now, Scully.'

"I just woke up. You?" 

She walked to the bed and sat beside him, putting the glass
of water on the bedside table . "Just before you. I was 
thirsty. Did you sleep well?"

He pushed his body against the headboard into a sitting 
position. "As well as the circumstances allow."

She lowered her eyes to her hands. "I'm sorry, Mulder."

"Scully..."

"I should have waited."

She could have waited; he could have waited. What they 
couldn't do was feel sorry for what had happened. They 
couldn't regret *them.*

"They would have found a way to do that sooner or 
later."

She pursed her lips. Her face was flushed and her eyes 
were still puffy from sleep. "I hate staying like this. 
Maybe there's something we could do, Mulder."

There was just one thing he wanted to do: he wanted to 
assure her that he was fine, that they would be okay. He 
wanted to wake up in her arms, sobbing, she soothing his 
pain, telling him that it was all a bad dream.

He had woken up; the nightmare didn't vanish with her 
presence. Having her share a bed with him the past two 
nights was tangible proof. This was real. 

And their reality had become his worst nightmare.

"What can we do, Scully?"

She spilled her frustration into the air with a sigh. "I 
don't know, Mulder. I don't even know what happened, what 
those people wanted in our room."

"It was a bust, Scully."

He told her everything Skinner had told him previously. 
Her eyes never left his face, but once or twice she 
grimaced and twisted the sheets around her fingers. When 
he was finished, they shared a long silence. 

"So," she said, breaking the silence, "it was a drug 
bust."

"Yes, a big one."

She muttered, "Damn," and left her place in the bed. She 
paced to the bathroom doorway and came back, her face a 
mask of defeat.  

"Damn it, Mulder. How could we let ourselves be fooled 
like that? What were we thinking?"

The cold fingers of fear were running up and down his 
spine. "Scully, please..."

"Where did that truck come from? We were followed and 
didn't even know that."

"There was no truck following us, Scully. The street was 
most likely empty," he said, trying to soothe some of 
her anger without success.

"They knew, Mulder; they knew. Somehow they knew." She 
closed her right hand in a fist and started punching her 
left one. 

He was desperate in seeing her lose control like that. 
He needed her rational mind now to convince him that 
everything would be okay.

"How could they have known where we... Oh my God." 

Her fist was frozen midway in the air, no more sounds 
coming from the small arch her lips formed.

He threw off the bedclothes and walked to her. He reached 
forward with his shaking hands but she turned away and 
walked back to the bed and sat down. He knelt down in front 
of her and took her cold hands between his.

"Scully, talk to me."   

She stared at him with vibrant eyes. He hated such 
vibrancy because they were caused by unshed tears. 

"The credit card," she stated, her hands gripping his.

"What?"

"Your credit card," she said again, "it wouldn't go 
through. Something was blocking it."

"Do you think they traced it?" he asked softly. 

She nodded and breathed deeply. "It would be so easy for 
them."

It would be too easy for them. If the Gunmen, in that 
shabby pigsty they called headquarters could do almost 
everything, why wouldn't the Consortium that had the 
money and the authorization to do such a degrading 
thing?

But if they wanted to harm them, why wait for the two of 
them to come back home? They could have bugged their 
room in New Orleans and have used whatever they had 
gotten anytime. He and Scully had spent every single 
night there together. The other bed in the room she was 
supposed to share with Diana hadn't had the weight of 
her body on it for the time they were working on the 
case.

"It's possible." He kept his stare on their hands. The 
long arms of his guilt were embracing him in such way he 
couldn't breathe.

She didn't want to be in that motel. She had wanted to 
keep going. He let his lust for her put them in that 
unbearable situation. There were tears threatening to 
roll down his face. He couldn't cry; she needed his 
strength.

"We'll find a way, Mulder."

There was a tiny smile on her face when he looked back 
at her. 

Her force, her strength, her determination. Everything 
they were. They couldn't sit and wait for things to 
resolve, by their hands or others. That just wasn't 
them.

"And we'll fight," he said resolutely. 

Snapping into action, he stood up and took the 
telephone. "I'm calling the Gunmen. If we were traced, 
they will find a way to discover it." Before pushing the 
speed dial, he stopped and looked at her. "I'll have to 
tell them."

She seemed to be embarrassed but still gave the 
authorization he needed. "It's for the best. Do it."

He flashed a victorious smile at her. The Consortium be 
damned; they were back.

"Byers speaking."

"Byers, it's me. Turn off the tape."

He rubbed his forehead while Byers rustled around, 
clicking off things.

"Done."

"I've got a job for you. Is it possible to find out if 
my credit card was traced yesterday?"

"Exactly when could it have happened?

"Early evening, around seven-thirty. I was at... what's 
its name... Hold on a minute." He picked up his wallet 
and took out the slip the clerk had handed in the motel. 
"Here. D'Azur Motel, phone 443-4567. It's in Baltimore."

"...567," Byers mouthed, taking notes. "I'll verify the 
phone calls made between seven to eight-thirty. Did you 
use your AMEX?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll start a search in the AMEX lines and see if 
they had a problem yesterday evening. It may take some 
time. Where are you?"

"At my apartment. My cell phone is on."

He felt Byers hesitation over the phone. "Hey, Mulder; 
is everything okay? You sound kind of... frantic."

"We're going to tell you everything. Scully and I will 
stop by. Just call me when you get the information."

"Working on it, Mulder."

He hung up the phone and walked back to her side.

"How do you think they'll be able help us?" she asked 
when he sat beside her.

"You know them, Scully; they'll find a way. But in the 
mean time we should do something ourselves. We can't 
just sit here while Skinner and Byers do all the work," 
he finished, staring at their deformed reflection on the 
TV screen.

"Maybe we could do a background check," she said, 
worrying her lower lip. "Find out who the people inside 
of that truck were."

There was a knock on the door and he looked out the 
doorway in the bedroom with worry, wondering who could 
it be.

He felt the palm of her hand on his arm. "It's okay, 
Mulder. I ordered a pizza while you were sleeping." 

He smiled at her. "Pizza? Like mushroom pizza?"

"No," she said, raising from the bed. "Pepperoni. I know 
you like pepperoni. And lots of vegetables for me." 

He didn't tell her that at this point he really didn't 
feel like eating. He knew his woman. She would force him 
to eat at least one large slice covered with melted 
cheese. He would eat for her.    

He stopped her when she was walking to the living room, 
a twenty pressed in the palm of her hand. "Be sure it's 
just the pizza guy before you open the door." 

He saw a hint of disdain in her eyes before she padded 
to the living room. If he had taken the money from her 
hand and gone to answer the door himself, as he would 
like to do...

Instead, he went to the bathroom and splashed some water 
on his face, giving her the time to have some autonomy 
in their situation. 

After deciding that half a minute was more than enough 
time for her to decide how much to tip the delivery boy, 
he pulled on his jeans and went to the living room. 

"Where's that pizza, Scully? I can't smell the 
pepperoni."

There was no pizza. There were Diana standing in the 
doorway and Scully glaring at her suspiciously. 

"Diana? What are you doing here?"

He walked to Scully and stopped at her side, not 
touching her. 

"I know what happened, Fox. I came here to help."

He opened his mouth to talk but Scully didn't give him 
the time. "Thank you, Agent Fowley, but Mulder and I are 
working on it right now."

"Scully, wait," he said, advancing in Diana's direction. 
At that point he would hold on to any hope and offer of 
help he could find to keep Scully and the X-Files. 
"Let's listen to her. How did you find out what 
happened?"

Diana blushed slightly when she answered his question. 
"Sanders told me."

He looked surprised at her. Diana and Sanders? He never 
noticed anything while they were working under Sanders. 
But then, Diana had always been the most discreet person 
he had ever met. And that coming from a person that knew 
Dana Scully was something to consider.

She looked like she wanted to hear him say something 
about that matter.

There was nothing for him to say.

"And how do you expect to help us?" Scully was not 
making a question; she was demanding an answer.

"I have the name of the man who made the phone call," 
Diana said. "We could go after him." She handed him a 
strip of paper. 

He took this small piece of information that meant so 
much to them. "Lester Peevy?" 

"Yes, Fox."  She looked at him triumphantly. "Now we 
have a name, it will be easy to find this guy." They had 
a name. The Gunmen could find this guy easily. They 
would know who was behind all this shit they were in. 

"Mulder, I don't think it's a good idea. We should 
pursue a more substantial lead."

"We have a name, Scully. How more substantial could it 
be?"

"A name that we don't know the origin of. We should be 
careful, Mulder." She looked at Diana defiantly.

"Why, Agent Scully?" Diana said offended, stepping even 
closer to him. "I know you have no reason to trust me, 
but I have interests in this matter, too."

Scully glanced at him briefly before looking back at 
Diana. "Of course you do." She held her ground and 
didn't back away. "That's what's worrying me."

Worrying her? What was she talking about? Diana wanted 
to help them and she was refusing her help? More than 
that, she was openly telling them she didn't trust 
Diana.

"Scully..."

"Fox, maybe it would be better if we could talk alone."

Diana didn't even flinch when Scully looked piercingly 
at her. He hadn't liked the way Diana had uttered the 
words, but he was inclined to agree with her. Somehow, 
whenever his ex was around them, Scully got into that 
defensive mood. 

"Scully," he said placing an assuring hand on her arm, 
his eyes begging her to trust him. "Why don't you wait 
for me in the bedroom? We can..."

She quirked her head aside in his direction, her lips 
parting slightly, her eyes filled with hurt.

"Scully, it's not..."

She held up her palm, ordering him to stop. "Fine, 
Mulder."

She hadn't understood.

Frightened, he followed her with his gaze as she walked 
back to the bedroom and softly closed the door.

He breathed small puffs of air and closed his eyes. 
Could this weekend get even worse?

"Fox."

Diana really seemed to be embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, Fox." She took out her keys from her pocket 
and started walking to the door. "I should have called 
before coming here." 

"Diana, that's okay." He gestured to the couch. "Sit 
down for a minute, okay? I'll be right back."

The hall to the bedroom had never been that long while 
he walked, repeating his mantra 'please Scully, please 
Scully, please Scully.'

He had prayed for nothing. 

She zipped up her jeans and sat down on the bed to put 
her shoes on, the T-shirt she had been wearing lying 
folded on the chair near the window. 

"Where are you going?"

She finished tying her right shoe. "Home."

He felt all his limbs turning into gel. "Why?"

Left shoe tied, she stood up to tuck her shirt inside 
her zipped up jeans. "I'm not going to wait in your 
bedroom, Mulder."

He looked at her bag on the floor, right where he had 
left it. "You were going to spend the night."

She slid the bag on her shoulder and tucked a lock of 
hair behind her ear. "It would have been a mistake."

"We are not a mistake, Scully," he whispered.

She looked aside and, like a miracle, something inside 
of her softened, her eyes acquiring a lighter shade of 
blue. "No, Mulder," she said quietly. "We're not."

And she left.

Fighting the turmoil inside of him, he looked at the 
spot she had glanced to and his gaze fell on the 
portrait on the bedside table.

The portrait she had given him last week, displaying his 
and Samantha's smiling faces. 

The photo he had planned on replacing this weekend with 
a photo of him and Scully.

She had walked away and he hadn't changed the photo.

He went after her barefooted and pulling on the T-shirt 
she had left behind.

"Scully."

He found her ready to step into the elevator. She looked 
at him, her beautiful face showing all her tiredness. 

"Don't go like that, Scully."

"Maybe she's right, Mulder. Maybe you should talk with 
her alone. She will be able to help you; she's a good 
investigator."

She hadn't understood.

"Don't go like that, Scully."

"I don't know any other way to go, Mulder."

Stunned, he winced when he reached out to cup her cheek 
and she turned her face away. If she had slapped him it 
would have hurt no less.

"We have to talk about this, Scully. Give us a chance to 
make things right."

"Mulder..."

"I'll stop by your place," he said with a confidence 
that wasn't in him at that moment. "We can talk there, 
like we should have done yesterday."

She opened her mouth to say something but stopped. 
Instead, she nodded and walked into the elevator. 

As its doors were closing, he begged her one more time.

"Wait for me, Scully."

The door closed on his face.

He walked back to his apartment and closed the door. He 
leaned his back on it and slid to the floor, his nervous 
fingers tangling in his dishevelled hair.

"Fox, are you all right?"

He lifted his head to find Diana walking in his 
direction.

"We will be fine, Diana," he whispered, staring at his 
hands. "We will be fine." 


******************************

Chapter 32


All the warmth that had enveloped the mug, making it too 
hot to her touch, had faded a long time ago; there was no 
longer a sheen of sweat staining the yellow china. The 
condensation had formed a round puddle on the cherry wood, 
marring the surface that until yesterday had been perfect. 
In her frenzy to get the tea ready and check out the list 
Frohike had emailed her shortly after she got home, she 
forgot to grab a saucer to use as a support to the mug. 
Right now, she was still too enthralled in her reading to 
pay attention to the furniture.

The names danced in front of her like the flame she had 
seen in Mulder's eyes two evenings ago, when he had laid 
her down on that same cream surface, insisting that he 
wanted to make love to her there. She had been adamant in 
telling him they were not going to leave their mark on her 
desk. He had pouted, whined, kissed her thoroughly while 
pulling her clothes off her, but she still said no, leading 
him by his beltloop to the bedroom.

They ended up loving each other on the hallway floor, on 
their way to her bed. 

Now the desk would hold a mark that wasn't theirs. 

Her glasses reflected back the light coming from the screen 
and she blinked to ease some of its brightness.

She didn't want to think about him. She couldn't think 
about him.

But God, was it hard.

None of the dozen names displayed before her was Fox 
Mulder, and yet he was there, all around her. There were 
the chocolate colored threads wrapped around her comb in 
the bathroom, and the toothpaste tube showed the mark of 
a squeeze right on its middle. She was to teach him how 
to get the most out of the toothpaste tube and that he 
had to clean the comb after using it. 

Now she might not have the time to show him any of that.

The list; she had to go back to the list.

Travis DeStefano
Audi Caine
Will Randolph
Leonard Bettwieser

The list kept going; she just couldn't go past the fifth 
name. They were all made up; those people didn't resemble 
big shots enough to have such shipment of guns with them. 
Through the look on their faces, she could see they were 
a fine example of the dirtiness you could find on the 
streets. However, she was also an investigator; she didn't 
find in them the malice to make them the finest sample of 
scum of the earth. The colored faces she was seeing on the 
computer screen were the ones of little thieves hired to do 
the dirty work.

But for whom? 

The imaginary scent of Morley invaded her nostrils. She 
had the face, she had the smell of smoke. Yet, she 
didn't have the name to go along with the lone figure 
her catholic heart hated even more each passing day.

Victor McSweeney

Victor McSweeney. This one she knew. Rapidly, she typed 
her ID number to gain access on the FBI files, rejoicing 
when she discovered they hadn't blocked her access. 

Yet.

Victor McSweeney. Age: 37; features resembling a young 
Paul Newman; a criminal file as long as the actor's 
career.

Drug dealer. 

Loan shark.

Main suspect in dozen murders. 

She could discover even more if she found the sheet of 
paper she had just printed among the several white 
sheets displayed carelessly around her laptop.

She found the right paper at the same time as he 
unlocked the door.   

He entered her apartment dressed in darkness. Dark 
jeans, dark T-shirt, dark boots, dark leather jacket.

He put the bag he was carrying on the floor before 
crossing the living room to where she was sitting, by 
the window.

Two day old stubble darkening his face. Dark circles 
around his eyes. 

Darkness embracing his soul.

"You waited."

It was a few minutes past eight when he had asked her to 
wait for him. She had waited until two o'clock in the 
morning.

"Yes, Mulder. I did."

Darkness in her voice.

Through the years she had learned to distinguish some of 
his made up faces and gestures, but most of all, she had 
learned how to read his eyes. They were slightly narrowed, 
tiny veins of red tinged the area where whiteness should 
reign. Eyes without brightness; eyes full of defeat.

She turned her attention back to the sheet of paper she 
had in hand. 

"What are you doing?"

He walked closer to her and stopped behind her chair. He 
bent forward and started muttering the names he read on 
the screen.

"Leonard Groo, Daniel Cherrington, Talman Reed, 
Marcellous Tincher..."

The warmth brought by his proximity and the odor of musk 
and leather coming from him distracted her for a moment. 
She inhaled musk in the sheets of her bed, and there was 
a blouse in her closet - the purple one, she was sure of 
that - that still carried the scent of leather the 
floral conditioner she used hadn't washed away. He had 
thrown the jacket on her shoulder the night he had taken 
her out to some stargazing on their bench, the second 
time he had asked her out.

The first time his lips brushed against hers when he 
walked her back to her door.     

She pressed four fingers against her lips to keep the 
tears at bay.

"What are you doing, Scully?"

She waited for the invisible cords of desperation to 
loosen some of its tight hold around her throat before 
answering him.

"Some research. Those are the men they were looking for 
in our room."

"I don't know any of them."

"There's this one." She pointed at the name in question. 
"Victor McSweeney."

"Victor McSweeney... Victor McSweeney..." He caught the 
paper in her hand. "Of course. Victor McSweeney. Big 
shot. We never put together enough proof to catch him, 
though. Did you get this from the guys?" 

"Yes. Frohike emailed it to me," she said, catching the 
paper he was handing back to her. "I called him on my 
way back home." She took off her glasses and started 
organizing the papers inside a folder. "Did you and 
Agent Fowley go after that guy?"

Mulder nodded and stepped in front of her, sitting on 
her desk. "Lester Peevy, a small potato. He was as good 
as dead, though."

"He's dead?"

"Yes, Scully. He is."

She closed her eyes in respect for a man that was almost 
as much of a victim as they were.

"They traced my credit card, Scully."

She raised her eyes to meet his gaze. 

"I stopped by the Gunmen's on my way here. Byers had a 
report. A problem in the AMEX line at almost exactly the 
same time as we checked into that motel."   

"How do you think it will help us?"

His index finger traced the lines of the lamp on the 
desk and her own fingers itched to touch his. "I don't 
know. I... just don't know." He faced her again. "What 
did you get?"

"A few things. Victor was released; no sufficient proof 
to keep him. The reports Frohike sent, however, show 
that his bank account miraculously increased by three-
hundred thousand dollars overnight."

Mulder bit his lower lip the same way he used to capture 
hers while they were kissing. "What about the other guys?"

"Each one of them is one-hundred thousand dollars richer." 

"To spend in prison?"

"They have families, Mulder. Wives, kids."

"Kids won't have to work," he sighed. 

"They will be fine," she said, putting her glasses on 
the desk.

He picked them up. "And what about us, Scully?"

Doubt shone in his eyes like it did on the morning they 
woke up together after making love for the first time. 
Now she didn't have a reassuring gaze to gift him with.

"I don't know, Mulder."

"Don't say that, Scully."

The hurt in his voice acted like knives in her chest, 
opening the wounds she had managed to cure in his absence. 

"It's late, Mulder. Let's not discuss it now," she said, 
leaving the chair she had been sitting on.

"Sure." He stood up again. "You must be tired; it was a 
long day." He took off his jacket and put it on the back 
of her vacant chair. "Get the bed ready while I lock 
everything."  

She observed motionless as he waltzed around her house, 
checking the lock on the windows before closing the 
curtains, the tight short sleeve of his T-shirt 
revealing the perfectly shaped muscles of his arms. 

"I'll heat up the milk." He headed to the kitchen. "Do 
you want some?" he asked, opening the refrigerator's 
door. He would find nothing there; they didn't have milk 
at home.

She felt another lump in her throat.

They didn't have milk...

"We don't have any milk, Scully?"

...at home.

"No," she mouthed to herself. 

"Scully?"

She felt his breath on her nape and got still before he 
could touch her. 

"Mulder, I'm tired. I'm not up to anything."

"Neither am I, Scully." He hugged her from behind and 
kissed her hair. "I just want to sleep, too. Go to bed.
I'll be right there."

She transferred all the energy she had in her body to 
her hands. With a feather like touch, her fingers freed 
her from his embrace. She didn't turn to him.

"Scully..." 

"You're not staying, Mulder."

"Why?"

The strangled monosyllabic echoed in large waves in the 
room, gripping them as invisible cuffs to their despair.

"Where's Diana?" She couldn't bring herself to face him.

"What does Diana have to do with it, Scully?"

She said nothing, just kept her back to him.

"Damn it, Scully. Talk to me."

Her lips quivered and she bit the inside of her mouth 
hard. If she would cry that night, it would be for another 
kind of pain.

"I left you here alone. You came after me." He didn't 
raise his voice, but it was trembling with anger. "I 
don't want to fuck you; I just want to sleep with you," 
he pleaded.

She knew that his nose now must be red and his face 
flushed. She could feel in her bones how close he was to 
tears. If he started crying, there was nothing that 
could hold her up.

"What do you want from me, Scully?"

Very slowly she turned to look at him.

"I wanted you to go to mass with me, tomorrow. That was 
why I went to your apartment." All her emotions showed 
in the quietness of her resigned voice. 

"I will." He stepped closer to her. "I'll go to mass 
with you tomorrow. I think I have a suit here. If I'm 
wrong, we can go to my house now and sleep there."

"I don't want you to do that, Mulder. I have no right to 
ask you this."

"You have every right to ask me anything, Scully."

"Not this, Mulder." She opened a sad smile at him. "We 
have different beliefs. I put my faith in God. I know 
I'll find some comfort at His house. And I also know 
that you'd just find peace if you went after that guy, 
whether it was with me or not. You put your faith in 
people."

"I didn't want to hurt you."

"I know you didn't." She reached out and caressed his 
face. "We want the same things, but this time I don't 
think we'll get it together. I have to go where my faith 
guides me. You should do the same"

"My faith is in you, Scully," he whispered at her.

"So trust me with this." Her thumb traced the birth mark 
she loved so much. "I'm not going anywhere, Mulder."

"So don't send me away."

"I'm not." She wiped the corner of his eye. "But I think 
we should not be together right now. Go home and rest."

"You know I won't be able to."

"You will." Her lips caressed his cheek. "Think of me. 
I'll be thinking of you," she whispered against his 
face.

There was an hesitant nod against her temple and a 
kiss in her brow. "Pray for us tomorrow," he said, 
letting her go.

"I will."

He picked up his jacket and walked to the door. "Let's go 
meet Skinner together on Monday, okay?"

She swallowed hard and nodded. "I'll pick you up at six-
thirty."

He almost smiled at her before going away. 

She kept staring at the spot he had just left. Her 
finger brushed away a tear that threatened to fall. 

He had left his bag behind. 


**********************************    


Chapter 33 


She was enveloped in a world of white cotton candy, soft 
and cozy at last. Until some tickling static entered 
into her peaceful sleep, itching her nose. A disoriented 
finger moved the pushy nuisance aside, but it kept going 
back to its original place: over her nostrils, down to 
her lips.   

In the end, it was not the fringe of the afghan 
covering her that woke her up, but the jingle of the 
keys turning in the lock. She thought it was him.

"Mulder?"

Another jingle of keys, this time hitting the hardwood 
floor, followed by a sudden gulp of air.

She turned her head on the couch's arm she had been 
sleeping on and glanced at the doorway. Her mother stood 
there, dressed for mass, her left palm pressed against 
her torso, her breathing out of rhythm. Scully threw 
the blanket aside and dashed to her mother.

"Mom," she said, holding Margaret by the elbow to motion 
her towards the nearest chair.  

"Jesus, Dana," said Margaret, still recovering from the 
fright. "Don't do this again."

"I'm sorry, Mom," Scully apologized, setting Margaret on 
the sofa before heading to the kitchen to get a glass of 
water. "I forgot you were coming over."

When she got back into the living room, her mother 
looked quizzically at her. 

"I thought I could water the plants before going to 
mass," she said, accepting the glass Dana was handing 
her. "What are you doing here? Weren't you going out of 
town with Fox?" 

Scully arched her eyebrows and stared at her hands, 
embarrassed. Her mother was not a child; Margaret knew 
she was sleeping with Mulder. After all, she had driven 
Scully to the airport to meet him at the beach house. 
What made her uncomfortable was that she hadn't seen her 
mother since then. Scully had called her twice, first to 
say that everything had gone right in Quonochontaug, and 
later to ask Margaret to care for her house on the 
weekend. 

"Is everything okay, dear?"

Scully pushed a lock of hair away from her eyes and sat 
beside her mother. "We couldn't go this weekend." She 
smiled ruefully. "Maybe we'll never be able to."

Her mother's eyes narrowed with concern. "Dana, what 
happened?"

Margaret snatched her daughter's hands between hers. 
Scully placed their entwined hands into her lap. Her 
heart was coercing her to lie her head down in her 
mother's lap and be a child again. 

"Did you and Fox get into a fight?"

She shook her head. "No, Mom." 

Margaret freed one of her hands and finger combed her 
daughter's hair. "So tell me what is this, honey. Why 
are you so sad?"

The curtains on the window filtered some of the rays of 
light illuminating the living room. However they didn't 
provide enough shadow to hide her shame from her mother. 

"The Bureau knows Mulder and I are together,Mom," she 
finally said.

"And is it a bad thing?"

In the cream colored beacon of light, the clusters of 
dust swirling around the living room became quite 
distinguished. They seemed to be floating all in the 
same direction: towards her face to land at her feet. 

"It wouldn't be if half the Bureau hadn't caught us... 
together."

Margaret's fingers got lost in one wave of her daughter's 
tousled hair. She looked at Scully like she hadn't 
understood, until the knowledge of the situation landed 
in her hand, its weight making Margaret slid her palm 
against Scully's face. 

"They... They didn't..." Her mother's eyes became dark.

"They... did, Mom."

Margaret's eyes filled with compassion as she tenderly 
cupped her daughter's face. "Oh my God, Dana. How?"

How? Just because she couldn't refrain herself from 
touching him, from feeling his skin against hers. Just 
because she couldn't wait to have sex with him again. 
Just because she decided to act like a passionate woman 
for the first time since she didn't remember when.

"I don't know, Mom. They just appeared from nowhere."

"Oh, dear." Margaret squeezed the hand that she kept in 
her hold. "I can't begin to imagine what that was like."

"Disastrous can't begin to describe it, Mom."

Her mother's pads tenderly caressed the skin on her 
cheekbones. "Oh, Dana. And what happens now?"

"There will be a hearing on Tuesday to evaluate our 
behavior. A.D. Skinner is on our side. And Mulder has 
some friends doing some research. We're fine."

"Dana, you're not fine." 

Scully had been wrong. The cluster of dust first landed 
on the coffee table, forming a tenuous film of particles 
of earth and grey powder of the cement on the curbs. 
They needed rain to moisten the air, like the one that 
had fallen at the beach house last weekend. Just to 
purify the air.

"Dana?"

She looked back at her mother. "I miss the rain, Mom."

"Rain?"

Scully let go of her mother's hand, ignoring the confused 
stare that followed her when she knelt down on the edge of 
the rug that lay under the coffee table. The dark glass 
was becoming greyish. It was funny to see how one of her 
favorite toys as a child now bothered her. When she was 
four or five, she loved to imprint her little digits on 
any dusty surface, whether it was Ahab's rarely used old 
Ford windshield or her mother's side and coffee tables. 
On cleaning days, she would volunteer to take care of 
the furniture that served as a canvas to her childish 
imagination. She recognized the stoic face reflected on 
the table, blinking back at her; it was the one she 
had learned to make when Margaret would come with a rug 
cloth and clean out her artistic patterns.  

"It rained when we were at the beach house, Mom. Good, 
old fashioned summer rain." She smiled at her reflection, 
her finger tracing loose dusty clouds. "I hadn't enjoyed 
one in years."

She felt the slight movement of the rug under her knees 
when her mother moved to be beside her. "Summer rains 
are always beautiful, Dana."

"That one was special, Mom. I will never face the rain 
again with the same eyes."

Margaret sat down on the floor and pulled her into her 
embrace. She went willingly, resting her head on her 
mother's bosom. 

"Where's Fox, Dana?"

When she heard his name, she kept her eyes open in hopes 
that they would remain dry. "I don't know. I sent him home 
last night."

For a few moments she enjoyed the quiet rise and fall of 
her mother's chest and the soothing rhythm of the heart 
pulsing under her ear without saying a word. The knowledge 
that Margaret was there, her slender fingers untangling
the knots in Scully's hair were almost like a balm to her 
bruised soul.

Almost.

"I think you should be with him now, dear," Margaret 
said, quietly.

She wanted to blink, but she had to keep her eyes dry. 
"I can't, Mom. He needs to make an important decision. I 
can't interfere in that."

There was a tender kiss on her forehead. "But his decision 
will interfere in your life, too, Dana. Maybe you should 
talk."

She nuzzled her mother's linen dress, inhaling the loved 
scent of spring flowers and comfort. "No. This is 
something he has to decide by himself."

Her mother cupped her neck and gently pulled her 
head to meet her gaze. "And what about you? Are you just 
going to accept whatever he decides?"

She felt some humidity behind her eyelids and she arched 
her brow to keep her eyes open. "I don't know. The only 
thing that I'm sure of is that I'll respect him."

"And what about you?"

She stared at her mother silently. For that she had no 
response. 

Margaret gently pushed Scully aside and smoothed her 
wrinkled skirt. Then she took her daughter's hands and 
pulled her onto her feet. "Go take a shower while I make 
us some coffee," she said, moving towards the kitchen.

"Mom, mass starts in twenty minutes," Scully argued, 
following her.

"I know," Margaret replied, already opening the cupboard 
to get the coffee pot. "But if you hurry up we can make the
nine o'clock mass."

"Mom..."

"Look, Dana," Margaret said, putting the pot away and 
looking at Scully. "I understand if you don't want Fox's 
comfort. And I, even loving you so much, won't be able 
to give you what you need right now." She smiled softly. 
"Let the Lord be that help, huh?"

The smile she gave back to her mother was small, but 
genuine. "I'll be ready in twenty minutes." 

On her way to shower, she glanced at the coffee table.

It didn't seem so dusty anymore.

 
<!--StartFragment-->
********************

Chapter 34 


The white folder Scully had handed to Skinner now lay open 
on his table, its contents carefully being analysed by him. 
He flipped through the sheets of paper with clinical eyes  
and occasionally would go back one page or two to look for 
information that he had missed or that hadn't been clear. 
He could avoid all that trouble if he just asked her what he 
wanted to know. Scully had gone through that file so many 
times the night before, searching for the smallest bit of 
information that she had put there without noticing it and 
that could help with their situation, that she had memorized 
it in its entirety.

Her analytical side, however, told her she had left 
nothing behind; she would never let one of her reports 
be less than perfect. And for once she was suffering 
because of that.

Beside her, Mulder was reading all over again the copy 
of Agent Fowley's report. Occasionally, his index finger 
would push his golden wired glasses further into his 
face, as if this simple act would help put what he was 
reading into better perspective. For her there was just 
one thing to be considered: nothing short of a miracle 
could save them. 

Skinner finished his reading and put the papers on his 
desk before looking at her. Scully reached out and took 
SAC Hoffman's notes again to have something in her hands 
and to dismiss Skinner's gaze. No matter that they had 
been sitting in his office for the last couple of hours, 
reading files, discussing facts with the same goal in mind. 
No matter that she was beginning to trust Skinner as an 
ally now. She had never trusted her naked body to him, and 
he had seen it. 

Mulder carelessly threw the papers he had with him on 
Skinner's desk, his glasses following suit. Luckily they 
landed on the folder he had just discarded.

"I won't accept this." 

Automatically, Skinner started putting the papers back 
together. "You have to, Mulder. Unless what she wrote 
here isn't true, this will be considered in the hearing 
tomorrow."

"This is nonsense."

"This is factual, Mulder."

Scully closed the folder she had picked up, but kept it 
with her, in her lap. Instinctively, she placed her right 
hand on Mulder's forearm to still some of his agitation.    

"Do you want facts? I will give you facts." His right 
hand yanked the report she was holding from her. "This 
is what happened there and that's what matters." He 
stood up and shoved the folder before Skinner. "We went 
there and solved the case. We stopped the killings."

"Nobody is going to question that, Mulder. They know 
what you did there." Skinner remained sitting, in a clear 
demonstration that he wasn't intimidated by her partner's 
attitude. "This is not the point and you know that. 
Now you better sit down so we can finish with this."

"Mulder," Scully called him calmly, ignoring all the 
fear and anger boiling inside of her. "Sit down. This is 
not helping."

"Don't you understand, Scully?" He looked down at her. 
"Don't you understand what's happening here?"

"I do understand, and unless you calm down, we won't get 
anything resolved here."

For a few seconds he just stood there, looking at 
her, and she feared he was going to start arguing again. 
Instead, he walked to the middle of the room and she saw 
the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he breathed.   

"I know. It's just that..." The querulous tone of his 
voice was gone. In its place there was just defeat. "We 
can't let them do this to us."

"I'll do my best to help you, Mulder. But you have to 
calm down," said Skinner, leaning forward.

"I know, sir." Mulder moved his attention back to 
Skinner.  "But..." He stopped and walked back to his 
chair without sitting in it. "We were together there, 
but that's all. While we were there we worked, and we 
worked really hard."

"I know, Mulder. SAC Hoffman emphasized this side of 
your professional behavior while on the field." Skinner 
pointed at Mulder's, mutely ordering him to sit down. "But 
they're interested in knowing what happened after that. 
Agent Fowley states that you would work until midnight and 
then retreat to your room."

"It didn't happen like that."

"Agent Scully slept in your room, Mulder."

Scully raised her voice for the first time that morning. 
"We shared a room, sir, but I don't see how it damaged 
the case or the investigation."

The two men stopped their rambling to pay attention to 
her petite figure that always managed to grow a good six 
inches when she was defied or disrespected. That was how 
she had been able to survive in a man's world, being more 
confident and sensible than they could be.

"I told you I didn't want to pry into your relationship, 
Agent Scully."

"That's what everyone's doing nowadays, sir." She 
gestured to all the papers on the desk. "This is the 
most perverse attitude the Bureau could have taken 
towards us." 

Scully grabbed the edges of the desk in an attempt to 
regain her composure. An outburst like that was not what 
she had in mind. But damn it. She and Mulder were being 
treated like they had flown to New Orleans with the 
sole purpose of having sex. 

The air in the room felt heavy and thick, making it 
difficult for her to drawn oxygen into her lungs and 
breath. It hurt to be there. 

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, sorry for lashing out at
Skinner when he was trying to help them.

"That's alright, Scully." Skinner handed her a tall 
glass of water and she breathed a thank you while 
sipping some of the cool refreshment.

Skinner pulled out yet another sheet of paper from a 
drawer and handed it to Mulder. "This is Danny's report. 
Our computers didn't register any call to your cell 
phones on Friday evening."

Mulder slumped back in his chair and took one of her 
hands in his. "Finally good news. So I believe they're 
going to call off all of this shit now, won't they?"

"Not so fast, Mulder." Skinner pointed to the folder 
containing SAC Hoffman's report. "Both Hoffman and Diana 
stated that you went after the suspect without a back up 
team."

Scully went still in her chair.

"Yes, sir; we did."

"And Hoffman said that Scully had already called for 
help, but that you, Agent Mulder, refused to stay there 
and wait."

Mulder tightened the grip in her hand. "It didn't happen 
like that."

"So you tell me, Mulder; what really happened, since all 
you have to say in your defense is that it didn't happen 
like that."

"They were just cats. Diana and I could perfectly handle 
the situation by ourselves."

"Were you there with them, Agent Scully?"

She disentangled her fingers from Mulder's. "A few 
blocks away, but... Yes, sir."

"Why didn't you take Agent Scully with you, Agent 
Mulder?"

Mulder looked visibly taken aback by those questions. He 
fidgeted in his seat as if it was on fire. "There was no 
need for Scully to come with us."

"You ended up hurt and so did Agent Fowley."

"Fuck, Skinner," shouted Mulder, losing it completely. 
"You were supposed to help us."

"That's what I'm doing, Mulder," said Skinner, resigned. 
"I'm just anticipating what the OPR Board will tell you: 
that you were trying to protect her."

Scully sank in her chair, incapable of holding herself 
up any longer. In her almost seven years of working with 
the FBI, she had never been this humiliated. Her career, 
her work as a field agent, all the training and sacrifices 
she had to make in order to be what she was, were now 
reduced to nothing under the serious accusation Skinner 
was making. She had lost her status as a Special Agent, 
she was no longer an MD, she wasn't even partner of 
The Most Unwanted Agent of the FBI anymore. Everything 
she had fought so hard to achieve in a world where men 
rule, now had been reduced to two single words: she was 
Mulder's Lover. 

"I respect her too much to do such a thing to her, sir."

Mulder's reaction was all wrong. It was weak, unsure, 
automatic, a kid begging for a puppy, claiming that he 
would be responsible for it.  

"After what we saw in that motel room, Mulder, this is 
not the conclusion they'll come up with, and both of you 
know that."  

Mulder bowed his head. For Scully, that was a new signal 
in their silent communication: the moment her partner 
recognized her as what she was now.

She was just his lover.

"You're our superior, sir." Deep inside of her she found 
what remained of the FBI agent she once had been. "Tell 
us what you think as our superior." 

Skinner paused. In each breath, every time his eyes 
wandered between her and her partner, she decoded a 
secret message the A.D. refused to tell them. 

*Us* was something of the past. 

"I'd say, Agent Scully, that it's time for the two of 
you to consider what to do with this partnership."

Scully felt the bitter taste of her pride sliding down 
her throat on its way to her stomach, the salt of their 
relationship sharply tingled her eyes. However, this 
last tangible sense of victory she wouldn't give them.

Skinner stood up and started organizing the folders on 
his table in one neat pile. "I'm going to join the board 
in one hour. We'll make the preliminaries for the 
hearing tomorrow," Skinner said, awkwardly. "I'll take 
the evidence you collected with me."

Leaving his chair, a disoriented Mulder pointed to the 
documents they had brought. "Shouldn't we be there, sir? 
I mean, you're going to discuss us."

"We're going to analyse the effects your relationship 
may have on your work, Mulder."

Scully lay her eyes on their five years working together 
compacted in four plastic folders and a brown envelope. 

Skinner looked at the clock hanging on the wall. "It's 
ten past nine. You better go now."

Scully bit her lower lip and briefly glanced at the pile 
of papers before heading to the door. She had a hand on 
the doorknob and Mulder's palm pressed on the small of 
her back when Skinner called them one last time.

"Yes, sir?" Mulder replied for them. 

Skinner smoothed the bare skin on his head and took some 
hesitant steps towards them. "You're aware that the 
shift in here started just ten minutes ago. This hallway 
must be crowded by now."

"Don't worry, sir." Mulder snorted. "We're already all 
fucked up." He smirked. "This time they won't have to 
wonder. They saw." And with that, he pulled the door 
open and pushed her through it.

They had spent the last five years confined in the 
basement and its dark stairs and walls without window 
nor any natural light. And then there was the X-Files 
office, with numerous shelves and books scattered 
everywhere. They had lost everything with the fire, 
minus their will to keep going. Slowly they were 
reconstructing what they had lost. Friday afternoon she 
found the two strange currencies newspapers Mulder had 
bought in New Orleans piled on his desk. The medical 
journals she had brought from her apartment were neatly 
organized in the corner she had claimed as her own in 
their coming back, and even Diana's magazines had found 
a tiny place on their new bookshelves. They were 
rebuilding their home in the FBI.

However, she had always had a soft spot for the third 
floor. 

She had always loved space. Clear, bright, large spaces. 
And the third floor was like that. That had been her 
thought when she stepped in Skinner's officer for the 
first time: so that's what being an A.D. was like. Large 
walls, large windows, light coming from everywhere. And 
the neatness, the rich scent of mahogany coming from 
each piece of furniture in the room, mixed with the odor 
of power those walls exhaled. Halls built to hold four 
agents walking side by side without brushing into each 
other. Walking up that halls, listening to the heels of 
her shoes hitting the tile floor had always made her 
believe that she was untouchable, feeding the sense of 
pride she had born with, making her feel important. 

The halls on the third floor were sparking with life.

Not groups of four, but five agents were walking up and 
down the pristine white corridors, chatting about the 
events of the weekend, heading to their places in the 
several bullpens all over there.

Chatting about them. 

Was it her imagination or had the voices really stopped 
the moment she and Mulder reached the corridor? 

Briefly, for a whisper of a moment, they stood there, 
facing their co-workers.

She was ready to face them. For the last two days she 
had been preparing herself to meet these people and 
send them to hell the moment she heard the first snide 
comment.

None came.

The hand on her back urged her forward. She stepped 
once, twice, three times, and so on. Her eyes kept 
staring at the people in front of her. Each step 
carrying them closer and closer to the elevator. Each 
look of pity, of malice, of wonderment blinding her, 
slowly, continuously, merciless. She felt their eyes on 
her back, following them, the humming of their comments 
closing behind her like the waters of the Red Sea had 
closed behind the believers on their way to the Promised 
Land. The hand that once had been her savior in countless 
occasions, keeping her safe, was the final proof of their 
sin, his fingertips burning on her back the sores of their 
guilt, of her shame. She felt herself growing hot, but 
the front zipper on her black jacket was down, showing the 
whiteness of her blouse and the glistening of her cross. 
The heels of their shoes hitting the floor composed the 
dreadful tune of their downfall. On her shoulders lay all 
the glances they were receiving, all the commentaries she 
was hearing, making it too much to bear.

The column of her spine started bending, and his hand 
was there to stead her. Only this time it wasn't enough. 
She walked the last feet towards the elevator looking at 
the tips of her shoes. 

Luckily, their waiting didn't take too long. As soon as 
they stopped in front of the steel door, it opened and 
yet another group of agents stepped out of it. 

"She may be tiny, but man, what a body!" 

That was what she last heard before she saw her red 
fury faced partner pinning Agent Danson in the back 
end of the car.  

"Mulder!"

There were two other agents in vain trying pull Mulder 
off the brunet man.

"Are you fucking crazy, man?" Danson shouted, taken 
aback by the sudden assault.

Agents Jackson and Gray had finally freed Danson's when 
Mulder barked at him, "I catch you talking about her 
like that again, I'll kill you, you fucking bastard!"

Before Mulder's menace, Danson launched himself against 
her partner again. He would have gotten Mulder square in 
the eye if Agent Gray hadn't held his fist. 

Scully held Mulder through the collar of his jacket and 
his sleeves.

"That's okay, I got him." The other agents freed their 
hold on Mulder and she pushed him inside of the car. 
"Let's go, Mulder."

She pushed the bottom to the first floor endless times 
in hopes of getting away from that place. Mulder was 
leaning on the wall behind her, sweat glistening on the 
skin of his face. She glanced at him long enough to see 
that he was fine before she started pushing the white 
button again.   

Just when the door was starting to close, a pair of 
chocolate colored hands kept them open. 

"Is he okay, Agent Scully?" She heard, in a distance 
place, Agent Jackson asking her.

"We're fine, thanks," she responded, looking hesitantly 
at some point on the man's face, but not his eyes. 

"We were not talking about Agent Scully, Agent Mulder." 
Jackson nodded at her. "I'm sorry for what happened."

She didn't have the energy to nod back at him.

But she did find the center folder of a magazine for men 
lying at her feet, where a bimbo that couldn't be an 
inch or two taller than her, stared back at her with an 
inviting smile on her red lips. 

Jackson let go of the door, and they finally found 
themselves enclosed in the coldness of the elevator, 
like two strangers that by coincidence shared a seat in 
the bus, miles apart from each other. Fortunately, there 
was no more stopping on the way. 

Her car was parked outside, so they stepped out of the elevator 
into a lobby full of young visitors from some kindergarten 
school in the neighborhood, and two young women, probably 
their teachers, telling them to stay in groups. 

She had left her car half a block away from the entrance 
of the building. She spent their short walk considering 
what to tell him in their twenty minute ride to his 
house. 

And what about him? Why couldn't he look at her and tell 
her what he was thinking? 

They stopped on opposite sides of the car, the keys of the 
silver Taurus already in her hands, when he spoke to her 
again.

"I'm going home, Scully."

She almost let the keys fall.

"Home?"

"Yeah." He looked at the direction of the subway. "I'll 
take the subway." 

"Mulder, you came with me. I can take you home." He 
looked impassible, with his hands tucked inside his 
slacks' pockets. "We have to talk, Mulder."

His lips turned upwards in a sad smile. "Talk? We won't 
talk, Scully. We don't know how to do this."

Rarely had been the times when he had presented her an 
argument and she had accepted it so peacefully. He had 
given up on them. She just wanted to know how long it 
would take her to do the same. 

"Mulder..." 

"I'll see you tomorrow." The intensity in his eyes 
burned her soul, something inside of her telling her 
that that was the last time he was carving himself into 
her like that.

"You take care, Dana."

He left her there, standing on the curb, looking at his 
tall figure going away in that sunny morning in August. 

Her name rang in her ears, obliterating any other 
external sound, any other thought, making her loose her 
way. She forgot she was going home and that they had a 
hearing the next morning. She just remembered the 
smallness of her name coming from his mouth, and that 
the last time she had heard him call her that she had 
walked away from him. 

The keys she was holding found their way back into her 
pocket without her noticing it. Her feet found a pace 
of their own and carried her away from there, aimlessly 
through Pennsylvania Avenue. She ignored the trees, the 
traffic, the lives pulsing in the busy avenue. 

She had lost him, but God would have to give her the 
courage to let him go.

Yesterday she had knelt down on the floor of the church 
with her mother at her side and had asked for the same 
thing, the strength to let him go if it came to that. 

Life on the base taught her that sooner or later someone 
was always left behind. She had lost count of how many 
faces she had forced into the oblivion, or had not become 
attached to in order to not suffer when it was time to go. 
The moment her father retired from the navy and they 
settled for good in Baltimore, she had believed that her 
need to be detached would be over. She couldn't have been 
more mistaken. 

First she said goodbye to Ahab.

Then Melissa. 

Emily.

And now Mulder. 

She would not cry. Their ordeal was almost over. She had 
to hold herself together until the end. 

She needed to learn how to say goodbye again. For her, 
the proper place to do this had always been the church. 

Her family had gone back to her parents house after her 
father's ashes had been thrown in the sea and the wind 
had carried the Captain all over the waters that he had 
become part of. She, on the other hand, had chosen the 
comfort of the chapel she had found in her earlier days 
with the FBI, trying to find her peace with her deceased 
father, until it was time to join Mulder in their 
office.  Mulder had found her in that same place hours 
after Melissa's funeral, and two years later he had 
spent hours sitting in a quiet place behind her when 
they had come back from San Diego, after having made the 
symbolic funeral for her little girl.

Always Mulder. 

Briskly, she walked along the large sidewalk, towards a 
small church a few blocks down on the avenue. She fingered 
her cross. That would be a nice place to learn again how 
to let things go. She was going to light some candles, one 
for Mulder and another for herself. A third candle would 
be for the destiny of the X-Files. 

'The fourth one will be to illuminate our way,' she 
planned as she stopped at a traffic light, waiting for 
her turn to cross the street. 

'Apart.'


*********************************

Chapter 35 


When Mulder had walked away from Scully earlier that 
day, the thought of taking a plane to fly to the 
Vineyard hadn't crossed his mind. It had been like 
a trance: in one minute he was walking towards the 
subway in Washington, DC, and then in the next one 
he was looking for a men's store downtown on the 
Vineyard because he needed a clean suit for the 
hearing tomorrow. 

The sight of his mother's well cared for garden and the 
bluish walls of the house he had spent part of his teen 
years showed him that there was no better place to be. 

His mother greeted him at the front door with a smile, 
and even though his arrival had been unexpected, she 
made no comments nor questions about his being there. 

He and his mother had spent the day in friendly silence, 
she working downstairs on her china paintings, and he 
getting to know again the old bedroom he hadn't visited 
in years, while trying to push aside any thought of Scully.

Scully. 

When her absence had become too much for him to bear, he 
borrowed his mother's car and drove to Vineyard Haven,
the busiest town on that small piece of land surrounded 
by the Atlantic Ocean.

The summer was the reason Martha's Vineyard existed. They 
were in middle August and yet the agitation of the town 
was in full swing, meaning that there was still life in the 
city. There were big queues of expensive cars in front the
restaurants and the shops were making good money with the 
vacationers crowding their rooms searching for mementos for
the ones that couldn't come. Kyle O'Brien, a basketball pal 
in his highschool years, went to Havard with the profits of 
his father's restaurant in Haven. Considering that the 
restaurant used to open its doors just from May to middle 
September remaining closed the rest of ther year, just like 
a good part of the shops all over the island, it was a good
mark.   

He stopped at a traffic light and a BMW convertible full of 
college girls stopped at his side. The driver, a beautiful 
brunette bearing a large smile winked at him. The other girls 
in the car made a great effort to suppress their giggles and 
show him that they were very much adults. He shook his head 
and smiled softly. What was it with young people nowadays? He 
was at least fifteen years older than those girls and yet they 
were waving and blowing kisses at him? 

Scully liked older men.

Where that came from he didn't know, but there she was 
again, invading his thoughts like a thief. 

Would she have blown the horn at him and called him 'Foxy' 
like the girls in  that car, now driving down the avenue 
to chase boys their own ages, if they had met years ago? 

Would he be with her now if he hadn't taken a coward's 
way and left?  

No, that was not fair. He was not a coward. How many 
cowards would leave the best half of themselves behind 
in hopes that she would be better without them? 

He was getting depressed again. He was used to the 
misfortunes of life, but this time the deities that  
governed the universe and insisted upon tormenting him 
were being far too cruel. Why give him the opportunity 
to have her, to get acquainted with her skin and the 
taste of her just to have her taken away from him like 
that? 

Time to travel another 12 miles back home. 

Mulder turned the car to his left, taking the road 
that led to his mother's. His hands were getting sore 
from driving so long, and there was the beginning of 
some numbness in his legs and butt from sitting in the 
same position for hours. 

And then there was the remembrance of that disgusting 
shadow in her eyes when they found themselves alone in 
the elevator, after that sorry spectacle he had made at 
work.

Yes, he had made the right decision. 

Sometime later he was relieved to see the white gate of 
his mother's house before him. 

He parked the car in the driveway and rubbed his eyes. He 
was trapped in that state where his body was exhausted, but 
his mind refused to shut down. Aside from the occasional 
nap on his couch, he had been up for the last forty eight 
hours, since he had left Scully's apartment.

He had left Scully.

He had done the right thing. His running away couldn't be 
classified as a ditching. Or a betrayal of trust. Or anything 
that dramatic. For a man that was used to letting emotions 
rule his life, it was natural to be a little confused with 
his behavior in the last several hours. Fox Mulder was not 
used to being a rational man. 

Scully had done a terrific job.  

He opened the door to his mother's kitchen and tried to 
keep his movements quiet. It was late and his mother should 
already be asleep. He shouldn't be up at this hour either, 
since his flight was due at six o'clock in the morning. 

Even the option of sleeping in had been taken away from 
him. 

He put the toiletries bag he had purchased on the table 
and started looking for something to eat.

It was odd to be sneaking food from his mother's 
refrigerator at eleven o'clock at night, but he was 
really hungry. He had had a slice of homemade chicken 
pie and some lettuce and tomato salad for lunch, and 
that was all. 

He found the leftovers of the pie, but put it aside. He 
needed something lighter, otherwise he really wouldn't 
sleep tonight. He took the carton of milk and closed 
the door, then he opened the cabinet to get a glass. 
Maybe there was a box of Oreos somewhere in the kitchen.

"There are chocolate cookies in the jar on the table, 
Fox."

His mother was standing in the doorway, wearing a light 
blue robe and her glasses. Her slippers had muffled the 
sound of her steps.

"I'm sorry, mom. Did I wake you?"

"No, I was awake, reading in my bedroom. Did you have a 
good time in town?"

He shuddered. "I just needed to get out for a while. I 
had a better time driving your car. What a machine!"

"I told you it was easy to drive."

"I could get used to having a car like that."

She tucked her hands into her pockets and leaned on the 
doorway. "Your birthday is close. Who knows?"

He put his glass on the table and opened the cookie jar, 
then he pulled out a chair to sit down. His mother observed 
him without moving. When he paid  special attention to 
her, he noted that she looked  undecided between staying 
or leaving him alone. 

He pulled out another chair for her and went back to the 
cupboard. "Do you still prefer your milk with sugar, 
Mom?"

She smiled gratefully at him and joined him in the room. 
"Yes. It's behind the coffee pot."

He picked up the sugar pot and another glass and went 
back to the table. Teena had picked up a plate on the 
counter and now she was putting some cookies on it. 

He looked at his mother's hands. They were still delicate, 
the hands of a pianist. He had been glad to know that she 
was painting again. He remembered seeing her painting 
delicate china dolls for Sam and herself; in fact she had 
quite a collection of them. Also her paintings were famous 
at birthdays parties and wedding showers, as well as in the 
social auctions on the island. She was really good at that. 
More than once he had heard his father telling her that he 
would leave his job in the government and they would open 
a gallery in their garden. Laughing, he would tell her that 
they would be rich in no time. She would tell him how silly 
he was, but that she loved him anyway. She had quit doing 
that soon after his family ceased to be. 

"What's that, Fox?"

Mulder blinked, coming back to reality. "Nothing." He 
picked up a cookie and started munching on it. "This is 
good. Homemade?"

"Yes." She served him some milk. "I made them while you 
were out." Teena took one for herself and broke it in 
two. "You were out for a long time."

"I needed a break. That's why I came here." Then, 
looking back at his mother he completed. "I hope you 
don't mind."

Teena looked shocked. "Of course, not Fox. This is your 
house."

"Last time I came here it didn't look like that, Mom."

"Last time you came here I didn't recognize you."

He started gathering the cookie crumbs from the table 
with the palm of his hand. "I wasn't myself that day, 
Mom. I was sick."

"Dana told me something like that."

When he heard her name, it took him a second to release 
the breath that had been caught in his throat and to 
start cleaning the table again. However, his mother saw 
his reaction. 

"Is there a problem, Fox?"

He felt like she was mocking him. Compared to the things 
he had seen in the X-Files, or to the events of last June, 
when he had been close to an intergalactic trip with his 
partner, the nightmare he was living was nothing. He should 
be ashamed for giving that much importance to something as 
trivial as dumping his girlfriend. 

Only that said girlfriend was the meaning of everything 
in his life. 

"I didn't paint the beach house, Mom." He looked at 
Teena and tried to smile. "And a few weeks ago I found 
out what it would be like to be an uncle."

His mother looked at him confused. "What are you talking 
about?"

He sniffed, fighting hard the tears smarting his eyes. 

"I miss her, Mom."

Teena looked at him for a moment before lowering her 
eyes to her hands. "We're not talking about Samantha 
here, are we?"

He shook his head and reached out to get another cookie. 
He broke it in small pieces and, not satisfied with the 
result, he started rubbing the tiny particles between 
his fingers. 

"Is it Dana?"

He grabbed another cookie and his mother slapped the 
back of his hand. 

"Don't waste my cookies."

Teena looked at him horrified. He was speechless. 

She had slapped him again. 

When she had done it last year, he had felt both the 
physical pain and the hurt in his soul. Then came the 
humiliation of being slapped and not being allowed to 
hit back. And finally came the hiatus of one year 
separating him and his closest alive relative. 

This year it made him laugh.

And Teena was still looking at him bewildered.

"What is it, Fox?"

'This is normalcy, Mom.' He wanted to shout because it 
was normal and sentimental, and it was amusing and it 
was good. 

"I'm sorry, Mom," he said and drank some milk taking 
care not to choke. "But that was such a mother thing."

Teena entered into the spirit of his playful mood. "So 
now my acting like a mother makes you laugh. You show me 
respect, boy."

He stopped laughing but kept the smile on his face. "No, 
Mom. It makes me feel normal."

Teena braced her arms on the table. "It's good to be 
normal, isn't it, Fox?"

"What do you mean?"

Teena tilted her head in his direction. "I think that 
young lady is a good influence in your life."

That put an end to his smile. "The best influence."

Teena sipped her milk and studied him some more. 

"What is this, Fox?"

He thought about everything that had happened between 
him and Scully in those last couple of months, from who 
would throw out the trash to who would pay the bill in 
the grocery store. And then there were the waiters 
referring to her as his wife, and the pleasant smile on 
Ben's face when he had taken her out for some ice cream 
in Quonochontaug. 'Now your mother won't have to help 
you finish your ice cream, huh?' Ben had asked, smiling 
gently at Scully. He had laughed and hugged her fiercely 
to him.

There was sleeping and waking up with her, and kissing 
and touching her. There was loving her and dreaming, 
just for a moment, that she loved him, too. 

She never told him she loved him. 

"I'll never be able to give you grandchildren, Mom."

He'd never be a father. He knew that Scully's infertility 
didn't make him sterile, too. It was just that the thought 
of fathering another woman's child didn't seem right to him. 

"Fox, what happened?"

That creeping sensation that he was going to cry came all 
over him again. He wondered if he needed to look strong 
to his mother all the time. Couldn't he just now, just 
that once, accept the comfort she was offering to him? 

"They won't let me work with Scully if we stay together, 
Mom."

Teena diverted her gaze from his again. "I'm sorry, Fox. 
She seems to be a very competent professional."

"She's the best partner I ever had."

"Ah." Teena straightened the table cloth. "But, I'm 
sorry. I still don't understand."

He massaged his forehead with the tips of his fingers. 
That was a subject he didn't feel comfortable discussing 
with his mother. In the past it had always lead to 
terrible arguments and snorted words. 

"Something happened, something pretty bad. It's complicated."

"Could you be fired?"  

"I don't think so. But if we don't put an end to our 
relationship now, they will dissolve our partnership."

"I see." Teena nodded, her eyes still on the table. "How 
do you feel about it?"

He chuckled. "My work is important, Mom."

"Your happiness should be important, too."

"The X-Files are the only means to bring Samantha back 
home." Teena breathed deeply. "And I need Scully's help 
to bring her back to you."

He had to fight the tears twice as hard, but not one drop 
fell from his eyes. Neither from his mother's. Twenty-five 
years of experience had made them masters in masking their 
weakness.

Twenty-five years of a life that wasn't theirs to live.

"There has to be another way, Fox."

His mother's voice was so low, he thought he had 
imagined she was talking to him. 

Teena spoke again, louder this time. "There has to be 
another way of having my little girl back."

For the first time in his life, he saw a glimpse of 
innocence shining in his mother's eyes. They shared that 
certitude that one day they were going to see her again. 
Scully had been the one to keep the hope alive in him. He
was not going to kill that hope in his mother. He would do 
anything, sacrifice whatever he needed to find his mother's 
daughter.

He touched her hand. "I'll find her, mom, I..."

"No, Fox," Teena said. "Don't turn this into a promise." 
She turned to him and covered his hand with her other 
one. "I don't want you to promise me this."

"But..."

"If you just knew how much I miss her, Fox. How much I 
miss the things I never experienced with her." Her lips 
quivered and her voice was heavy with emotion. "There are 
so many things in this life I don't know." She looked back 
at him and her eyes gleamed. "I wanted to know what is it 
like to teach my little girl to cook. Or to fuss at her for 
spending too much money on clothes." He smiled at her, his 
lips quivering, too. "Can you imagine Sam with short hair, 
Fox? Or with it dyed in green?" She sobbed. "Can you imagine 
what it would be like to have her home?" His mother started 
crying, sitting at that table, holding his hand.

He felt like trash for putting his romantic interest in front 
of his mother's needs like that. She had been suffering for 
as much as time as he had, only that her pain was much deeper 
than his. He couldn't heal her nor erase the past. What he 
could do was keep searching for a cure. Keep searching for 
Samantha.    

"I'll be sixty next year, Fox," she continued softly, her
voice faltering with the tears. "I sure had my share in 
life. But I still have the hope that I'll know something 
before I die." She smiled tenderly at him. "I hope to know 
what is it like to see at least one of my children happy. 
And you're here." His eyes filled with tears. "That's the 
one thing I want you to promise me, that I'll see at least 
one of my children happy." 

She rose from the chair, wiping her eyes. "I changed the 
sheets on your bed and that store sent your suit. It's 
in the closet," she said, trying to regain her composure. 
She put the cookies they had left on the plate back into 
the jar. "What time are you leaving tomorrow?"

"The cab is coming at a quarter past five," he whispered.

She opened a drawer and pulled out a brown bag, then put 
some cookies in it. She walked to where he was and put 
the bag before him. "Take those with you. Airline's 
breakfast is awful."

He smiled at her. "Thanks, Mom."

As if guided by an impulse, she bent down and kissed his 
hair. "You better go to bed now. It's already late." She 
touched his chin and looked at him with red eyes. "Good 
night, son." She caressed his face and left him in the 
kitchen.

He kept looking at his mother until she disappeared up 
the stairs.

He vowed to himself he would never see his mother crying 
over Samantha like that again. Like he had vowed the 
people that had abducted Scully wouldn't go unpunished. 
Like he had vowed he would not let anyone take his 
partner's dignity away. 

He was determined in honoring all of his vows. He just 
needed her at his side, in any capacity. Besides, she 
was as commited to the quest as he was. If fate wanted 
them to be just partners, so let it be. He would not 
assume the risk of losing her forever because of his 
love for her. Maybe in the future they would have a 
chance to try again. And when it happened, he would do 
better, he would make her fall in love with him.

He made a last vow. He would give up on everything to make 
his mother happy and to keep Scully at his side. 

He crossed his arms on the table and rested his head on 
them.   

He would miss his happiness.

He would miss Scully.


*********************************   


Chapter 36 


There were the physical signs of *deja v=FB*.

The flickering light of the street lamps casting a soft 
glow into the night.

His car sliding quietly on the silent avenue.

The phone call in the middle of the night obliging him 
to leave anything else behind. 

The differences were that it hadn't been an anonymous 
call and he was not involved in another bust. 

This time Skinner believed he would just act as a 
listener to Agent Scully.

Actually, after the meeting he had with the hearing 
board this morning, it was clear that the best help 
he could offer was his ears. He could also offer his 
shoulder for her to cry on. After the events of that 
morning he knew just how much she could be in need of 
that. An ordinary woman would accept his generosity 
without a second consideration. 

Only Scully was not an ordinary woman. No ordinary 
woman would have faced so many prying eyes at once and 
keept her dignity. 

Mulder was a hell of a lucky man. 

Skinner had also agreed to meet her at the diner in 
Alexandria because he could use the distraction. Not 
that in this acute situation was he going to enjoy 
himself, but at least he wouldn't be walking up and 
down the floor of his apartment like an animal in a 
cage. Talking with Scully sure wasn't going to relax 
him, but it might tire him out enough to sleep until 
tomorrow morning. 

He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 

12:47 a.m.

There would be no tomorrow morning for anyone. 

Turning to the right, he saw the blue luminous of
the diner where he could read *Fort*.

At that time of the night he had no problems parking
his car. When he opened the door and stepped onto 
the pavement, he felt every bone he had in his body 
popping. He grimaced and streched his arms as far as 
he could. His old body didn't have resistance to 
that much pressure anymore.

He shoved his keys in his jacket pocket and started 
walking to the small diner, taking in the surroundings. 
He was slightly familiar with that neighborhood. He was 
sure he was close to Mulder's place. 

He opened the glass door and entered in a bright room 
with cream walls and a few people. A beautiful redhead 
wearing a blue apron that matched the little restaurant's 
furniture smiled at him. He smiled back at her and was 
ready to ask for information when he saw the shade of red 
he was looking for at a table in the back of the diner, 
watching the street outside through a large window. He 
smiled at the waitress again before walking to the table.

Scully had changed the black suit she was wearing in the 
morning. Like him, now she was wearing jeans and a man's 
shirt, pale green. Getting closer to her, Skinner saw 
that she hadn't been watching the movement out the 
diner. She was studying the pale face of the woman 
staring back at her in the large window.

"Scully."

She turned to look at him. He was glad to see that 
neither her eyes nor her nose were red; she hadn't been 
crying. There were no wrinkles in her forehead nor in 
the corners of her mouth. If he had to put a name to her 
expression, he would call it serene. 

"Sir," she said, "Thanks for coming."

He sat down in a chair across from her and together they 
waited for the waitress to come and get their orders. 
His order, since Scully was holding a cup of coffee. 

"Would you like to order now, sir?" the smiling girl 
asked him. 

"A cup of coffee. Decaffeinated."

"A decaf," repeated the girl, writing on her yellow
pad. "What about you, miss? Would you like to order 
now?"

Scully shook her head and the girl went to get his coffee.

If it was possible, he felt more embarrassed now than he 
had felt in their two previous meetings. 

"This is Mulder's neighborhood, isn't it?" he asked 
awkwardly.

Scully looked at him. Her eyes were clear. "Yes, he 
lives a few blocks down from here." 

The girl brought his coffee and they remained in silence 
for a few moments until she spoke again.

"This morning he said he was going home. He never came, 
sir." 

He frowned slightly. "Do you think that he went after 
someone?" He mentally reviewed the list of names she and 
Mulder had given him that morning, worried that he had 
gone after that guy, Victor something.

"No." She bowed her head and a lock of hair brushed her 
face. "He just didn't come." She blinked and kept 
staring at the dark beverage in her cup. 

He rubbed his hand on the cup, robbing it of its warmth. 
He looked at Scully and realized something new about her.
The woman before him was wearing her lover's shirt and 
had waited an entire day for a man that didn't come. 
Without make-up and a suit, she looked ordinnary. That was 
the first time that he looked at Scully and didn't see in 
her a defiant, competent and brave woman. He didn't see in 
her the beautiful woman he knew she was. For the first time,
he saw Dana Scully as a mortal woman, and he was afraid of 
that. 

"Why did you call me, Scully?"

She looked at him and pursed her lower lip as if 
selecting the right words. 

"I want to ask you a question, sir."

"Agent Scully, you're aware that I can't tell you what 
was discussed in the briefing this morning."

"Yes, sir. I'm aware of that." She stared out of the 
window. "I want to ask you something concerning Agent 
Mulder."

"What?"

She inhaled deeply before looking back at him. "I want 
you to tell me everything you know about Agents Mulder 
and Fowley's partnership." She gulped before continuing. 
"I know you were their superior for some time."

That question crammed Skinner in a place he didn't want 
to visit. He was aware that with Agent Fowley's return 
questions would be raised. What he had never considered 
was that he would be the one answering Scully's 
questions. 

"Agent Scully, I'm not the right person to talk about it 
with you."  

"Sir," she said, her voice steady again. "I could ask 
one of his friends, but I'm not interested in hearing 
about his personal life."

"Scully," he tried again.

"I know they were married." 

Skinner saw by her quivering chin just how much that 
fact hurt her, yet in a few seconds she regained her 
composure. 

"And I know they kept working together even being 
married." 

"I think their partnership didn't last six months, 
Scully."

She lowered her voice. "They were married, sir."

"They weren't a threat, Scully," he said softly. "When 
they worked together, the X-Files were nothing. You made 
them together." 

Scully's eyes gleamed, but she kept her control. The 
Scully he knew would never let the tears threaten to 
fall along her face in his presence.  Her force was 
still there, but there were small details, and yet 
irrefutable evidence, that Agent Scully would never be 
the same again. He was seeing the usual discipline and 
determination In her, but her fighting spirit was not 
there. 

Mulder was not there.  

That was the one thing Skinner had always been sure 
nobody would ever taken away from her - her partner.

"I made my decision, sir. But I need to know how they 
worked together before acting on it."

Skinner looked at her startled. At that moment he 
realized what that meeting was for.

"You can't do this to him, Scully."

"I can't let him choose," she said firmly.

The only words that came to his mind at that moment
were the ones Mulder told him on Saturday morning - 
'I can't be without her, sir.'

"Scully..."

The years he had spent in Vietnam made him familiar with 
sacrifices. He was an ex-Marine. He had been trained to 
lie down his life if needed in order to protect and to save.
That night he was learning that some sacrifices could be 
made in life.

"Please, sir." 

He was not the kind of man that would cheat life in order 
to avoid its lessons. He could not agree with its teaching 
methodology, but he would never run away from it. 

He gestured to the waitress to bring them some real coffee. 
He had a tale to tell, and he needed to be alert to tell her 
everything he remembered.

Even though he didn't have the sketchiest idea of how 
to do it. 


*****************


as now can't reveal the mystery of tomorrow
but in passing will grow older everyday
just as all that's born is new
you know what I say is true
that'll be loving you always
Stevie Wonder, As



Chapter 37 of 37

A thousand words could do no more damage to a man's soul
than would a thousand knives piercing through human flesh.

Mulder was the living proof of that.

Sitting there, staring at the vacant chairs of the five
lions that had just shredded and slashed his and his
partner's capacity of working together after...

Just after.

His outwards appearance carried the marks of the
brutal assault they had just suffered.

Waxen face.

Clammy skin.

Frozen lips.

Sagging shoulders.

Eyes deprived of any emotion but one.

Despair, so much despair that even the lingering touch
of the woman sitting beside him couldn't relieve it. The
touch of the wrong hands.

Skinner felt sorry for Agent Fowley.

He just couldn't stand that situation anymore. He left
the sixth chair on the tribune and headed to the hallway
to wait for Scully's return.

"We'll figure something out, Fox."

Skinner heard no response from Mulder, but he did feel
the agent's gaze following him towards the door, silently
pleading for help.

Skinner felt like the worst son of a bitch alive for 
ignoring the other man; he kept walking without looking
back.

Once outside, he closed the door behind him and his eyes
slid shut. How long it would take until the morning was
over?

What a hypocritic he was. The morning would be over as soon
as Scully came back from his office.

The irony of the situation was that had Mulder and Scully
been caught in any other circumstance, they might have had
months to collect proof of their innocence. But here, having 
involved in their case a FBI Supervisor and four Assistant 
Directors, who were eager to show how efficient they were,
all it took was seventy-two hours to impair five years of 
hard work and dedication of two of their most loyal fellows.

Once again Skinner felt sick with the system.

"Anything wrong, A.D. Skinner?"

"Nothing that I'm aware of, sir," Skinner replied,
opening his eyes.

"Good." Trajan opened the last button of his jacket.
"You know that this was necessary, Skinner."

Skinner looked up at Trajan and nodded. "I know that it
was necessary. What nobody seems to realize is that they
are two of my most efficient agents. They're good
together."

"I know," Trajan agreed. "I've listened to some stories about 
them. Pretty interesting I must add, pretty intense." Trajan 
snorted. "I like Mulder, Skinner, I had never seen him before 
that... indiscretion. I had heard about his passion for the 
unknown, that he wouldn't measure consequences to find a 
truth he so elusively pointed out, even with nobody to support 
him. I'm not sure if having this passion directed towards his 
partner is in their best interests as agents. I don't know 
if they would be impartial while in the field."

Skinner saw in Trajan's last words the opportunity to make
one last try. "So reconsider this, sir. Give them a chance
to work together again and prove that nothing changed."
Trajan rolled his eyes, but it didn't refrain Skinner.
"They work well together, they always have. Besides, this
is not the first time two agents have been involved."

"I know what you're referring to, Skinner," Trajan gently
interrupted him. "I know he and Agent Fowley were married.
At that time they weren't under my care, otherwise it would
have never happened. Never."

Skinner stepped aside when Trajan held the doorknob.

"Where's Agent Scully? She left right in the beginning
of our break."

"She won't be late. She's a very disciplined agent."

"I know," Trajan acquiesced. "She'd better be back soon.
I want to get this situation over with as much as you do
Skinner." Trajan hesitated before opening the door. "I'm
not the villain here, but I must keep the order. That's
my job, and I'm proud of it." Then he turned his back on
Skinner and entered in the room.

Skinner just sighed, and waited.

It didn't take too long for the other members of the board
to appear, and soon everyone was back inside the room.

He would give up his Italian tie collection if he
could just avoid the impending events that would follow
Scully's return.

The sound of her heels echoing on the hallway floor told
him he was too late with his attempt of a bargain.

She stood in front of him holding the manila folder she
had showed him that morning.

"I'm ready, sir."

He knew that already. She had been ready since he had
finished telling Mulder and Fowley's story of working
together as partners at two o'clock in the morning. That
was not the kind of bedtime story he would like to be telling,
but she had asked for this. In the end, Mulder would be
the one paying for the nightmare of their lives.

Scully reached out to turn the doorknob and he did the
same, putting his hand upon hers.

"Think again."

"I've spent enough time thinking about it, sir," she said,
staring at their hands. "There's nothing else to be
done."

Skinner cursed under his breath. Why did she have to be
that stubborn?

"There's always something that can be done, Scully."

When she looked at him, her lips were a thin line with a
slight, almost imperceptible curve on their corners. In
her eyes he saw a glow born not of happiness, but of the
wisdom acquired through the years working and suffering
beside her partner.

"I have to do this now, sir." She gently pushed his hand
away and turned the doorknob. "I have to do this while I
still can," she whispered softly.

'That's it,' he thought watching her walking into the room,
'the end of everything.' The other shoe had most definitely
dropped. He was the only one that hadn't seen it yet. Resigned,
he followed her towards her and her partner's future.

Walking to the main board, he saw that Diana had gone
back to her chair in the end of the room. All the members of
the OPR were already in their places.

"A.D. Skinner, please sit down so we can continue with the
session."

Before sitting beside A.D. Sanders, Skinner glanced at
the partners sitting side by side.

He wasn't supposed to feel that aching in his heart.

"Now that A.D. Skinner is here, we can return to our
discussion regarding Agents Mulder and Scully," said
Trajan without lifting his eyes from the report he had in
hands.

"Excuse me, sir."

Scully's loud and clear voice drew everyone's attention
towards her. Skinner grimly nodded his encouragement at
her. Now those sons of a bitch would know the strength of
that woman.

As would Mulder.

Mulder.

His gaze had followed Scully as she stood beside him, the
manila folder in her hands.

"Agent Scully, could you wait until I'm finished with my
next questions?"

"I'm afraid I can't, sir," she said without flinching.
"You'll finish with your reading, more questions will be
made, more answers will be given, and Agent Mulder and I
will still be ignored."

"Agent Scully," Trajan said in a complacent tune, "I know
this is a tense situation, that's why I'll completely
ignore your last remark. Now, please sit down."

"All I'm asking is for two minutes of your attention,
sir."

While the other four members of the board and Trajan
exchanges glances, Skinner followed Mulder's reaction.
His jaw was clenched and his right hand closed in a fist,
his eyes lost someplace on Scully's skirt. 'Be strong,'
Skinner was mentally repeating when Trajan spoke again.

"All right, Agent Scully; you have your two minutes."

"Thank you, sir." She briefly looked at each person
sitting on the board. "It won't take too long."

Trajan quirked his head, giving her permission to start.
In the back of the room, he saw Diana leaning forward in
her chair.

"When I was offered a position to work with Agent Mulder
five years ago, I listened to several warnings about his
unconventional theories and unorthodox behavior. I was
told that it would be career suicide if I accepted
this job." The words rolled from her mouth in an
unremitting flow of lucid ideas. "In the beginning I
was inclined to agree with them. By the end of our
first case together as a team, I realized that this had
been the most unrivalled decision I could have made in
my professional life."

Mulder lifted his eyes to look at her face and his 
expression spoke volumes of gratitude. That unsolicited 
sensation that he had betrayed this man's trust spread 
inside Skinner all over again. He wished Scully would
shorten her speech so he could flee from there.

After having delicately moistened  her lips, Scully
continued. "Agent Mulder is a competent and serious
professional who believes in what he does. Working with
him in the X-Files division proved to be an elucidating
path in my life, in all capacities. For this alone I'll
be eternally grateful for the opportunity that has been
given to me."

Skinner knew the exact moment Mulder became aware of the
meaning behind Scully's words. He got still in his
chair, and the momentary ember that had blazed in his
eyes died all at once. His fingers, that until now were
held in a tight fist on the table, spread themselves on
the veneer surface, gripping its edge. His Adam's apple
bobbed up and down and his head unconsciously shook in
denial, asking her to stop.

"Agent Mulder's work is important. I worked with him, I
know the seriousness of the information his files carry.
I had the certainty that my working with the FBI could
make a difference to mankind; I was wrong." Scully,
just for a second, lowered her eyelids and looked at
Mulder, then she looked back at the people on the board.
"Agent Mulder is the difference." Swiftly she left her
place beside Mulder and walked to Trajan. When she was
right in front of him, she handed him the folder. "I
won't be the one who will take this away from him."

Trajan picked up the folder and carefully pulled out the
sheet of paper that carried the warrant demise of the
five year old partnership. Trajan perched his glasses on
the edge of his nose and started reading the document
Skinner had helped Scully to compose.

After what seemed like time enough to read just the first
lines of the letter, Trajan made his inquiry.

"Is this your transfer request, Agent Scully?"

Sanders and the other A.Ds looked startled at Scully.
Mulder's eyes were wide open. Slowly he braced his
elbows on the table and entwined his fingers together,
then he pressed his lips against them.

"Yes, sir; it is."

In the back of the room, Skinner saw that Diana couldn't
take her eyes off Scully. She seemed to be as much taken
aback by Scully's attitude as any other person in that
room was, yet Skinner could swear he saw a timid hint of
joy on her face.

"Don't you think this is a hasty decision, Agent
Scully?" Trajan asked softly.

"I was sent to debunk Agent Mulder's work, sir, but his
work can't be debunked because it's serious and it's
noble. It's also a menace to too many people. I think it
was clear with the fire and with all the other loses we
suffered through the course of the years. Yet all those
defeats, if nothing else, made us stronger." She stopped
and looked at the paper in Trajan's hand. "It wasn't an
easy decision, sir, but it's the right one. I won't let
what we had be used to destroy him."

"We won't discuss your personal lives here, Agent
Scully."

"No, sir. We won't discuss anything personal here because 
there's nothing personal to be discussed. I can't stay 
because it would give ammunition to discredit his work; 
I'll be accused of  cooperating with his convoluted theories 
even though I had never done something like that."

"This issue was never raised here, Agent Scully. We know
you and Agent Mulder are both professionals. However, I won't 
permit two romantically involved agents who happen to be 
partners to keep working together. The consequences can be 
disastrous both personally and professionally."

"You are denying us a chance," came the shaky reply from
behind Scully.

Mulder was standing behind the table they had been
sitting at,  but in two long strides he was in front of
Trajan, too.

"Mulder, don't," Scully muttered.

He just ignored her. "Based on what you saw you're putting
down not only our capacity of working together, but also..."

"Agent Mulder," Trajan gently warned him, "we won't discuss
this again. I don't want to know how long you've been involved
nor anything concerning this matter. What I do know are the
procedures both of you are used to taking in order to protect
each other. It wasn't even three months ago when you were
at this same room because of this same situation."

Mulder stared directly at Trajan's eyes. "You're taking away
my partner," he mumbled in rage. "And I don't  even know why."

"She chose to leave, Agent Mulder," Trajan reminded him.

Mulder shook his index finger in front of Trajan's nose.
"You gave her no option and I won't accept this!"

"There's nothing for you to accept, Mulder," murmured
Scully, avoiding look at him.

"You can't just leave me!"

Skinner forgot how to breath. Beside him, Sander was
sweating and had ducked his pink tinged face. The
other A.Ds and even Trajan fidgeted uncomfortably in
their chairs while Diana wiped the corner of her eyes
before Mulder's painful wail.

"You can't leave me alone, Scully."

Tears twinkled in Scully's eyes.

"I won't leave you alone, Mulder," she assured him with
the tenderness of a promise. "I'm sure Agent Fowley will
gladly stay in my place."  Reluctantly, Scully looked
back at Trajan. "She's a good agent, sir. Agent Mulder
and she had already worked together. She'll know how to
help him."

"Agent Scully, their partnership didn't work out."

"I'm sure they won't commit the same mistakes now, sir."

Mulder reached out as if to touch her, but his arms
surrendered to the tension being inflicted on him.
Skinner had seen enough fallen soldiers in his life to
know when a battle had been lost.

Trajan cast a conciliatory look at her. "You don't have
to give up on everything, Agent Scully."

"I can't have less than what I had, sir. In any capacity."
Glancing one last time around the room, she completed
softly. "There's nothing else for me to do here." Without
asking for permission, she turned on her heels and her
confident gait carried her out of the room.

The moment was frozen in time. No one moved, no one said
a word. Breathing came out just by instinct. The room
was warm, but the chill of the excitement created goosebumps
on his skin. There was no embarrassment, and one day he would
be over that sickening feeling of failure. Scully was a
woman of attitude and Skinner unconsciously knew there was
nothing he could have done to change her mind. He had done
the right thing, he had saved a soldier.

He looked at the spot in front of the tribune.

And he had killed a warrior in the process.

Mulder was shaking. His respiration came in raged wheezes
from his mouth. His eyes were dark, and his blank look was
fixed on no one in the room. His large nostrils were red,
his waywardness was the stake holding him up.

"Agent Mulder?" came Trajan's concerned voice.

He lifted his eyes in compass with the rapid rise
and fall of his chest. The flames burning in there
evaporated into steam Trajan's self confidence until it
disappeared completely, making the supervisor back away.

"Fuck you."

His words came in the form of a cold whisper that filled
every corner of the still silence in the room.

Mulder stormed out from there. No one dared to stop him.

If Skinner had to pinpoint how long they remained
there, sitting in total silence, he would be at a loss.

Maybe it had been when Trajan weakly ordered someone to
go after them. Or maybe it was when he saw Diana standing
to do as they were told, and he had to dash out through the
door.

"I'll get them, Agent Fowley."

It was five steps from the door to the elevator. By his
second step he wished he had stayed inside.

Mulder was clinging at Scully despairingly. The whiteness on
the joints of his fingers contrasted with the hunter green of
her jacket sleeve, their tips turning red. The lock of hair
covering part of his temple kept mimicking the soft shaking
of his limbs as he stared at her angst filled face. The
intensity in his eyes was absorbing the sorrow in her face and
turning it in his own. Fear that in his desperate state he
would end up hurting Scully, Skinner got closer to them and
held Mulder by his arms.

"How do you expect me to do this?" he heard what was
left of Mulder's voice asking Scully. "I can't do this."
Her pursed lips started trembling and her throat moved
softly when she swallowed a sob. "I don't know how to do
this anymore, Scully," Mulder pleaded again. "Don't make
me stop now."

This time a soft sob broke free from deep inside of her
and Skinner had to make a monumental effort to guard one
of his own. He didn't have the right to be there and be
the uncalled witness of that moment. He didn't have the
right to stand right behind his broken agent oblivious
to any other living being but to the woman he loved,
pressed by his large hands against the cold steel of the
elevator's door.

He didn't have the right to see all the burden of the
love they shared sliding in two crystal goblets down the
woman's face.

"My beautiful Mulder."

In the whisper of space they had between them, she stepped
forward to brush perfect lips against Mulder's forehead.

The elevator's car had finally found its destination and
opened its door to her.

"Scully..."

"Let her go, Mulder," Skinner said with tenderness. Mulder's
arms lay limply when Skinner pulled them away from Scully.

Without turning her back on them, she stepped into the car.
Its door closed again, taking the woman that seemed impossibly
small from the top of her high heels away from them.

"Don't make me stop now, Scully," Mulder whispered to
his own reflection on the polished steel door.

Part of his duty as an A.D. was to offer support when
one of his agents was in need of it. It was professional
and it was right.

"I can't go through it again."

Skinner knew which words to say to the grieving; he had
uttered them to Mrs. Mulder when her son had been
reported missing, and repeated them to Scully when her
sister had died.

He had no discourse to say to the ones grieving the
living. To improvise the words would make them sound
artificial, but he would still do this if he was sure
the agent was going to absorb them before they vanished
in the air like smoke.

Smoke.

First he listened to the raspy friction, the sound of
flesh rubbing metal, then the timid, almost non-existent
flickering of fire coming into life. The tang, spicy
smell of herb burning completed the picture. He half
stepped sideways to confirm his suspicious.

The fucking bastard was a few feet behind them, a cigarrette
firmly held against the shadow of the mischievous smile his 
lips formed.

"So it came the day when she finally left you."

Mulder, that until now was unaware of the man's presence,
turned his body towards the voice, too.

"The cancer, the little girl, two abductions. If I knew
you were the key to push her away, I'd have come up
with that last... scheme much sooner. The most effective
means are indeed the cheaper ones."

"You..."

"Of course it was me, Agent Mulder," the Smoking Man replied
to Mulder's sputter. "You knew it was me; you just didn't have
the proof, as always." He smiled sweetly at Mulder. "Next time 
I'll plant more evidence for those hacker friends of yours. 
But of course there won't be a next time. Agent Scully's gone."

The magnetism of the whole situation was holding Skinner to
the floor, otherwise he would have already lunged against the
older man.

"Fifty years of study, Agent Mulder. Do you know how much this 
was worth?" The Smoking Man shook his head. "That's what your 
last Romeo-in-love act cost us, Agent Mulder. Fifty years of 
study were lost in Antartica, and all of it because you 
couldn't stay away from her." He took a long drag of his 
cigarette, pensive. "It's fair: fifty years of progress for 
five years of your life."

Mulder's body waved and Skinner had to hold him upwards.

"I know it's not easy, Agent Mulder, but look at the
bright side of the situation: we have fifty years to
reconstruct; you've just lost five of yours."

He had taken everything he could. Forgetting the boneless
body he had in his arms, Skinner launched forward and
trapped the other man against the wall. In a brisk movement
he had his gun pressed against the man's side. "Enduring the
rest of my life in prison will be worth it if I kill you."

"You could allege temporary insanity due to this stressful
job and keep your pension, Mr. Skinner."

Skinner trembled and he freed the safety of his gun. "Don't
tempt me," he hissed and pushed his body away from the Smoking
bastard. "Just get the fuck away from here."

Smoking Man straightened his black jacket and dragged the
cigarette one last time before throwing it on the floor.
He nodded solemnly at Mulder and walked away.

With his hands still shaking, Skinner holstered the gun
on his back again, then turned to look at Mulder.

There were two long trail of tears on the agent's face.

"Come on, Mulder," he said gently, holding the agent by
his arms. "Let's sit you down."

He was taking Mulder to a bench in the hall when he heard
steady thud of heels touching the floor behind them.

"Fox, are you all right?" Diana asked.

Mulder didn't emit a sound and Skinner feared he was going
into shock.

"Agent Fowley, he needs a moment. Could you please go back
inside and tell them that?" he asked more harshly than he
should.

Diana cringed, but instead of stepping away, she moved
forward to meet them.

"I'm sorry, sir, but they sent me here to get my partner
back into that room."

Skinner held nothing personal against Diana, but he
wasn't in the mood to deal with her audacity right now.

"It's an order, Agent Fowley."

"The supervisor sent me here," she said petulantly.

"Agent Fowley..."

"That's okay, Skinner. I can go back now."

Mulder spoke softly. Despite his tears, some of his self
confidence was gleaming again in his eyes.

"You don't have to do this now, Mulder," Skinner tried
to reason with him.

"I have a job to finish. I won't let him win." He looked
at Diana and said, "Let's go."

Diana smiled and reached out her hands to him. Skinner
let him go. Diana embraced Mulder around his waist, her
left hand held his left arm against his side, and her
right one rested on his belly while they walked past
Skinner.

"She didn't believe in your work and you accomplished
all of this, Fox. Imagine what we can do together
again."

Skinner closed his eyes and sighed sadly. There was
another pool going on, this time to know if Mulder would
stay with Scully. The odds were forty to one that he
would leave her in favor of the X-Files. Skinner was the
one who had anonymously made his bet that they would
stay together.

He smoothed his jacket and pushed an imaginary lock of
hair away from his face. When he was reasonably recovered,
he started walking to the OPR room.

He didn't care for the money. He just wished that this time
the house would lose.

And they would win.



End Book I of III

until the rainbow burns the stars up in the sky
until the ocean covers every mountain high
until the dolphin flies and parrots live at sea
until we dream of life and life becomes a dream
until the day is night and night becomes the day
until the trees and seas just up and fly away
until the day that 8x8x8 is 4
until the day that is the day that are no more
Stevie Wonder, As


*********************


Author's Notes.


That's the end of the first part on this journey. I wouldn't have
come this far without the help of some valuable sources. 

- All the information about the FBI and about Martha's Vineyard 
came from the fabulous Deep Background. 

- Alanna has a beautiful page about Martha's Vineyard, too. The 
pictures in there are highly inspiring, and she gives us a poetic 
description of the things she saw. Try it, it's worth the visit.

- And then there are the fantastic people on Haven Message Board 
that answered my weird questions about life and customs in the 
United States and never mocked me. 

All of you were great help. Thanks :)

And then there is that bunch of people that were my source of
support and inspiration during this long journey.

- My Beta Reader Team: Georgia, Mish, Toniann, trixie and Eden, 
who appeared in different stages of my writing, but that there's
no doubt about their importance in this process. You were one of 
the best English courses I've ever had. I have a basket full of 
cocadas to you here in Brazil, my dears :)

- My cousins: Rosi, Li, Ana, and my sis Patty-Patty - you won't 
understand this one, but thanks for the support. A cerveja e por 
minha conta :)

And, of course, thanks for the incentive that all of you offered to
me, and a special thanks to a group of ladies - you know  who you 
are - that was always there, whether making questions or encouraging 
me to write more. Thank you.

Toniann, thanks for the beautiful house that Kimpa's new dustjacket
made even better.

A single text file will be up in a few weeks. And so will be the first 
chapter of Book II. 

See you then.

Dri

*******