From: Jenna <einini@attbi.com>
Date: 3 Oct 2002 16:40:34 -0700
Subject: [all-xf] NEW Draw Down the Moon 8/21
Source: atxc

Draw Down the Moon 8

". . . I've been going over the footage and listening to the audio tapes
every spare minute, but there's nothing, Dana." Chuck Burks sighed into the
phone. "I'm sure it's not much comfort to know ghost investigations can be
hit-or-miss." "Nothing," Dana whispered, gripping the phone.

"I'll be happy to come back and try again, any time you'd like."

She cleared her throat and said, "I don't know how John will feel about
that."

Chuck paused and said, "I think he'll be a lot more open to it than you
expect."

"We'll see," Dana said. "Things have been so quiet lately I'd hate to waste
your time by having you back again. It might be over."

"Maybe it is," he said in a comforting tone.

"Thanks, Chuck. Keep in touch."

"Absolutely," Chuck said, and hung up the phone.

Dana hung up more slowly, exhaling. She was disappointed, but not surprised.
The night Chuck and his crew had come had been so quiet, as well as the week
before and the few days since, that she had begun to think maybe she had
imagined it all. *You know you saw it,* she thought, and shook her head at
herself. At the moment she didn't know anything.

She walked up the stairs slowly, to their bathroom where John was bathing
the baby. She stopped in the doorway and wrapped her arms around herself.
William squealed and splashed when he saw her, and John twisted back to look
at her. "Hey, Mommy," he said cheerfully. "That was Chuck Burks on the
phone, just now." "Oh?" He lifted William from the tub and wrapped him in
his towel, while the baby growled in indignation. "What's the verdict?"

Dana took William and started rubbing his head with the hood of the towel.
"They didn't find anything." "Nothing?" His eyes widened and he stroked her
hair for a moment. "Well." She sighed and pressed her lips to William's
head. "He offered to come back anytime, but there's no point in having an
investigation when there's nothing to investigate." "But that's good news,
isn't it?" He was still playing with her hair. She started to say yes, but
said instead, "That leaves me with the other choice: that I'm losing my
mind." John sighed. "Dana . . ." "You know, maybe I cracked up a long time
ago and all of this is just an hallucinatory dream," she said in a breaking
voice. It was a thought that had crossed her mind more than once but she'd
never dared say it out loud. "Maybe I created this life for myself where I'm
happy and safe and loved, where I have my baby in a normal life, because I
couldn't deal with my past anymore. Mulder's death-- is that where I went
insane? And now there's ghosts because--"

John had been looking at her with unhappy eyes through this, when abruptly
he grabbed her face with both hands and kissed her.

She was panting when he lifted his mouth, and his eyes had darkened to the
deep blue of a summer night. He stroked her jaw with his thumb. "Does that
feel like you're dreamin', babe?" His voice was a good octave lower than
normal.

"No," she whispered. "I feel . . . very awake."

"No more talk about you losing your mind. Something weird happened but it's
over now. Okay? No more worries?"

She nodded, still gazing up at him. "No more worries."

John kissed her again, more gently this time. He rested his mouth against
her forehead. "I love you so much, babe."

"I know." She shifted William, sleepy after his bath, to one arm so she
could stroke John's hair. She kissed his neck and inhaled his scent with a
deep sense of satisfaction. John's hands settled on her waist and he stooped
to start kissing her shoulder. She whispered, "I love you, too," as she
rubbed her lips against the side of his face.

"How soon until he goes to sleep?" John muttered between kisses.

"At least another hour--I still need to nurse him. But--" She hesitated. She
never said no to him before--she had no idea how he'd take it. "I--I'm much
too nervous for sex tonight."

"Oh, yeah," John said quietly. "Tomorrow's the big day. Are you sure a home
test will be get it right this early?"

"The one I bought is made for early testing. You're not mad about not having
sex tonight?"

"Of course I'm not mad--why would I be?" he said in a puzzled tone.

"I thought . . ." She trailed off, embarassed.

"Babe, I'm not gonna force ya, you know."

"I know."

He chuckled and kissed her. "What goes on in that head of yours?" he
murmured.

She kissed him back. "Strange and inexplicable things," she said lightly and
went to the nursery to feed the baby.

She was settling into the rocking chair, murmuring to William, when he
turned his head towards the crib and made his "I know you!" sound. Dana
glanced at the crib and tickled William's cheek. "Who are you talking to,
silly? Who's there?" He babbled nonsense syllables back to her, his eyes
bright. "You're silly," she said as she lifted her shirt and unsnapped her
nursing bra, and William was distracted by his hunger and the scent of her
milk.

***

She was arguing with Mulder on their bench, but the words were
wrong--convoluted, coming out of their mouths in long strings of sound.
"Don't you know how much I miss you?" she said, and it sounded like a
foghorn.

Cherry blossoms floated down, spattering his dark hair and suit coat. "It's
always spring here," he said and his fingertips brushed her cheek. Vowels
piled themselves up like autumn leaves.

"Something else is here," she told him, and shivered. "I can't see it. It
hides in the shadows. I'm afraid."

He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. John's smile is like
that, she thought, and knew she would tell him soon she loved him for his
smile.

"Don't be afraid," Mulder said. His hand was warm in hers. She could feel
blood pumping, hairs curling, skin whispering. "You have to stay full of
love, Scully."

"How can I not be afraid? I don't know what it is."

"You're stronger than it is. You're stronger because you're full of love.
You have to stay full of love. The moment you let hatred enter you, it
wins."

"I don't understand," she said, but he was already standing, already walking
away from her. "Mulder! Please don't go. I need to understand."

He turned and smiled at her. "I told the children I'd be back soon. Don't be
afraid, my love. Your heart is as big as the world," he said, spreading out
his arms, and then he was gone.

"Mulder," she said again, but she was in bed, in the dark, in John's arms.
He hummed in his sleep and kissed her hair, and she pressed her head against
his shoulder. The ache for Mulder flared, but just for a moment as she
inhaled John's scent and felt his heart beating beneath her cheek. Just a
dream. Just the mind talking to itself. Just grief that would never really
go away, but could be put aside for longer lengths of time each day.

Still, she puzzled over the details of her dream as she waited for sleep to
come, his strange words and how much in the dream he'd seemed like
John--solid, comfortable, tender. The children he'd mentioned, the
mysterious 'it'--she sighed and shook her head. Just a dream, she told
herself. Just another dream.

*** *** ***

Dana set the timer and crawled back into bed. John's arms went around her,
pulling her close. "How long?" he murmured.

"Five minutes. I thought you were asleep."

"I woke up when you did." He kissed the top of her head. Over the baby
monitor William rustled in his crib and smacked his lips.

Dana laid her ear over John's heartbeat and exhaled. The rhythm was slow and
strong, the heartbeat of a healthy man at rest. The sound soothed her, and
she matched her breathing to his, to calm her own racing heart.

"Five minutes," John murmured. "Funny how your life can change so fast."

"Or not change."

He sighed, heavily stroking her hair. "What do you want to happen?"

"I wish I knew. I do want another baby . . . just not yet." She raised her
head to look into his eyes, and he pushed her hair behind her ear and
caressed her cheek. "What do you want?"

His thumb traced her lower lip. "I want you to be satisfied."

Dana studied him, then nodded and lay down on his chest again. "Deal," she
murmured, making John chuckle.

She had begun to doze off, calmed by his breathing and his hands rubbing her
back, when she heard the timer ding. She sat up and looked at John, who sat
up too. "D'ya want me to get it?" he said, covering her hand with his.

"No, it's okay." She started to get out of bed, but first leaned over and
kissed him.

Her hands were shaking when she picked up the pregnancy test in the
bathroom. She closed her eyes, inhaled, and looked.

Negative.

Dana let out her breath. A hollowness settled in her chest but her eyes
remained dry.

"Dana?" John said from the doorway. "Are you okay?"

She looked up from the test and tried to smile. "I'm okay." She handed the
stick to him. He frowned, shaking his head.

"One line?"

"That means it's working. It would have two lines if I were pregnant."

"So it's negative," he said quietly.

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Home pregnancy tests can give false positives but false negatives are very
rare. I'm sure."

"Oh, honey," he said and gathered her into his arms. He kissed her forehead.
"I know you wanted this."

She wrapped her arms around his waist and nodded against his chest. Another
blue-eyed boy, a sweet little girl--she could see them in her mind's eye,
but reality would just have to wait.

John was still kissing her, slowly and sweetly, all over her face. She
looked up at him and swallowed, thrust her hand into his hair and pulled his
mouth to hers. She kissed him desperately, and he made a soft sound in his
throat as his hands came up to cup her face.

"Dana," he whispered.

"Please," she answered him, and her voice was desperate too. "Please."

The countertop was already pressing against her ass. He lifted her onto it
and kissed her again, leaning her back against the mirror as his hands slid
up beneath her knees. She twisted her fingers into his hair as he kissed her
neck, making his slow way down to the vee in her pajama top. His morning
stubble scraped against her throat, her chin, the tops of her breasts.

"I love you," he whispered between kisses to her nipples. "I love you."

"I know," she said, because everything he told her was the truth. She lifted
her hips to yank off her panties and pajama bottoms, opened her knees wide
and hooked her feet together behind John's back. "I love you."

"Don't be sad, baby," he said, and then he was inside her, hard and hot and
filling, pulsing with life under her hands, his eyes bright, his skin damp.
Their eyes held each other, unflinching, even as their bodies shook and
trembled.

I am full of love, she thought, taking his mouth in another kiss. My heart,
my soul, my body--he has reawakened me, brought me back to life. He brought
rain to the desert. He has filled me to overflowing. He has taken nothing
from me he does not give a hundred times in return--

She would have told him this, but her body was responding to his roughly
caressing fingers and her synapses decided they'd had enough of poetry.
Colors bloomed behind her closed eyelids and she managed not to shout too
loudly. His hips pumped hard against hers and he muffled his groan in her
hair before slumping against her, spent.

Dana stroked his hair, her head bent over his. "I'm not sad," she whispered,
and he chuckled.

"Oh, good." In the bedroom the phone rang, and John sighed, looking at her
with sleepy eyes. "So it begins."

She nodded and let him go, watching him walk on wavering legs to the phone.
I did that to him, she thought, and smiled, impressed with her own power.

"John Doggett," he said into the phone, and caught her looking at him. He
held out his hand and she hopped down from the sink and crossed the room to
take it. She rubbed his knuckles while he listened to their caller. After a
moment his face grew serious and his mouth frowned. "All right. I'll be
there as soon as I can." He hung up the phone and exhaled. "Honey--"

"It's okay," she said. "I'm a cop's wife. More or less. I can deal with it."

"We're needed," he said. "I just hate to leave you today."

"I'll be fine. Scout's honor."

"If you wanted to stay with your mother or something while I'm gone, I'll
understand."

"No. I'll be fine. I'll miss you terribly, but I'll be fine."

"Okay." He sounded reluctant to agree, and kissed her firmly as if to remind
her not to get any ideas while he was gone. "I'll hurry home as soon as I
can. Promise."

"I know." Dana kissed him back and watched him return to the bathroom, to
prepare to save the world. It seemed to her a lot rested on those slender
shoulders, but she had no wish to join him. Those days were over--she wanted
only to channel her energies to her own family now.

She lay down in bed again as the shower started, and listened to William's
morning sounds through the monitor. Not for the first time, she wondered who
he was talking to and if they had anything helpful to say.


End 8/21

Draw Down the Moon 9

John dropped his collection of keys and loose coins on the hotel room table,
and lay down on the bed. A headache throbbed behind his eyes. He wished Dana
were there to rub the pain away with her gentle, knowing touch. He missed
her scent in the air.

Funny how used to her he'd become. Her scent, her skin, falling asleep in
her embrace, her tiny cotton panties in the laundry, the way she sang to the
baby, her collection of bottles and tubes in the shower. He suspected it
would be hard to sleep without her tonight.

A few days had passed between the first time they slept together and the
second. He had spent those nights in restless sleep, dreaming of her skin
beneath his lips and her fingers raking over his back. She invited him to
her apartment and he went, expecting to have The Talk--but instead the
moment she opened the door her mouth was on his and her hands were pulling
at his clothes. "Make love to me," she whispered, and so he did, on the
floor, in her bed, in the shower the next morning. At some point he said
"Marry me, I want you to marry me," but it wasn't until he asked her again a
few days later, when they both were dressed and upright, that she said yes.
"I didn't think you meant it," she explained, and he cradled her cheek in
his hand and said, "I'll mean it until the day I die."

He missed her.

A knock sounded at the door. John grimaced--his head was still throbbing and
he wanted to call Dana before it got much later--and got up to answer it. It
was Monica, who smiled at him brightly. "I just had a thought," she said,
and he stepped back to let her in. "Did you notice anything strange about
Mr. Wilkes's house?"

"Other than the noticable absence of Mrs. Wilkes? No." He sat down at the
table and put his feet up on the bed.

"He had no mirrors," Monica said. She sat cross-legged on the bed at his
feet. "Even the toaster has been painted so it won't reflect."

He rubbed his temple. "So you think he's a vampire?"

Monica laughed. "How do you know about that?"

"Dana makes me watch 'Buffy' with her. And I blame you for hooking her on
that."

"If you hate it that much you could always refuse," Monica said mildly.

"But I like it when she watches NASCAR with me, so it's a trade- off.
Besides, the redhead's cute," he added with an attempted smile, but the
pounding in his head prevented it from being sincere.

"Do you feel okay?" Monica laid her hand on John's ankle.

"Not especially. So, what do you think the deal is with the mirrors?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure it means something. I'll research it tonight.
Are you sure I can't do anything for you? I give great back rubs."

"Nah, but thanks. I just need to get a good night's sleep . . . and to get
home soon."

Monica's expression turned thoughtful. "Must be nice," she said softly, and
explained at his questioning look, "I mean, it must be nice knowing
someone's going to make things better, no matter what."

"Yeah. It is."

She nodded, absently patting his ankle, then sighed and got up from the bed.
"Good night, John."

"G'night," he said, and she let herself out. He sat for a moment longer,
then muttered, "Mirrors," and got up to change his clothes.

Teeth brushed and pajamas on, John lay down on the bed again and picked up
the phone. He dialed quickly, and bit his lip while it rang. "Mm, hello,"
Dana's voice purred through the wires.

"Hey. It's me."

"I know. How are you doing?"

"I'm okay. I miss you."

"I miss you too, baby."

"How's William?"

"Asleep, right now. He kept looking for you today."

"Oh," John said softly, his heart twisting. "Tell him Daddy will be home
soon."

"I have been. I will. How soon, do you think?"

"I don't know. This case is a stumper. Our victim, Amy Wilkes, disappeared
three weeks ago without a trace." He plumped up the pillow beneath his head.
"No money taken out of their bank account, both cars are accounted for, no
reports of her at the bus depot, the train stations or the nearest airport.
No one reports picking up a hitchhiker at the time of the disappearance.
There is a history of domestic abuse--"

"Hospital records?"

"And one restraining order, two years ago. Physical and mental cruelty. I'm
thinkin' Mr. Wilkes finally cracked and killed her. The house is remote and
the property's big. It could be done pretty easily."

"But he wouldn't bury the body on his own property unless he panicked, and
if he was able to cover his tracks so well he didn't panic."

"Yeah. Monica has a theory about mirrors, but damned if I know what it
means. I think it's garden-variety domestic violence. I'm not sure why the
sheriff asked for us."

"Hm," Dana said.

"I'm trying to get a warrant to search the outlying property but there's no
probable cause beyond a hunch. The county judge isn't buying it." He rubbed
his forehead.

"You sound tired."

"I am. Headachy, too."

"Oh," she cooed in empathy, and John exhaled, his longing for her even
stronger than before. He loved that little noise--it would appear at the
oddest moments, like when she saw something in a shop window she thought
William would like, when she knew he was in pain, when she was on the verge
of orgasm. He closed his eyes and resisted the urge to ask her to say that
again.

"God, I miss you, babe," he said instead. "I've been thinkin' how much I'd
like a neck rub."

"Oh, sweetie. Did you bring the Tylenol PM?"

"I brought it."

"Take some soon, baby. You need eight hours of sleep or you'll be groggy in
the morning."

"That's why I'm not sure I should take one. I get woken up in the middle of
the night at least once on these trips."

There was a brief pause, and then she said, "Would phone sex help?" and John
laughed.

"No, but thanks for the offer. I really am too tired."

"All right. I love you."

"I love you too. Same time tomorrow?"

"Yes. Take care of yourself."

"I will," he said, and hung up the phone. He got up long enough to turn down
the covers and click off the light, and got into bed. He took slow, deep
breaths, imagining Dana's hands massaging the stiff muscles in his neck and
shoulders, and her sweet voice whispering in his ear.

"Daddy," Luke said insistently, what felt like seconds after he closed his
eyes. "Daddy, get up."

John rose and got out of bed. Luke was dressed this time, in the clothes
he'd been wearing the day he disappeared--but there were, John was relieved
to see, no bruises or blood on him. "Luke," he said, "you're dead."

"That's not important now. You have to go home."

"I can't, buddy. Daddy has to do his job. We have to catch the bad guy."

Luke sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, looking up at John with
furrowed brows. "But Daddy, she needs you."

"Your mommy's fine, Luke. I talked to her just a few weeks ago. She's okay.
She's got a new husband now, you know."

"I know that," Luke said impatiently. "I mean Emily's mom. Dana."

"I just talked to her, too, and she said everything's fine. The baby's okay.
And she had a friend come over and look over the house, and he said there's
nothing there to be scared of."

"We hid," Luke said. "We didn't want him to send us away."

"Luke," John said, and sat down on the edge of the bed so he could look his
son in the eyes. "You know I'll always love you, but I can't keep doing
this. You can't keep doing this. You're supposed to be--" He couldn't
remember--what had they told him about death? About the afterlife? "With the
angels, aren't you?"

Luke twisted his toe into the carpet and said, looking down at his feet,
"They told us we have to help you but it's really hard. I didn't know it
would be so hard. Emily can't do it at all--it keeps going wrong for her.
And you always forget in the mornings," he added accusingly. "Dana at least
remembers."

"Who's they?"

"If I help you catch the bad guy, will you go home?"

"Will you tell me who 'they' is?"

"The other people," Luke dismissed his question. He held out his hand. "Come
with me."

"Where are we going?" John said, but in a step they were no longer in the
hotel and were in a sparsely wooded forest, with scrubby, dry pines and
stunted oaks. He recognized this: it was the back acres of Wilkes's
property, near a dry creek bed and a barbed- wire fence. A bullet-dented NO
TRESPASSING sign was nailed to one of the trees.

A woman was sitting on the creek bank, waiting for them in the moonlight.
She was blonde, and younger-looking than in her photographs. She smiled at
them. "Hello."

"Hi. I'm Luke. This is my dad."

"Amy Wilkes?" John said, and she nodded.

"Sit down," she said, and he sat, with Luke on his lap, on the crisp grass.
"I have a story to tell you." She took a deep breath and began, "I met John
Wilkes when I was nineteen. He was at our county fair, and we got to talking
in line for the Tilt-a-Whirl. He wrote me for months afterwards. He was so
kind in his letters. So kind . . ."

***

When John awoke, he knew there was something terribly important that he had
to remember, that he'd been told not to forget--and he couldn't remember
what it was.

In the shower he saw flashes of a dream--Luke walking with him in the woods?
Or something like that?

He shaved, frowning at himself in the mirror. He'd had many dreams about
Luke in the past eight years but none this vivid-he could still smell the
spicy dry needles on the forest floor, the scent of dirt and cool night air.

He was thinking and not paying attention to the razor, and suddenly hissed
and winced when the razor cut into his throat.

"Dammit." He shook the razor in the water to clean it and watched as one
drop of blood fell onto the discarded shaving cream.

Blood on white.

*He put a sheet on the floor and made me kneel over it. He pulled back my
head by the hair. He said, You're a disobedient wife. And he cut my throat.
There was blood on the white sheet. More blood than I've seen in my entire
life.*

John dropped the razor, staring at the sink. "I dreamed that," he muttered,
and tears stung his eyes. A good cop believed in clues and facts and truth,
not dreams. Not night visions. Not a ghost telling her story on a dry creek
bed.

Hastily he splashed the shaving cream off his face, wiped it with the towel
and dressed, and hurried across the hotel parking lot to Monica's room. He
banged on the door with his fist.

She was still sleepy-eyed and disheveled when she opened the door. "John?"

"They're missing a bed sheet. We find that, we get our warrant. We get our
warrant, we find the body." She shook her head and stepped back from the
door to let him in. "John, I haven't had my first cup of coffee yet. What's
this about a bed sheet?"

*There was blood in the kitchen. On the appliances, on the cabinets, so he
painted them. He didn't expect there to be so much blood.*

John pressed his hand to his forehead. The pounding was back, but he went on
firmly, "It's how he caught the blood. We're not looking at a crime of
passion here. He planned it, he terrorized her with the plans, and then he
did it."

"How do you know this?" she said softly, her brows furrowing.

"I . . . don't know how I know this. I just do. Maybe trying to think like
Mulder is finally paying off. But the bed sheet, Monica-- where can we look
for that? Where would he hide it?"

"What if he's burned it or cleaned it or destroyed it? What if he buried it
with the body?"

John felt almost feverish, perspiration beginning to gather between his
shoulder blades. "He didn't. He kept it. It's his souvenir."

"John," she said, horrified, and she gripped his shoulders. "Sit down, you
look like you're going to fall over."

"He has a place where he keeps things . . . " He let her sit him on the bed
and leaned his head on his hands.

"What place, John?" Her face was close to his as she whispered, "Can you see
where it is?"

"I don't know, I don't know . . ." He stood up again abruptly and bolted for
the bathroom, barely making it in time to vomit into the toilet. Monica
hurried to him, grimacing, and poured him a cup of water when he was
through. He rinsed out his mouth and spat into the toilet.

She whispered, "What's happening to you? What's wrong?"

"I can feel it," he said dully. "I can feel all that . . . hatred." He
looked up at her. "He hated you. You're a woman in authority. To him, women
are like children--to be led, to be taught, to be disciplined, but never to
be above him."

"I noticed he didn't like me," she said, kneeling down. Her face was drawn
with concern. "Where is this coming from?"

"I don't know. I don't know." He drank some of the water and pushed her hand
away when she started to touch his face.

"You're scaring me."

"I'm scaring myself." He looked at her again, grateful for her worry.

*He wrapped me in a tarp and carried me over his shoulder to the creek.
Nobody comes back here but hunters, and it won't be hunting season for
months. There will be plenty of time for the grass to grow back. There's
grass growing over my bones.*

John fought back his nausea and gasped, "The creek," before the world grayed
out and he felt the back of his head hit the floor.

***

He could hear Amy Wilkes's voice in his head during the entire drive to the
Wilkes farm. She had recited her history dispassionately, as if reading from
an uninteresting book. But he could remember her voice: faintly scratchy,
warm, with the flat vowels and emphasized liquids of the midwest. She had
died a long way from home.

He could remember too the weight of Luke in his lap, and how the boy had
listened to the tale without fidgeting. In death he'd learned patience.

Stop that, he thought, staring hard out the window.

Monica wouldn't let him drive. This was wise, he thought: they didn't know
what had brought on his nausea or the fainting spell, and now he had an
egg-sized bump on the back of his head. There had been no bleeding and no
cuts, however, so the sheriff of Bradford County had permitted John to come
along as long as he stayed out of the way.

"And he knows where the body is," Monica had said, and the sheriff had
sighed and accepted this. She was following them on this wild hunch, had
convinced the stubborn judge to issue a warrant to search the farm. A second
Jeep sped behind them up the road, and Monica had mentioned wanting to call
more agents in from Billings or Salt Lake.

Monica touched his arm. "Are you okay? Hanging on?"

"I'm okay."

Monica said quietly, "A husband is supposed to love his wife. Not terrorize
her. Not take her away from everything she loved. Not make her live like a
prisoner in the middle of nowhere."

"In a perfect world, nobody dies too young."

Monica pressed her lips together and didn't answer.

John leaned back his head gingerly against the car seat and closed his eyes.
My body is here, Amy had said, pointing to the bottom of the creek bed. In
the spring this creek floods, and will either bury me further or sweep me
downstream.

When the story was over, Luke had twisted back to look at John. His bright
eyes had reminded him of William. There, Daddy. Can you go home now?

His instincts said this was not the way to do it. There needed to be a
forensic team, not four deputies with shovels.

Stronger than the desire for procedure, however, was the desire to close
this. He wanted to find Amy Wilkes's poor body and lay it with respect in
sacred ground. He wanted to hear John Wilkes admit that he'd taken the life
of his wife.

Most of all, he wanted to reaffirm to Dana that she need never fear anything
like this from him. He wanted to lie down in her arms and feel her soft,
comforting touch. He wanted to be in a place made of safety and love.

They crested the small hill that protected the farm from the highway, and
Sheriff Harris glanced at them from the driver's seat. "You folks ready?
Looks like Wilkes is home." She chuckled without humor. "I don't know where
else he'd be."

"Maybe you'd better do the talking," Monica said to John. "If he can't
accept female authority figures he won't listen to Sheriff Harris or me."

"He'll listen to a court order," Sheriff Harris said darkly. "But you're
right, Agent Reyes. Agent Doggett should be our point man."

"All right," John said, and thought, I'll start by asking him if he enjoyed
it when she begged for her life.

The two Jeeps pulled up in front of the farmhouse and John Wilkes, thin,
greying, and openly hostile, appeared on the front porch.

"Show time," said Harris and swung down from the vehicle.

Monica touched John's arm again. "Time to catch the bad guy."

"I'm ready," John said, and got out of the car.


End 9/21

Draw Down the Moon 10

John Wilkes was about forty-five, with a salt-and-pepper beard and black
hair, a sharp nose and guarded, wary eyes. "Sheriff Harris, agents," he said
when they approached the porch. "Have you found my wife?"

 "We have not," John said. Wilkes's gaze settled on him, and John slowly
climbed the front steps until they were nearly nose-to-nose. "We have a
warrant to search the property. We'd prefer your cooperation but we can do
this without it."

 "My wife isn't here," Wilkes said, not moving from his position on the top
step. "I don't know where she is. I suspect she's run away."

 "We still need to search the premises."

 Wilkes studied him, and his gaze rested on John's left hand that clutched
the warrant. "I see you're married, Agent Doggett."

 "Yes."

 "Is your wife a virtuous woman, Agent Doggett?" Wilkes asked softly. "Is
she chaste and obedient? Do you know what she's doing while you're away?"

 John had to swallow to control his anger, and said in the same soft tone,
"She is a virtuous woman. She is fierce and passionate, with a loving heart
and a quicksilver mind. I adore the air she breathes. Now get out of my
way."

 The deputies behind him shifted and muttered. Sheriff Harris cleared her
throat, and Monica whispered, "John," as if in prayer.

 Wilkes looked away first. "You've got blood on your shirt," he said, and
went back into the house, leaving the front door open behind him.

 ***

Dana put off going to bed for as long as possible after John's phone call.
It had been a quiet day for her, hours filled with laundry and baby, but
still she was reluctant to call it a night.  Sighing, she put her book aside
and rose from the armchair to turn off the lights and check the locks. Was
it always going to be this way when John was gone--longing for his presence
and worry for his safety interfering with her meals, her daily activities,
her sleep? Their bed was too big and lonely without him, the house was too
quiet--not because he was a noisy person, only that she found his little
sounds so comforting.

 She'd had two other phone calls that day, one from her mother-- who was
slowly coming to terms with her new marriage but still referred to John as
'him'--and one from Mrs. Kersh.

 Dana had seen the wedding ring on D.D. Kersh's hand, but still had toyed
with the notion that Kersh was locked into a recharging chamber in his
office coat closet at night. It was difficult to imagine him with a wife and
children, though obviously both existed.

 Lisa Kersh seemed pleasant enough, mentioning how "Johnny" used to be more
social before "this X-Files business," but even so Dana turned down the
offer of a party. It seemed like too much to ask from a woman she barely
knew.

 Brushing her teeth, Dana wondered if that was the real reason or if it
wasn't something more personal. She just wasn't ready yet to meet John's
friends or even his family, to share him.

 She'd grown insulated, she knew that. Too accustomed to one person being
the center of her world, to everyone else drifting along the edges. It was
hard to stop feeling alone, even though she was no longer lonely.

 Dana put her clothes into the hamper and slipped on a t- shirt of John's
she'd snagged before he left. It smelled like him--woodsy and clean--and she
sniffed the collar appreciatively as she walked down the hall to check on
William one more time.

 She peeked in through the half-open door--then pushed the door open, her
heart pounding against her ribs. William's cheerful room looked as it always
did, lit by his cow-jumping-over-the-moon nightlight and piled with toys.

 Except for the misty gray shape leaning over the crib.

 Dana's fingers gripped the doorknob. She squeezed her eyes shut and said in
the loudest voice she dared, "You're not real. You're not real!"

 She opened her eyes in time to see the shape reach one limb into the crib
and drift over the baby's cheek. William stirred, his mouth working, but did
not wake.

 "Please," Dana whispered as she took a step into the room. "Please don't
hurt my baby."

 ". . . oh, Scully . . ." came a voice, almost familiar, shaded and soft as
though from a great distance. The shape lifted its eyeless head to face her,
and then turned to gaze--tenderly, it seemed to her--back down into the
crib.

 It was too impossible--it couldn't be-- "Mulder?"

 She heard no voice this time but she felt the words as if they were printed
on her skin. *Scully, my love . . . you have nothing to fear from me, now
until the end of time . . . but there is a threat, a real and serious
threat, and there's so little I can do . . . you will never be unprotected,
but you must tell your husband to come home. You need him. He needs you.
Tell your husband to come home.*

 "Mulder," she said again. Her eyes stung. Her throat felt tight. "Mulder,
don't go."

 *I'm never far, sweetest Scully. I'm never far.*

 The shape moved away from the crib, towards her, and Dana's breath caught
in her chest. She felt Mulder's chuckle in her ears: *But I don't stick
around when you start kissing him.*

 The shape passed through her. She thought it would be cold but instead she
was bathed in warmth, and left with what felt like a kiss to her lips.  And
then she was alone.

 Dana let go of the knob and sank to her knees. She leaned her head against
the doorjamb, covered her face with her hands and wept.

 * * *

One deputy stayed in the house with Monica and Sheriff Harris-- they all
agreed Wilkes would not react well to having his house searched by two
women--and John went with the other three deputies to the dry creek bed.

 It was nearly three in the afternoon when they arrived. By seven, with
pickaxes and shovels they'd cleared away the top strata of the area John
said to dig, and changed to trowels and brushes for the more precise search.

 John's hands and arms ached from the work, and his head ached from the
heat. The dry trees offered little shade. They all had taken off their
jackets and rolled up their sleeves, guns glinting black in their holsters.

 "Are you sure this is the right place, Agent Doggett?" one of the deputies
asked him, sitting back on his heels.

 "Yes," John said, but he realized as he spoke that he wasn't sure- - that
it was possible the entire vision was only a dream, like he'd been telling
Dana all week. How could he explain himself if he were wrong? 'My dead son
told me we'd find her here'?

 Forget that. Mulder could have said something like that-- even Monica could
believably rely on her feelings and intuition--but they'd all only think
he'd gone off his rocker.

 Hell, maybe he had.

 "Agent Doggett," one of the other deputies said from a few feet away. He
looked up from the dig, his face starting to turn green. "I've hit tarp."
John moved to the deputy's side and brushed away the dark, loose earth. More
black tarpaulin came into view, and the deputy gagged at the stench of
decay. John abandoned the trowel and brush and began to dig with his hands,
clearing away dirt from the tightly- wrapped corpse.

 "Go puke if you have to," he told the deputy sharply. "Then call the M.E."
The younger man scrambled up the creek bank and John heard him heaving a few
yards away. "Kids," the other deputy muttered, and he began scooping away
dirt with his hands as well.

 Most of the body was revealed when John heard the second Jeep bounce up the
dirt road from the house. He got to his feet, brushing off his hands, and
climbed out of the creek bed. The Jeep stopped and Monica climbed out.

 John met her halfway down the slope between the road and the creek. "We
found her."

 "Oh, John," Monica said and took his hand. "We're not having much luck at
the house. Will you come down?"

 "Is Wilkes being difficult?"

 "He's not being helpful. I think you'll know what questions to ask him."

 "All right." He nodded back towards the waiting deputies. "Will you call
the M.E.? The kid can't keep his lunch down."

 Monica nodded and let go of his hand. "John," she said as he started to
walk back to get his coat. "I was hoping . . . I was so hoping we wouldn't
find anything. I wanted to be wrong."   "So did I," John said.

 * * *

Wilkes sat at his kitchen table, his hands folded together. Sheriff Harris
met John at the kitchen door, scowling. "He's not talking."

 "Has he requested his lawyer?" John asked, shrugging into his coat.
Curtains were drawn over every window, casting the house in gloom. It was
cooler than outside, but not by much.

 Harris shook her head. "He doesn't believe in lawyers."

 "Uh-huh. He's probably right--the Tooth Fairy will have a better chance at
keeping him out of jail." He entered the kitchen, followed by Harris, Monica
and Dempsey, the fourth deputy, and sat at the table across from Wilkes.

 Wilkes's face had the slightly bored, unfocused expression John remembered
from detention as a boy. He leaned forward, placing his palms on the
tabletop, and said conversationally, "We found Amy's body."

 The passive mask cracked, but just for a moment. "Oh. So she did kill
herself, then?"

 So that's the way you're going to play it, John thought, but kept his tone
unconfrontational as he said, "I've never seen a suicide where the victim
tied her hands and feet together, wrapped herself in a tarp and buried
herself four feet underground."

 Monica made a soft sound behind him but said nothing.

 "Oh," Wilkes said again. "It's a murder investigation."

 "There's surprisingly little left to investigate. The medical examiner can
tell us when and how. I think I know where and I'm pretty positive I know
who. What I can't figure out is why."

 Wilkes looked down at his hands as John got to his feet and leaned over the
table.

 "Why you spent two years convincing Amy to marry you and then proceeded to
make her life a living hell. Why you isolated her on this farm, why you
forbade her to visit her family or make friends, why you didn't let her
leave to see a movie or go to the library or buy a pair of shoes. Why you
wouldn't even let her have a child. Why you beat her and humiliated her and
tortured her, why you made her last hours so terrifying and horrible.

 "Most of all, I can't figure out why you would do all this to a woman who
only wanted to love you."

 Wilkes continued staring at his fingernails and frowning.

 "You planned it out," John went on in his calmest voice. "You told her
every step you were going to take, and when she begged and promised you were
only more cruel. You broke her. And when you knew you'd broken her, you
forced her onto her knees and cut her throat and watched her die."

 Wilkes sighed and put his hands flat on the table too. "Am I under arrest?"
he said in an almost bored voice.

 "Yes. You are. Where is the bed sheet?"

 "I don't know what you're talking about."

 "Bullshit," John spat. "You couldn't keep Amy's body in the house with you
but you kept that fucking bed sheet so you could admire your own audacity.
Your own little souvenir." He stared into Wilkes's dead, bored eyes. "We've
got you without it, you know. There's no point in hiding it any longer."

 Wilkes's eyes shifted towards the doorway to his bedroom, then he closed
them and sighed.

 "Sheriff Harris, will you Mirandize him, please?" John said, and took off
for the bedroom.

 The bedroom had been searched: the drawers were open, clothes were shoved
aside in the closet, boxes were open, and the sheets and bedspread had been
pulled back.

"We've looked in here already," Monica said, following behind him. "We
didn't find a thing."

 "He wants it close, remember?" John closed his eyes and pondered. If I were
in Wilkes's shoes . . . he shuddered at the thought, then steeled himself.
Gotta think like a wifebeater. Gotta think like someone who can't let go . .
.

 He stepped to the bed and yanked away the covers, then pulled off the
fitted sheet on top of the mattress. Another sheet was beneath it, spattered
with rust-colored stains. "DNA tests will prove that blood belongs to Amy
Wilkes." He folded it up the sheet and gave it to Monica, who held it
reverently. He knelt on the floor and snapped on a pair of latex gloves,
lifted the top mattress and felt around between it and the boxed springs.

 "What are you looking for now?"   "Murder weapon." He didn't have to search
far--he knew Wilkes would want the knife close enough to fondle, and it was
just beneath the still-occupied side of the bed. He showed the knife to
Monica. It was a hunting knife with a thick, leather-wrapped handle and a
narrow, shining blade.

 "John, this is freaky," she said.   "Just doin' my job. Think they'll start
calling me Spooky?" He took an evidence bag from his pocket and dropped the
knife into it.

 "How did you know all that stuff? About how he treated her? We didn't get
that from questioning her acquaintances."

 "I don't know--I just did."

 Monica shook her head. "Do you feel all right? Do you feel like you're
going to faint again?"

 "I feel okay." He started back to the kitchen, where Wilkes still sat at
the table, but now with handcuffs around his wrists. "Got them," he said to
Harris, who exhaled what sounded like a sigh of relief.

 "Poor Amy," she said. She prodded Wilkes to his feet. "I never liked you
much. Now I know why. Poor, sweet Amy."

 Wilkes scowled and said, "You wouldn't say that if you had to live with
her. The whore."

 "Shut up," John said to him. "Shut your fucking face. You may have lived
with her but you never knew her. Never knew her at all."

 "I won't be spoken to that way," Wilkes complained to Harris. "Police
brutality!"

 "Don't ask me for sympathy," Harris said, and Dempsey grunted in agreement
as he led Wilkes out to the waiting Jeep. "Tell me something, Agent Doggett.
How do you know all this, about their relationship, about Amy? You didn't
know her before, did you?"

 "No." He glanced at Monica uncomfortably, who was watching him closely too.
"Deductive reasoning. Years of experience. You know. I was a beat cop for a
while--you see this all the time."

 "Right," Harris said, looking like she didn't believe him, but she didn't
ask any further questions.

 * * *

Monica insisted he go home early. "You're not well, John. You need rest,
maybe an MRI scan."

 "The EMT said I was fine."

 But she was stubborn, and got one of the deputies to drive him the three
hours to the nearest airport. "I'll finish up the paperwork and bring back
the rental car. You go home, have Dana take a look at you, maybe take a day
or two to recover. Skinner will understand."

 John called Dana from the airport to tell her he was on his way. He watched
people pass by as the phone rang, wondering how many of them had secrets
too. He sighed and leaned his head against his hand, rubbing his forehead.
He didn't want to start thinking that way--he didn't want to suspect
everyone he met of crimes they hadn't committed. If this is preternatural
insight, I'd rather just stumble along blind, he thought.

 "Hello?" Dana finally answered the phone, sounding breathless. "This is the
Doggetts'."

 "Hey. It's me."

 "Oh, John," she said with relief. "Oh, sweetheart. I'm so glad to hear from
you. Are you all right? How is everything going?"

 "It's done. I'm coming home."

 "Oh, I'm glad." There was a slight pause, then she said, "I guess you're
not going to tell me you found Amy Wilkes in a women's shelter pulling her
life back together, are you."

 "No. We didn't. We found . . ." He glanced around to make sure no one was
listening, and said in a low voice, "We found the body. And the murder
weapon. And some other things. He made a full confession- -it's not even
going to go to trial, I think. A guilty plea and he gets locked away until
Doomsday."

 Dana said, her voice low too, "That's the best we can hope for. Did he hurt
you?"

 "No," John said in surprise. "Why do you ask?"

 "Oh . . . I . . . I had some bad dreams. I hate it when you're away, John.
I miss you so much."

 "I miss you too. But I have to go, Dana. It's part of the work."

 "I know. I still hate it. So you're coming home now?"

 "Yeah. My flight leaves in an hour. The arrival time is one . . ." He
checked his ticket again. "One forty-two."

 "I'll come get you," she said firmly. "I need to see you."

 "Honey, it'll be two in the morning when we get in. It's too late. I can
get a cab."

 "I need to see you," she repeated. "I'll take William to my mother's and
drop Monica off at home and you and I can have a little time together. I
just need to see you. I've been so worried."

 "I'm okay, babe. You won't need to bring Monica home, though. She's staying
a day or so longer, to finish things."

 "Why aren't you staying?"

 He coughed. "She's sending me home early. I, um . . . I had a problem
earlier today."

 "What kind of problem?" she said, instantly Dr. Scully again. "Is it your
heart?"

 "No, honey, my heart's fine. My heart's fine. I passed out for a minute or
so. Hit my head. I've got a bump and a nasty headache but I'm okay."

 "You're not okay if you're fainting, John. What if it was an aneurysm, or a
small stroke?"

 "It wasn't a stroke," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "I promise I
feel like me, I feel like ninety-five percent. I don't need a hospital. I
just need to come home and get some sleep--and you. I need you. That's all I
need, baby. I just need to come home."

 Dana didn't answer for a minute or two. He was about to ask her what was
wrong when she said, her voice slightly thick, "I'm going to pick you up.
What's your flight number?"

 "Dana--"

"We'll talk when you land. What's your flight number?"

 "Three-eight-nine-seven." He rubbed his forehead again. "I'll be looking
for you. I love you."

 "I love you too. I'll see you soon."   They said goodbye and hung up, and
John thought maybe he ought to let her take him to the hospital after all,
if it would give her peace of mind. Every part of him rebelled at the idea,
though. He just wanted home and wife and comfort, not strangers and tests.

 The wait was long, the flight was uneventful. He drank a Coke and ate his
pretzels, and watched the darkness slide past the windows. His eyes slid
closed too and he heard a voice whisper in his ear, "Love makes you strong,
John . . . love is the only power you need."

 John awoke with a small gasp, and looked at his seatmate who was still
sound asleep. No one else was awake, either--no one could have spoken to
him. He shook his head and leaned back, took some deep breaths and tried to
relax.

 At last the plane landed at Dulles, and John gathered up his overcoat, suit
coat and carry-on baggage. He walked up the concourse, wondering if Dana
would be there after all or if she would be too upset to come. No, he
thought, that's not Dana at all. She would be there if she said she would
be.

 It took him a few moments to locate her, and when he did he had to pause a
moment and drink her in with his eyes. Oh, she was beautiful--she was
everything good in the world, everything worth coming home for. She was
searching for him too, and when she caught sight of him she smiled. Their
eyes held each other as they made their way to each other, and he let go of
his suitcase and wrapped her up in his arms. She kissed his cheek and then
his mouth, and pulled back to look into his eyes.   "All right?" she said
simply.   "All right," he said, and that was all there was to say.

End 10/21

Draw Down the Moon 11

Dana held his hand while they drove home. John ran his thumb over the inside
of her wrist and watched the dark city roll past the window.

"I want to take you to a hospital," she said at last, her voice soft. "I
want you to have an electrocardiogram and an MRI scan."

"Dana--"

"But instead, I'm taking you home. Against my better judgment, we're just
going home and you're going to get some sleep, and I'm going to schedule
your physical for a few months early. And I'm going to ask your doctor to
pay close attention to your blood pressure and your stress level."

It seemed like too much bother to him. He was as healthy as an ox. "Are you
mad at me?"

She didn't answer for a moment. "No." Another long silence while he tightly
held her hand, then, quietly: "I just can't lose you, John."

"You're not going to."

"Can you promise me that?"

Something in her voice said it was more than a rhetorical question. He
studied her profile in the dark and said, "I promise nothing's going to
happen to me until we're both old and doddering. I promise I'll only die of
old age."

She gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I worry so much about you."

"Stop that," he said, gently smoothing his fingers over the back of her
hand.

"I'm serious."

"D'you think I'm kidding? Stop worrying about me." He went on rubbing her
hand. "I love you and I'm not going anywhere."

"John, we both know the odds--"

"I'm well aware of the odds, and according to the odds I should be dead a
dozen times over. But I'm still here. I have a great partner to watch my
back, I come from a long line of long-lived men, and my wife won't feed me
red meat anymore. I'm set." "The red meat is for both of us," Dana said, but
she was smiling. He smiled too and squeezed her hand.

"Are we going to pick up Will at your mom's?"

"There was a small change of plans. Mom said it would disturb Will too much
if I get him up so late, so she came over instead. She was half-asleep on
the couch when I left." "Oh," John said. "Do you want to stop and get
something to eat?"

"You're hungry?"

"Those pretzels weren't filling, but not really. We haven't gone to a diner
in the middle of the night for a long time, is all."

During her pregnancy John had often accompanied her to quench her cravings.
She'd hungered for tacos, bacon, mashed potatoes, buttermilk biscuits with
sausage gravy, popcorn greasy with butter-- and that was just for one meal.

Dana chuckled but said, "You need to rest."

"I can rest later, if you're hungry."

She shook her head. "I'm not. I just want to go home."

"All right." He looked out the window again, once more absently stroking the
soft skin inside her wrist.

After a few minutes more she said, "I had a phone call yesterday from an old
friend of yours. Mrs. Kersh."

"Oh? How is she?"

"Fine. We chatted for a few minutes. She mentioned wanting to give us a
party."

"Yeah. D.D. Kersh said that she wanted to a week or so ago. I'm sorry I
didn't tell you--other things came up."

"I told her no--but if you want her to --I mean, you know her better than I
do."

"She's a really nice woman. And Kersh isn't all bad, really. He's gruff but
he's not the enemy."

"Do you want her to give us the party, John?"

"Yes," John said quietly. "Our friends want to celebrate us, Dana."

"Your friends."

"Our friends," he repeated. "Our friends, our families. People are happy for
us, Dana. They're happy for you."

"They feel sorry for me. Knocked up and abandoned--"

"People like you a lot more than you think they do."

"They thought Mulder was a crackpot and that I was nuts for sleeping with
him." She glanced at John and added, "Long before I actually was."

He couldn't deny that--he'd heard plenty of rumors before he actually met
Dana, but he'd dismissed most of them as petty exaggerations. The truth as
he knew it was both simpler and much more complex.

Her vein pulsed beneath his thumb. He said, "Lisa's a good woman. I think
you'd like her if you gave her half a chance. I worry about you getting too
isolated."

"I'm not isolated," she muttered. They were approached their neighborhood
now: familiar houses reposed in the dark, lit only by street lamps.

"Name three of our neighbors."

"There's Mrs. McKay next door . . . and the Gordons on the corner . . . and
. . . across the street, they've got that little girl with the pigtails . .
."

"The Wickhams."

"See?"

"If you get to worry about my health I get to worry about you not having
enough friends. I think you're an easy person to love." He grinned at her.
"But I kinda have an inside scoop."

She thought about it while she pulled into their drive behind John's truck.
She turned off the engine and said, "If I accept her offer and we have the
party--if I hate it, if I'm really not comfortable, will you promise we can
leave?"

"Yes," he said. "Absolutely."

Dana looked down at the steering wheel and said quietly, "Okay. I'll call
her in the morning."

"Betcha five bucks we have a lot of fun," John said, his tone light. She was
taking this far too seriously--it made him nervous.

"I'll take your word on it," Dana murmured and got out of the car.

Mrs. Scully was not asleep on the couch like John expected her to be. This
was not what Dana expected either, it seemed: she hurried up the stairs,
calling, "Mom?" in a soft but urgent voice. She stopped at their half-open
bedroom door, and then pulled it shut.

"She's asleep on our bed."

"It's so late, I'd hate to wake her," John said.

"But you need to rest, John."

"So do you." He put down his suitcase by the door, took of his jacket and
holster, and took her hand. "C'mon." "John," she protested, but followed him
down the stairs. "Where are we going?"

"How long has it been since you've stayed up and talked until dawn?" He led
her to the back porch and drew her onto the lounge chair with him. "It's
been a long time," she said as she leaned back into his arms. "Mm . . . this
is nice."

"Mm . . ." John agreed, burying his nose in her hair. She was warm and
yielding, comforting as a blanket during a thunderstorm. She was wearing a
soft knit dress shaped like an overgrown t-shirt, and the skirt draped over
their legs as they got comfortable in the lounge chair.

"But you do need sleep," she murmured as she reached back to bring his arm
over her ribs.

"I'll sleep later." The night was still dark, but he felt dawn approaching
and it assured him. A new day would come. All would be well then.

"What did you want to talk about, if you're not ready to sleep?"

"Oh . . . Stuff." He stroked her belly. "Mm." "How have things been while I
was gone? Quiet?"

"Uh-huh. Quiet." She shivered and pressed herself closer to him as a breeze
blew over them.

John shut his eyes and breathed deeply, opened them and gazed at the
night-black sky. "Good."

She hummed again, nuzzling her head against his arm.

He watched the stars for a while, rubbing her stomach and stroking her arm,
until he couldn't keep it to himself any longer. "Dana? What are you afraid
of?"

"Nothing at all, baby, now that you're home." She raised his hand to her
mouth and kissed the back.

"I'm serious. Is there something that worries you that I should know about?"

She was quiet a moment and plucked at his sleeve. She said, "Three things.
Losing William, losing you, and my cancer coming out of remission."

"Oh, honey . . ." He pulled her closer and kissed the back of her neck. He
was familiar with the scars there--one he had made himself, one that
protected her life--but they never failed to break his heart. He buried his
nose in her hair and whispered, "Are you ever afraid of me?"

"No. No, never," she said as she turned over to look at him. They had to
rearrange themselves again so she could lean against his chest and stroke
his face. Her expression was serious. "I've never been afraid of you, not
for a moment. Why do you ask?"

"I keep thinking about John Wilkes."

"You're nothing like that man."

"But I could be."

"No, you couldn't."

John grunted and touched her cheek. "It just seems so easy to go over that
edge, you know?"

She shook her head. "No. That 'edge' isn't even in you. I know you, John. I
know your heart. I trust this heart." She laid her fingers on his chest, and
bent her head to kiss him. John ran his fingers through her hair but
couldn't relax enough to enjoy her touch.

"Amy Wilkes trusted her husband and look where it got her."

Dana raised her head. "Okay. But where in your history do show the behavior
of an abusive man?" John sighed and shifted uncomfortably, and Dana said,
"The fact that you worry about it is a good sign. You understand that true
strength isn't in oppression but in kindness. That's the measure of a man,
John." She studied his face, kissed him and laid her head on his shoulder,
holding him close.

"Do you want to know something else I love about you?"

"Besides my big feet?" He smiled against her hair.

"I love your big feet." She kissed his chin. "And I love you because I know
you're going to raise my son to be a man just like you." She raised her head
again to look into his eyes. "The world needs more men like you, John. Needs
them badly."

John swallowed the lump in his throat, drew her down for another kiss, and
kept his hand cupped on her cheek as she laid her head on his shoulder once
more.

* * *

He slept a little, and dreamed he was searching for Luke in the Hoover
building. He could hear Luke calling "Find me, Daddy! Find me!" with
laughter in his voice, but every time he caught a glimpse of Luke the boy
would disappear around another corner.

He awoke with a start, jostling Dana enough for her to murmur and shift. The
back porch was starting to warm up with the morning sun, and birds chirped
in the surrounding trees. Dana was still wrapped up in his arms, her head
tucked beneath his chin. John gave her a quick squeeze and wondered if he
could get up without waking her, to check on Mrs. Scully and the baby.

The back door opened and Mrs. Scully peeked out. "Oh, thank goodness," she
said. "I was so worried when I saw it was morning and you hadn't woken me.
Have you been out here all night?"

"Just since we got home from the airport. Is William awake yet?"

"No, not yet. Is Dana still asleep?" John nodded. "Well," Mrs. Scully said
after a moment. "Should I bring the baby out here before I go?"

"You're not leaving already?"

"I wasn't planning to stay the night," she said. "I have a lunch date
later." "John?" Dana murmured, lifting her head. She rubbed her face,
blinking. "Is it morning?"

"Yes," John said, gently smoothing the sleep from her eyes. "Take a minute."

"We slept outside."

"Yes, we did."

"Okay," she said and yawned. "Oh, hi, mom."

"Hello," Mrs. Scully said, sounding amused. "William slept through the night
last night."

"Oh, good. He's been doing that more regularly lately." She pushed herself
off John's body and slowly sat up. "Mm. Three hours of sleep is not good. I
feel like I'm wrapped in wool. What are you smiling at?" she added, frowning
at John.

"You're so cute in the mornings."

"Yeah, I'm adorable," she said tartly, getting to her feet, and she went
into the house.

"She misses her coffee," John said to Mrs. Scully, who smiled in
understanding.

* * *

Dana had called John bullheaded more than once, but she could be even more
stubborn.

"You need bed rest and that's final. I'll cuff you if I have to."

John put his hands over William's ears. "Not in front of the baby, Dana!" He
grinned at her when she blushed, and let William pull his hands away. "And
you need sleep as much as I do. I at least slept on the plane."

"I don't have a head injury--"

"I have a bump. That's not a head injury."

"--nor have I fainted for no reason within the last six months."

He tickled William, who was propped against his bare chest, and said, "I
feel fine," which made Dana smile in triumph.

"Bed rest," she said, rising from the bed and closing her robe. She had
changed clothes once her mother left, but William wanted to be fed before
she could take her shower. "I have some errands to run this morning, so I'll
take William out of your way."

"I could watch William."

She paused on the way to the bathroom. "Are you sure? I shouldn't be gone
too long."

"So it's perfect. We'll nap together and if he wakes up I'll keep him
amused."

Dana thought about it a moment, then nodded. "All right. Thanks. Will
you--would you mind calling Lisa Kersh, too? About the party?"

"Sure, but what if she has girly questions to ask you?"

The water started in the shower, but he still heard her snort. "Sure. Like
I'll know the answers better than you."

John laughed and William twisted back to look at him, his face breaking into
a smile. John kissed his head and got out of bed, holding the baby with one
arm. "So," he said to the shower door, "if she wants a Caribbean-themed
party with teal and pink decorations and lots of flamingos, that's okay with
you?"

"You said she has good taste."

"I'm teasing you."

"Back in bed, John."

"Will you come too?"

She opened the shower door to talk to him, and he tried not to be distracted
by her flushed cheeks and bare, wet skin. "It's daytime, John. I have things
to do. I have to go to the store and work in the garden and do some
ironing--"

"If you come with me back to bed you know I'll stay there." He grinned at
her. "We need a honeymoon. Badly. We need a couple days when we can just . .
. indulge."

"Eventually, I promise." She closed the shower door again. "When Will's old
enough for me to leave him alone for a few days."

"Grow up faster," John whispered into William ear, loud enough for Dana to
hear, and William chortled, wiggling in his arms.

End 11/21

Draw Down the Moon 12

They nestled together like three spoons in the dark, the baby in John's arms
and John in Dana's. He liked to tell her she would curl around William as if
she were a protective barrier, but, she was amused to note, when he held the
baby he did the same thing.

 Her men--her boys--her guys--were both sound asleep, William's high, rapid
breathing a counterpoint to the slow rise and fall of John's chest. The baby
had been colicky and temperamental most of the night, and his parents
finally decided to just bring him to bed with them and hope for the best. Of
course, he'd fallen asleep at once, and John had whispered, his mouth in a
half-smile, "He's got us trained."

 Sighing, Dana tucked up her knees and rested her cheek against John's
shoulder. Her guys slept the sleep of the just, but she felt too laden with
secrets to relax.

 There was too much that she hadn't told John, and she couldn't start
confiding in him now when so much time had passed. She couldn't tell him
about Luke's ghost, whom she found nearly every morning tickling and making
faces at the baby; or about Emily's ghost, who had perfected the art of
manifestation enough to sound giggles and footsteps and sometimes jump on
the bed; or Mulder's ghost, who liked to lie beside her during her afternoon
nap and always, always watched William sleep.

 The dead were all around. She'd never felt safer. She'd never felt more
strange.

 The meaning of this worried her. She'd seen ghosts before, of course, under
intensely emotional circumstances, but she'd never lived with them day to
day. John, however, didn't notice a thing. After all this time--the
hauntings had only grown more intense in the month since he found the body
of Amy Wilkes--she didn't know how to tell him.

 He deserves better than this, she thought and kissed his shoulder. He
deserves better than a wife who keeps secrets.

 But it was better still, she thought, than him thinking she was seeing
things that weren't there.

 She sighed, frustrated, and remembered the first time she felt the baby
move--her joy at the proof of life within her, her grief at being far from
anyone to share it with, and her sudden thought: John would appreciate this.
John would understand. She had risen from bed, pulled on her robe and gone
to his hotel room without considering the late hour or what John would
think.  She had knocked on his door, and when he opened it the light was on
beside his bed and a book was open face-down on the coverlet. "Are you okay,
Agent Scully?"   In answer she took his hand and pressed it to her belly. "I
felt a kick," she whispered.

 He smiled at her and his fingers gently rubbed her stomach. "Hey," he said
in a low, pleased voice. "That's great. That's really nice."

 They stood there for a few moments more, her hand on top of his, until she
realized they were staring at each other and that her heart had begun to
pound--that her cheeks had begun to redden--that she was one caress away
from pushing him onto his bed and discovering for herself if he tasted as
good as he smelled.

 She let go of his hand and said, "Well. Good night, Agent Doggett," and
scurried from his room--but not quickly enough to miss the regret in his
voice when he answered her.

 "Good night, Agent Scully. Thank you."

 She had gone back to her own room and climbed into bed, telling herself she
only wanted him because he was virile, handsome and available, nothing more.
He was not hers to use.

 Denial, Dana reflected, was a persuasive enemy. She kissed John's shoulder
again and wondered, if she'd allowed herself to kiss him that night, would
she be with him now, or would she only have fought her attraction more
stubbornly until she finally drove him away.

 Dana had promised herself when she married him that she would be a good
wife and a loving companion. Knowing he loved her made her heart skip with
joy. She knew she loved him in return. It was not the aching, longing sort
of love she had felt for Mulder--it was warm, safe, as comforting as John's
embrace. It filled and soothed her. He only had to touch her hand and the
stars returned to their courses, the ground was beneath her feet, and she
could breathe.

 This was why she said nothing to him about ghosts. She could not bear the
thought of disappointment in his eyes.

 The baby smacked his lips and gave a little cry. Dana reached over John and
stroked William's cheek, waiting to see if he would fuss more or go back to
sleep. He wiggled and squawked, his diaper rustling, and sought her
fingertips with his mouth.   Carefully Dana rose onto her knees and lifted
William out of John's arms. John stirred too and murmured, "Is he hungry?"

 "Yes. I'll take him into his room."

 "No need. 'M awake."

 "All right." Dana hesitated, then laid on her side, unbuttoning her pajama
top with one hand, and adjusted William against her breast. The baby rooted
for her nipple and began to drink with loud gulps.

 "I didn't hear him cry," John said after a moment. His fingers capped the
back of William's head.

 She stroked the inside of his wrist with her fingertips. "He didn't. Not
much. I was awake already."

 "You oughta wake me up if you're having trouble sleeping."

 "Why would I do that?"

 "So I can keep you company."

 She laughed and raised his hand to her mouth to kiss his palm. He stroked
her cheek. "You're so sweet when you're sleepy."

 John chuckled and moved closer to kiss her. William stopped nursing to
growl in protest, and John broke off the kiss and murmured, "Sorry, Willie
boy," as he pulled himself back. He kissed the baby's head and curled
himself around him, so William was enfolded between them. His foot stroked
Dana's calf.

 Dana reached over lazily to stroke John's sharp cheekbone. "Aren't you
tired?"

 "A little. I think I've reached the point where sleep doesn't matter
anymore. I'll be feelin' it tomorrow."   Dana frowned and pulled back her
arm to tuck around William again. "That's why you need sleep. We've got a
party tomorrow night."

 "Ah, that's right. A big party, as I recall. Nervous?"

 "No," she said automatically, then reconsidered. "A little. I mean . . . it
is mostly people you know."

 "The guys will be there, your mother will be there, Skinner will be there,
Monica will be there," John said in a reasonable tone. "And by then you'll
know my parents, too. You've talked to my mother more in the last month than
I have. What time does their flight come in again?"

 "Eleven-twenty."

 "You have nothing to worry about," he said. "You're the bride. You'll be
the center of attention, even without the long white dress."

 "That's why I'm nervous."

 "I promise I won't make you sing karaoke."

 "Oh, good, since Lisa isn't getting a karaoke machine."

 "No? Dammit."

 "You know perfectly well that there's going to be a swing band." She sighed
and nestled her head on her arm. "You'll dance with me, right?"

 "Absolutely." He leaned over and kissed her, smoothing her hair back from
her face. "It's going to be a good night, babe."

 Dana nodded and John lay down again, their foreheads touching. In a few
minutes he was asleep again, his leg still casually thrown over hers and his
hand on her hip.

 When William had finished nursing Dana slipped from bed and took him to the
nursery, patting his back and humming to him. "Are you going to sleep,
little man?" she whispered as she laid him in the crib. He twitched and his
mouth sucked on air, but he pulled his feet up to his bottom and relaxed his
fingers, his long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

 Her heart beat almost painfully hard in her chest as she looked at him.
There was nothing she would not do for this child--no beast she wouldn't
battle, no villain she wouldn't chase, no illness she wouldn't strive to
cure. If nothing more, she could give him a safe place to sleep. She ran her
fingertips over his peachfuzz hair and turned to go back to bed.

 The shape was there in the doorway, as if she'd caught Mulder trying to
sneak in. Dana said simply, "Don't wake him," and walked through the ghost
to leave.

 She got back into bed and gathered John once more into his arms.
"Everything okay?" he mumbled.

 She kissed his hair. "Yes."

 ***

In the morning John left early to meet his parents at the airport. Dana took
a shower and bathed the baby. She heard the children scamper up and down the
hall, and the sound made her smile. "That's your brother and sister," she
whispered as she lifted William from the bathtub. She wrapped him in his
towel. "They're looking after you. Are you going to be all right, with
ghosts for babysitters?" She tickled William's cheeks and he laughed,
squirming and waving his hands.

 Dana's room smelled of honey, as did the landing and the nursery. "Love you
too, Emily," Dana whispered. She diapered and dressed William, and quickly
dressed herself. With William gumming a teething ring in his carrier, Dana
made up the spare room with fresh sheets and towels, put a vase of flowers
on the bureau and opened the closet to air it out. If we do have another
child, she thought, it's going to get crowded in this little house.

 She heard the car pull into the drive, so she scooped up William and
hurried to the stairs. John was holding the front door open for his
parents--his mother silver-haired, his father's hair still dark, both of
them slender and long-limbed like John. "Dana, my folks, Hannah and Sam,"
John said when Dana hesitated on the stairs. "Mom, Dad. This is my wife."

 He said this in a warm, proud voice, a smile on his face like the one he'd
worn when she promised to love, honor and cherish him until death.

She took a deep breath and put a smile on her own face, and descended the
stairs to meet her in-laws.

 There was much hugging and kissing and exclaiming over William, who
accepted these new people with many looks to his mother for reassurance.
John carried their luggage upstairs, then his father wanted him to show off
the new garden in the back yard. William began to fuss for his lunch, so
Dana took him into his room to nurse and Hannah joined her, looking at
William's toys and books on their low white shelves.

 "That's a beautiful chair," Hannah said when their conversation about baby
care lagged.

 "John made it."

 "Oh, he did? I knew he was getting good at carpentry but I had no idea.
Rocking chairs are hard to make." She ran her fingertips over the back.
"Dana . . . you met my son through work, didn't you?"

 "He was assigned to my division after my former partner was killed."

 "But you don't work anymore?"

 "No. Not anymore. I'm just a full-time mommy." She smiled down at William,
who smiled back at her.

 "There's nothing 'just' about full-time motherhood," Hannah said in
reassuring tone. "I was a nurse until I retired three years ago. I worried
so much when the boys were small, how they'd turn out with their mother gone
almost every night. But Samuel . . . he was very gentle with them."

 "Is that where John gets it?"

 "Doggett men," Hannah said, shaking her head slightly. "There's a magic to
them." They exchanged a smile of understanding, then Hannah said, "His phone
call to tell us you were married was a huge surprise, though. He'd mentioned
you, of course--quite frequently, really--but I didn't think anything would
come of it. He'd been so set against remarrying after Lu--after Barbara."

 "It took us by surprise, too."

 "I gathered that." She wandered to the changing table, picked up a bottle
of baby powder and set it back down. "I hope you understand, Dana--he's
still my baby."

 "I love your son very much," Dana said. "He's been nothing but good to me.
When my former partner died . . . he and I had been very close. I was
devastated when he died. I wouldn't have come through that without John. I
realize," she added, "that it sounds like I married him out of obligation,
but I didn't. Losing my partner made me accept that when love comes, you
have to grab hold of it and never let go."

 Hannah smiled and touched William's head. "I like that," she said quietly.

 * * *

Naps, Dana decided, were what they all needed. It was going to be a long
night, Hannah and Sam had been traveling all day, and she and John had been
awake half the night. Naps while William slept, she said, would do all of
them good, and since she was the doctor in the house everyone else agreed.

 She put William in his crib, and John's parents settled into the guest room
with the door closed. In their room John drew the curtains, casting the room
in a golden semi-gloom, and turned down the sheets on the bed. He sat down
on the edge to take off his shoes as Dana lay back against the pillows, and
she watched him through half-closed eyes.

 She said softly, as he lay down beside her, "Have I said I love you yet
today?"

 He smiled and gathered her to him with one arm. "Yeah, but I don't mind
hearing it again."

 "I love you," she whispered and wrapped her arms around his chest. "I'm so
. . . grateful for you."

 "Grateful?"

 "Uh-huh." She nodded and kissed his neck. "Grateful that I know you.
Grateful that you were sent to me. Grateful that you love me."

 "I see," he murmured. "I thought we were supposed to be sleepin', not
sweet-talkin'."

 Dana ran her hands over his soft t-shirt and said, "Maybe a little more
sweet talk would help us sleep."

 John raised his eyebrows, his mouth starting to smirk. "Ah," he breathed.
"You just wanted to get me into bed."

 "Guilty." She moved herself on top of him and lowered her head to kiss the
slight cleft in his chin. "I just wasn't sure what I'd do once I got you
here." She kissed his mouth. He groaned when her tongue touched his.

 His hands rested on her waist and his fingers inched her t-shirt up out of
his way. He stroked the small of her back and the bumps of her spine. "Wow,"
he muttered, "you're actually wearing a bra today."

 "Out of consideration for your mother."

 John chuckled and pulled her t-shirt up farther. She rested on him and
raised her arms so he could pull the shirt over her head. They kissed. She
rose up on her knees and reached behind her to unhook her bra, John watching
her with a hungry gaze.

 "You're so pretty," he murmured, his voice like a lion's purr.

Dana smiled and started to lean forward, but he stopped her with hands on
her shoulders. "Let me look at you a little."

 Dana nodded and exhaled. She traced his arms and watched his face as he
caressed her ribs, her breasts, her collarbones, her arms, with gentle
fingertips. When he'd touched her to his satisfaction he looked into her
eyes and said quietly, "I still wake up in amazement, Dana. I hope I always
will."

 Her eyes brimmed and she leaned down again, resting on her elbows and
wrapping her arms around his head. "Kiss me."

 "Kiss me first."

 She kissed his mischievous smile, his heated cheeks and his sleepy eyes. "I
love being with you," she whispered. "I love how beautiful you make me
feel."

 "You are beautiful." His hands encircled her waist and he kissed her cheeks
and brow. "You're my sweet girl."

 "Mm . . ." Dana began to drag herself up and down his body, pressing her
hips against his erection, pressing her breasts to his chest. She panted
against his cheek, wanting him so much she was trembling. John groaned in
response, his hands losing their gentleness as they moved over her body. He
rolled a nipple between his fingertips, getting a moan from her throat, and
rolled them onto their sides so he could suckle her.

"John," she whispered into his hair. "Oh, John."

 She opened her eyes and thought she saw a shape by the window. But
no--Mulder said he couldn't stay and watch--and it wouldn't be the children,
she felt their absence now as much as she felt their presence when they were
near--

"You okay?" John whispered roughly.

 "Yes." She kissed his mouth. "I love you." His mouth closed around her
other nipple, tugging the sensitive tissue, and her eyes squeezed shut
again.

 They had to be quiet--they didn't want to disturb his parents or the baby.
It was easy at first--muffling their moans with kisses, giggling a bit and
telling each other "Shh!" But when Dana took his cock into her mouth he had
to bite his fist to stifle the sound, and when he pushed her onto her knees
and thrust into her he had to cover her mouth with his hand. She licked his
palm, curling her body forward and spreading her knees wide to bring him
deep inside her. "Dana," he growled into her hair. "God, woman."

 "Harder," she whispered and kissed his heart line. It felt like a secret
language, talking into his hand like this. "Harder, John."

Her forehead rested on her folded arms, and his hand slid from her mouth,
down her neck, fondled a breast, stroked her belly and probed between her
folds to find her clit. He rubbed her clit forcefully, the peak between two
fingers, and Dana's teeth nipped at the sheets. "Harder!" Her hips thrust
back to his with an urgent beat. "Oh, John, harder, please!"

 He groaned and pulled her upright, making her sink even deeper onto him.
"Trust me," he muttered, one arm around her waist and the other crossed over
her breasts. She turned her head towards him, her body tense and eager, and
wrapped her hands around his wrists. She felt like she was balancing on her
toes, letting him ride her hard enough to pierce her heart, her brain, her
soul. He pulled her face back and kissed her, his tongue fierce against her
teeth. She thrust one hand into his hair and the other between her thighs,
rubbing her clit with the side of her hand. She was so close--so filled with
him--so hot, so wild--

He must have known--he covered her mouth again as she cried out, her body
going rigid and then falling forward onto the mattress. She gasped against
the sheets, and felt John panting behind her. He kissed her spine and
kneaded her hips. "Baby . . ."

 "Yes." She peered at him through her tousled hair. "Anything you want,
baby. Anything."

 John pulled out of her and flipped her onto her back--she was as loose as a
rag doll with satisfaction--and laid his body over hers, holding her face
between his hands. He kissed her. "I want to look into your eyes." He pushed
into her again, slowly, and she shivered and sighed with pleasure. She
looped her arms around his neck. She raised her knees high, digging her feet
into his hipbones. Her hips rolled to meet his. He buried his face in her
hair, groaning, and thrust rough and fast. He sucked on her hair. His
fingers nearly crushed her hands as he held her arms over her head. He
kissed perspiration from her face and between her breasts, and rubbed his
five o'clock shadow against her nipples, making her legs quiver. Her toes
flexed, her nails dug into his back.

 She kept her eyes open, and saw how his eyes grew wide as if in wonder as
the deep spasm shook his body. He bit his lip to keep from shouting, and his
body went weak in her arms.

 Dana raked her hand through his damp hair and kissed him. "Love you, baby,"
he muttered and his finger stroked her cheek. "Love you."

 "Love you too." She shifted a little to hold him more easily, and he
nuzzled his face against her shoulder.  "Do we have enough time to sleep?"

 "Just for a bit."

 "Mm." He gave her mouth one more sloppy kiss and laid his head on her
shoulder. "A bit's all I need."

 He was asleep in moments, and Dana felt herself drifting as their
heartbeats slowed. The air was heavy with the fragrance of sex and the scent
of sulfur--

Her eyes flew open. Sulfur--God, was there a fire? She inhaled again,
looking around the room, but saw nothing unusual and could smell only John.

 She shook her head and laid it back down. John nuzzled closer, humming
sleepily. "Dana?"

 "Go to sleep," she murmured, and closed her eyes to take her own advice.

End 12/21

Draw Down the Moon 13

"You ready yet, babe?" John called as he walked into the bedroom with
William. "I dressed the munchkin . . ." His voice trailed off as Dana
stepped out of the bathroom, putting in an earring. "Did you put him in the
green overalls? Oh, good," she added when she saw he had. She took William
from him and gave the baby a kiss. "I just need to get my shoes on and get
the diaper bag together--is something wrong? Do I look all right?"

John put his hand on her cheek. She'd mentioned that she'd bought a new
dress, but he hadn't seen it outside of its protective plastic bag before
now. It was a lace top with a silk skirt, the palest of pinks and clinging
tightly to her body, to emphasize her full hips and breasts and tiny waist.
The only jewelry she wore were two small hoop earrings, her cross and her
wedding band. Her hair curled softly around her face, which was still aglow
with satisfaction from their romp that afternoon. Her lips were full, her
cheeks were rosy, her eyes were bright.

"What?" she said again, and pressed a palm to his hand. "You left a little
stubble burn. Does it still show?"

"You look wonderful," he said quietly, which made her smile. She took his
hand from her face, still holding his fingers.

"And I love you like crazy, but don't distract me. We should be there by
seven."

"D'you think if we give my folks the car keys and twenty bucks they'll take
William for a while tomorrow?" Dana laughed and let go of his hand. "It's
worth a try," she said as she walked away. Smoothly she bent to pick up her
shoes, and carried them and the baby down to the nursery.

"Dana?" Hannah said as she came out of the guest room. "Is there anything I
can do to help?"

"Will you hold him while I get the diaper bag together?" She offered the
baby. Hannah took him and at once started cooing.

"Who's my sweet boy? Look at that smile--are you happy to be going out
tonight?"

John leaned against the doorway, watching them and smiling. His mother had
seven grandchildren but she made no secret of wanting more. William
certainly could fulfil any babylust she was currently feeling. He was in a
good mood tonight, too, squealing and squirming, waving his fists and
throwing back his head.

Meantime Scully was packing the diaper bag with diapers, bottles, a can of
formula, a change of clothes, small toys, blankets, and books. Dana's diaper
bag was an enormous square-bottomed canvas bag that could be worn as a
satchel or a backpack, and it could hold any amount of baby paraphernalia.
If William was unhappy at any point tonight it would not be due to any lack
of amusements or comforts. Dana slipped on her shoes and slung the bag over
one shoulder, tickled the baby's chin and said to Hannah, "Would you like to
take him to the car?"

"Absolutely." She said to John, "Will you see if your father's ready? He
wasn't happy with the clothes we brought for him."

"I'll have a look," John said, and went down the hall to the guest room. His
father sat on the bed, dressed but holding his shoes and frowning. "Are you
all right, Dad?"

"I feel underdressed."

"You look great. Do you want some help with your shoes?" He knelt at
Samuel's feet and took one shoe from his hands.

"Johnny," Samuel said quietly. "I keep wanting to call the baby Luke."

John continued tying his shoe for him and said, "Sometimes, so do I." "He's
a sweet baby. A good boy. And Dana is very pretty--but you should have had a
proper wedding, Johnny."

"We will, sooner or later." He took the other shoe and put it on his
father's foot. "That's what this party is for tonight, anyway."

"Odd, how little he's changed," Samuel said, then frowned when John looked
up at him. "No, that's not right. He's not a little boy anymore."

"Luke has been dead almost nine years, Dad," John said gently. His father
had suffered a stroke three years before, and though physically he'd
recovered almost fully, mentally there still were lapses. "The baby's name
is William. Dana's son William."

Samuel nodded absently and looked down at his shoes. "Ah. We must be ready
to go."

"Yeah. We're ready." John helped Samuel stand, and let him hold his elbow as
they headed to the stairs.

***

The circular drive in front of the Kershes' house was already filled with
cars when John brought the car to a stop. "We're late."

"It's all right with me if they started without us," Dana remarked as she
started unbuckling William from the car seat. John chuckled and got out,
opened the door for his mother and helped his father out of the car. Samuel
took Hannah's arm to walk up the drive, and John took William as soon as
Dana had him unharnessed. The baby held himself straight and looked around
as they walked, his eyes wide with wonder and his hands clinging to John's
tie.

Dana said quietly, "I have a confession to make. I'm a little nervous."

"There's no need. You know that."

"Lisa's so . . . poised. I don't feel poised."

"You are, babe."

"I used to be," she muttered. "I'm out of practice."

"Babe," he said gently and stopped walking. "If you're uncomfortable, we'll
leave. I mean it. It's okay."

"I want you to have fun with your friends," she said, looking uncomfortable
already. "And help me keep track of Will, okay? I don't want him to get
passed to complete strangers."

"I'll keep him close," he said. He bent to kiss her, and William reached for
her too and grabbed hold of a lock of her hair.

"Ow," Dana said and worked his fingers loose. "That hurts, little man. Let
go of Mommy's hair. There we go." William laid his head on John's shoulder
and started sucking on his fingers. Dana smiled and stroked his head. "Be
nice to Daddy's friends, okay?"

"Our friends," John said with a sigh, because they'd been having this
conversation all month. "Come on. Let's go say hello."

The garden gate was open, and small lights in the trellis led them to the
large back yard, where the party was already underway. The band was playing
"Moonlight Serenade," wait staff circulated bearing trays filled with
champagne flutes, and the Kersh daughters were leading a small gaggle of
children into the garden proper at a run. William started at the sight and
sound of so many other children and hid his face in John's neck. Dana took a
deep breath.

Lisa Kersh broke off from a group near the buffet table and came to greet
them. "Dana, Johnny," she said warmly. She hugged Dana and shook John's
hand. "This must be William."

"He's a little shy," Dana said.

"That's understandable--sometimes these get-togethers make me want to just
hide in a corner too." She smiled and patted William's back lightly. "Dana,
your mother's already arrived, if you want to say hello to her."

"Oh, has she? Wonderful."

"She's over . . ." She waved her hand towards one side of the garden
vaguely. "I've lost track of everyone. She was talking to Walter Skinner,
last I saw."

"Lisa, this is my mom and dad, Samuel and Hannah John," John said, and she
shook their hands too. John thought Dana's word, "poised," described her
very well She was tall and round, with mocha skin and hair she let curl as
it wished. Tonight she wore chunky amber jewelry and a black dress, making
John think of an elegant lotus next to Dana's petite rosebud.

"Well, come in, have some hors d'oeuvres," she said, drawing them further
into the yard. "We'll eat in about half an hour. Dana, will you come with
me? There are some people I'd like you to meet."

Dana threw a nervous glance to John, but he only took the diaper bag and
kissed her cheek. "You'll be fine," he whispered into her ear, and she
nodded and followed Lisa towards another cluster of guests.

"We should find you a comfortable place to sit," John said to his parents.
"Would you like to meet Dana's mother?"

***

The evening, John thought, was showing all signs of being a success. He saw
Dana actually laughing more than once as they moved among the guests, and
when they met up with each other she said nothing about wanting to leave.
People admired William and congratulated them on their marriage, with no
snide remarks about Mulder or the X-Files. Dinner was delicious, light
summer fare with more champagne.

When the dessert course had been served Alvin Kersh began to tap his glass
with his knife and got to his feet. "Friends and family, I would like to
welcome you all to our home tonight. As you all are aware, we're honoring
the elopement," he paused to smile, several people laughed, and Dana lowered
her head to hide her blush, "or, I should say, marriage, of our friends John
Doggett and Dana Scully. Will you all join me in toasting the future of Mr.
and Mrs. John Doggett."

Glasses raised and everyone echoed the wish: "To John and Dana." Someone
began to tap his glass and in moments many others joined in, so John leaned
over and kissed Dana gently. She cupped his cheek in her hand. "This is so
embarrassing," she whispered under the applause. "I feel like we're on
display."

"We are on display, babe. It'll be over soon." He kissed her again and got
to his feet, and she looked up at him with surprise.

"Everyone, thanks. Thank you so much for coming and wishing us well. We've
been married six weeks as of today--" He had to stop while the Lone Gunmen
began to whoop, and he grinned at them. "And it's been very nice. Very
wonderful, in fact." He smiled down at Dana. She smiled back and touched his
hand.

"Many of you know we had a very brief engagement--a little over twenty
hours, in fact--and Dana's missing something every bride should have."

"John," she said. "You didn't."

"I didn't think it was proper to give you a dog tonight," he said as he got
down on one knee. Dana gasped and covered her mouth with her hands when he
took the box out of his jacket pocket. He opened the box and showed her the
ring within. People began to whistle and clap. "Dana . . . will you marry
me?"

Her eyes widened at him over her hand, but finally she lowered it and said,
"Yes. Always. I love you."

"I love you too," he said as he put the ring on her hand, above her wedding
band. It was a gold ring, to match their bands, with three diamonds. It was
beautiful on her hand.

He kissed her and she wrapped her arm around his shoulder and hid her face
in his neck a moment. "You," she began, but just kissed him instead of
finishing.

"Me," John said and kissed her back. "Love you."

"Love you," she whispered. "Love you so much. You made me believe again,
baby."

He pressed his lips to her forehead, deeply moved by those words. Funny that
a skeptic could renew the faith of a believer, but far stranger things had
happened to him since they'd met.

***

Once dinner was over the band struck up again, and John danced with Dana to
a slow, sweet version of "The Way You Look Tonight" After they had danced
for a while, Dana went to relieve her mother of William, and John wandered
around with a glass of champagne.

Monica ambled up and pressed her elbow against his arm. "Hey, stranger."

"Hey. Are you having a good time?" "Yes, though Dana's friend Ringo keeps
trying to chat me up. It's okay, though--he's going to lend me his Vandals
album."

"Nice of him," John said, wondering who the Vandals were.

"You look a little antsy. Where's Dana?"

"Getting the baby. If he's out of her arms for more than five minutes she
starts to worry."

"Imagine that," Monica murmured, taking a drink of champagne.

Skinner joined them as well, with a quiet, "Agents," as he sipped his
champagne.

"Hello, sir."

"Have you danced tonight, sir?" Monica said, and Skinner looked at her,
puzzled.

"Should I?" he said and sipped his champagne again. "I heard from Sheriff
Harris about the Wilkes case yesterday. She'll need the two of you to give
depositions in a few weeks."

"We left statements," said John.

"There are some things that are still unclear, that the court needs you to
clarify," said Skinner. "She said it was mainly some things you said to
Wilkes, John."

"Oh," John said, and started looking around for Dana.

"I've been wondering that myself," Monica said. "We hadn't even uncovered
her completely but you still knew that her hands were tied behind her
back--and how did you know all those details about their relationship? I've
been dying to know and you haven't said a thing about it."

"Let's not talk shop," John said. "It's a party."

"But what are you going to tell them?" Skinner asked, letting his curiosity
show. "How did you know, John?"

Oh, hell, he thought, taking a gulp of champagne. He said, "Ghosts."

Monica visibly started, blinking at him. "Ghosts?" Skinner chuckled
uncomfortably.

"Sure. Ghosts told me. Amy's ghost, specifically. How else would I know all
that? I didn't know either of them before we arrived, I only know because
she told me."

Skinner said, "You're serious," looking at him as if he were seeing someone
other than John Doggett.

"Yeah. It's the truth. I only knew where to find her because I saw her
ghost. And . . . and Luke's ghost. Luke was there." He took another gulp of
champagne.

"John," Monica breathed, "do you realize what this means? You believe." She
started smiling at him like he'd given her mathematical proof of the
existence of God. "You're a believer now, John."

"I wouldn't go that far," he said, and felt a touch on his arm. He looked
over to see Dana clutching the baby, her face pale and her eyes starting to
swim.

"I want to go home," she said in a firm and quiet voice. "I want to go home
right now."

"Dana--babe--has something happened?" He set down his champagne flute on the
nearest table and put his hands on her shoulders. "Did somebody say
something to you?"

Dana began to breathe more quickly and her lips thinned. "Yes. Someone said
something and I want to go home."

"What? Who? What did they say?"

"I want to leave, John," she said again.

"All right, all right, we'll go," he said, caressing her cheek.

She flinched away and he dropped his hand. "Do you want to say goodbye to
anyone?"

"No. Where are your parents?"

"They were dancing a minute ago. Dana, what is it?" He started to take
William but she only held the baby to her tighter and walked rapidly away
from him, towards the gate. He looked helplessly at Monica and Skinner,
wanting to apologize, but Monica shooed him on and he hurried to find his
parents and follow his wife.

Samuel and Hannah didn't notice anything amiss in the car, talking instead
about the food and the people they'd met and how beautiful the Kershes'
house was. Again Dana sat in the back seat with the baby, and said little.
Said nothing, John realized when he parked the car. Said nothing as she took
William out of the baby seat, said nothing as she nursed him and got him
ready for bed, said nothing as they listened to his parents talk in the
family room. Didn't even smile when Hannah told stories of John's childhood.

And, he noticed too, she had taken off the engagement ring.

They weren't alone until it was time for bed, and then too she was silent.
She changed her clothes and washed her face, cleaned her teeth and sat on
the edge of the bed to brush her hair, like usual.

John got ready for bed as well and lay down, picked up one of the books on
his nightstand and opened it at his bookmark. The brush made a shirring
sound through her hair. He loved brushing her hair.

The words blurred before his eyes and he set the book back down. "So are you
going to keep up this silent treatment or are you going to tell me what
happened at the party? Because if anybody said anything to upset you I'll
break their kneecaps myself."

Dana stopped brushing and slowly placed the brush on the nightstand. She
said evenly, without turning around, "You trust Monica more than you trust
me."

John stared at her silk-clad back and tried to think of something to say.

"I have to wonder what else you're telling her that you're keeping from me."
She took a deep breath. "I admit I've been keeping things from you too, but
it was to protect you. Not to keep from embarrassing myself."

"Dana," he began, but she went on in that soft, relentless voice.

"There are ghosts in this house, John, and you knew it. Yet you let me go on
thinking that if I believed, there must be something wrong with me. So I
haven't told you about everyone that's here, everyone that I've seen. And I
do see them. I hear them. I even smell them sometimes."

"Dana, please--"

"Emily likes to make rooms smell like honey. It makes her happy. And Luke
plays with William--I'm sure you've noticed him laughing when no one's
there. And Mulder watches the baby sleep."

"Dana, they're all dead."

"And Luke told you where to find the body of Amy Wilkes."

He moved closer to her and put his hand on her back. "Dana," he said, "I had
a dream. It was just a dream." "But you believed it. Have you ever believed
a dream before, John?" He closed his eyes. "Yes." She turned at last.
"When?" "A few weeks ago, I had a dream about Luke where he told me we have
to protect William."

"You knew that already." Her brows furrowed.

"It's more than we thought."

She shook her head as if in disbelief. "You knew of another threat to my son
and you didn't tell me?"

He laid his hand against her cheek. "Baby, I--"

"And don't you tell me it was to protect me. I can't be any more afraid than
I already am. You couldn't tell me because you couldn't admit it." Her voice
was beginning to tremble and a tear escaped one eye, which he wiped away
absently with his thumb. "I believed in you. I trusted you. I thought you
would always tell me the truth. I thought you were the only person who would
never lie to me. How can I believe anything you say now, if you'd hide
something so important from me to protect your pride?"

"Dana, it's not about pride or love or truth--"

"How can I love you when I can't trust you?"

John removed his hand from her face, too shaken to answer. He picked up her
hand. "Where's the ring?"

"I took it off."

"I can see that. Why?"

"Because it felt like a lie."

"Dana." He kissed her shaking hand. "It's not a lie."

"I don't know what to believe."

He looked down at their hands. "How could I tell you this? Would you even
believe me?"

"Yes! Yes, I would! I thought you'd never lie to me."

"You kept things from me too."

"And I hated it! I wanted to confide in you but I hated seeing that look on
your face, like I'm going crazy."

"Baby, I never thought that, not for a second. I worried, I was afraid for
you, but I never thought it was because you were hallucinating. Never. I
just didn't know what it was. I didn't know what I was seeing either. I
was--I've been having dreams unlike any I've had before and I don't know
what to make of them. I believe them because they feel so true. I'm sorry I
didn't tell you. I didn't know how."

Dana studied him, closed her eyes and sighed. "I'm tired and I want to go to
sleep. Can we talk about this tomorrow?"

"I'm not sure what more there is to say."

She leaned her forehead against his shoulder. "I don't know either."

John pulled himself and Dana back to the headboard so he could lean against
the pillows, and he held her loosely between his legs. "Do you believe me
when I say I love you?" he whispered.

She sniffled for a few minutes before she answered him. "Yes."

"Do you want to put the ring back on?"

She nodded. "It's in the bathroom."

"I'll get it." He kissed the top of her head and went into the bathroom for
her ring. It had been carefully placed in the unused soap dish. He slipped
it over the end of his thumb. He came back to bed and took Dana's hand to
place the ring back on her finger. "It's called a Now and Forever ring," he
said. "It's what's in my heart, Dana."

She studied him, hesitated, and kissed him. "I know," she whispered. "We'll
talk tomorrow." She turned off the light and lay down, not touching him.

John lay down too and touched the sleeve of her pajama top. He held the fold
tightly between his fingers and closed his eyes.

When John awoke in the morning, Dana was not in bed beside him. She was not
in William's room, in the guest room, or any of the rooms downstairs. She
was not in the garden, and both the cars were still parked in the drive.
None of her shoes were missing from the closet.

She was gone.


End 13/21
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