From: Ten Date: Fri, 10 Mar 2000 21:44:26 +1100 Subject: "Housewarming" (1/3) *NC-17* by Ten & Macspooky Source: xff TITLE: "Housewarming" (1/3) BY: Ten & Macspooky E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au and macspooky@erols.com CATEGORY: V, A, H, MSR (Married with kid - and still going strong) RATING: NC-17 for consensual sexual situations. If this isn't your thing or you're underage, better bail now. SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully throw a very private housewarming party at their new home. TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: This is set in Macspooky's Daniel/Couch universe. You don't have to have read the others to follow this vignette. However, in brief, Scully moved into Mulder's new apartment because her apartment building burnt down a few months after the events of "Emily". M&S then became lovers and soon discovered that Dana was pregnant. They married and had a son, Daniel, then started looking for a house to move into. The series includes: "A Christmas Miracle", "Dreams of a New Father", "The Couch", "Making It" and "Making It Legal", "Spreading Good News", "Unexpected Arrivals", and the companion piece to this: "Old Home". Several more are in the works. All are archived at Ten's webpage: http://tenxffic.iwarp.com IMPORTANT ENDURANCE DISCLAIMER: The sexual capacity of this Mulder has been enhanced for the pleasure of Scully and the readers (and the writers). Don't expect this at home. NOTES: We couldn't resist taking slight geographical & episode license with the location of a certain X-File landmark. Plus, for plot purposes, "Never Again" came before "Leonard Betts" (as they were originally meant to be aired) and there was a significant timelapse in- between those eps. ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be archived anywhere as long as our names, addys and disclaimer stay intact. FEEDBACK: Love it. Brings joy to our world! THANKS TO: Gerry and Debbie for everything. DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes referred to, Mulder and Scully and all other characters from the show belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. Characters not recognised from the show are either Mac's or Ten's. The X-Files: "Housewarming" (1/3) By Ten and Macspooky, September 1999 to March 2000 xXx MONDAY: I still can't believe it. I've become a photo-on-the-desk guy. I'm sitting here in my office - well, Spender thinks it's his office too, but just wait until my wife's back from leave, jerk. You'll be out on your ass faster than - Anyway, I'm sitting here, finishing up a few things so that I can go home on time. Yep, these days I'm eager to go home instead of staying late to chase down some elusive clue. Or because there's nowhere better to go. There's always been a photo on my desk, and often taken with me on cases. Samantha. But carrying around the image of your long-vanished sister isn't exactly the norm for most people. They have their wife and children captured in eternity, people they can actually go home to and be with at night and hold, or at least talk to on the phone. Through a series of miracles - because there's really no other word for it, no matter what I believe - I've become a normal guy. Well, maybe. Sort of. On the outside anyway. I gaze at the framed photo on my desk and I'm still amazed. Dana and Daniel and I all grin back, Daniel in Dana's arms, me sitting behind, with my arms around them both. My wife. My perfect little boy. My family. I never expected to become a family man. No one else had that expectation of me either. So what if I'm grinning like a sap. I think I'm entitled. And we finally have a proper home. Dana found the perfect house in Old Town Alexandria and has spent time making it even more perfect, redecorating, remodelling. It's time I went home to it. Jeff Spender picked me up this morning, so I hop on the Metro. I could afford the mega bucks for a taxi, but trying to find one in rush hour is one miracle that I doubt I will be granted. I sit in the train as it hums and clanks through the underground tunnels and stations and let my thoughts wander. This is my first weeknight in our completed house. We moved in on the weekend. I'd better psyche myself up for the official housewarming Dana is planning to hold in a few weeks. Playing host to Billy boy. Gag me with a spoon. At family gatherings when Dana was pregnant and then when Daniel was a newborn, Bill made it clear that of all the things he didn't approve of about me, the 'fact' that I didn't adequately provide for my wife - i.e., a nice house - was near the top of the list. (Having the sheer nerve to screw and impregnate his sister was the top sin.) Instead I 'kept' my family holed up in a dingy apartment. Not Good Enough. But soon after Dana and I had recovered from the shock of her being pregnant, she had agreed with me that there was no hurry to move. We didn't want the high stress of moving until after the baby was born, and this gave us time not to rush into buying the wrong house. The apartment was adequate for our needs in the meantime. And, thanks to the money my father left me - what percentage is blood money instead of old money, I don't want to hazard a guess on - it wasn't like we couldn't afford the rent. When Daniel was three months old, Dana started looking around and reading the Real Estate section of the Washington Post, specifically in regard to Alexandria. She wanted a townhouse in Old Town, and I certainly didn't mind where we were as long as she was happy. She said there would be good public schools there for Daniel too. After only two weeks of scouting, Dana phoned me up at the motel while I was packing after wrapping up an out-of- town case and said she had a winner. My wife was very excited about the place but didn't tell me much, preferring to show me instead. I didn't press for details because her tone then went very sultry, signalling the start of some blistering phone sex. Soon I was back home and we put Daniel in the car and she drove us over to meet the estate agent at this special house for a look through. Even I think that Old Town Alexandria is a great area. There's something about the look of cobblestoned streets. We pulled up in a nice, quiet neighbourhood, a few blocks away from a Metro station. The townhouse was brick on the outside, an end unit, attached on one side only and set back slightly from the street, with large windows and shutters. The front fence was wrought iron and there was enough room in-between it and the house for a tiny garden. More wrought iron separated it from our neighbour along the dividing line. Only a few shrubs could grow in the front garden, but Dana said the beautiful window boxes and the backyard made up for that. This townhouse/duplex was one of the lucky ones because it had a narrow, cobbled alleyway on the left side that led to the backyard - for the old time horse and buggy. Nice driveway. And at the back there was a garage converted from a carriage house that was against another wide, common alley at the back. I walked through the house and admired. This type of house isn't huge, but we have no use for a mansion, and I didn't want to flaunt the money Dad left me, not even to shut Billy boy up. Though at times I'm sorely tempted to tell him just how much I rolled over from an investment or that my kid's trust fund is probably bigger than his yearly wage. Anyway, three bedrooms upstairs, two of them fairly small but comfortable, along with the bathroom and a tiny sitting room off the main bedroom. Downstairs there was a kitchen, nice front entry area and hallway, a living room and a dining room, all large. The finished basement I quickly pegged for the gaming room, and we could use the unoccupied bedroom as a guest room and study. The little sitting room could become another study if one of us wanted some space, and would most likely become an en suite bathroom for us when Danny got older. My mind was turning over the possibilities. We could even convert the gameroom when he hit teenagerdom so he could live down there, or buy the other half of the duplex... The service porch out back had been turned into a laundry room, which suited us perfectly. Having our own laundry room after having to put up with the communal one in the apartment complex was a major incentive to move into a house. Danny goes through diapers like I go through sunflower seeds - he's allergic to disposables. "What about the history of the place - any good X-file hauntings here?" I joked. Scully glared at me. The realtor just stared and coughed. I gave a final 360 turn in the front entry and nodded my approval. "It's great, I like it, but it's similar to that other one two blocks away we're considering. You didn't get as excited about that." "I'll show you why." The agent handed her a key. My wife led me out the back door, into the garden. I noticed that the estate agent wasn't following us. Dana said, "She knows that this is a private moment." Townhouse backyards vary. (I've learned a lot since Dana began househunting.) Usually they are not huge, but can be big enough for a child to play in. This one wasn't wide, because of the alley, but it ran deep. The yard had high fencing, including along our dividing line. We walked through the garden and ended up at the side gate, which I'd only glanced at on the tour fifteen minutes ago. I looked at Daniel, who was in my arms. "You have any idea what she's up to, Danny Boy?" He just gurgled and grinned. Dana unlocked the gate and opened it, then took Daniel and led me through. We were in the little cobbled lane. I hadn't come this far along it on the tour, since I could check out the garage from the backyard. We walked down to the back alley that all the houses in this row had access to, and I saw that behind the house, across from the communal alley, was a park. "Great!" I enthused. I'd known that this house was near the Potomac river and parks, I just hadn't realised how close. "It gets better," Dana promised. We walked through the park, checking out what it offered. Good play equipment and paths for walking and jogging, and there was a picnic area. Lots of young kids. I could see the river. We walked towards it. We could bring Daniel down here in the stroller, and play games when he got older, and sit on that bench I could see and - That bench. It hit me. I turned and stared at Dana, who was nodding and smiling radiantly at me with our son in her arms. *Our* bench. A thousand memories hit me like starbursts. Meeting Deep Throat there. Clandestine meetings with Scully when the X- files was closed down. At that time I just couldn't believe that she still wanted to have any sort of communication with me when she didn't have to. That she was actually seeking me out. "Is this seat taken?" The shock on her face when I told her I was considering quitting the Bureau. The expression it took me ages to realise was alarm. "You could request a transfer to Quantico." Don't leave, don't leave *me*. The gulf, the deep chasm beside me as I sat on that bench when she was missing. How Maggie had met me there and made me keep Dana's cross. Then my partner was returned, and we didn't use the bench for a long time. Her cancer came along. And one night after she finally admitted to seeing the ghosts on the bowling alley case, I was so frustrated and upset with being shut out and not knowing how to save her, that I just had to go jogging at some god-forsaken hour as a release. And I found myself slowing down near our bench. I didn't even remember heading in that direction. And as I approached it, I saw Dana coming from the opposite direction, crying, looking desolate and sick. Drifting helplessly, but drawn to this lodestone. She stopped and we looked at each other in bewilderment and sorrow and desperation, and we both surged forwards and held tight and cried and healed just enough to survive that dark night and what was to come. And on the house-search I stared at that bench and at my wife and child, and back across the park, even though I couldn't see the back of the house for the trees. We had come home. A big grin spread across my face. "We'll take it," I said without hesitation. xXx Of course it wasn't quite that easy. But we moved fast and were able to pay a higher price than the other interested parties. I wanted that house even more than Dana did. So we own our own home. Bought it outright. (We sold Dad's house. It went to me in the will, but I'll never use it. I'm not selling the summerhouse though.) Wonder what Dad would think about his blood money being put to such use. It has also ensured that we don't have to fret about having less disposable income now that Danny is here, and that Dana could have six months maternity leave. It was fun taking Daniel on his first tour of the house when we bought it. I carried him from room to room, giving a running commentary. "This is the sitting room, where if we happen to spill cranberry juice, we'll go hide in the garage until Mommy calms down..." "We can set up first base here for indoor baseball when it's raining and we can't go to the park." "This is your room. And here's the guest bedroom and study, although in time your little brother or sister will be in here." Dana's voice startled me. I'd thought she was downstairs. "Planning ahead, Fox? Or do you know something I don't?" Caught. I couldn't explain myself. "Just call it a feeling." One I hadn't wanted to voice to her in case I raised her hopes and was proven wrong. It didn't feel like mere wishful thinking. She looked at me with interest and affection. "And when do you feel that this feeling will become reality?" I just shrugged. "Not for another year or two at least." "We'll see..." xXx We're not going hog-wild with showy, new, expensive stuff for each room. That's not either of our styles. We want it to be a comfortable home, not a showroom. Our furniture is a mix of old and new. And we kind of already broke the place in before we moved in properly. As soon as the house was truly ours - the previous owner having already moved out - Dana and I visited it a lot to start planning for wallpaper, furniture, renovations and some remodelling. Some repairs too. Well, Dana did the bulk of the deciding because she's better at that than me, and I don't care about interior design. She wanted to have it all completed before we moved in, because of the baby. I hung around, helped when needed - "You're getting in the way! You're a pain in the ass, Mulder, but it is a nice ass. Come here and put it to better use." "Right there? Won't it be in the way? Can't see you painting while I'm -" "Shut up, Mulder..." - and made sure she had plenty of breaks from all that hard work. So it's a wonder we got any work done at all. Before carpet was laid in the sitting room, I got laid there. Okay, it's not actually carpet. Dana says it's an 'area rug'. The sitting room had dark-coloured hardwood flooring that she loved, but she wanted Daniel to be able to have a soft landing when he starts crawling and toddling and playing and racing around, so the wood will be hidden until he's older. When she was holding up swatch after swatch of material to the kitchen windows one Saturday, I just had to ask, "What is it with you women and curtains?" Dana dumped the swatches on the counter and turned and I thought I'd put my foot in it big time. She folded her arms. "Curtains, Fox, are the thin veneer of civilisation. They separate us from the pack. Literally. For example, they keep neighbours and passers by from seeing what I am going to do to you now." She reached for my belt. From that moment on I've understood about curtains and drapes. Especially when my wife 'drapes' herself over me. And as conscientious homeowners, we just HAD to fill up the bathtub to check the plumbing and spend a long lazy two hours enjoying a joint soak to ensure it was roomy and comfortable. Though the waters got whipped up into a frenzy at the end there. Lack of furniture in the other rooms did not prevent us from shagging each other senseless either. Halfway through putting wallpaper up in the nursery, Dana was taken up up and away... (Nearly destroying a teddy bear decal in the process.) If Daniel was being babysat, we'd collect him off Maggie after a long session and she'd say, "Decorating is tiring work", but there would be this grin on her face. Was she wise to us? Nah. I can't believe how much Dana loves being at home. I don't mean that in a sexist 'little woman whose place is in the kitchen' way. I mean, she's still more of my partner than Spender, because we're always on the phone so she knows exactly what I'm doing and can help out with the cases as much as she can. She gives advice and does research for me. But she's taken to motherhood and decorating. I guess it's a nice break from being stalked by flukemen. I'd come home to our apartment at Hegal Place and be greeted by the smell of dinner cooking and my wife coming towards me with our son in her arms. Or sometimes the sound of Elvis playing, which was a sure sign that Daniel was down for his nap and I was about to get lucky. Or sometimes my howling son would be bundled into my arms, with Dana saying that he'd been at it all day or the damn wallpaper kept falling down in the townhouse hallway, and my strung-out wife would then have a nap or get back on the phone with the decorators and get tough with them or get out for a well-deserved break. Life can't always be perfect. END PART ONE OF THREE. xXx Moving in on Saturday was crazy - Maggie snapped our family photo outside, then, as I'd arranged, she held the now-five month old Daniel while I swept my wife up and carried her over the threshold. Despite us wanting Mom to stay for supper (we were going to order pizza, but she brought along a special 'picnic lunch'), Maggie went soon after. She said she was sure we had plans to christen the house and she'd leave us to it. I had watched my mother-in-law put her Starbuck's cup down on the coffee table (which by miracle was visible despite all the boxes) and reach for her bag as she said that. It nearly made me choke on the dregs of my own coffee, and when I threw a quick look at Dana, she hastily focused on the bottle she was giving Daniel, because that table was very much 'broken in' furniture from our old apartment - Maggie's mug was right next to a scratch that Dana had made during one of our bouts. I prayed Mom wouldn't notice it. And the memory of the creation of that mark popped back into my brain in glorious technicolour... xXx TWO MONTHS PREVIOUSLY: Mulder Apartment Dana and I woke up in each other's arms on the couch, naked apart from the afghan draped over us. Dana stretched and looked at me. "I thought marrying you would CURE you of sleeping on the couch." "You didn't seem to mind my attempt to recreate that love scene." I couldn't even remember which damn movie we had been watching. "True..." Conscientious parents first and foremost, we checked to find our boy was sleeping soundly, so we decided to take advantage of the chance of a lie in. We returned to the couch. My wife smiled at me. "Did I thank you for last night?" Dana's clever hands were turning morning glory into full bloom. Then she suddenly got out of our warm little haven and went around the other side of the coffee table. She squatted and leaned over the table, looking at me expectantly. Her fingers drummed. "What are you waiting for?" "Huh?" My brain was fogged with sleep and hormones. She looked down at the reflective surface of the table. "I want to see it. I want to see us. Get over here." I got behind her and got busy. We watched ourselves for a bit, revelling in our bond and love, but soon we were busy feeling, so all focus went by the wayside, and our breath misted the surface anyway. One of Dana's hands was back in my hair, the other clutching the side of the table so hard I saw gouge marks. Thank God that's not my back... I thought. This position had some advantages. She suddenly pushed back off the table to fall back against me, no longer afraid to let me catch her like she used to be. I gathered her close as I continued to move us and be moved, her back melting and melding perfectly against my torso - we were made for each other, the two halves of the whole, finally united after all those trials that couples with our great love have to go through. Boy, that chick flick had really gotten to me... And as I reached around and touched her she let out a tiny gasp and a delighted shudder, and I knew that she was there just as much as if she'd given a full-blooded scream. xXx PRESENT: Wow, it's getting hot in this train... Just as well it's pulling up at my stop now. I pick up my briefcase and disembark. The Metro station is only a few blocks from our house. It's late afternoon on a pleasant late spring day. I'm grateful I won't get drenched. Rain had threatened on Saturday, but held off, to our relief. By the time all the furniture and boxes were moved in and we started into some of them, the day was over. Perhaps we should have gotten the movers to unpack everything for us too, but by the time everything was in the house it was getting late and we just wanted to be on our own. Daniel finally went to sleep after grizzling (understandably) for ages after being returned from Grandma's. Poor kid was unsettled that we weren't in the more familiar surroundings of the apartment. Perhaps we should have taken Maggie up on her offer to have Daniel overnight, but we wanted to share that first night in our new home as a family. So there was only time to make love in our marital bed that night to 'properly' christen the place, though Dana and I were very tired by that stage (especially after I kept up the theme of 'carry the bride over the threshold' by scooping her up and carrying her up the stairs), but that worked out well because it meant some beautiful slow and tender sex. Just after we climaxed I found myself expecting someone to bang on the wall and yell at us, even though by our standards we were fairly quiet. But our bedroom isn't on the attached side of the house. Free at last. Sunday morning after my jog, I came out of the shower and went into our room to find Dana's clothes in a pile on the floor, but no wife, naked or otherwise, in sight. They weren't folded - she'd taken them off in a hurry. I found one of my suits hanging from the wardrobe doorway, complete with tie, and a note pinned to the lapel, saying, "Put this on, Agent Mulder, and meet me downstairs." "Hmmmm." Daniel was napping, and I could smell a fantasy enactment... Sure enough, there was another note on the stair railing that informed me that for this morning our sitting room was the Potomac and the sofa was our bench. AGENT Scully wanted to meet me there for a clandestine rendezvous. I entered the sitting room - the park - to find Scully sitting on one end of our bench. She was wearing her trenchcoat, buttoned up, and was also wearing that expression she had in the first few years of our partnership - guarding her emotions. Cool, aloof. It wasn't until the unforgettable night we made our son that I fully saw the emotions she had been hiding. And even then it was the next day before we could actually vocalise those feelings. Walking across the 'park', I was about to ask if I was accidentally sloshing around in the river itself, but I didn't want to ruin the fantasy mind-set. I'd learnt that before. It kills her mood. I approached the bench. "Is this seat taken?" "No, but I must warn you, I'm experiencing certain...impulses." I sat down near her - keeping a bit of distance. We went through some old banter, reminisced about old cases, but upping the innuendo - Tooms, for example. "Well, Agent Mulder, I've heard that you're good at squeezing into very small spaces..." Upping the heat while not touching. Boiling in our unresolved sexual tension. Communication with the eyes and words and voice and body, using the tools of Before 'Us'. Then finally not being able to last any longer, we made a mutual snatch at each others clothes. Surrender can be so sweet. And hot. My partner had no clothes on under the trenchcoat... Too bad we couldn't really do it out there on the real bench. The thrill of being seen would really add an edge, but this bout of passionate lovemaking felt like the first time anyway, thanks to our mindset. Must try it again sometime. Dana, no - Scully - oh, whichever, I love the woman any way she comes, and she sure did! - gave me a congratulatory ass slap for my performance. Go team. "Well, Agent Mulder, it is a pleasure being debriefed by you. This secret contact is quite...satisfactory." Next time we'll try the "I just happen to have ice tea in this bag" scenario out in our car in the garage. Dana licking ice tea or root beer off my chest... I'd try going nude under the trenchcoat, but I'd look like a flasher. Or worse. Perhaps if I have the paper bag over a certain anatomical part, and say the line with an innocent look, and then she can reach in... xXx PRESENT: I open our wrought-iron gate, look at the window box garden gnome that was painted to resemble an alien (Billy's idea of an early housewarming gift), and bound up the front steps of our house. I close the front door behind me and can't resist yelling, "Honey, I'm home!" like Fred Flintstone. Whoops, if that wakes Daniel, I'm on diaper-change for the next week solid... I can't smell any food cooking, but Elvis is silent. Ah well. There are still unpacked and half-full boxes everywhere. You can only get so much done in a few days. Especially when you're doing each other. "I'll be down in a minute!" Dana calls. The sideboard is just inside the door, and I dump my keys, glancing at the open mail there. Only a glance, because Dana's footsteps are on the stairs. When I look up, my wife is coming towards me, wearing a blue silk robe. She opens the robe with a flourish that would do a stripper proud, revealing a wisp of bra and matching panties that will disintegrate at the touch of a finger. "Daniel's down," she announces with a look that matches the sexiness and intent of her outfit, "And I want you UP." As I said before, life is GOOD. "No Elvis?" She sashays down the last few stairs, eyebrow raised. "My skin is singing, Fox. Can't you hear it? It's calling for you." And like Ulysses, I do not want to resist. Wordlessly I hold my arms open. Both beckoning and surrendering. My personal Siren slinks up to me, places the baby monitor on the sideboard, then slips out of the robe and gleefully jumps my bones. I am whacked up against the door, my ship lured onto the rocks - but I'm about to get my rocks off, so that's fine - breath leaving my lungs to be immediately sucked into her mouth as she takes possession, reaching her goal by climbing up my body like it's a coconut tree. My briefcase drops to the floor, striking my foot, but who cares? We kiss lustily. Maternity leave gives Dana time to do other things... Enjoy our son; decorate our house; plot out sexual fantasies she then wants to turn into glorious technicolour reality... That sort of thing. "Down," she says as she tugs at my zipper. "Up!" as her hands find what they're looking for. "There's a good boy..." "I can jump...through hoops, ya know..." "I'm counting on it." Soon I'm sitting on the floor, absolutely hooped, pinned up against the door, the back of my head banging against it, as my wife goes for it. I hope we don't get any visitors... I'm still pretty much clothed, apart from my pants and boxers, which are snared around my knees. Dana's naked behind slides up and down my thighs, my bent knees giving her something to fall back on if she should have need. She covers my face with wild, frenzied kisses. Dana loves my chest, so I go to undo a few buttons, but she shakes her head as she moans and pants. "Don't want that - superficial tonight...only want you for one thing... Ohhhhh, yes..." Her head whips from side to side, captivated with our duet. Back and forth through the hoop... It's a hoop of fire now... My wife's scream rings out - very much like a siren. And with that permission, I'm gone. xXx Sirens, hoops, music... Sheesh, I certainly go on when I'm getting some. I came home, I got laid, I was conquered. Or should that be I saw, I came, I was conquered? My head is thrown back against the door and my wife is on my lap as I come back to reality. Tiny little bits of gossamer bra are drifting down through the air and onto the floor like dust motes. Dana nuzzles my jaw, purring contentedly. "So, how was work?" Work? What's she talking about? Oh. Big place. Basement. Files. Gotcha. But today...? "I can't remember..." SmugDana surfaces. "Well, you put in some nice hard work just then." "Geez - I've created a monster..." I mock-complain, still heaving in search of a deep breath. I'm serious. I'm not boasting - after the first time we'd made love, Dana told me that she'd never really had an orgasm before. About the closest she'd come was that Kindred guy who had the pheromone-charged touch - hardly much of a notch to put on the bedpost. And getting that tattoo. Fortunately that's all she got out of that night. Also she stated how hot and bothered I'd unintentionally get her over the years, when she'd catch a glimpse of me naked or barechested in a motel room. That sort of thing. Build- up, but never any release. So I gave her her first real orgasm. She loved it. It made her insatiable for more. I have a duty to 'uphold' and deliver. Though she's more secure in self-pleasure now too. I started off one hell of a learning curve. And Scully has always learned fast and excelled and then turned around and taught me a thing or two. "If you couldn't stand the heat, you shouldn't have set me off in the first place," Dana points out logically as she unbuttons my shirt to admire and lick my chest. Somehow I manage to concentrate. "Beautiful, you hadn't gotten any in over five years. Five years is enough to make anyone explode." She raises her head and pokes a finger into my chest. "Talking yourself down, Fox? Don't. It was all you. Now that I know what I was missing, I can't believe I lasted that long without one. Or without a daily dose of you." Then her voice becomes barely audible. "Or without telling you that I loved you." She puts her cheek down against my bare skin, against my heart. I hold her even closer. "We didn't leave it too late. Thank God." We are silent as we contemplate. If Dana's neighbour hadn't had a heart attack while smoking then Dana's apartment wouldn't have burnt down and then my partner wouldn't have moved in with me and if I hadn't kept pretending to find faults in the places that she was looking to move into and if we hadn't settled down that night to watch Charlie Chan on the old leather couch and if she hadn't leaned her head against my shoulder and if I hadn't put my arm around her and kissed her and if we hadn't made love at that very moment... There would have been no Daniel. Perhaps no us, either. Ever? Would we ever have gotten there? Don't think about it. Don't torture yourself. No second guessing. No assumptions. A lesson that was reinforced a few days ago: xXx SATURDAY: When I walked Maggie out through the wrought-iron gate to her car, she suddenly stopped and turned to me and gave me a huge hug. I was surprised. I mean, I had gotten used to physical contact and shows of affection since the night Dana and I wrecked the couch, and Mom always embraces Dana and me to say hello and goodbye and is ALWAYS holding Daniel... But I knew that this wasn't just a goodbye hug. Something was up. "Thank you so much, Fox," she said. I could hear her sniffling. "Mom? For what?" Just for having her over? "What's wrong?" She pulled back and smiled in that self-aware way her daughter has. "Thank you for everything. But especially for my beautiful grandson and for making Dana so happy." She swiped at her eyes. I stumbled out, "But, I..." Her smile was knowing. She knew of those moments of doubt I had, that my dented psyche would pop up just when I was sure I'd slain them. Ones that were much briefer these days, mere micro-blips on my radar, but there were times that I'd wonder if Dana really did love me and that perhaps she was just staying for appearance-sake and Catholic feelings because I knocked her up and 'trapped' her. I'd known that she had wanted kids in her future, but did she really want them with ME? Would I come home one day and find that she'd taken Daniel and gone, fed up with living with me after all I'd put her through, deciding that I wasn't a good enough husband or father? 'Thanks for the baby, have a nice life.' Or was she in this for lust, just using me as an upgraded vibrator? Hey, I KNEW this was ridiculous. All I had to do was look into my wife's eyes and it was clear my worries were pure bullshit. But those blips loved popping up in nightmares in the dark. Dana couldn't get out of me just what would wake me up in such a cold sweat - I'd pretend that I couldn't remember - but she knew to hold me close and to have the light on until I calmed down. Luckily the frequency of that has diminished. Perhaps I should have said something, but right after the nightmares I never could, it was too close and I doubt I'd be coherent, and afterwards when I'd calmed down enough, bringing up such an issue seemed...insultive to what we had. Did Maggie know about the nightmares? Had Dana told her? My mother-in-law was still speaking. Her words smoothed out those stubborn dents better than I could ever manage by myself. "All I ever wanted for Dana was that she be happy and healthy. Thanks to you, she's both. I know that neither of you could love another man or woman as much. And to see the change in her since she's been able to express her love for you..." And an even more knowing smile surfaced, which seemed to say, "And her finally getting some great-quality sex helps no end too", but that must have been my male mind. How could I think that my angel of a mother-in-law would think that? Maggie wasn't finished. "Never doubt that Dana loves you, Fox. Even when it's been a very rough day with the baby and she's crying or you have a fight and say things. The love you two share isn't transitory. Nothing can destroy it; not even your self-doubt. You deserve all this. Enjoy it." xXx PRESENT: I am taking Maggie's advice. Now my wife and I sit here against the front door, getting our breathing back under control, grinning like idiotic teenagers. I recognise her robe and underwear, such as it is. Or was. The evening that we signed on the dotted line for the house, Maggie babysat while I took Dana out to celebrate. My wife expected that we'd go to a nice restaurant, but I had other plans first. I remember the confused look on Dana's face when I escorted her into a large department store. I took her to the household appliances section and spread my arms out at all the washers and dryers and said, "Sky's the limit, babe. Go for it." She laughed, then quietly hugged me. "I couldn't fit them into a bouquet, sorry." All that time of having to use the laundry room in the apartment block would soon be no more. Good. I never wanted to see another quarter again, and especially no more pairs of grey-pink boxer shorts. Then after Dana made her selections, we went to the lingerie department, where she let me make MY selections. And $352 of those selections didn't make it through one wearing... Even on the last night in our old place, even after repeated vacuumings, we were still finding loose sequins in the bedroom carpet. The washing machine was installed a few weeks ago. Dana and I couldn't resist trying it out. As in going at it on top of the machine while it was going. Just like a vibrating chair when it hits the spin cycle. I had to stay 'grounded', so to speak, but it's less tiring with Dana able to sit somewhere instead of me having to hold her against the wall. And doing it there is like being on the dining room table - especially the bruises to the rear. xXx PRESENT Dana and I get up off the hallway floor, both needing to help each other stand, and laughing at that fact. "Does this mean we're getting old?" she asks. "Nah, that just means we're getting very, very good..." She puts her robe on and ducks upstairs to peer in on Daniel and have a quick shower, still quivering from the effects of our lovemaking. Then it's my turn in the shower. I kind of wish that Dana was still in there too, but she remembers someone she has to phone right away, so escapes my clutches. Well, more recovery time. See the glass half-full. Then I peek in on Daniel. My son is asleep, so I just stand in the doorway and watch him, mesmerised by his little face and the rise and fall of his chest. Hard to believe that he's capable of morphing into one big long howl within the space of seconds. Hair still spiked from my shower, I go back downstairs. Gee, I finally OWN a staircase. Dana is back in her robe, waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. "I'm hungry," she announces. Well, we are overdue for some food, but I don't think she's got any on the stove yet. Unless we're having salad or such. Perhaps this is her subtle hint that it's my turn to cook. Okay. "What would you like me to whip up, honey?" "Me, into a frenzy." I give her a look. "I'm HUNGRY," she intones, and this time I'm not so slow on the uptake. Before she can undo the robe again, we're on the floor, and my hands and tongue are at work. Dana probably expected to be lifted off her feet and up against the wall, but I want to pleasure her first. This is her time. Besides, we did the wall thing this morning, just here. A quickie we just couldn't resist, even though we knew that Spender would be along at any minute. We knocked several framed pictures off the wall, undoing Dana's fine decorating and upturning a side table, but I knew I wasn't going to get in trouble for it. We're going to total this house in short order though. And just when things were reaching their peak against the wall, two things happened. Daniel began making noise over the monitor. "Mommy's coming..." Dana moaned, though fortunately the monitor was on 'receive only'. "Mommy's coming..." A few seconds later, she did. And the second that happened, I heard Spender blast the car horn outside - fortunately no one can see IN our front door. "Coming..." I announced rather firmly, and did. END PART TWO OF THREE. xXx PRESENT So we're on the hallway floor again, and I am currently engaged in the very pleasurable task of nuzzling and kissing my wife all over. She smells and tastes of jasmine body lotion. I glide my tongue over her bare back, revelling in its smoothness. There is no tattoo marring that perfection now - it is gone. I don't know exactly when Dana had it removed. I've never really asked, though I know it is a time consuming and painful procedure. Usually all things elective are deferred for six months to a year after the diagnosis of 'you're in remission now', so the most logical bet would be that she started the laser treatments soon after she came back from Phily, before she realised she had cancer. It would have cost a lot, money that she would have missed when she was diagnosed. I can just remember the first time that we showered together once we were lovers, and I saw Dana's back and realised there was nothing there anymore. I hadn't been sure how I'd react to seeing the snake - whether it would turn me on or off. For a moment there I even found myself thinking that this was a clone Dana, but all she said was: "It didn't match who I was anymore. Perhaps it never did. I broke the circle." Now I turn her over and kiss her inner, upper left thigh. That's the spot we've chosen for her next tattoo, where her gynaecologist will be the only other one privy to it. We plan on getting it done sometime next year. Dana has already chosen the design she wants. A smiling fox. It will be a his and hers experience. My tattoo will be on my left hip. A little cross, the same shape and size and design as Dana's cross. When I told her what I'd chosen, she was hesitant - not as in offended, otherwise I would have picked something else. She just didn't want it to seem like she'd converted me or anything, but that's the symbol I want. It'll go on my hip because it would be perhaps a bit crass on my upper inner thigh. She is me, and I am her. Dana said this will be a much better experience than the last one, especially since she can look into MY eyes this time instead of closing her eyes and having to pretend that it was me standing there watching. We're just inside our living room doorway at the moment, as I bend to my task. Dana's head grazes a box which is still waiting to be unpacked, and she looks up at the label. Somehow she manages to read it upside down, and frowns. "That's the china - the idiots put it out here! Look, it clearly says - ohh, ohhhhhhhhhhhh... It should be in, ummmmmmmmmm..." She gestures vaguely. "In...that room - that room with the oven in it..." Her hands thrash at her sides, clasping and unclasping, as if they're bowing to the power of my attentive tongue elsewhere. Her body bucks, and I hold her in place. "Talk to me, Fox," she pants. "I love that...but...I want to hear...your voice. I need..." "What do you want to hear, babe?" "Tell me things...wonderful things... please... Fantasies." I let my fingers do the work as I come up next to her ear and lick it, then whisper hotly of a very wonderful thing: "No more coin laundry." She chuckles, then thinks about it for a second and moans in delight. What else? "Delivery men that are always on time." "Ohhhh..." "Wallpaper that's the same shade in real life as in the catalogue." "Ahhhh! More, more..." Her fists pummel the floor. "All the rooms finished, furnished, and decorated just the way you want them." She's getting close. Got it - I bury my lips in her ear and deliver the ultimate slayer: "You're right, Scully. I was wrong. Fox William Mulder admits it. You're so completely right about EVERYTHING." She nearly shoots through the roof. When she recovers enough, she tells me that the sheer surprise manifestly increased her orgasm. That was the word she used. 'Manifestly'. I figure it means that I did good. Can't provide for my family, huh, Billy boy? Guess again. We stop for her to catch her breath. My eyes drift over a painting that has a fruit tree in it. When Dana was pregnant, she had a few cravings for bananas and such, but her main craving was for ME. Lots and lots of me. Luckily I could provide just that without having to drive down to the 7-11 at all hours of the night. Even when she got very big, she wanted me. I was worried that I'd hurt her, especially when she got to the point where simply walking around was uncomfortable. Not that she ever said one word of direct complaint; to her this baby was worth stoically enduring discomfort for. But Dana said that what I did to her made her feel so good that everything else faded away. When Dana went into labour (just after we'd made love under the newly decorated Christmas tree), I found myself wondering if this was the end for all that sex, for her desire for me. After all, apart from that very first time, we'd never made love when she HADN'T been pregnant. It was all probably just a result of the pregnancy hormones or the novelty of orgasms. And I'd read that women could lose interest in sex after giving birth. Big time. That fear was shattered two weeks after Daniel was born. Dana woke me out of a sound sleep in the middle of the night, begging - no, demanding - that I do her then and there. xXx PRESENT: Dana sighs. "I've said 'God' more times in the last few hours than in the entire rest of my life..." I kiss the breast nearest to my mouth. "You're giving me a swelled head, woman." "Am I? Oooh, good!" She raises an eyebrow with childish delight and sits up to have a look...but she's not looking at my face. "Liar! Come on, sleepyhead, up and at 'em! You've had enough recovery time." The 'monster' I've created has surfaced again. With her eyes glowing like that, she could be a vampire. She nibbles on my chest, then increases the pressure, nipping and sucking. Then she tires of that and goes for the sexual jugular. Reciting times tables can get boring, so I stare at the scribble on a box - that's my handwriting, not Dana's. A box of stuff that I'd had stored in our apartment - my apartment, back before Dana's place burned down and she moved in. "Hey, my old Oxford memorabilia! Cool, I wondered where that was!" I pant out. "Well, close your eyes and think of England!" I'm sure she doesn't include Phoebe in that equation. Neither do I. Soon I sit up and reach for my wife, feeling an overwhelming desire for our pleasure before she can complete my own. I move us forward and down, Dana going willingly to lie on her back on the floor. Now I'm on top. She wraps her legs high and gasps as I go deep. I've got the living room doorframe to brace my feet on. "God, I love this," Dana says, eyes closed, savouring. "Let's go at it like bunnies over and over until someone's head blows." I chuckle. "Mine usually does, or don't you notice?" "Shut up and get to work." I put more energy into her request than I did into the whole day in the basement. So much so that I propel us forward, further into the living room. I don't mean to sound crude or anything, but I'm literally 'riding' her. We travel over the area rug fairly quickly in the good old missionary position, covering a substantial distance with each thrust. I'm probably getting kneeburn. I hope Dana appreciates my gallant saving of her from severe buttburn by cupping that sweet little rear of hers with my hands and lifting it as we move. Her shoulders are probably saved from grazes by her hair - she's grown it out longer, though it beats me why she decided to now when Daniel keeps grabbing at it. We become stationary near the coffee table - well, stationary as in no longer moving across the carpet, but our hips are far from stationary. We can't go any further because of some piled boxes. Five yards ago we brought some tumbling down as we tried to wend our way through them. While searching for something substantial to brace my foot on, I accidentally kicked a cabinet too. I didn't put my foot through it, but I think a Lladro figurine tumbled off into the armchair. It shouldn't be broken. At the moment I don't really care. Now Dana bucks and moans beneath me, biting her lip, eyes closed. With a little help, her legs hook up over my shoulders. Her foot upends the bowl of sunflower seed husks on the coffee table and we get partially showered like it's confetti or rice at a wedding. Great, more vacuuming, though fortunately there wasn't much in there to begin with. Haven't had the time to do much crunching and cracking. She laughs, though she'll probably be cross later. I know she wants this one to be slow and last, so I'm trying to pace myself. That requires some distraction. Staring at her flushed, smoky face and iridescent eyes (when they flicker open) isn't the way to do that, so I end up looking at the nearest object - an armchair. Design of little stripes. Greens. Ethan Allen. Slow, go slow. What else about Ethan Allen? Dana was so happy with this armchair - when we got it, she made sure we tested it out - whoops, go back to green stripes, calming green, green that matches our couch, the couch that we bought after breaking the other during - don't remember that! - don't come yet, that's better. Yes - remember Dana on the phone to the store, channelling her no-nonsense FBI persona into getting the best deal and refusing to be intimidated by the salespeople or tradesmen. "I want it. I want it now. No arguments, I want it as agreed, and you'd better deliver!" whoops green stripes, Ethan Allen - wonder if he had a casting couch? - she wants it slow slow Dana when the chair was delivered: "yes, just here - right here! careful - that's it...just a little more, it'll fit, no it's not a tight fit if we just... Back a bit...just a little more - Yes! That's it!" That's it that's it And that is it. "Sorry," I say apologetically when I'm able. I'm not even sure if she got there or not. Dana strokes the damp hair off my forehead. "Oh, I think I can forgive you. But what happened? You stared at the armchair as if it was the most fascinating thing you've ever seen, then like it was a Penthouse Centrefold and you let rip... Is there something you want to tell me?" I explain and she laughs. We agree that thinking about furniture to distract ourselves is not the best thing, because of all the memories... I look around the room as best I can from our positioning, and over all those boxes. The living room has high ceilings and some mouldings around it, and a big mantle above the fireplace, already festooned with flowers and family photos. Dana sees the destruction left in our wake and shakes her head. "We're not supposed to be demolishing the place..." I shrug. "Home sweet home..." I say into her ear. "You referring to our slice of real estate or the property in which you are currently lodged?" After our laughter dies down, we separate reluctantly and lie on the floor, holding and stroking. We've managed to 'knock' the baby monitor along beside us on our travels, and to toss it onto the nearest chair or sofa relative to where we think we'll end up. Dana gets up and listens to it. "Sleeping like a log," she reports. "Good." I happily remain upside-down, watching my wife, stretching my cramping legs. xXx PRESENT After that round we're REALLY exhausted, with not even the energy to collapse onto the nearby couch, so we lay and hold again. Just as well we can't reach the couch. Then we might be tempted to recreate what we did on Sunday. Dana sighs contentedly. "I have everything I want. A job I love, a home, a baby, great sex. You." "Same here." Daniel is gurgling over the monitor. I want to tell Dana "You wore me out - it's your turn," but I have a feeling that's exactly what she'll say to ME, and I haven't greeted my son properly tonight. Time sort of got away on us. He usually doesn't sleep this long of an evening, but I think the sleep he lost in settling in here is finally catching up with him. I tell Dana that I'll go up and check on Daniel and, if she puts dinner on, I'll clean up later. Dana lies back languidly. "Fox, I've noticed something about you. When you get laid regularly, you become a much nicer person." "Glad you've figured that one out." "So if I want to invite Bill and Co. to the housewarming, I'd better give you a sex session lasting four days beforehand?" I just look at her. She grins at my lack of response and gives the sigh of a complete and utter martyr. "Well, if I MUST." Dana gets up and I admire the shape of her behind and the way her breasts - she turns and looks at me, fully aware of what I'm up to, then laughs and heads for the kitchen, still stark naked and poised. Go, girl. I find my boxer shorts by minor miracle and pull on the tattered remnants of them, then recollect where the stairs are and head for the nursery. I look into the cot. My son is playing with the blanket and kicking his legs. I'm glad he's too young to ask about the teeth marks on my torso. He sees me and immediately his hands drop the blanket and he laughs like his mother. His hands wave. I pick him up and his head fits snugly against my neck. I stroke the top of his head and kiss him and listen to his baby- babble. Pride and awe surge up in me again. It seems hard to believe that I could have had a part in making something - someone - this perfect. My blue-eyed son has already had his very first X-file experience. He was only about six hours old at the time. The ghost of his grandfather, Bill Scully, Sr., appeared in the hospital room and gave my family his blessing. Dana and Daniel slept through it. Hmmm, I hope that won't prove to be habit. Then again, I don't want my kid having to take up the baton in this crusade like it looks like I did when my father dropped it. Or threw it away along with my sister... Daniel bats me on the chin with his fist and jolts me back to reality. "Thanks, Danny Boy. You ARE your mother's son." I like the nursery. If Bill, Jr. asks if I helped with the painting, etc, I'll tell him the truth. I stood there when it was finished and said "That looks nice." I don't care what Bill thinks - on the whole I was sensible enough to stay out of the way. xXx I'm carrying Daniel along the hallway towards the stairs. I love what Dana's done to the place. She loves architecture. I have no idea, so to me the house is full of green, comfortable things. Daniel makes hungry noises as we go downstairs. His mouth is opening and closing, and he's close to a howl because he knows that my bare chest doesn't have what he's after. I chant soothingly, "Almost there, almost there," as I rub his back. Dana and I are taking advantage of a flexible work program that the FBI offers to parents. Both male and female agents can work a minimum of 16 to a maximum of 32 hours a week on a prorated pay basis, to balance work and family. Agents can jump in and out of the program as needed. When Dana's six months leave are up, she's going to go back to work for sixteen hours a week for a start and see how things go. She gets to keep her seniority and can come back full time when she wants to. I've used the program too so I can spend a lot of time with my family, and Dana will probably go into work at night, or the days when Maggie can babysit or I'm home. We don't want to leave Daniel in daycare. One of Dana's first tasks, apart from forensic work, will be to conduct interviews for the expansion of the X-Files division. Spender has been making noise about wanting to move onward (and upward), thank God, but apart from him, we do need more help in the office and the field. Two additional people for now, but Skinner has hinted that we'll be needing and getting more in the future. Something's brewing, whether through humans or aliens, and more and more people as well as me are sensing this or stumbling across pieces and turning to us for help. Daniel is still grousing for his milk. Dana won't have to wean him, since she won't be working full-time just yet. She'll just pump and freeze so that Maggie or I can give him bottles when she's at work. We've been giving him at least one bottle a day to get him used to it from the beginning anyway. And soon we'll start introducing him to solids. Daniel and I enter the kitchen. "Someone's hungry," I announce. Dana smiles and holds out her arms. "Come here, Fox Cub." God, she looks so serene and content in moments like this. Being able to watch them or to be responsible for them is mind-blowing. I hand our son over and she sits down at the kitchen table, sliding her robe open and Daniel into position. Babe with babe. But despite being presented with what he wants, for a second his little head inexplicably swivels towards me. I smirk. "Go for it, son. Daddy's already had his share." "Mulder!" Dana's scolding holds a smile. I keep an eye on the soup and get the bread out while Daniel nurses. Our meal is almost ready when Dana hands the baby to me to be burped. Our little ray of sunshine promptly throws up down my back. I did have a towel draped over my shoulder - I learned that lesson very well on about day three of fatherhood - but the warm and sour milk doesn't all end up on the towel. It trickles down my bare back and onto my boxers. The floor is spared though. I glare at the laughing Dana and the now de-winded Daniel. "You two planned that." "Just a matter of perfect timing. Go have a shower. Alone." "That's my thanks for sparing you?" "Fox, I don't intend to spare ANY of you." xXx Finally we have eaten, played with our son for a while, and are now dressed for bed. Daniel is asleep again, down for the night - we hope - and I'm so tired that it will be nice just to climb into bed and hold and sleep, happy in our home. One more thing would make this perfect. "Can we skip the big party with Bill and Company? After all, we've just had a great private housewarming, surely? If we don't have the big party, I can promise many more private sessions." I'm hopeful of my logic, but Dana just looks at me as she climbs into bed. I shrug in defeat and turn the blankets down on my side. I'm about to get in when I feel something on the sole of my foot. Those damn seeds. I brace my body on the bedside table and raise my foot to look and remove. But I look and freeze. "What is it?" Dana asks. "Our household's very first X-file." I show her the underside of my foot. Three sequins are stuck there. Now it REALLY feels like home. THE END. (PART THREE OF THREE.) Info on the FBI's flexible work program was taken from an article in The Connecticut Post, "Women of the FBI", by James G. Clark, November 8, 1999.