From: Jenna <einini@attbi.com>
Date: 2 Oct 2002 17:43:27 -0700
Subject: [all-xf] NEW Draw Down the Moon DSR 1/21
Source: atxc

TITLE: Draw Down the Moon
AUTHOR: Jenna
EMAIL: jenna@einini.net
RATING: NC-17
KEYWORDS: DSR, AU, A
SPOILERS: up to "This Is Not Happening"
DISCAIMER:  Only borrowed.
SUMMARY: A good man cannot be defeated by temptation. Can he be
defeated by despair?

AU NOTICE: In this universe, Mulder stays dead.

"We sleep unwisely. It is our right."
--Neil Gaiman

Draw Down the Moon 1

Dana had been wearing tanktops all week. Tanktops and denim
shorts, no bra, sandals if she wore shoes at all. It was too hot
for layers--she hadn't dressed William in more than a diaper and a
onsie all week--and she was too busy for modesty.

 The moving men, either out of respect for William on her hip or
fear of lawsuits, did not leer or make comments--even though at one
point she simply plopped onto the couch and lifted her shirt to
nurse William. It was too hot to even drape a blanket over him.

 The moving men were now gone. Dana had spent the day arranging
and shelving. Duplicates of books and music--and there were more of
these than she had expected--she put back in the boxes, to be put
into storage or given away. William's room was bright, snug and
cheerful. The house was a bit crowded with furniture, but otherwise
had changed from a bachelor's place to a home for a family.

 All this house needed, Dana thought, was her husband.

 She went out onto the back deck with William and a glass of
lemonade after sundown. The house retained heat like a brick oven,
even though Dana set up fans in what she hoped were strategic
places--but outside, after sundown, it was soft and cool.
 Dana spread a blanket on the grass and lay William on it, so he
could kick his heels and look around. She sat on the bottom step
and drank her lemonade, and talked to William as he babbled back to
her.

 John had called every night this week, but not tonight. This
worried her, though she told herself Monica would call if something
was wrong.
 She hated that John had had to leave only a few days after their
wedding, but when you become engaged one day and marry the next,
there was little time for niceties like time off. She had filled
the days with moving and taking care of her paperwork, but still
she missed John terribly.

 Particularly when she wandered through the quiet house, touching
his things, or lay down in the big empty bed.

 Moving in while John was gone had seemed brilliant at the time--
he would come home to a cozy house and a loving wife--but she
hadn't thought how difficult it would be just to place a couch
without him. Do whatever you want, he told her when they discussed
it over the phone. "But what if you don't like it?" she said, and
he laughingly promised he would, he would.

 William slowly yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Are you sleepy,
little man?" she asked him, and he blinked his eyes and yawned
again. "All right." Dana drank the last of her lemonade, set down
her glass, and gathered up both blanket and baby. She kissed his
fuzzy head. He wrapped his fist around the strap of her tanktop and
laid his head on her shoulder.

 She talked to him as she carried him upstairs, soft reassuring
patter that came as naturally as breast milk. When he was awake
enough he responded in his William-language, but sleepy like this
he just drooled down her arm.

 Dana changed his diaper and put his onsie in the laundry hamper,
kissed him a few times more and lay him in his crib. William tried
to keep his eyes open just a little longer, but lost the battle
with sleep as she sang to him in a whisper and patted his belly.

 "Sleep well, my love," she murmured finally when his eyes stayed
closed. She bent over the railing to kiss him one more time, then
turned on the monitor and left the room, leaving the door open. She
turned on the fan in the hallway.

 Now. To fill the hours until she could sleep, too. The longer
John was gone, the less inclined she was to sleep without him.

 She had yet to watch TV here, yet to cook a meal. Oh, she'd
watched television plenty of times with John, often in his arms--
when she was heavily pregnant John would rub her back at its most
tense points, so she could have some relief--but without him, she
would only flip channels all night.

 Dana went back to the deck and got her empty glass. She paused
and glanced around the dark yard. John had planned it for ease of
maintenance, not especially beauty or use. "Do you want to plant
things?" he'd asked her. "I'd love for you to plant things."

 "Tomatoes," she'd told him. "I want to grow tomatoes."

 The yard was dark and peaceful. During the day it buzzed with
bees and twittered with birds--it smelled warm and friendly, and
the carpet of grass was cool.

 Still, Dana expected to see something peering at her from the
bushes--red or yellow eyes, dancing flames, or some other
manifestation her ancestors would know better than she.

 There was nothing in the yard but shrubbery and flowers. Dana
gave herself a shake--You're being ridiculous, you know--and went
back into the house. She locked the door: knob, chain, and bolt.
She made sure the baby monitor was on, rinsed the glass, and put it
in the dishwasher. She turned the back porch light off and the
front porch light on, set the alarm system, and locked the front
door.

She put a CD on the stereo. Her fingertips drifted along the
bookcases as she considered what to read.

 John owned more books than anyone she knew. Mostly non-fiction,
though he had a sizable novel collection, too. Finally Dana chose
one that looked well loved and settled herself in John's armchair.

 She didn't read it. She leafed through the pages, charmed by
John's underlines and margin notes. He annotated his own books. She
loved it.

 Sighing, Dana leaned against the overstuffed back, holding the
book open on her chest. She closed her eyes, letting the music fill
and soothe her mind.

 I miss John, she thought. Why hasn't he called?

 She breathed slow and deep, trying to keep calm. After losing
Mulder so brutally she had become frantically protective of John, a
feeling only intensified by their new relationship.
 Everything had moved quickly for them--too quickly, her mother's
expression had said when Dana told her they were married. Two weeks
ago they had still just called each other friends.

 But then there had been a conversation that was serious and
tearful--a hug that lingered longer than a comforting hug should--
then a kiss that led to more kisses, to touches, to caresses, to
him sweeping her into his arms and making love to her with aching
tenderness. He asked, she said yes. She said a lot of things,
actually, but mostly she said yes.

 It all still seemed slightly unreal, but Dana thought this was
because John had been gone so long. It still didn't feel like a
marriage, and it wouldn't, she thought, until they were living as a
family.

 She missed him. She wanted him home. She wanted him back in her
arms, in her bed, laughing his warm husky laugh, touching her with
his long fingers, kissing her until the world stopped turning. Oh,
he was a sweet lover--never treating her as his toy or his
possession, but not as if she was an untouchable goddess, either.
When they were together, they were simply a man who loved and a
woman who loved in return.

 She thought John would probably laugh and look at her as if she
puzzled him, as he often did, if she shared these musings with him.
That was all right. Like any good cop he trusted his intuition and
his understanding of human nature, but beyond that his worldview
was blissfully uncomplicated. After years of trying to follow
Mulder's jumps and hops, it was a relief to watch John's mind work
from point A to point B.

 She knew exactly what she loved about him--could list them off,
point by point, and had listed many of them for her mother when she
looked so disapproving. He was reliable, he was gentle, he was
intelligent and well-read, he was honest, he would never raise his
voice or his hand in anger to herself or to Will. Then there was
his lean, sculpted body, his muscled shoulders and strong legs, but
Dana thought it best to keep her physical attraction for him to
herself.

 Dana smiled, her eyes still closed. It was hard to believe how
much she missed him. She could almost catch his scent on the air.

 Something brushed her lips.

 Dana shrieked, leaping to her feet and still clutching the book
to her chest. On the way her forehead connected with something that
felt like bone, and a man's voice grunted, "Oof!" She whirled, to
see John stagger to the sofa.

 "Helluva welcome home, babe," he said, holding his jaw.

 "John! Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry! You surprised me." She put
down the book and went to him. "Let me see that."

 John lowered his hand reluctantly. "Only a week and already
you're beatin' up on me. Bully." He grinned at her, and she smiled
back, stroking his jaw.

 "I don't think you're going to bruise."
 
He tilted his chin towards her further. "I bet if you kiss it, it
won't hurt at all."
 
Dana chuckled. "You're silly."
 
"Just a little."
 
She bent to kiss his jaw, and when she allowed her lips to linger
he pulled her into his lap. "Welcome home," she murmured as she put
her arms around his neck, and she kissed his mouth.

 He'd missed her too: his lips opened and his tongue pressed
against her lips, which she opened at once. She moaned when his
tongue slipped into her mouth, and she wound her fingers into his
hair. She leaned into him, kissing him deeply as his tongue began a
thorough examination of her teeth and the insides of her cheeks.

 When he'd kissed her to his satisfaction he pulled away and
looked at her, his eyebrows raised. "You are not wearing a bra."

 "Your powers of observation are very astute." She began to unknot
his tie, kissing around his face.

 "I am learning more things about you . . ." He cupped her face in
his hand. "But why did you scream, babe?"

 "You startled me, that's all. I've been a little jumpy--I'm still
getting used to this house."

 "What's to get used to? It's just a house."

 "The noises." John shook his head, so Dana said, "It makes noises
at night--creaks and thumps, mostly. Haven't you noticed that?"

 "I guess not."

 "I've found them a little unsettling."

 "Honestly, babe, I haven't noticed any weird noises. But maybe
I'm just used to them. This is a pretty old house." He was absently
stroking her shoulder. "Maybe we have mice."

 "It doesn't sound like mice," Dana said, "but it doesn't matter."
She lay her head on his shoulder. "You're here, and I'll get used
to it."

 "I'm sorry I scared you. I wanted to surprise you."

 "Is that why you didn't call?"

 "Yep." He sighed and stretched out his legs. "We've been on
planes and in airports all day. Monica thought I should call, but
like I said, I wanted to surprise you. Which reminds me . . ." He
put her off his lap and leaned towards his garment bag--abandoned,
along with his raincoat, by the sofa. "I got you a wedding
present." He unzipped the outer pocket and started hunting around.

 "John . . . I thought we agreed we weren't doing anything like
that for now."

 "I know, but then you surprised me with this," he gestured around
the room, "so I wanted to surprise you with something too . . . if
I can ever find it." He slid off the couch to his knees, lay down
his bag, unzipped it and started poking through his clothes.

 Dana twisted her wedding band. There had been no white gown, no
champagne toasts, no path of rose petals, no priest's blessing.
John had worn a black suit and she had worn a white sundress, and
the marriage was solemnized by the Commonwealth of Virginia. A
honeymoon and maybe a formal ceremony would wait until they were
more settled.

 She'd told her mother, "I want a marriage, not a wedding," and
she thought now it was a wonderful thing to have, as unconventional
as it may seem.

 John was saying, "A couple days ago you said that it was hard to
organize everything . . . and I know you're not supposed to give
your wife anything that plugs in, but I think you'll forgive me
this time . . . where did I put that thing?" He stopped and all but
slapped his forehead. "Raincoat." He searched the inner pockets and
pulled out a small nylon case. "I got you a PDA."

 Dana sat on the edge of the sofa, took the tiny computer from his
hand and unzipped the case. "It's adorable!"

 "It does more than look cute." John got back on the couch and
Dana leaned against his side. "Right now it's just got the basic
programs and some of my freeware games. But I wrote down some
websites where you can get more programs. I wasn't entirely sure
what you'll need."

 "Games, huh?" She grinned at him.

 He coughed, smirked, and looked away. "I am a Tetris addict. I'm
not ashamed of it. Oh, and here in the memos program, there's some
stuff I wrote for you."

 "Instructions?" She tapped the program icon. John had made a
"Dana" category, with three notes inside.

 "Nope. Just some stuff I was thinking about. You don't have to
read them now." He pressed the power button, but Dana turned it
back on.

 "What were you thinking about? I want to read it."

 "Then I'm putting my stuff away." He started to stand, then
paused and looked at her. "It's . . . It's been a long time since
I've been in love, Dana."

 Dana smiled at him over the PDA case. "You wrote me love
letters," she whispered, feeling flattered and pleased and shy.

 "Yeah." He smiled too, the tops of his ears blushing pink, and
got to his feet to carry his things upstairs.
 Dana waited until he was gone to open the first letter. It was
short but heartfelt.

*Dear Dana,
* I miss your body. I miss your hands running over my back. I miss
how tight and hot you are when I'm inside you. We didn't have
enough time for each other before I had to go and God, I miss you.

 Babe, there's so much more to you than how beautiful and sexy you
are--but right now I just want to touch you. I want to kiss your
sweet mouth and soft skin. I want to feel your body loving me.

 I love you, babe. I'll be home soon.

 Love, John.*

The smile it brought felt too big for her face. She decided to
keep the other letters for when he was away again, turned off the
PDA and zipped up the nylon case. She turned off the baby monitor
and went upstairs.

 In the bedroom, John was putting dirty clothes in the hamper. He
didn't look up when she paused in the doorway. "I missed you," he
said quietly. "I felt like we'd never been so far apart."

 "We haven't," Dana said. "Not for months."

 "I fell in love with you like a car crash," he said, still not
looking at her.

 Dana crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him. She didn't
know how what she felt for him had come to be. Love had simply come.

 "I love you too," she said softly.

 He turned in her arms and kissed her. "I'd like to take a shower.
I'm grimy."

 "Okay. Do you need some dinner? Did they feed you on the plane?"

 "Sort of--it was this weird lasagna-like substance. Have you
eaten?"

 "Not yet. It's been too hot to cook."

 "Do you want to order in?"

 "No . . . I'll put something together. I bought deli meat, would
you like a sub? Turkey and provolone on multi-grain?"

 "It sounds very good for you."

 "That's the idea." She ran her hands over his chest. "You're my
guy now. Taking care of you is in the job description."

 His smile was very tender. "A sandwich would be great."

 "Good."

 "I'll make it a quick shower."

 "Okay." It took an effort to leave his arms--she loved the scent
of his soap and end-of-the-day sweat, loved the feel of his soft
shirt and the muscles beneath. She gave him a quick kiss and
resolutely stepped away. She could feel his eyes on her as she left
the room.

 On the way downstairs Dana paused at Will's room and peeked in at
him. The baby slept soundly, his fingers in his mouth. She smiled
and left the door open.

 In the kitchen she took out the makings for sandwiches from the
fridge, as well as two red apples. She slathered the bread with
brown mustard, layered the bread with romaine lettuce, turkey,
tomatoes, pickles and cheese.

 Part of her knew it was ridiculous to feel so happy doing this.
The rest of her just felt happy. Her husband was home, her family
was complete--and before the night was over they were going to make
love.

 Dana licked her lips and closed her eyes for a moment. She and
John had had sex a grand total of seven times now--including a
quickie in the front hall of her apartment while Monica impatiently
honked her car horn below--and she wanted, very much, to add to
that number.

 Dana was slicing the sandwiches into halves when she felt John's
hands on her shoulders. He kissed her neck and whispered, "Boo."

 "Eek," she whispered back, and touched his cheek. "This is ready."

 "Looks delicious." He stayed standing behind her, holding her
around the waist, his face pressed against her neck.

 She rested her hands on his forearms. "What is it?"

 "The back of your neck smells like baby powder."

 Dana inhaled, her hands gripping his wrists. She found her voice:
"We should eat. It's getting late."

 John kissed her neck and let go of her waist. "Looks good, babe,"
he said briskly, picking up the plates.

End 1/21

Draw Down the Moon DSR 2/21

"Let's sit outside for a while," John said when they had eaten and
cleaned up the kitchen. "It's a nice night."

 "We can't hear the baby monitor from outside."

 "But we can put the monitor in the windowsill and open the window."

 She hesitated, then put her hand in his. "All right."

 When they had set up the monitor to Dana's satisfaction, John led
her out to the back deck. He had  lounge chairs there, which could
be sticky and uncomfortable after the heat of the day but became
cooler as the night progressed. He sat in one and pulled Dana to
his side. Their legs entangled and Dana put her arms around his
neck and her head on his chest. He stroked her back and bare
shoulders, his breathing deep and even.

 "Do you know any of the constellations?" he whispered.

 "Quite a few." She twisted so she could point to the sky. "The
cross with dimmer stars on either side of the arms--that's Cygna,
the swan. And over here, that's Aquila--it's looks kind of like a
parallelogram. Aquarius is . . . around there somewhere.
Sagittarius is there." She pointed low on the horizon. "That's a
good one to look at through a telescope--it's got a lot of objects.
Do you know any?"

 "Uh . . . sure. That one, that looks like a smiley face is, um,
Jerry Garcia." Dana chuckled, burrowing into his arms again. "It
shares a few stars with Young Elvis, which sets when Fat Elvis
starts to rise. And over our heads is . . ." He paused, and Dana
stopped giggling against his chest. He murmured, "Over our heads is
a beautiful full moon," and tightened his arms around her.

 She squeezed him too. "It's a nice night."

 "It's a great night. Are you feeling better?"

 "I've felt better ever since I knew you were home."

 He had changed his suit for jeans and a t-shirt, and Dana started
rubbing her cheek against the soft cotton. John smoothed her hair
back from her face and caressed her cheek.
 "I'm glad," he murmured. "How's Will taking everything? Still
happy as a bug?"

 "He likes his room. He's such a happy baby in general, I can't
think of much that would upset him."

 "Even bumps and thumps?" He tickled her neck and she nipped under
his chin.

 "I know what I heard, buster--all right, I don't know what I
heard but I know I heard *something*. Don't tease."

 "Aw, honey . . ." He stroked her back and lay back to look at the
sky again.

 "Hey," she said after they had watched the stars in silence for a
while. "You never told me how the case went."

 John didn't answer for a moment. He stroked her back slowly with
his open hand. "We found the girl. Brought her home."

 "Is she okay?"

 "She'll probably need therapy for the rest of her life, but
otherwise, yeah. She's okay."

 "I'm glad."

 After a moment he said, "You know, I'd pit my skills and
intuition next to anybody's, but I still feel like I'm missing
something."

 "Like what?"

 "The piece of my brain that makes the leaps--that connects the
pieces. Most of the time I feel like I'm only seeing half the
picture."

 "But you did find her, John."

 He wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger before he said,
"Mulder would have found her sooner."

 Dana raised her head and firmly kissed his mouth. "You are not
going to spend the rest of your life comparing yourself to Mulder.
Period."

 His eyes met hers. "If you say so."

 "I say so." She kissed him again. "You're a good investigator.
You have good instincts and you're learning to trust them more.
You're compassionate and caring. You have no reason to doubt
yourself--no reason at all."

 Again he paused, then leaned forward to kiss her and put his hand
on her waist. He tried to keep his kiss was gentle and undemanding,
and she smiled against his lips. She moved up onto her knees and
held his face as she kissed him.

 His body shivered beneath her touch. He grasped her sides,
responding to her kisses with soft sighs in his throat. His hips
rose to bump against her.

 For moment he paused and looked at her. "Should we go inside?"

 She shook her head. "Not yet."

 He nodded and pulled her into a kiss again. His hands slid down
her sides to her legs, and he rested them on the backs of her knees.

 Her palms pressed against his chest, and her thumbs plucked at
his shirt. Her fingers slipped beneath the fabric and caressed his
stomach, moved up to stroke his muscles and circle his nipples.

 John broke of the kiss with a grunt and yanked his shirt off.
"Aw, yeah," he groaned when Dana bent her head and flicked her
tongue over his nipples. He gripped her thighs and leaned back his
head, closing his eyes. "I missed you so much, baby . . ."

 "I missed you too," she whispered. "I wanted you so much." She
cupped his face in her hands. "This  house isn't home without you."

She kissed his mouth, stealing the breath from his lungs and
leaving him gasping.

 "It's good to be home," he murmured, stroking her hair.

 She smiled once more and leaned back on her heels. She crossed
her arms and grasped the hem of her top. Swiftly she pulled her top
over her head and let it drop to the deck.
 John held her waist, just above the swell of her hips. His tanned
hands looked very dark against her moonlit skin. Her nipples were
dark pink and erect, and hot when he touched them with his tongue.

She inhaled, and John could feel her blood racing beneath her skin.
 He ran his fingertips over her ribs, his touch gentle with wonder.

Dana raked her hand his hair, smiling down at him, and softly
hummed when his fingers slid beneath the waistband of her panties.
He stroked her lower belly and Dana closed her eyes.

 "We really should go inside," he said, though he didn't want to
leave the sheltering darkness and the soft night breeze. Moonlight
made Dana's skin glow like a pearl, and John had an odd notion that
he could taste the moonlight in the coolness of her skin.
 
On the other hand, there was only a fence and a hedge between them
and the eyes of the neighbors, and he didn't want to shock them or
provide them with a free show.

 "Mmm . . . no, please, not yet. It's so peaceful." Her head fell
back and she pressed her hips down onto his hand. "So--mm--peaceful-
-oh, John . . ."

 He unzipped her shorts and tugged them and her panties down her
hips. Dana grabbed his shoulders. She wriggled out of the rest of
her clothes and shivered as he parted her thighs.

 The baby's wail came through the monitor. At once Dana scrambled
off the lounge chair, scooped John's shirt from the deck, and
pulled it over her head as she hurried back into the house.

 John didn't move. He laid his hands on his chest, listening to
William's cries, his squeal when he saw his mother, and Dana's soft
murmuring as she lifted him from the crib. "What's wrong, little
man? You're not hungry already, are you?" William babbled back to
her, and John could imagine the expressions on their faces:
William's joy at being in his mother's arms, Dana's peace and
contentment as she held her baby close. They loved each other in a
way John envied, a little--exclusively, fully.

 "John? I'm guessing you're still outside." He heard Dana sigh.
"It's later than I thought, and I need to feed Will. Maybe we
ought to rendevous later  . . . Don't fall asleep on me, okay?"

 "No chance of that, babe," he murmured, even knowing she couldn't
hear him. He shifted, grimacing as his erection rubbed against his
fly.

 When he'd gotten his pulse under control, he gathered up Dana's
abandoned clothes and went into the house. He turned off the baby
monitor and shut the window, locked it and the back door, and
checked the security system.

 All was well. His house--"*our* house," he corrected himself--was
safe and secure. He had promised this to Dana when she agreed to
marry him: nothing, no one, would lay a hand on her or William ever
again. Not while he drew breath.

 He knew it would be a hard promise to keep--but he could think of
nothing more worthwhile.

 Slowly John climbed the stairs, and paused outside the door of
William's room. Dana had mentioned wanting to paint it, and had
only put out William's favorite toys and vital furniture. This
included a rocking chair--John's gift to her before Will was born.

 Dana was in the rocking chair, nursing William. She had taken off
the t-shirt and put on her bathrobe. William drank from her breast
with noisy gulps, one chubby fist wrapped around her finger. Dana
had turned on only one small lamp, bathing the room in soft golden
light.

 John's chest tightened and unconsciously he sighed. Dana looked
up from the baby's face. "Did you hear me over the monitor?" she
asked, her voice pitched low.

 "Yeah, I did."

 "Is it all right?"

 That's a strange question, he thought, and said, "Of course. I'm
not gonna make you stop feeding the baby just because I want to
have sex."

 "I know . . ." She lowered her head, obscuring her face with her
hair. "I'm still getting used to this marriage thing."

 "The key word is compromise . . . or so I've heard." He said
gently, "I'll be in the bedroom. Whenever you're ready."

 "Thanks." She added, her tone mischievous: "Are you going to put
on something special for me?"

 "I'll see what I can dig up." He started down the hall.

 "John?" she called after him.

 He went back to the nursery and slouched against the doorframe.
"Yeah?"

 "We've never talked about what we want William to call you."

 "Oh." His hand clutched the folded clothes a little tighter. "I
hadn't thought about it. I mean, he's not going to call me anything
for another year or so."

 "I know, but I've been thinking about it anyway. I think it would
just confuse him if we had him call you John. When he's old enough
to understand the whole stepfather thing, we'll explain it--but I
think, especially when he's little, that it's important he just
know you as Daddy."

 A lump formed in John's throat. "Okay," he said.

 "Okay." She wiggled her hand, making William's hand wave. "We're
almost done."

 "Okay," he said again. He crossed the room and bent to kiss
William's hot forehead. "G'night, Will," he whispered, then kissed
Dana too. She touched his cheek and turned her attention back to
the baby.

 He left the nursery and went to their bedroom. He put Dana's
clothes into the hamper, but hung his own t-shirt back in the
closet. He'd only worn it for an hour, it would be fine for the
weekend.

 But, what had she meant by "something special"? Pajamas? He
didn't own anything he thought of as sexy. He rubbed his sandpapery
chin, wondering if he should shave. Most of the time Dana didn't
seem to mind his stubble, but they'd only planned to have sex once
before, on their wedding night.

 The rest of the time . . . he grinned, heading towards the
bathroom. The rest of the time they were swept up in passion like
hormone-addled kids.
 She deserved a close shave. Hell, he thought, she deserves
champagne and satin sheets and rose petals. Someday he would give
them to her--but for tonight she would get the slow, sweet lovin'
he loved to give her.

 Smiling, he slapped on the shaving cream.

 He could hear Dana singing from down the hall, her voice low and
husky. He loved to hear her sing, though she was too shy to do it
in front of him. It was a reassuring sound--it told him someone was
home, and happy to be there.
 When he had shaved and washed up, John went back into the bedroom
and turned down the sheets on the bed. Dana was still singing, even
more softly now. He thought he might go back to the nursery, but he
didn't want Dana to think he was rushing her. He could wait.

 John lay on the bed, his arm behind his head, and closed his eyes.

They had not yet had sex in this bed, and the thought was enough
to give him a tremor of anticipation. His bed--his wife--sex with
his wife for the first time in a week--he'd been longing for her
all week and now, finally, he could touch her again.

 For a moment he thought Dana wanted to sneak upon him like he'd
snuck up on her--he felt someone bouncing on the bed and heard a
giggle in his ear. "Dana?" he said, opening his eyes.

No one was there.

 Odd.

 John rubbed his face and wondered if he was more tired than he
realized. He sat up just as Dana came into the bedroom. "He's
asleep," she said, tucking her hair behind her ears, "for the
night, I hope." She paused in front of him and put her hands on his
shoulders. "Are you okay?"

 "Yeah." He held onto her waist. "I dozed off, I think."

 "Would you rather sleep?" Her hands slid across his shoulders.

 "No." He pulled her onto his lap so that she knelt, straddling
him. "I'm not ready to sleep yet."

 Dana continued sliding her hands across his shoulders, a half-
smile on her lips. John felt the same smile creep over his mouth,
and he tugged open the tie of her bathrobe. The scent of aroused
woman filled his nostrils, overpowered his senses.  He slid the
robe from her shoulders, and her breath came faster as the robe
dropped to the floor. He began sliding his hands, just as slowly as
her hands moved, up and down her sides. From the swell of her hips
to the dip of her waist to the firmness of her ribs to the softness
of her breasts, he touched her with his fingertips and palms.

 When she was trembling and swaying on her feet, John rose and
lifted her, to lay her carefully on the bed. She watched him
through half-closed eyes as he knelt over her and repeated his slow
exploration of her body, this time with his open lips.

 His mouth touched scar tissue and he paused. He knew how it had
happened, and that it had been years ago, long before they met.
Still, it made his heart pound and his eyes burn, as if it had
happened just moments before.

 He kissed the scar, and felt Dana's fingers in his hair. He
pressed his cheek against her belly and she caressed his face. He
moved up her body to kiss her mouth and let her wrap her strong
arms around him. She always held him so tight. He loved that.

 After several minutes, while they kissed and touched, Dana pushed
gently on his shoulders until he lay flat on his back. She held
herself over him, giving him a mischievous smile before dipping her
head to graze her lips over his chest. The tips of her hair brushed
his skin, and it was hard to say which touch made him gasp.
 He lay his hand over the back of her neck and closed his eyes.

"Dana," he breathed. He never said much while they were making
love, but she liked to hear her name.

 Dana hummed, rubbing her nose in the hair on his lower belly as
she carefully unbuttoned his fly. Her tongue touched his skin and
he moaned aloud. She shoved her hands into his clothes, palming his
hips, and pushed his pants down to his knees as she kissed his
stomach and thighs.
 "No leopard-skin thong, I see," she whispered. She licked the tip
of his cock with the tip of her tongue.

 "Must still be at the dry-cleaners," John muttered, and Dana
chuckled before closing her lips around the head of his cock.

 John exhaled a groan. "Yeah, baby . . ." His body tensed and he
thrust his hand into her hair. She couldn't take him into her
throat but he didn't mind--she more than compensate for it with her
wet tongue and clasping fingers. He moaned happily.

 Still, it wasn't long before he pulled out of her mouth. He had
no intention of coming without her.

 Their eyes met. She was panting, her skin dewy with perspiration.
Slowly she licked her lower lip.

 It was more than John could bear: he growled, "C'mere, you," as
he rose onto his knees and reached for her. She laughed at his
eagerness, opening her arms and legs to him, and let him roll onto
her back, kissing him.

 He thrust into her slowly as she panted against his lips and her
nails dug into his back. "Oh . . ."

 "Yeah," he answered her. "Uh-huh." He kissed her face, licked her
cheeks and her eyelids.

 She cupped his face and pulled his mouth back to hers. "Kiss me."

 He kissed her deeply, rocking his hips against hers. "I love you,
baby," he whispered. "I love you . . ." He leaned on one arm and
reached the other between them to stroke her clit. Her neck arched
and she whimpered, scraping her fingernails over his back.

 "Ooo . . ." Her legs quivered and she raised them higher so that
her knees pressed against his ribs. "Mm, John . . ."

 "I want to give you everything, baby . . . everything you ever
dreamed of . . ." Her clitoris felt like as plump as a cherry,
slippery and hot, and her flesh surrounding him rippled and
clenched. She caught his lower lip between her teeth and suckled
it, nibbled it, soothed it with her tongue.
 
"No promises, baby . . . just love me . . . love me . . ."

 "Always." He shuddered as she slid her hands up his chest.
"Always. No matter what. Always."

 Her hips demanded the time for slow was over: she clutched at
him, clenched at him. "John," she breathed, and even more faintly,
"John . . ." She was the only woman he'd ever known who got more
quiet as she came. It had taken the fourth or fifth time, in fact,
that he learned to read her body for signs of orgasm, not her voice.

 He held himself on both arms now, moving fast and hard, watching
the aftershocks flick over her face. She didn't turn her face away
when he pressed her cheek against hers, groaned into her ear. She
kissed him, gathered him to her, stroked his hair. He simply lay
against her and breathed.

End 2/21

Draw Down the Moon 3

Most mornings, William awoke first. He would happily babble to
himself until he wanted attention and started to cry.

 John lay awake with his eyes closed, listening to the baby's
noises. Dana was asleep in his arms, her round bottom pressed
against his groin, her breasts heavy in his hands. He wanted to
knead them, to rock his hips against her ass and see if they could
get in some morning sex--but with William already awake, it was
only a matter of time before the day began.

 He gave her breasts a friendly squeeze and her shoulder a kiss,
and got out of bed. He went into the bathroom, used it, washed his
hands, and went back into the bedroom to put on his bathrobe. Dana
was still asleep, rolled into a ball and her fist tucked under her
chin. John smiled and touched her hair, and went into the nursery.

 William was conversing with the ceiling, his hands flailing and
his body wiggling like he was being tickled. He squealed when he
saw John.

 John picked him up and kissed his head. "Hey, Willie boy. Who are
you talking to, hm?" He kissed the baby again and laid him on the
changing table. "Let's see if we can't give mommy a better morning
. . ." He unsnapped William's onsie and made a face at the smell.
"Good lord, child! What are they feeding you?" William giggled and
kicked his feet. "Oh yeah, you think you're funny . . ." He tickled
William's tummy and William grabbed at his face again.

 They talked to each other like that while John changed William's
diaper and cleaned him up, John joking and William squealing his
William-noises. He was a happy child, which amazed John--Dana had
been under so much stress during her pregnancy he'd been sure
William would be high-strung and difficult. But it was as if he
knew how loved he was, as if he knew he had no cause to fear.

 Bearing the newly-diapered baby, John returned to the bedroom
where Dana was still asleep.  He hesitated a moment, then laid the
baby on his belly beside Dana's face. William at once began bumping
his head against her as he tried to pull himself closer. Dana woke
up after a moment, startled and blinking. "Well, good morning," she
said, her voice still husky with sleep.

 "Morning. I changed him but I think he's hungry."

 "Thanks. How are you, little man?" she said, hauling herself up
to sit. She picked up the baby and kissed his plump belly before
settling him against her breast. The baby smacked loudly, and
Dana's wince said he clamped onto her breast with vigor.

 John sat onto the bed, then lay back on his elbow, watching them,
trying not to focus on her morning-golden skin, sex- and sleep-
mussed hair and sloping breasts.  It struck him as odd sometimes:
he'd never known her other than as a mother. Even before he knew of
the pregnancy, there'd been gravity and grief and concern for the
future in her every step. He'd seen it, without seeing it.

 He said, "I'm making it a short day today. Just long enough to
make my report."

 "All right." Her eyes were closed, her head leant back against
the headboard.

 "So if you want to do something this afternoon . . ."

 "Do something?" Her eyelids fluttered open. "Like what?"

 "Just . . . something. Anything. Go buy those tomatoes you want
to plant, anything."

 "Oh," she said, drawing the word out in comprehension. "Is this
what married life is about, John? Running errands together and
squeezing in sex between feedings?" She smiled at him and he smiled
back.

 "Yup. Sex and groceries, that's what it's all about." He watched
her for a moment more, then said, "Do you think you could get a
sitter for tomorrow night? I want to take you out on a date."

 "A real date? Like eating at a restaurant with tablecloths?"

 "And maybe even seeing a movie. Do you remember movies? They're
giant moving pictures and they even have sound now."

 "Exotic. I'll see if my mother's free. " She stroked William's
head with her fingertips.

 "Monica's offered to watch William if we want to go out, you know."

 "That's nice of her . . . but I don't know how much experience
she's had with babies.  I'd rather ask my mother, for now."

 "Okay." He said, "I'd like to buy you an engagement ring."

 Dana looked up, startled. "But I don't need an engagement ring."

 "But I need to give you one." He wrapped his hand around the bump
in the sheets that was her foot. "I want you to have one."

 "You don't think the wedding band says 'I'm taken' enough?" Her
tone was light and teasing but there was a faint furrow between her
eyebrows.

 "I just want to give you one, that's all."

 She nodded, focusing on the baby again. "We'll see. It's getting
late, John," she added gently.

 He sighed and pushed himself up. "I'd rather hang out with you
two."

 "We'll have the weekend." She arched an eyebrow at him
significantly. "Right?"

 "Absolutely. Nothing but a national disaster will keep me away."

 "Good."

 Smiles again, and it occurred to John that despite friendship and
sex and marriage, they were still uncertain with each other. He
went to her and kissed her, caressed her cheek and smiled at her.

"I'm looking forward to it," he said, and then went into the
bathroom to prepare for the day.

 He'd missed this. Waking up next to a warm body, playful talk,
planning more ways to spend time together. When he'd come home the
night before, even the house had felt different: larger and more
sheltering, a place for people to live instead of where one man
stopped before leaving again.

 And, he decided while he showered, he would surprise her with the
engagement ring, sometime when she didn't expect it. And he'd ask
her mother for help choosing it--Dana would like something simple
and classic, he thought, but what exactly that meant was a mystery
to him.

 Dana was still absorbed in nursing when John came out of the
shower, toweling his hair. He went to the bureau to dress, and
paused. "Dana."
 
"Hmm?"
 
"Did you do this?"
 
"Do what?"
 
"Put all my change into piles."
 
"No. I didn't even notice your change, sweetheart."
 
"Weird," he said, and opened a drawer to take out his underwear.
"Luke and I, when he was learning to count, we'd divide my change
like this, into dollars. He knew how to make change by the time he
was six."

 "And you didn't do it last night?"

 "No. Just put it down like I usually do. Weird," he said again,
and went to his closet to choose a suit.

 "I like the way you look in blue," Dana offered, and John laughed.

 "Then blue it is."

 ***

Monica greeted him with guarded cheer when John arrived in the
office. "How's your bride?"

 "Good. Missed me. How are you?"

 "Just fine. " She shuffled some papers on her desk. "And the baby?"

 "He's great, Monica. What's with you this morning?"

 "Nothing's with me," she muttered, but then she looked up and
blurted, "Don't you worry? I worry."

 "Of course I worry," John said, surprised. "I worry all the time--
but I know Dana is doing all she can to watch over him and we're
doing all we can to find the next threat--"

"I know all that," Monica said, waving her hand. "I mean about
Dana."

 "She's a lot better than she was a few weeks ago," John replied,
still puzzled. "She's sleeping better and she's a lot happier--spit
it out, Mon. Whatever you're really trying to say."

 She pursued her mouth. "I'm just afraid this is too soon. That
you moved too fast. I mean, she lost Mulder less than a year ago--
are you sure you're doing the right thing? Are you sure she's being
honest with you?"

 John clenched his teeth. "Yes."

 "You know I love Dana, John--and you know I'd do anything for
Will- -but I still can't convince myself marrying her is really the
best thing, for Dana or for you."

 John could say nothing for a moment. It would be a lie to say he
didn't have a few fears about their relationship--but they weren't
the sort of thing he wanted to discuss with anyone.

 Still, he fought the urge to tell Monica to mind her own fucking
business, and said, "Our marriage isn't just about Will."

 "Then what is it about? I'm just afraid--"

"Monica!" he said sharply, and she shut her mouth. "I know it was
sudden and I know it was fast but it was the right thing to do. I
love William. I love Dana. She loves me. That's all that matters."

 Monica nodded and murmured, "Yes. You're right. Of course. I'm
sorry."

 He bit his lip and said, "Thanks for caring. I mean that. But if
you could just see her, Monica, you'd understand."

 Again she nodded, and she started typing on her computer, her
brows furrowed with concentration. John watched her for a moment,
but the subject appeared to be closed. He turned to his own work,
wanting even more to get home soon.

 ***

It was nearly one in the afternoon when he arrived home, to the
scent of something spicy baking in the oven and the sounds of Dana
playing with William on the floor of the front room. "Who's a baby!
Who's a baby! Are you the baby?" as she tickled his belly with her
hair and he giggled and shrieked.

 John smiled despite himself--rehashing what still felt like a
failure had put him in a sour mood--and crossed his arms over his
chest. 

"Look at this girl that I married," he said, and Dana looked up at
him, her face flushed and grinning. "Look at her. You'd think she
didn't have a care in the world."

 "Hello, my husband," she said, picking up the baby, who kicked
his legs, still wanting to play. She came to John and kissed him.

 "Hello, my wife," he said, and took William from her arms so he
could give Dana a proper kiss. "I'm yours until Monday morning."

 "Hooray," she murmured, putting her arms around him. She rested
her cheek against his chest. "Aside from buying tomato plants and
going out tomorrow night, what do you want to do?"

 "Whatever needs doing, babe. Did you get a sitter?"

 "My mother will be over at seven, provided she can have us for
dinner on Sunday. I think she wants to grill you about your
intentions towards me and her grandson."

 "Didn't marrying you state my intentions clearly enough?"

 "She worries," Dana said as if that explained everything. "And
your mother called this morning. She wants to know when we're
coming to visit."

 John groaned. His parents had been surprised, to put it mildly,
to hear about the sudden marriage, but he'd hoped they could
contain their impatience for a few months. "What did you tell her?"

 "I said it would depend on your work schedule. We talked for
about an hour. It was very nice."

 "Well, that's good. I hope you'll like her."

 "I like her already. Your father didn't have much to say."

 "He never does." He kissed her hair and handed back the baby,
removing his tie from William's fist. "I'm going to change clothes.
Lunch first, then shopping?"

 "Yes. It'll be ready in about twenty minutes."

 "Thanks." One more kiss and then he went upstairs.

 As usual he put his change from the day on top of the dresser,
but then he paused. He drew his fingers through the coins,
deliberately scattering the pile. He shook his head at himself and
continued taking off his suit.

 ***

"Given the choice," Dana said, "I'd rather have a dog."

 "Than an engagement ring?"

 "Yes. What do I need an engagement ring for, John? I hope there's
not a territorial motive behind this."

 "No . . ." John paused to look at a flat of strawberry plants,
then shook his head--it was too late in the year to plant those. 
"It's just part of the tradition."

 "So are blue garters and throwing a bouquet and dancing the Hokey
Pokey, but we didn't do those."

 "I hope someday we will. And I want to give you an engagement
ring."

 "And I'd rather get a dog." She had put Will's carrier in the
seat of the home store cart, and she dangled plastic keys over his
hands for him to grab. "Children should have pets."

 John took her hand as they continued wandering down the aisle.
"Big dog or small dog?"

 "Medium-dog. Terriers are good dogs for kids, I've heard. A
German shepherd would be good, too, I think. I'd feel guilty having
a big dog in an apartment but with the yard I think a big dog would
be pretty happy."

 "So, a medium-to-large dog."

 "Yes. We could go by the Humane Society later and see what
puppies they have." She raised her brows, smiling. "I won't insist
on the name."

 "We'll talk about that," John said, but couldn't resist smiling
back. He tickled William's drooly chin. "What do you think, Willie
boy? Would you like a dog?"

 "Plus," Dana added, "plus, dogs can sense things."

 "There hasn't been an earthquake in Virginia since the Fifties."

 "They can sense more things than earthquakes."

 "Dana, you're going to start on the noises again, are you?"

 "I heard something inexplicable, that's all. I don't want to take
any chances."

 He sighed and stopped walking, and held tightly onto her hand as
he said, "Babe, I know it's been a hard year for you--an impossible
year. But you're safe now. You're safe. Don't go looking for
trouble where it doesn't exist. Okay?" He raised her hand to his
mouth and kissed the back. "Okay?"

 "I'm not looking for trouble." She raised her eyes to him. "But I
don't see any reason not to take every precaution we can."

 There would be no arguing with her about this, he could see it in
her eyes. "All right. We'll get a dog."

 ***

When they finished shopping and came home again later that
evening, Dana took the sleeping baby up to the nursery and John put
the plants and paint in the garage. They had tomatoes and bulbs and
late-summer flowers, and pale blue paint for William's room. She
had worried so much about changing things while she was moving in,
but that phase had obviously passed.

 That chore done, John hesitated, then climbed the stairs and went
into the bedroom. It's ridiculous, he thought, why would someone
break in to play with my change . . .

 On top of the bureau were four piles of coins, separated into
dollars and neatly stacked.

 The hairs on the back of John's neck stood up, and he scattered
the stacks. "Weird," he said again, and decided not to tell Dana.

End 3/21

Draw Down the Moon 4

She was dreaming.  She had to be, because there was no other way
Emily could be standing in Dana's old apartment living room with
William in her arms.

 "Emily," she whispered, and the word seemed to drift across the
room.

 The little girl smiled and jogged the baby, who was almost too
heavy for her to hold. They had the same dimples, the same round
cheeks, the same blue-green eyes. "Look, Mommy, it's my brother."

 "Yes, sweetie." Dana approached the children cautiously, and
knelt down to look Emily in the face. "His name is William."

 "I want to keep him, Mommy."

 Something constricted in Dana's throat, and she whispered, "But
so do I, Emily. I want to keep him with me."

 "I want to play with him, Mommy." She hugged William closer,
making the baby squeal and squirm with discomfort. "He's got such
tiny hands."

 "He's only five months old. Emily, may I hold him now?"

 Emily's eyes blazed at her. "No, Mommy, he's mine! He's mine now!"
Her voice changed as she spoke, becoming deep and cavernous and
echoing--and she grew, no longer a little girl but something
horrific, something gray and ancient and dead.

 The creature towered over Dana, and in its arms William screamed
with terror. "He's mine, Mommy!" it croaked as dust swirled in the
air around it and the ground shook. "I want to keep him! He belongs
with me now!"

 Dana closed her eyes at the force and stench of the creature's
breath, and screamed with all her strength, "Give me back my baby!"

But when she reached out her hands to snatch William from the
creature's grasp all she touched were dust and ashes.

 The air around the creature churned like a tornado, with William
and the creature's malevolent face at the core of the fulcrum,
rising into the air. "Please," Dana begged, "please, give me back
my baby . . . Please."

 The creature only continued ascending to the sky, William little
more than a pink blur behind the curtain of dust. "He's mine,
Mommy! I'm keeping him now!"

 "No . . ."  Her arms outstretched, she screamed, "William--"


"William," she whispered through a dry mouth, and was five steps
away from the bed before she realized she was awake.

 It didn't matter--she had to hold William, had to smell and touch
him before she drew another breath. She ran down the hall and
scooped him into her arms, causing him to wail. "You're okay . . .
you're okay," she whispered, stroking his head. He smelled like he
always did, like sour milk and baby powder and fabric softener. He
was warm and solid, real from his soft fontanel to his clenched
toes.

 "You're okay," Dana whispered, clinging to him. "You're okay."

 She was so tense that once again she started when John laid his
hand on her back, but she was grateful at least this time she
didn't scream. "It's me," he said a moment too late, but she rested
her forehead against his shoulder anyway. "Is he okay? I didn't
hear him cry until a second ago."

 "He's fine." I'm the one who's a mess, she thought as John
wrapped his arms around them both. She pressed her nose against his
chest, inhaling the warm sleepy scent of him.

 "Shh, shh," he murmured, and Dana had the feeling he was talking
to her, not the baby.

 She sagged against him, suddenly tired to her bones. It had been
such a good weekend--even if her mother seemed determined to
dislike John and had questioned him on Sunday about everything from
his education to what ended his first marriage--and Dana had been
happy. She'd had hopes of peaceful days and loving nights, of her
little family only growing closer as the years went by.

 Now this--nightmares as terrible and intense as those she'd had
just after Mulder died.  She could still taste the ashes in her
mouth. It did not speak to her of a peaceful mind.

 "Did he have a bad dream, do you think?" John murmured. "Is that
what woke you?"

 "No. He didn't--I did."

 He sighed. "Dana . . ." and stroked her back. "Here, give me
William. Maybe I can calm him down."

 Wordless, she handed over the baby and sat in the rocking chair,
drawing up her legs beneath her nightshirt. John held the baby to
his bare chest and whispered to him as he slowly paced back and
forth. After a while William's harsh frightened sobs calmed into
whimpers, and then light snores. "Okay, Willie boy," John said as
he carefully laid the baby back in the crib. "Sleepy time now,
okay? That's a good boy." He stayed by the crib a moment, looking
at William with a thoughtful expression, and then raised his head
and smiled faintly at Dana. He tilted his head towards the door, so
Dana rose and followed him out of the nursery.

 Instead of leading her back to the bedroom, however, he turned
towards the stairs and went down to the kitchen. Dana hesitated: it
was only a few hours before John had to leave for work, surely he'd
rather sleep than talk. Still, she joined him downstairs.

 He was filling a mug with milk when she came into the kitchen,
that same thoughtful expression on his face. "A little warm milk to
help you sleep," he said.

 "Thanks." She wrapped her arms around herself and leaned against
one of the counters.

 He put the mug into the microwave and pressed the buttons, then
leaned against the opposite counter and folded his arms too. "You
know," he said quietly, "for a year or so after Luke died I had
dreams just about every night, where he'd tell me it was my fault
he was dead."

 "Oh, John."

 "I know. The department made me take bereavement counseling, you
know. You can't do your job when you're angry. The counsellor, she
was nice--a little New Age-y, but very understanding. The dreams
were my own guilt, she said. I believe that. Dreams are just . . .
dreams. Just the mind talking to itself."

 "Not always," Dana said, when the microwave dinged and John moved
to take out the mug. He handed it to her and she took it with a
soft, "Thanks."

 "What do you mean?"

 "Sometimes they're more."

 "Prophetic dreams?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

 "Yes. Sometimes. Or a message."
 
"So, you're afraid the dream you had tonight was a message?"

 She sipped her milk and didn't meet his eyes. "I don't know. I
hope not." She paused. "Have I ever told you about my daughter?"

 "Not much."

 "Sometimes I think I've let her go. That I've moved on. But I
don't think I'll ever stop grieving her, not really."
 
"That's the way it should be," John said unexpectedly. "She was
your child."

 "But just for a little while."

 "Dana . . . The length of time doesn't make the feeling any less
genuine. It's grief. It's hard. It wrings you out and you ask
yourself a thousand times if there wasn't just one more thing you
could have done to make things different. But thinking that way
will make you crazy. Trust me," he added with a ghost of a smile.
"Besides, you've got Will."

 "Who's being chased by so many factions I can't even keep track
of them."

 "We've always gotten him back, Dana. And now that we've got a
better idea of what we're looking for, we can keep them from
getting that close to him." At last he crossed the kitchen and
wrapped her up in his arms again. He kissed her forehead. "Will's
my second chance," he said softly. "I'm not going to let anyone
hurt him."

 She put down her mug so she could hold him, and couldn't resist
teasing him. "I know. You only love me for my baby."

 He laughed. "Right. It has nothing to do with how much fun you
are."

 "Oh, I'm not fun."

 "You're tons of fun, once you relax a little." He cupped her face
in his hand, smiling down at her. "You're my best time, Dana."

 Happiness, sweet and warm, coursed through her body, surprising
her. She nuzzled her cheek into his hand. He was right, she
thought. Just her mind talking to itself. She had to let go of her
worries, accept that they were safe and nothing would hurt them
while John was alive.

 She stood up on her toes to kiss him, and refused to think of to
whom she could turn if anything happened to John.

 ***

It wasn't until they were back in bed, John already half asleep in
her arms, that she remembered the date. Damn it, she thought, and
slipped out of bed.

 In the bathroom she washed her thighs, frowning because there was
nothing more she could do. Pills were out of the question while she
was breastfeeding, and the only method of contraception she had on
hand was the box of sponges under the sink. John had offered to
wear a condom more than once, but she'd been confident in her
ability to remember the days and told him she'd let him know when
they needed one. All things one had to plan for to use.

 Dana rinsed out the washcloth and hung it over the side of the
bathtub, then leaned against the sink and looked at herself in the
mirror. She looked pale and worried, not like a woman who just got
thoroughly  and deliciously loved by her husband. She crossed her
eyes and grimaced, and turned off the light. She went back to bed
and eased under the covers. John, no use at all for a good half
hour after sex, wrapped her up in his arms and sloppily kissed the
crown of her head with a satisfied hum.
 
Would it be better, she thought, to tell him her worries now or
wait until she knew there was something to worry about?  No, this
was serious--this wasn't like deciding John would be Daddy to
William or that she would take his name. This would change things,
if it were true.

 "John," she whispered, and again he hummed. She turned over to
look into his face, and he looked back with sleepy eyes. "John, I
think I might be pregnant."

 That woke him. He sat up, holding her upper arms, and said, "What
makes you think that?"

 "Because I just remembered what day it is, and we didn't use
anything."
 
He looked faintly stunned. "But you--I mean--you said you'd keep
track."
 
"I was a little preoccupied tonight." A strangely ironic dream,
now that she thought about it: dreaming of her dead child
distracting her into conceiving again.  "I mean, I won't know for
certain for another few weeks, but it's possible and I want you to
be prepared."

 "Jesus," he said and finally let her go.

 She didn't know what reaction she'd been expecting, but it wasn't
this. "Don't you want another child?" she said quietly.

 He scrubbed his hand through his hair. "I--no. I mean--no. Do you?
Really?"

 "I think I do." She leaned back against the pillows and crossed
her hands over her belly. "I do. I would have preferred more than
fourteen months between children, but this isn't the end of the
world."

 "Having Will almost killed you, Dana, and I don't want to watch
you go through that again."

 "Is that the only reason?" she said, quieter still. "Because of
what it does to my health?"

 "Yes. No." He frowned. "Dana. I don't know if I can do that again.
With Will it's different. Loving Will is like loving you--it's
part of loving you. He's part of you. But I don't think--" He shut
his eyes and shook his head, sighing. "No. I can't do it again,
Dana. I can't love another child."

 "Is this the kind of thing you'd leave me over?" Dana said,
surprised at how calm she sounded.

 "God, Dana! Of course not!"

 "So, you'd stay with me and let the resentment build, and take it
out on the child?" God, was she always this dispassionate when her
heart was breaking?

 "Dana," he said again, and knelt in front of her. He took her
face in his hands and kissed her deeply. "I love you so much," he
said slowly. "And I wish I could be happy at the possibility but
right now I am just scared."

 Dana studied him a moment, then put her hand on his wrist and
turned her head to kiss his palm. Fear she could understand. Fear
she could forgive. "And I could be wrong," she said. "I may have
had only the one chance."

 "You know I want to give you everything you want, baby," he said,
his voice soft and urgent. "And if this is what you want--"

"You'd have a child you don't want just because I do?"

 "Maybe 'don't want' is too strong a term," he said slowly. "Maybe
it's more like . . . 'am afraid to want.'"

Again she studied him. "I have just realized we have a lot to talk
about."
 
"Yeah. I guess we do."

 She stroked his face. Not heartbreak, just a flat note in their
harmonious world. They'd figure it out--despite every difference
they had, they'd come so far in such a short time, and she was
willing to compromise, yield, and choose her battles. Love, she
thought, is also about fighting fair. She said, "But not right now.
You need your beauty sleep," and he chuckled.

 "I love you," he said with something like anxiety.

 "And I can't even start to name the ways I love you."

 He smiled and kissed her cautiously, and they lay down again,
both aware of how darkness had fled the bedroom since they first
awoke.
John put his hand on her belly and said, "Maybe it'll be something
wonderful."

 "New life always is," Dana said, and smiled when he squeezed her
close.

 ***

For the fourth morning in a row John's change was neatly stacked
for counting on the dresser top, but Dana decided nothing was going
to bother her today and made pancakes for breakfast.

 "You know what I'd love," John said as they were kissing goodbye
on the front porch.

 "A daughter," she said, and he nearly smiled.

 "Something simpler, for now. I'd love for you to surprise me some
time, show up at the office and take me out to lunch."

 "I could surprise you like that," she said. She kissed him all
the way down the stairs, and only let him go because she was in her
bathrobe and slippers and he really had to get on the highway. They
waved to each other after he backed down the driveway and into the
street, and she stayed on the porch, watching him, as he drove away.

 When she turned around to re-enter the house, there was a little
boy standing in the doorway. He was blond with a serious face, and
his mouth moved without a sound.

 "William?" she said, which made no sense at all.

 Then the boy was gone, and there was no one else around but the
baby, making noises at the ceiling as if talking to someone she
couldn't see.

End 4/21

Draw Down the Moon 5

John poured himself a cup of coffee, sat down at his desk, turned
on his computer, and thought about love.

 He thought about a cherubic-faced girl, a blonde mischievous boy,
and William's bright curious eyes. He thought of the way Dana had
looked when she was pregnant, how round and radiant she had been.
He thought about William's "I know you" gurgle and the way the
baby lay so trustingly against John's shoulder. He thought about
how Dana slept the same way, relaxing completely, her body limp
with belief in him.

 He thought about the softness of her skin across her lower back.

 He rubbed his eyes and watched his e-mail download, the usual mix
of science and bunkum that made up his day. He'd developed a way of
communicating with the crackpots, a calm, authoritative manner that
impressed him very much, since mostly he wanted to tell them to
move out of their parents' basement and stop playing so much
Dungeons and Dragons, go out with a girl and leave the science
fiction in the video store where it belonged. The scientists were
the hard ones: they had proofs and facts to back up their theories,
and they were even more urgent than the crackpots. He never knew
what to say to them. He forwarded them to Monica and let her deal
with it.

 Monica came in and said good morning, and followed his routine:
coffee, desk, computer. "Did you have a good weekend?"

 Dana's mother hates me and I may be a father again soon, despite
every instinct against it, but otherwise . . . "Yes. Did you?"

 "Uh-huh. A friend came into town to surprise me. We had a great
time. It was like being back in college."

 "Good. I bet it was great, two old friends goofing off . . . We
bought tomato plants."

 "Uh-huh," Monica said again. Before he married Dana, Monica would
have told him in detail how her weekend had been: where she'd
eaten, what she'd done, what jokes her friend had made, how she'd
gotten that hickey on her neck. But her attitude towards him had
changed with the wedding ring, and she was distant, in her way. Not
the aloofness Dana would pull around herself when she disapproved,
but a sadness, a longing. He knew Monica wanted to relate her
weekend to him and felt she no longer had the right. She lived in a
world that had never attracted him much: no-strings sex with old
fuck buddies who turn up on a weekend, for example. While he worked
on the garden and thought about rewriting his will and made love to
his wife.

 He sighed and rubbed his eyes again. Cynicism was not his style,
either.

 He was only into his second cup of coffee and hadn't found
anything worth pursuing yet in his in-box or the newspaper, when
footsteps came down the hall and Dana appeared in the doorway, the
baby on her hip and her bag in the carrier. "Hey, baby," she said.
"I need to look at the files a little."

 "Hi," he said, and rose from the desk to kiss her and take
William. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

 "Yes," she said, putting the carrier on his desk. Someone--
probably a security guard at the front--had thought it cute to clip
a red Visitors badge onto William's overalls. Dana's old ID badge
hung carelessly from the breast pocket of her sleeveless blouse.
Between that, her sandals and wrinkled khakis, she was far beyond
FBI dress protocol.  "Hi, Monica."

 "Hi," Monica said, watching the scene with interest, and she came
over to coo at the baby while John held him and watched Dana. As if
she were completely unaware or unconcerned that there were other
people in the room, Dana commenced methodically opening drawers and
pulling files. She flipped through one after the other, her frown
growing more and more frustrated.

 John sat down at his desk again and held William on his lap so
his hands would be free to type. William wobbled, twisting back his
head to look up at John, and John ran his fingertips absently over
William's cap of hair. "What's your mom up to, huh, Will?" he
whispered.

 "I'm looking for something," Dana said, her attention on the page
she was reading.

 "What are you looking for?"

 "I'll know when I see it."

 John grimaced. Mulder may not have minded when she was cryptic,
but he preferred a straight answer. "Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

 "John . . ." She met his gaze, her face serious. "Please. I'm not
in the mood for games."

 "I could help." William grabbed for his hands and John let him
grasp his fingers.

 Dana glanced at Monica and said, "I saw someone in the house this
morning."

 John felt his jaw tighten and William twisted to look up at him
again. "Who? Did you call the police? Detective Page said he'd drop
everything the next time someone--"

"It wasn't . . . " She glanced at Monica again. "It wasn't someone
after William. It was a little boy."

 "One of the neighbor kids came into the house?" John said, not
understanding why this would upset her.

 "I don't think so. He tried to speak to me, then disappeared."

 "He ran away?"

 "He evaporated." She spread her hands to illustrate. "Just gone."

 "So you saw an apparition," Monica said from her desk, and both
Dana and John looked at her. "That's what it sounds like to me."

 "John and I had a case, when we first started working together,
regarding a little boy who reappeared ten years after he was
abducted, without aging a day. He was very solid, but he was a
ghost of some kind. The child I saw, he reminded me of that boy--
but I can't figure out where I've seen his face before. I'm
thinking it's something unsolved, but none of the children in these
cases look like who I saw this morning." She sighed, putting the
file back in the cabinet.

 "John," Monica said, "do you know anything about the people who
lived in the house before you?"

 "The house is ninety years old. There must have been dozens. But
it's not haunted."

 "You got it for a song, didn't you? Sometimes haunted houses are
priced below their value because they're so difficult to sell. Did
the realtor say anything to you--"

"It was a good time to buy. My house is not haunted," John said.
"It's ridiculous."

 "Then how else can you explain what's been happening since I
moved in?" Dana said. "The noises I've been hearing? Even the thing
with your money--for four days that's been happening and we don't
know how or why. William's not doing it, I'm not, you're not." She
stopped, then said quietly, "Let me see your wallet."

 John stood, holding William with one hand, and took his wallet
from his back pocket. "What do you think is in here?" he said,
quietly too, as he handed over the wallet.

 "You have a picture. I've always wondered why you only have the
one."

 John clutched William to him a little tighter. He didn't keep
many pictures in his wallet, just one of William and one of Luke.
"Dana . . . "

She took out the picture, its corners fuzzy with age, and studied
it. "Why do you only keep one picture of Luke, John? You had seven
years to collect them. I just have the one picture of Emily. I wish
I had more--it's why I take so many of William."

 "I can't. I just can't."

 She nodded and looked up at him. "What I really want to know is,
why is he choosing to manifest now?"

 William squealed as John's arms tightened around him. "First of
all," John said sternly, "Luke never even lived in that house.
Second of all--second of all I can't even believe you're suggesting
this.  It's an old house. It makes noises. You had a bad night last
night. You're tired, you're distraught--Dana, this doesn't even
make sense."

 "A haunting isn't always connected with a place," Monica said in
a calming tone. "Sometimes it is about a person. Luke may have
attached himself to your energy--"

"That's enough, Monica," John growled and thrust William into
Dana's startled hands. There was more to say but he didn't want to
say it--not while anger was boiling up inside him and he would only
say something that would cause Dana pain.

 He left the office and went into the mens' room by the elevators.
He ran some cold water and splashed it onto his face, and stayed
leaning over the sink, his elbows on the counter and his face in
his hands.
 
John had never lost his faith--he'd never had faith to begin with.
He'd gone to church every Sunday until he left home, because that
was what was expected of him, but after that he entered churches
only for weddings, funerals and christenings. He knew Dana's faith
was important to her and he respected her devotion--envied it, a
little--but did not share it. He believed in no afterlife, no
limbo, no heaven, no hell.

 Burying his son had broken his heart because he had no hope of
anything further. The prospect of Luke's ghost offered no comfort--
it only added to the feeling of bleakness and loss.

 In a few minutes he heard a soft knock on the restroom door.
"John? It's me. May I come in?"

 "Sure," he said dully. He didn't look up as her feet crossed the
tile and she laid a hand on his back. After a moment more she
draped herself over him and slid her arms beneath his jacket to
embrace him around his chest.

 "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't think of how much it would
upset you. I should have known. I'm sorry."

 "I don't like to think of him wandering the earth. I want to
believe he's at peace. Whatever peace might be."

 "Of course you do," she whispered. "Of course you do."

 "It's just--" He stopped, unable to continue, and turned to her
to wrap his arms around her.  She made comforting noises and held
him close, her fingers in his hair and her cheek rubbing against
his.

 After a few minutes he lifted his head and said seriously, "Dana,
do you think Emily is evil?"

 "No, of course not."

 "What do you think the dream meant? You dreamed that she was
evil. That she wanted to take William away from you. What do you
think that means--to you, what does that mean?"

 She stroked his cheek, thinking about it. "I think . . . it
wasn't about Emily herself. It was about my fears. I was so afraid
while I was pregnant that William would be like her--that he'd need
doctors and tests and medication they wouldn't tell me about . . .
that he'd bleed green." She pressed her lips together. "Even though
I know he's normal, I still have fears. And it's so hard to let
them go."

 "But why Emily? She was your child. You loved her. Why would you
be afraid of her? Why not the--what'd you call him--the Cancerman,
or that Russian fella? People you're really afraid of?"

 "I don't know, John."

 "I think you're afraid of Luke," he said, and she closed her eyes.

 "I didn't even think 'ghost' until I saw him this morning, and I
didn't think of Luke until I realized where I'd seen him before."

 "I don't mean a ghost. I don't for a second think that Luke is
haunting you or me or the house--and even if he were, I can't
believe that he'd be evil. He was a good boy. He was a happy and
well-loved boy. He may have died in terrible fear--" His voice
cracked and he had to stop and bury his face in her hair again.
Dana stroked his back until he was ready to speak again. "I can't
believe he'd intend to hurt you, or even scare you. I can't believe
that."

 "What do you mean, I'm afraid of him, then?"

 "I think you're afraid of happened to him," John said slowly.
"You're afraid I won't be able to protect William."
 
"I trust you," she said, grasping his hands. "I believe in you. I
know you'd fight to your last breath for him, just like his natural
father would."

 John lowered his head. This was the question he'd been struggling
with for days, but he had to ask. "Do you only love me for how I
remind you of Mulder?"

 She actually chuckled. "No. You don't remind me of Mulder at all,
except that you both are good, strong, decent, kind men. I love you
for you, John. Just for you." She cupped his face in her hands and
wiped his damp eyes with her thumbs. "Someday I'll tell you the
list, if you want."

 John managed to smile, and turned his head to kiss her hand. "You
keep a list, huh?"

 "Ever-growing." She tugged his head closer and stood up on her
toes to sweetly kiss him. "I love you, baby," she murmured. "I
trust you with my most precious possession. When you're near me,
I'm not afraid of anything."

 He gave her a true smile at that, and she smiled back and kissed
him again. "I'd better go see what Monica's up to with William,"
she said. "Should I come back around noon and take you to lunch?"

 "I'd like that."

 "Okay." Dana wiped his face with her palms. "Don't doubt me, baby.
You have all I have to give."

 He nodded, and watched her go with a quiet sigh. He knew he
hadn't convinced her and she certainly hadn't convinced him, but
once again they understood each other, if nothing else.

 And he found himself thinking what an amazing woman their
daughter would be, with a mother such as Dana.

 ***

At lunch they tacitly agreed it was not the time or place for a
personal discussion, and so kept the conversation light and
general. William felt social, so he kicked his feet, blew on his
lips, and cooed at the wait staff when they passed by.
 "He has your eyes," one of the waitresses said to John, and Dana
smiled behind her glass of water.
 
"Thanks," John said simply.

 After they had paid the check and were getting ready to leave,
Dana said, "Let me see your handheld."
 "You want all my stuff today," John said, but handed it over
anyway. "What are you looking for?"

 "Yes, it's that 'all I have is yours' thing. I'm taking it
seriously, boyo. I'm giving you something." She lined up their
computers to each other on the tabletop and tapped her screen a few
times. After a moment she nodded. "Okay. I wrote something for you.
It's in your memos. I want you to read it when you miss me."

 "What is it?" he said, taking his computer back.

 "It's part of my list." She smiled at him and stood up. "I need
to get him home. I've already nursed him in public once today."

 "Okay. See you." He stood too and kissed her cheek, getting a
caress in return.

 He managed to wait until he got back to the office before
curiosity got the better of him--and, he reasoned, he did miss her.

He took out the PDA and opened the file Dana had given him.

 *Ten things I love about you
*1. Your eyes.
*2. Your smile.
*3. The way you kiss me, like there's nothing more important you
should be doing.
*4. The way you hold me, like I'm the most precious thing you've
ever touched.
*5. The way you make love to me, like we're one person instead of
two.
*6. The way you treat William, as if he were your own child.
*7. Your laugh.
*8. Your hands in my skin in the dark: when I feel them I know I'm
safe and loved.
*9. Your voice first thing in the morning.
*10. Your big feet.
 *Love, Dana.*

 John smiled, rubbed his jaw, and decided he had enough time
before he had to start working again to write something for her to
find.

 He was about to start writing when he heard the elevators down
the hall open again, and footsteps down the hall. Dana twice in one
day was too much to hope for--but it was the other person he least
expected to see, Deputy Director Kersh.

 Kersh stood in the office doorway, his back ramrod straight. His
eyes swept the scene before he said, "Agents."

 "Hello, sir," Monica chirped.

 "Sir," John said.

 "Agent Doggett, I understand you got married last week."

 "Yes, sir."

 "I mentioned this to my wife last night, and she wants to throw
the two of you a party." He said this as if asking if they'd filed
their income tax on time.

 "That's very kind, but--"

"She said she'll call Agent Scully--Mrs. Doggett--" He grimaced.
"Dana. To ask her."

 "Oh," John said. "If Dana wants to, that's fine with me. Please
thank Lisa for me."

 Kersh nodded once and glanced at Monica again, who shot him a
huge grin than only made his frown deepen. "Agents," he said again,
turned on his heel and left.

 John had to grin a bit too. Before the X-Files he'd been a
frequent visitor to the Kersh home, and he liked Lisa Kersh. The
invitations stopped when he teamed up with Dana, but apparently
Lisa's affection for him hadn't. The Kershes had a beautiful home,
and if she could convince Dana to let her throw the party John knew
it would be a tasteful, enjoyable evening.

 If Lisa could convince her.

End 5/21

Draw Down the Moon 6

Dana had gotten into the habit of taking a nap in the afternoons
while William took his. It recharged her, helped her feel ready for
the rest of the day and William's demands.
 She put William into his crib, whispering, "Sleep, baby boy." He
twitched, half asleep already, and his mouth moved as if he were
suckling. She caressed his cheek and left the nursery, leaving the
door ajar.

 She stretched as she walked down the hall and crawled gratefully
into bed. Just half an hour, she thought and yawned, tucking the
pillow beneath her head.

 She must have dozed off quickly and slept longer than she
intended. She felt the bed dip with added weight, a hand stroke up
her ribs, lips caress her cheek. Dana smiled, turning her face to
be nuzzled. Lips slowly traced hers, and a hand stroked her thighs
apart. "Mm, John," she murmured, opening her eyes.

 There was no one beside her. No one at all.

 Dana sat up and put her hand on her side, where she'd felt the
touch. "Who's there?" she demanded and got to her feet. "Answer me!"

 The house was silent. Nothing appeared different: the pictures
were straight, the doors were closed, the shades were drawn, and
the only imprint on the bed was of her own body.

 Dana said quietly, "Whoever you are . . . you're welcome to rest
here, but only if you tell me what you want. I can't help you
unless you tell me what you're looking for."

 Silence.

 All right, she thought. She had been dreaming. It was nothing.
She had seen Luke's picture before: she'd simply put a face onto
the strange feeling that had dogged her ever since she moved in.
That was all. It had to be. It wasn't the first time she'd had
strange dreams.

 The row of pictures on the wall between the windows started
swinging back and forth on their hooks, and the windows rattled.
Dana gasped, wrapping her arms tighter around herself, as one
picture jerked away from the wall and shot across the room, banged
against the closet doors and fell onto the floor. A cold wind blew
through the room, through Dana, into the hall.

 Her heart pounding, Dana ran back to William's room, expecting to
find an open window and an empty crib--but there was only William
and a presence--she had no other word for it--hovering over the
crib. It was pale gray and white, vaguely human-shaped, and it
reached it arms onto the crib.

 That was too much. "No!" Dana shouted. "You leave him alone!"
 
The presence burst into a million motes of dust and disappeared.
In his crib, William gurgled and stretched up his hand.

 "Oh, God," Dana breathed and gathered the baby up into her arms.
"Oh, my William. My William."

 Oblivious, he rested his chin on her shoulder, his fists wrapped
around her shirt, babbling his William-talk as if he had nothing to
fear.

 Dana grabbed up his diaper bag and carrier. Back to the bedroom
only long enough to get her shoes and car keys, and then down the
stairs towards the garage.

 At the back door she stopped. William hung onto her shirt,
looking at her with confusion. She took a deep breath. "What do you
think?"
she said quietly. "Do we let it win, or do we stay?"

 William sneezed and laid his head on her shoulder.

 Slowly Dana put down his carrier and her shoes, and rubbed his
back. "You're right," she said to him. "You know that? You're
right. Besides, where would we go?"

 She wandered to the living room and curled up in her favorite
chair, resting William on her drawn-up thighs. He smiled and pumped
his feet against her stomach, waving his hands. "Tell me something,
though. Why aren't you afraid of anything? How do you manage that,
hm?"

 He toppled forward and she caught him against her chest and
kissed his head. "Goofy," she said. "You're my little goof, aren't
you? Yes, you are! You are!" She tickled him and he squirmed and
laughed.

 Strange, she thought. She was terrified for him, but still could
play.
 She kissed him and held him close, closed her eyes and felt him
breathe.
 
* * *

John knelt on the floor by the fallen picture. "Did you have the
fan on?" he said quietly.

 "No." Dana hugged the baby to her tighter.

 "Were the windows open?"

 "No."

 "And you saw it? You didn't just hear it?"

 "I saw it. I was awake, John."

 "Because somebody touched you."

 "Yes, John," she said impatiently. "There was someone else here.
Not Luke--someone different. "

John stood and said, "So, we've got two ghosts now."

 "Maybe we do."

 He looked down at the carpet. "There's broken glass over here.
I'll get the vacuum."

 "I'll do it, John--"

"You're barefoot," he said, taking off his suit coat and laying it
on the bed. He caressed William's head as he walked past them.

 The vacuum cleaner was in a closet downstairs. He lugged it up,
back to the bedroom, where Dana still stood with the baby in her
arms like she wanted to enfold him completely. Her face was tense
and pale, and John couldn't pass her by without saying something.

He didn't know what to say, though. He did the only thing he could
think of: wrapped them both up in his arms and kissed her.

 "Nothing's going to hurt you," he murmured. "You know that."

 She shook her head. "There's something strange in this house."

 John sighed heavily, stroking her hair. "Humor me a minute, babe.
Do you really think if Luke was in this house, that he'd want to
hurt you? Or William?"

 "He might be jealous of us. He might want you for himself."

 "I can't believe that. I can't believe that he'd be malicious.
Even if I believe he'd haunt this place--which I don't--I can't
believe that he'd want to hurt you."

 "Then what is it?" she whispered desperately. "What has been
watching me since I moved in? Something has been watching, John--
maybe it's Luke, maybe it's something else--but I feel it, I sense
it, and I don't know what it means."
 
John studied her, then cupped her face in his hands and smoothed
out the worry lines with his thumbs. "Dana," he said. "What do we
need to do to make you feel better?"
 
"I want to call my friend Chuck Burks and have him look this house
over. He studies parapsychology. He'd know what to look for."

 "And then what?"

 "And then--I don't know. Chuck will know."

 "Okay," he said quietly. "If that will make you feel better."

 "It'll be a start." William leaned out of her arms towards John,
who took him, and Dana watched them with a troubled expression.
"I'm not sure I want to sleep in this house until Chuck comes."

 "For God's sake, Dana--"

"I'm serious. I'm scared, John." She turned her face away,
frowning and blinking her eyes rapidly--classic trying-not-to-cry
behavior, John thought. "I don't like being scared. I was just
getting used to feeling safe and then this has to start--"

"You were fine until this morning."

 "Two manifestations in one day, John. What am I supposed to think?
How am I supposed to feel? I can't just brush this off. I can't
pretend nothing is happening."

 "I am not going to let something inexplicable force me out of my
own house," John said. "If you feel the need to not be here it's
your choice, but I'm not leaving. This is my house. It's mine.
Nothing is going to make me run away."

 Dana lifted her hand and hesitantly laid it on his chest. He put
his free hand over hers, watching her. "I want to bring the baby in
here with us, then," she said quietly.

 "Okay."

 "You don't mind?"

 "I don't mind."

 "I'll call Chuck in the morning. He'll be able to tell us what's
going on--maybe even who's here."

 "Dana," John said, but didn't know how to follow it. He'd never
felt so helpless--he had no idea of what comfort to give her, what
advice to offer. He said, "Why don't you lie down for a while
downstairs. I'll clean up in here. We could order in for dinner."

 She shook her head, smiling at last. "No, I've got something
planned and it doesn't take long to put together. I don't need to
lie down. I'm okay. Poor sweetheart, you must be hungry and here
I'm pestering you about ghosts."

 "I'll live." He handed William back to her, despite the baby's
grumbling. He bent and leaned his forehead against William's,
holding the back of his head. "You watch over your mom a bit, you
hear?" The baby giggled and grabbed for his ear, making both John
and Dana laugh. True, Dana's was soft and rueful, but it cheered
John nonetheless.

 * * *

There was something about the stairs that comforted Dana. She sat
on a high step with John a few below her, enough that he could lay
his head against her side, and they watched night descend on the
neighborhood to the sounds of kids being called to dinner, cars
coming home and crickets chirping in the hedge.

 Finally John said, "I've been thinking about this all day."

 "Ghosts?" She smiled despite herself.

 "Babies," he said, and she looked down at his thoughtful face. He
said, still looking out the window, "Maybe I should have been more
insistent about being responsible."

 "We're both adults, John. We both understand the consequences of
sex."

 "Yeah, but maybe I was just so happy about not having to worry
that I  . . . slacked  . . . where I shouldn't have."

 "I would never call you slack, John." She had to ask: "Is it the
entire baby issue or it is just having a baby with me?"

 "Oh, for God's sake, Dana."

 "It's a legitimate question."

 He sighed. "It's the entire baby issue. If I were with anyone
else I still would hesitate. I know it's supposed to be joyful and
fulfilling but all I can think is, how long do I have before I lose
this one, too?"

 "Do you think that about William, too?"

 Slowly he nodded. "That's why I do everything I can to bring him
home to you." He twisted his head to look into her eyes. "You're
not going to lose him, Dana."

 "I know," she said, cupping his face in her hand. "So how would
this be different with a child of your own?"

 Again John sighed and looked out the window. "I don't know. Maybe
it's not. All I know is it scares me to the bone, Dana."

 "So if I am pregnant, then what?"

 "Then . . . I deal. I come to terms, I guess. It's not that I
don't want children, Dana, I do, I just--I can't--God, I wish I
knew."

 Dana sighed too and gazed out at the darkening street. She said,
"If I'm not pregnant, and you're absolutely dead set against having
another child, we're going to have to take precautions and use
birth control and be responsible. I don't want to bring an unwanted
child into the world, but I won't treat a baby like a mistake."

 Crickets buzzed through the open window. John whispered, "It
would never be unwanted."

 Dana's breath caught and she leaned down to wrap her arms around
his neck. She kissed his hair.  "You love me?"

 "Like crazy, babe." He turned back to look at her again, and
tipped up his face to be kissed.

 * * *

John felt someone shaking his shoulder. "Daddy?"

 He opened his eyes and lifted his head, sleepy and confused.
"Luke? What's wrong, buddy?"

 It made perfect sense that his son would be standing next to the
bed in his Batman pajamas. John didn't ask himself why Luke would
be in this bedroom, or why the woman beside him was a redhead
instead of a blonde, or why there was a crib at the foot of the bed.

 "Daddy, there's a man outside."

 John got out of bed and put his hand on Luke's shoulder. "Show
me," he said softly.

 Luke led him to the window and pointed outside. "There. Do you
see him, Daddy?"

 John peered at the empty sidewalk and the quiet houses of the
neighbors. The neighborhood was gray in the early morning light,
not even a jogger to disturb its tranquility.

 "I don't see anybody, buddy." He ruffled Luke's hair. "I think
you had a bad dream."

 Luke frowned, his face serious. "No, Daddy," he insisted. "You
have to see him. You have to look, Daddy."

 "Luke, there's not even a dog outside. Let's get you to bed."

 Luke's resemblance to him was uncanny, people always remarked on
it--and Luke's expression was now both stubborn and worried.
"Daddy," he said seriously, "bend down."

 "It's not the time for games," John said, but got onto his knees
so their faces were level.

 The boy put his hands on either side of John's face. "Close your
eyes," he said, so John closed them and felt Luke's thumbs brush
over his eyelids. "Now, look, Daddy," he said.

 "Luke," John said, opening his eyes and smiling at his son.
"Enough of this, okay? It's too early to be awake."

 "Daddy," he repeated firmly. "You need to see the bad man."

 "If I look, will you go back to bed?"

 Luke nodded and held onto his hand as John went to the window.

 He looked outside, and gasped out loud when he saw the flaming
human-like shape standing on the front walk. The creature had no
eyes but John knew it was gazing up at the windows, trying to catch
a glimpse of the house's occupants. A feeling of evil like a
choking cloud surrounded John, and he jerked himself away from the
window. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, shaking his
head.
 "No," he whispered, clinging to Luke's hand. "No."

 "The bad man has to stay outside," Luke said earnestly. "He's
mean. He likes to hurt people."

 John stroked Luke's hair, then picked him up and hugged him close.
"He's not going to hurt you. I won't let him hurt you again."

 "Daddy." Luke put his hands on John's face again. "He won't. But .
. ." He looked over at the crib.

 A chill went through John. "No," he whispered again.

 "Don't let him come inside," Luke said, and then wiggled down
from John's arms. "See you later, Daddy."
 
"Wait--Luke, where are you going?" The boy had already darted from
the bedroom through the open door. John started to follow but a
hand on his chest stopped him.

 He opened his eyes though he couldn't remember closing them, to
find himself back in bed with Dana's hand on his chest and her
concerned face hovering over him. "John, you're having a bad
dream," she said soothingly, rubbing his chest.

 "I'm--I'm okay." He put his hand over hers and exhaled heavily.

 She reached over and stroked his face. "You were dreaming about
Luke, weren't you, baby," she murmured. "It's okay. You're okay
now. It's over."

 "I'm okay," he repeated. She studied his face, then lay down and
pulled his head to her breast, encircling his head in her arms. He
exhaled again, feeling himself relax as she slowly stroked his hair.

 "Do you want to tell me about it?"
 
"It was just a dream," he said, and the words felt like a betrayal.

End 6/21

Draw Down the Moon 7
Chuck Burks was not available until the end of the week, and when he came on
Friday night he brought with him two students, a van full of equipment, and
a psychic. John watched them set up video cameras, tape recorders and EMF
detectors with bemusement, and whispered to Dana, "I thought they did this
with baseballs and rope."

"Ghost-hunting needs to be treated as any other kind of scientific
investigation, John," she said patiently.

"We prefer the term 'ghost investigations'," Chuck said, coming down the
stairs towards them.

"Chuck, you remember my husband, John Doggett."

The men shook hands, and Chuck said, "Did I hear you expressing dissent,
Agent Doggett?"

"I'm just doing this for Dana's peace of mind," John said.

"I guess I get to put you down as the non-believer. While we're here, let's
do the questionnaire." He picked up a briefcase from the pile of cases and
started shuffling through papers.

"There's a questionnaire?" John said, pained.

"Standard procedure . . . if I can find the thing . . . here we go!" He
produced some papers with a triumphant flourish. "Have a seat, please, Agent
Doggett, Agent Scully--or do you prefer Mrs. Doggett now?"

"Dana and John should be fine," Dana said with a smile, sitting on the couch
with William on her lap. William had the same bemused expression that John
felt on his own face, watching the proceedings as if thoroughly baffled.
Chuck leaned over to tickle his chin and William twisted away, seeking the
safety of Dana's breast. "I'm sorry, he's usually more friendly," Dana said
apologetically, lifting him up so he could hide his face in her hair.

"That's fine, that's fine," Chuck said. "I'm sure this is all a little
confusing. Won't you have a seat, John? This shouldn't take long."

John perched on the arm of the sofa where he could put an arm around Dana's
shoulders. The whole thing felt strange and artificial to him, as if they
were play-acting. Dana smiled up at him and he smiled back cautiously,
touching William's cheek to reassure him.

"Okay," Chuck said. "Number of occupants, three . . . names and ages?"

"John, 41, Dana, 37, and William, five months," Dana said.

Chuck nodded, scribbling. "Occupation, FBI . . .religious beliefs?" "I'm a
practicing Catholic," Dana said. "John is . . ." She looked up at him.

"Undeclared," John said. "Raised Baptist."

Again Chuck nodded. "Okay. Total time of occupancy."

"I've lived here three years, Dana and William for two weeks."

"And how old is the house?" "It was built in 1910."

"Whoa," Chuck said, grinning. "Cool. A great old place. How many previous
owners has it had?"

"Seven, I think," John said. "The original owners were here until the
Sixties, then it changed hands about once a decade."

"All right. And how about its history? Any deaths?"

"Well . . ." John looked down at Dana's bright hair and William's little
face resting against her shoulder. "The original owners aren't around
anymore, of course. The realtor didn't say anything when I bought it about
someone dying here."

"Okay, okay." Chuck's blue Bic moved even faster. "Has this house ever been
blessed?"

"Blessed?" John echoed.

"Like an exorcism," Chuck said.

"No," Dana said. "Not that we know of."

"Okay. Any recent remodeling?" "No," John said.

"Any occupants on medication, no . . ." He started writing, then looked up,
his eyebrows raised. "Right?"

"Right," said Dana.

"Drugs or alcohol?"

"No," Dana said.

"A beer at night sometimes," John said.

"But not heavily. How about interest in the occult: have you ever used a
Ouija board or held a seance here, anything of that nature?"

"No," John said. He wanted to laugh, imaging himself and Dana in a room
foggy with incense and chanting "om" or whatever one says during a seance,
trying to contact the otherworld . . .

"The previous owners may have, but we have no record," Dana said. "When this
house was built interest in the occult was still very popular, particularly
after World War I."

"True, true. We'll have to have that as a 'maybe.' Anyone currently seeing a
psychiatrist?"

"No," John said.

"And have you consulted your clergyman about this?"

"No," Dana said. "My priest doesn't put much value in this sort of thing.
He's . . . pragmatic."

"Interesting," Chuck said. "What about other witnesses? Has anyone seen
anything besides the two of you?"

"No, though I did tell Monica Reyes, my husband's partner, about what I've
seen."

"Okay. Now we're getting down to the nitty-gritty: the manifestations
themselves. Have you smelled anything?"

"I didn't know ghosts smell," John said.

"Oh, yes. It depends on the kind of spirit, but they can smell like anything
from flowers to decay. It's quite fascinating."

"No smells, that I've noticed," Dana said thoughtfully. "But my sense of
smell has been strange since the pregnancy."

"What about sounds?"

"I've heard footsteps since I moved in, from the upper floor. Like someone
running around."

"And you, John?"

"I haven't heard anything," he said automatically, then frowned, wondering
if it was really true.

"What about voices?"

"No," John said, and frowned again.

"No, but the manifestation I saw earlier this week did try to speak to me,"
Dana said. "I couldn't tell what he was trying to say."

"All right. Movement of objects?"

"Every morning John's change has been separated into dollars while we were
sleeping. And there was a picture--it fell off the wall and flew across the
room."

"A picture of what?" Chuck said, leaning forward. His two graduate students
had sat down on the steps to listen. The psychic was nowhere to be seen.

"Just my parents' place in Georgia," John said. "My father's an amateur
photographer, so I've got some of his prints around the house. Those three
are just some interesting views at the vacation home."

"Your parents have a vacation home?" Dana tilted back her head to look at
him.

"It's a cabin on a lake. Barely has running water. Good views, though."

"Interesting," Chuck repeated. "How about levitations?"

"No," Dana said.

"Nothing like that," said John.

"Hot spots? Cold spots?"

"It's hard to tell with the heat lately," Dana said.

"How about the electronics? Anything turning on or off by itself?"

"No," Dana said.

"Anyone having nightmares or trouble sleeping?"

"Yes," Dana said. "Both of us have nightmares this past week. We both have
lost children and have been having dreams about them."

"Really," Chuck said. "Well. Would you mind telling me more about them?"

"Mine was about my daughter not being my daughter and trying to take William
away. John's was . . ." She touched his hand. "What was it, baby?"

"It was . . . just about my son," John said. "He was murdered eight years
ago. I don't want not go into it."

"He awoke in a panic," Dana said. "I'd never seen him like that."

"Well," Chuck said. "That's . . . where were you living when this happened,
John?"

"New York. Long Island."

"Not this house. Hm."

"No. Not this house."

Chuck frowned at his papers a moment, then sighed and went on with the
questions. "What about physical attacks?"

"Not an attack, exactly," Dana said. "Just before the picture fell, I was
taking a nap and felt someone touching me. At first I thought it was John
come home early. It didn't frighten me until I realized it wasn't him."

"Okay. This is important, Dana: do you feel threatened here?"

She bit her lower lip and stroked William's back--the movement to soothe
herself, John thought, more than for the baby's sake. "Not exactly," she
said quietly. "I think we're dealing with two spirits here. I think John's
son is trying to reach us, and I think there's a second spirit that intends
something towards William. On Monday, the same day the picture fell, I saw a
shape trying to touch William in his crib. I told it to stop and it
disappeared, but I don't know if it will stop the next time." She looked up
at John again, her eyes wet with apology, and he rubbed her shoulder.

"Do you think the two are related?" Chuck said, leaning forward again, his
voice soft. "Do you think John's son is trying to tell you about the second
spirit?"

"I don't know. He tried to tell me something I saw him that same day. He
appeared in the front hall, just for a few seconds. But I didn't hear a
voice."

"Do you feel threatened by the thought of John's son haunting this house?"

"Oh, come on now!" John exclaimed.

Dana rubbed his leg. "Baby, please," she said quietly. "Please. I think I'm
more afraid of not knowing what's going on than anything else," she told
Chuck. "And there have been so many threats to my son that one more, from a
supernatural source, it's starting to feel like the breaking point."

"What about since Monday? Have you seen or heard anything since Monday?"

"No," John said.

"No," Dana repeated in puzzled tone. "It's been quiet."

"Hm," Chuck said. "Usually when we investigate something more phenomena have
occurred over a longer period of time. This is interesting because there's
no pattern to it. You've heard different sounds, you've seen different types
of apparitions, and the apparitions themselves have chosen to manifest in
different ways. I'd say definitely you've got more than one spirit here, and
I'd venture to say maybe even three, considering the dream about your
daughter. Are you sure you don't want to give us any details about your
dream, John?"

"No," John said. "I don't."

"All right," Chuck said, getting to his feet. "We'll be doing our scans
after nine. The witching hour," he added with a grin. "Do you two want to
participate?"

"No," John said again. Suddenly he felt very tired: there were too many
people in his house, and he wanted to be alone with Dana. "Are y'all going
to be in the bedroom? I'd like to hit the sack early tonight."

"Um," Chuck said, stopping on his way up the stairs. "Yes. We'll be here all
night."

"Oh. Great."

"I was hoping you'd want to help," Dana said quietly.

"Help do what? Chant? Wave incense?"

"This isn't a seance, Agent Doggett," one of the students piped up. "We scan
the areas of activity with the EMF decoders, we videotape, we digitally
record, and we'll go over the footage later for signs of haunting."

"Great," John said without enthusiasm. "I'll wave the incense." He stood and
left the living room, taking off his suit coat as he went.

In the twilight, the back yard felt like a retreat. He walked across the
lawn to the rose bushes, where a few late blooms drooped in the heat. He
grasped one flower in his hand and rubbed his fingers on the smooth petals.

After a moment Dana came out too, still holding the baby. "John," she said
quietly, but didn't continue.

"I'm trying to be supportive," he said shortly.

"I know."

"But you can't honestly expect me to take this seriously."

"Actually, I was expecting you to take this seriously." She exhaled, and sat
down on the garden bench beneath the apple tree.

"But I know how it can be--to accept something that you don't want to
believe."

"Dana." He let go of the rose and turned to face her.

"The way I see it," she went on in the same calm tone, "is either something
really is happening in this house, or I'm losing my mind. I know I saw your
son, John. Either I'm hallucinating or he's really haunting this house.
Which would you prefer it to be?"

"There has to be another explanation. There has to be. You know, this is one
of those times I wish I were Mulder for you--then I could find a reason and
give you an explanation and make it make sense, but I can't, Dana! I can't
make it make sense for you when it doesn't make sense to me!"

Dana set her jaw and said, "I have never expected you to make the world fall
into order."

"Well, it's what I want to do. And it kills me when I can't." He sighed and
scuffed his foot against the grass. "And you're not losing your mind. Don't
be ridiculous."

She played with William's foot and said, "Sometimes I wonder. My life has
changed so much in the last month. I was so scared and unhappy and suddenly
there you were, with all the solutions."

"It wasn't sudden, Dana."

"It was for me," she said gently, then smiled and added, "I mean, aside from
that period of lust I felt for you during my second trimester."

John chuckled and went to her. He caressed her cheek and she kissed his hand
and nuzzled it, her eyes closed. "I just want to make you happy, babe," he
murmured.

"I know. I'm just not used to being happy." She opened her eyes and sighed,
lifting the restless William so he could stand on her lap. "If you don't
want to be here while they investigate, we could go to a hotel."

"Do you want to be here?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll stay. I'll try to keep the sarcasm to myself." He added after a
moment, "And whatever Chuck says, I'll accept. Deal?"

"Deal," she said, and rose so they could go back inside.

***

It was a long night. The psychic, a perfectly ordinary-looking man named
Tim, walked through the house with a serious expression, saying little. The
students whispered to each other while poring over their gadgets, and fell
asleep slumped against each other in the stairwell. Chuck, after a few hours
of enthusiasm, started re- checking the equipment to make sure it all was
plugged in and working.

Nothing happened.

After midnight Dana pled weariness and went to lie down in the bedroom with
the baby. John stayed downstairs, watching the feeds from the video cameras
on Chuck's computer screen. They had cameras pointed at all the places Dana
had mentioned: the baby's crib, the front door, the pictures in the bedroom.
He could see her shape on the bed, and hear William's little murmurs.

"Usually," Chuck said, gesturing to the screen, "we see little-- they're
almost like big dust motes. But they fly around, they don't just fall or
drift. They change directions, they zoom up or down . . . I love watching
those."

"What are they?"

"Just how spirits are captured on videotape. I have seen some footage that
is supposed to be of genuine ghosts, but I find them hard to swallow.
There's something about videotape that can't capture a physical
manifestation other than the little floaters. Film can, though. It's very
strange. It's the subject of Debbie's thesis--or will be, if she wins the
argument with her chair."

"Oh. What about the tape recorders?"

"Voices," Chuck said. "You may not see a thing but the tapes sometimes catch
voices hear or there. You must understand, John, that a thorough
investigation is not something that can happen over night. This is only a
first step--and an unusual one, really."

"Doin' it all for Dana, huh?"

"She's a special woman. Of course, you know that."

"Yup." He looked at the quarter-screen where he could see the small
silhouette she made on the bed. "So I guess you all will be coming back, if
tonight's a bust?"

"If Dana wants us to, we will. The part that worries me, really, is Tim. He
hasn't felt a thing. Usually in a place where there's been spiritual
activity there's some twinge in the air, at least, but here, nothing."

John started to speak, hesitated, and then said, "If the house isn't
haunted, what other explanations could there be?"

"That's a tough one. Usually you find it's the noises old houses make, or
somebody playing a prank, or noisy ventilators . . . I went along a hunt
once where the homeowners swore they heard voices all the time, and it
turned out their house had this old intercom system, through tubes in the
walls, where they'd hear the other people in the house talking but it was so
muffled they couldn't make out the words. It was very disappointing."

"I bet."

"Given that Dana's not the hysterical type, though, I'm guessing we'll find
something. The question is, what then."

"Yeah. What are the odds of an exorcism?"

Chuck shrugged. "It wouldn't be an exorcism, really. Just a blessing and a
binding prayer, encouraging the spirits to move on. That's really all you
can do."

"No--" He waggled his fingers. "Hocus-pocus?"

"John," Chuck said patiently, "we're scientists."

John didn't laugh, and said, "Well. Okay. I'm going to make sure Dana's
okay. You mind if I turn that off?"

"Go ahead."

He went upstairs to the bedroom, and paused in the doorway. The light was on
in the hall, and when his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could see her
body curled protectively around William, her head on her arm. He shut off
the camera, went to the bed and lay down behind her, his arm over her waist.

After a moment she stirred. "John?" "Yes." She nodded and sighed. "Good."

"You were expecting somebody else, maybe?" He kissed her cheek. "Just making
sure," she said sleepily, obviously too tired to tease. Her hand smoothed
down his arm and pulled his hand to just beneath her breasts. "Mm . . .
that's better."

He kissed her cheek again and lay down his head. It was better.

End 7/21
Feed me: jenna@einini.net
"I think I'm growing a second, evil head."
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